Steamoon Episode 3

CHAPTER THREE

Beneath the Red Plains

The company had finished a late breakfast at The Clarence and were just returning to the hotel’s lobby when they were approached by a most extraordinary figure. Tall and of almost skeletal thinness, clad in an immaculate grey morning suite, the creature raised a neatly brushed top hat with one of his four arms and grinned down at them showing a row of white teeth and two small tusks in what was an unmistakably green face.

“You are, Good Morning, Professor Thaddeus Carruthers, I am gentleman’s gentleman Pishposh, very pleased to meet you, my Master Major Barding would very much like to meet you; you are all welcome. Welcome to Mars.”

Pishposh had a carriage waiting. Major Barding, it seemed, was the head of the Political Office on Port Victoria and the five agreed to meet him. They soon found themselves approaching the imposing whitewashed bulk of Government House where they were ushered up a marble stairway to a large office on the second floor.

Barding was a wiry figure in a worn maarkhi uniform; one side of his deeply suntanned face was covered with scarring and his left ear was all but missing. He sprung up from his desk with obvious delight, and caught up a much-thumbed leather-bound book.

“Professor Carruthers! Captain James Barding. I am so pleased to meet you at last. I’m always consulting your Martian Physiology. Would you be so kind as to sign my copy?”

“Um… yes, of course.” Muttered Thaddeus, flattered despite himself. He introduced his companions and Pishposh appeared with four extra chairs; one in each hand.

“I felt as if I was banging my head against a brick wall” Barding was saying, “but at last they have sent us the sort of scientific support we need out here.”

Barding was disappointed to discover that Thaddeus was here in an entirely private capacity and had not been sent by the Home Office. It seemed that the political officer had fought a long campaign to have more scientific research teams sent to Mars (or ‘Barsoom’ as he called it). The French, it seemed, had been far more active in exploring the planet’s mysteries. Barding had even gone so far as write to the Cabinet Office directly, over his superior’s heads, only to receive an apoplectic rebuke from the Home Secretary Hubert Baskeville demanding that he be sacked.

Tolly, with a sergeant’s eye for detail, found himself inspecting Barding’s epaulettes. He saw the faded outline of a crown, now replaced by two pips.

Barding noticed the glance.

“Yes, I was demoted. The Lord Garnet wouldn’t dismiss me, but they broke me down to Captain. Still, I remain chief political officer with an acting rank of Major.”

Pishposh brought in a tray of tea, and Barding poured out six cups.

“The planet is covered with ruined cities and sites, and must have supported a far larger population in the past. I have managed to conduct basic surveys of a few sites, but we have almost no qualified personnel here.”

“I find that is a great pity, and frankly cannot understand the government’s attitude on this matter.” Said Thaddeus. “If the government will not sponsor survey expeditions then we must look to other parties.”

He glanced at Walter. “Appleby Industries would surely support such important work.”

“Most certainly, Thaddeus. And I for one would favour making a start ourselves.”

Visibly cheered, Barding unrolled a large circular map of the British sector and pointed to a series of sites marked on it. Walter noticed one that was labelled simply “Ruined City”.

“Yes, that is a site we spotted from the air but have had not had a chance to even find out the local name, although I understand it is shunned by the local Tharks. It would be interesting to know more if you felt able to carry out a preliminary expedition.”

“We could pop over there in The Appleby, I suppose.” Said Walter.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to use your own spaceship. All private craft are banned from atmospheric travel under the terms of the Armistice. But I could get you dropped off and picked up by one of the service airships. What do you say?”

“We’re new to Mars, Major, and I for one would like a chance to look around.” Said Tolly. “Even the Professor here has not met an Oolong before – not a living one at any rate.” “Well, an airship won’t be going that way for a couple of days yet. If you’d like to take the measure of the Oolong in the meantime I recommend you take a trip out to the House of Nazang which is less than a day’s ride from here.”

“Excellent suggestion Major. I’d very much like to practice my Martian on an Oolong.” Thaddeus replied.

“Good, that’s settled then. I’ll find a reliable guide and some thoats for tomorrow. You can find the sort of kit you’ll need at the Gentleman’s Outfitters opposite your Hotel. And in the meantime you must dine with us at the Officer’s Mess tonight. Lord Garnet will be keen to meet you, and we have the British Ambassador to Venus with us at the moment, Lord Macartney.”

Having agreed to return at seven that evening the companions left and were dropped back at the Clarence entrance by the ever-helpful Pishposh. They spent half an hour choosing suitable clothes in the shop opposite, and had no sooner entered the cool interior when a moustachioed man in pale green French military uniform approached them and made a small bow.

