Edsel stopped.
"Do you know where we're going?" he asked Parke, his voice ominously low.
Parke shrugged his slender shoulders negligently. His pale, hollow face showed no trace of expression.
"Do you?" Edsel asked.
Parke shrugged again.
A bullet in the head, Edsel decided, reaching for his gun.
"Wait!" Faxon pleaded, coming up between them. "Don't fly off, Edsel. Just think of all the money we can make when we find the weapons!" The little man's eyes glowed at the thought. "They're right around here somewhere, Edsel. The next mound, maybe."
Edsel hesitated, glaring at Parke. Right now he wanted to kill more than anything else in the world. If he had known it would be like this, when they formed the company on Earth ... It had seemed so easy then. He had the plaque, the one which told where a cache of the fabulous lost Martian weapons were. Parke was able to read the Martian script, and Faxon could finance the expedition. So, he had figured all they'd have to do would be to land on Mars and walk up to the mound where the stuff was hidden.
Edsel had never been off Earth before. He hadn't counted on the weeks of freezing, starving on concentrated rations, always dizzy from breathing thin, tired air circulating through a replenisher. He hadn't thought about the sore, aching muscles you get, dragging your way through the thick Martian brush.
All he had thought about was the price a Government — any Government — would pay for those legendary weapons.
"I'm sorry," Edsel said, making up his mind suddenly. "This place gets me. Sorry I blew up, Parke. Lead on."
Parke nodded, and started again. Faxon breathed a sigh of relief, and followed Parke.
After all, Edsel thought, I can kill them any time.
They found the correct mound in mid-afternoon, just as Edsel's patience was wearing thin again. It was a strange, massive affair, just as the script had said. Under a few inches of dirt was metal. The men scraped and found a door.
"Here, I'll blast it open," Edsel said, drawing his revolver.
Parke pushed him aside, turned the handle and opened the door.
Inside was a tremendous room. And there, row upon gleaming row, were the legendary lost weapons of Mars, the missing artifacts of Martian civilization.
The three men stood for a moment, just looking. Here was the treasure that men had almost given up looking for. Since man had landed on Mars, the ruins of great cities had been explored. Scattered across the plains were ruined vehicles, art forms, tools, everything indicating the ghost of a titanic civilization, a thousand years beyond Earth's. Patiently deciphered scripts had told of the great wars ravaging the surface of Mars. The scripts stopped too soon, though, because nothing told what had happened to the Martians. There hadn't been an intelligent being on Mars for several thousand years. Somehow, all animal life on the planet had been obliterated.
And, apparently, the Martians had taken their weapons with them.
These lost weapons, Edsel knew, were worth their weight in radium. There just wasn't anything like them.
The men went inside. Edsel picked up the first thing his hand reached. It looked like a .45, but bigger. He went to the door and pointed the weapon at a shrub on the plain.
"Don't fire it," Faxon said, as Edsel took aim. "It might backfire or something. Let the Government men fire them, after we sell."
Edsel squeezed the trigger. The shrub, seventy-five feet away, erupted in_a bright red flash.
"Not bad," Edsel said, patting the gun. He put it down and reached for another.
"Please, Edsel," Faxon said, squinting nervously at him. "There's no need to try them out. You might set off an atomic bomb or something."
"Shut up," Edsel said, examining the weapon for a firing stud.
"Don't shoot any more," Faxon pleaded. He looked to Parke for support, but the silent man was watching Edsel. "You know, something in this place might have been responsible for the destruction of the Martian race. You wouldn't want to set it off again, would you?"
Edsel watched a spot on the plain glow with heat as he fired at it.
"Good stuff." He picked up another, rod-shaped instrument. The cold was forgotten. Edsel was perfectly happy now, playing with all the shiny things.
"Let's get started," Faxon said, moving towards the door.
"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 for
ever."
"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 v/on'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, realizing 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 through 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, marvellously compact things. There were weapons which would freeze and weapons which would burn; others which would crumble, cut, coagulate, paralyse, 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 a look 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.