“Started? Where?” Edsel demanded. He picked up another glittering weapon, curved to fit his wrist and hand.
“Back to the port,” Faxon said. “Back to sell this stuff, like we planned. I figure we can ask just about any price, any price at all. A Government would give billions for weapons like these.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Edsel said. Out of the corner of his eye he was watching Parke. The slender man was walking between the stacks of weapons, but so far he hadn’t touched any.
“Now listen,” Faxon said, glaring at Edsel. “I financed this expedition. We planned on selling the stuff. I have a right to—well, perhaps not.”
The untried weapon was pointed squarely at his stomach.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, trying not to look at the gun.
“To hell with selling it,” Edsel said, leaning against the cave wall where he could also watch Parke. “I figure I can use this stuff myself.” He grinned broadly, still watching both men.
“I can outfit some of the boys back home. With the stuff that’s here, we can knock over one of those little Governments in Central America easy. I figure we could hold it forever.”
“Well,” Faxon said, watching the gun, “I don’t want to be a party to that sort of thing. Just count me out.”
“All right,” Edsel said.
“Don’t worry about me talking,” Faxon said quickly. “I won’t. I just don’t want to be in on any shooting or killing. So I think I’ll go back.”
“Sure,” Edsel said. Parke was standing to one side, examining his fingernails.
“If you get that kingdom set up, I’ll come down,” Faxon said, grinning weakly. “Maybe you can make me a duke or something.”
“I think I can arrange that.”
“Swell. Good luck.” Faxon waved his hand and started to walk away. Edsel let him get twenty feet, then aimed the new weapon and pressed the stud.
The gun didn’t make any noise; there was no flash, but Faxon’s arm was neatly severed. Quickly, Edsel pressed the stud again and swung the gun down on Faxon. The little man was chopped in half, and the ground on either side of him was slashed also.
Edsel turned, realized that he had left his back exposed to Parke. All the man had to do was pick up the nearest gun and blaze away. But Parke was just standing there, his arms folded over his chest.
“That beam will probably cut though anything,” Parke said. “Very useful.”
Edsel had a wonderful half-hour, running back and forth to the door with different weapons. Parke made no move to touch anything, but watched with interest. The ancient Martian arms were as good as new, apparently unaffected by their thousands of years of disuse. There were many blasting weapons, of various designs and capabilities. Then heat and radiation guns, marvelously compact things. There were weapons which would freeze and weapons which would burn; others which would crumble, cut, coagulate, paralyze, and do any of the other things to snuff out life.
“Let’s try this one,” Parke said. Edsel, who had been on the verge of testing an interesting-looking three-barrelled rifle, stopped.
“I’m busy,” he said.
“Stop playing with those toys. Let’s have alook at some real stuff.”
Parke was standing near a squat black machine on wheels. Together they tugged it outside. Parke watched while Edsel moved the controls. A faint hum started deep in the machine. Then a blue haze formed around it. The haze spread as Edsel manipulated the controls until it surrounded the two men.
“Try a blaster on it,” Parke said. Edsel picked up one of the explosive pistols and fired. The charge was absorbed by the haze. Quickly he tested three others. They couldn’t pierce the blue glow.
“I believe,” Parke said softly, “this will stop an atomic bomb. This is a force field.”
Edsel turned it off and they went back inside. It was growing dark in the cave as the sun neared the horizon.
“You know,” Edsel said, “you’re a pretty good guy, Parke. You’re OK.”
“Thanks,” Parke said, looking over the mass of weapons.
“You don’t mind my cutting down Faxon, do you? He was going straight to the Government.”
“On the contrary, I approve.”
“Swell. I figure you must be OK. You could have killed me when I was killing Faxon.” Edsel didn’t add that it was what he would have done.
Parke shrugged his shoulders.
“How would you like to work on this kingdom deal with me?” Edsel asked, grinning. “I think we could swing it. Get ourselves a nice place, plenty of girls, lots of laughs. What do you think?”
“Sure,” Parke said. “Count me in.” Edsel slapped him on the shoulder, and they went through the ranks of weapons.
“All those are pretty obvious,” Parke said as they reached the end of the room. “Variations on the others.”
At the end of the room was a door. There were letters in Martian script engraved on it.
“What’s that stuff say?” Edsel asked.
“Something about ‘final weapons’,” Parke told him, squinting at the delicate tracery. “A warning to stay out.” He opened the door. Both men started to step inside, then recoiled suddenly.
Inside was a chamber fully three times the size of the room they had just left. And filling the great room, as far as they could see, were soldiers. Gorgeously dressed, fully armed, the soldiers were motionless, statue-like.
They were not alive.
There was a table by the door, and on it were three things. First, there was a sphere about the size of a man’s fist, with a calibrated dial set in it. Beside that was a shining helmet. And next was a small, black box with Martian script on it.
“Is it a burial place?” Edsel whispered, looking with awe at the strong unearthly faces of the martian soldiery. Parke, behind him, didn’t answer.
Edsel walked to the table and picked up the sphere. Carefully he turned the dial a single notch.
“What do you think it’s supposed to do?” he asked Parke. “Do you think—” Both men gasped and moved back.
The lines of fighting men had moved. Men in ranks swayed, then came to attention. But they no longer held the rigid posture of death. The ancient fighting men were alive.
One of them, in an amazing uniform of purple and silver, came forward and bowed to Edsel.
“Sir, your troops are ready.” Edsel was too amazed to speak.
“How can you live after thousands of years?” Parke answered. “Are you Martians?”
“We are the servants of the Martians.” The soldier said. Parke noticed that the soldier’s lips hadn’t moved. The man was telepathic. “Sir, we are Synthetics.”
“Whom do you obey?” Parke asked.
“The Activator, sir.” The Synthetic was speaking directly to Edsel, looking at the sphere in his hand. “We require no food or sleep, sir. Our only desire is to serve you and to fight.” The soldiers in the ranks nodded approvingly.
“Lead us into battle, sir!”
“I sure will!” Edsel said, finally regaining his senses. “I’ll show you boys some fighting, you can bank on that!”
The soldiers cheered him, solemnly, three times. Edsel grinned, looking at Parke.
“What do the rest of these numbers do?” Edsel asked. But the soldier was silent. The question was evidently beyond his built-in knowledge.
“It might activate other Synthetics,” Parke said. “There are probably more chambers underground.”
“Brother!” Edsel shouted. “Will I lead you into battle!” Again the soldiers cheered, three solemn cheers.
“Put them to sleep and let’s make some plans,” Parke said. Dazed, Edsel turned the switch back. The soldiers froze again into immobility.