“Monsieur Appleby, Carruthers, Ward, Carnehan et Ho? I ‘ave a message from the Comte de Montlosier. ‘E ‘as for you a very special present, a recently arrived wonder of French engineering. A carriage is waiting, if you would be so kind as to accompany me?”

What might this be? Walter wondered if it might be a steam carriage, since the French were well-known for their work in that field. Rufus had never entirely trusted the Frenchman, and he now exchanged a meaningful glance with Tolly and Ho. The French would surely love to get their hands upon the secret of the miniaturized atomium boiler. But with the Governor expecting them for dinner, Rufus could not quite believe the Comte would try abduction, right here in Port Victoria. After only a moment’s pause he climbed into the carriage.

At the Consulate the Comte de Montlosier greeted them more cordially than ever. He seemed genuinely delighted with the prospect of pleasing his guests.

“My friends! I have something for you. The first consignment of some wonderful French technology arrived zis morning. You must ‘ave one as a token of ze entente cordiale!”

He gestured to a long wooden case lying on a mahogany table in front of them, and then opened it with a flourish.

“Voila! Ze brand new 8mm Fusil Lebel – Lebel Rifle, with revolutionary Poudre B smokeless ammunition. Smaller, more compact, much more powerful, full metal jacket cartridge… you see? A repeating bolt-action with eight-round tube magazine. It is the finest achievement of French military technology and it is my honour to present it to you – inventors of the most remarkable miniature atomium boiler.”

Tolly hefted the Lebel and looked it over with an experienced eye. Slightly heavier than the trusty Martini-Henry, if it really held eight or more rounds it would be an impressive weapon.

“These sights are ranged all the way out to 2,400 meters. The Martini-Henry only has 1,800 yards… mind you, no-one can really hit anything beyond about a third of that range.”

“Yes – I see you know rifles well Monsieur Carnehan. The Lebel bullet has a higher velocity, flatter trajectory; it is reasonably accurate at 800m - at least 200 meters more zan a black powder weapon. And ze bullet will still kill at two and a half kilometres.”

The friends were impressed. Walter and particularly Thaddeus, felt that a return gift was in order. Luckily, they had a spare Mighty Apple atomium boiler on the ship. They decided to present it to the Comte. Rufus was dubious. When the Comte left to order some refreshments he turned to the others.

“Why do we want the bleedin’ French to ‘ave it?”

“They’ll get the Mark I reactors soon enough in any case, we are selling dozens of them.” Thaddeus replied. “And don’t worry, they won’t be able to understand it.”

The Comte was overwhelmed with delight when, later that afternoon, the crate was finally delivered from the space-port and the boiler demonstrated. The gift, he exclaimed, surpassed his wildest imaginings.

The conversation turned to the French research on the Oolong heat-ray. The critical component was the crystal that emitted and somehow focussed the beam of heat. These could not be manufactured and, it was thought, were mined somewhere on Mars. Most of the rest of the weapon was now more or less understood. The crystal was energised by enormous amounts of electrical energy. The Oolongs created this using hydraulics and other rare Martian crystals that were piezoelectric, but in theory the bursts of ultra high voltage electricity could be supplied by other means, and the French (and no doubt the British) had scientists working on this.

Gong Ho noticed the time.

“We have to go eat in Officers Mess soon. I think we should go.”

“Ah yes, ze famous British cuisine awaits. ‘Opefully you will dine upon ze excellent locale delicacy of Martian Land-crab. When we have perfected ze heat ray we will be able to hunt and cook it simultaneously. Au revoir mes amis!”

*		*		*		*		*

At the entrance of the Mess the Five were met by Barding, now in dress uniform, and escorted to the dining room. There they found three other officers sipping sherry. A stout man with a white moustache proved to be Colonel Wearing, the President of the Mess, next to him stood a sardonic young man introduced as Captain Hugh Bristick at whose elbow hovered the short and plump Lieutenant Arthur Fatly, who seemed to find everything amusing, particularly Bristick’s jokes.

“I say, Barding, is that Chinaman here to dine or to serve on table?” Bristick wondered out load.

“He’s my guest!” Barding snapped back. “There is no colour bar here Bristick, and you know it.”

The door opened and in strode the slight but erect figure of Field Marshal Lord Garnet Wolseley. He was accompanied by a tall, heavy man - Lord George Macartney, Her Majesty’s Ambassador to Venus. Colonel Wearing seated them next to himself at the head of the table and the gong was sounded. A large silver salver was brought in and the dome removed to reveal a huge dish of steaming crab-meat.

“You are taking a break from Venus then, Lord Macartney?” Walter asked.

“Yes, I was advised to leave until the current crisis has blown over. Return to Earth might be read as diplomatic retreat, so I’m here instead.”

“Is the crisis serious?” Tolly asked. “We have been travelling and seem to have missed the news.”

“A dreadful business. The Venusian Ambassador was shot dead in London last week. The Venusians are furious.”

“It must have been just as we were leaving earth,” said Rufus. “Who did it?”

“A young roué called Theo De Montfort, the black sheep of a very old family. Somehow got into an official function and shot Ambassador Thama-dour before blowing his own brains out. What little there were of them. Of course the Venusians don’t really believe the story and suspect we did away with Thama-dour for our own reasons. My Venusians friends said that my own life was in danger and the High Councillor asked me to leave for the time being.”

As the plates were cleared away High Bristick pulled a newspaper cutting from inside his jacket.

“I say, have you heard Oscar Wilde’s latest ditty? There’s a verse about Mars – I’ve got it here:

Look kindly ‘pon the Martian, and do not judge him cruel, Just because he tried to steal our world and drink out blood like gruel, Have we not sailed the oceans blue to make out empire grand By shooting Johnnie Native and taking over his land? And while we get about by rickshaw, or carried on a seat At least Mister Martian goes upon his own three feet.”

Fatly chortled heartily at this. Barding, however, glowered and banged his spoon down onto the table. Bristick and Fatly exchanged expectant smiles.

“The Oolongs are no laughing matter. Do you think the threat is over? They are just waiting – and when they do attack we’ll be lucky to keep a foothold on Mars!”

“Oh come now,” exclaimed Bristick in mock surprise, “we beat them soundly last time. I hope they do make trouble – that way we can finish them off properly.”

Barding’s face darkened. Fatly’s smirk became a snigger.

“You fools know nothing! The Tharks had already won almost all the territory we control now. The Oolongs gave up very little. They bought time! Time to make new war machines…”

“Yes, very good Major.” Colonel Wearing spoke loudly. “We appreciate your point of view...”

“Yes, but no-one does anything. If we are to stand a chance next time… we must arm the Tharks.”

“You’re just completely soft on those Greenies of yours, Barding.” Bristick drawled. He turned to Fatly and said in a stage whisper. “He’s got a Thark mistress you know – can you imagine? Trying to roger a stick insect?”

Fatly tittered but Colonel Wearing got to his feet.

“Bristick! You will take that back! I’ll not have that talk in my Mess.”

“Oh? Very well sir. I apologise to the Captain.”

Gong Ho decided to use the toilet and slipped unobtrusively away from the table as the gweilos squabbled. He made his way down the marbled corridor and into the lavatory. He stood in the cool breeze from the window to use the urinal and listened to the unfamiliar noises of the Red Planet.

But something was wrong… a sound that did not belong. It took a moment for him to work out what it was. Then it came again – unmistakable - the sound of a Tiger’s Claw climbing device used on stone. The sound of a kung fu assassin scaling a wall.

Ho stuck his head out of the window and craned his head around to look up. Some six feet above him was a figure clad in black, clinging to the stone facing of the wall. The figure looked down and their stares locked. In that instant Gong Ho knew his opponent. An adept of the Black Dragon Society, ancient counterparts and rivals of the White Lotus.

A split-second later the climbing figure released his grip and dropped directly for Gong, leg outstretched. Ho just had time to jerk is head back through the window and spring back as his assailant vaulted through the opening to land cat-like before him. Gong now saw that he was clad from head to foot in ninja-style black silk. He had assumed, or appeared to have assumed, Tiger Stance, ready for any attack to his head. Two piercing eyes glared at him from above the facecloth. ‘Begone White Lotus. Do not come between the Black Dragon and its prey,’ the stare said.

Gong adopted a Unicorn Stance, ready to deliver an uppercut, and gazed coolly back. ‘Bring it on.’

There was a blur of movement as both men leapt, but as he sprung forward Gong lost his footing on the smooth marble floor and slipped backwards. In an instant the Black Dragon was upon him. But even as he stooped to deliver the killing blow, Gong twisted, one hand on the floor, and smashed his foot into his opponent’s knee with crushing force. There was the sickening crack of breaking bone and the man dropped like a sack. An instant later Gong’s hand struck a Qi point on the man’s neck and laid him unconscious on the floor. An old trick, the False Fall, Gong reflected, but an irresistible trap for a certain sort of predatory fighter. How like a Black Dragon to have taken the bait. He called for Major Barding and the guards, and quickly searched the assassin, tying his hands with his own belt.

The lavatory was suddenly full of armed men. When Barding stuck his head out of the window to see the Black Dragon’s route he became pale beneath the deep tan of his face.

“Good Lord. He was directly below Lord Macartney’s quarters.”

“Major, this man is the most deadly and committed assassin you can imagine. You will never get a word out of him and he will escape from your most secure plison. It would be better if he died trying to escape.”

“Are you serious?” Barding asked.

“Entirely, Major. You will not be able to hold him.”

Barding gave Gong a long look, and the turned to the guards.

“The prisoner needs air, take him to the window.”

Somehow, and no-one present was able to recollect quite how it happened, the Black Dragon seemed to struggle for a moment and then fell out the window to crash onto the flagstones below. The sentries below called up that he was dead of a broken neck. Gong let out a sigh of relief.

“What did the bugger ‘ave on ‘im?” Rufus asked.

“Just Tiger Claws for climbing… and this.” Gong opened his hand to reveal a large blue gemstone that filled the room with a soft light.

“A Venusian glow-gem! I have heard of them but never seen one.”

“Does that mean he was working for the Venusians?”

“I don’t think so.” Ho replied. “Black Dragon Society sometimes work for money but was fanatically loyal to the Ming. I cannot see them serving aliens.”

“But the Ming dynasty died out.”

“There is one who claims descent from them. His name is Fu Ming Fan Manchu.”

*		*		*		*		*

The following morning found the companions seated in Barding’s office, now attired in the hard-wearing clothing recommended for the plains of Mars. The captain placed a small leather bag on a shoulder strap and what looked like a photographer’s tripod onto his desk.

“Take this field heliograph. The House of Nazang is not far as the crow flies, just across the Zab-Iss Canyon, but it’s the best part of day’s trek by thoat. It should be safe enough and you should be in sight of the heliograph tower most of the time and can send a message if need be; there is a constant watch. If you are out of sight or need help at night use this Very Pistol…”

Barding produced a fat brass pistol and leather cartridge belt.

“A white flair and I’ll send a thoat patrol out to you. In an emergency send up a blue one and we’ll rush a dactyl rider or airship to you. If you use a red one I’ll come myself in the service airship with plenty of firepower.”

Walter slung the heliograph and its tripod over his shoulder. Thaddeus picked up the flare-gun and placed it into it’s well-worn holster.

“Thank you Major. Is there anything else we should know?”

“Not much, this is a very safe region. As you know, there are four main dangers for travellers.”

He ticked them off on his fingers. “Hostile Tharks – but there are none of those for hundreds of miles. Wild dactyls – if they start to circle a few rifle shots usually drives them off. Land crabs – you’re fine on thoat-back but don’t get caught on foot. The banth is the big ambush predator - attacks are rare around here but it is worth taking a howdah pistol just in case. Do you have one?”

“’Fraid not.” Said Rufus. “Got a sawn-off though.”

“And an elephant-gun!” Added Walter.

“That’s good. The banth and the land-crab take more stopping than a regular revolver bullet. I’d better lend you a Lancaster pistol, just in case. The banth hunts alone, one good shot with this should do for it. Land-crabs are not fast but they hunt in swarms, and can be very dangerous if they catch you. But if you drop the first one the rest usually stop to feed on it, so you can get away.”

Barding took a huge double-barrelled pistol and box of outsized cartridges from a drawer. The weapon reminded Rufus of his sawn-off shotgun and he scooped it up with interest.

“You've all got goggles, I see. That’s good; it rarely rains here but it often sands.”

“Sands?”

“Sandfall. Quite common. Sand is constantly sucked up into the upper atmosphere by cyclones and falls from time to time. And, of course, there is every sort of sandstorm too, when the wind gets up.”

The captain now led the way down to the courtyard below. There they found a string of strange six-legged reptiloid beats, already saddled and bridled for the trip. By them stood a near-naked thark, attaching a water-skin to the lead animal.

“This is Foremash. He’s a good guide and has a few words of English.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Walter raised his hat. The thark nodded gravely in return.

They climbed up into the unfamiliar saddles while Barding and Foremash passed them their reins.

“Good trip. I’ll expect you tomorrow evening.”

With that they were off, swaying along the main street and through the gateway of the city into the vast red desert.”

*		*		*		*

Tolly squinted, one-eyed, into the bright sky, and took a swig of water from the bottle hung on his saddle. They had been riding along the western edge of the Zab-Iss canyon all morning and the track now turned and started to descend into the enormous ravine. High above them a cluster of black winged shapes were wheeling. They had been getting slowly closer for the last hour, Tolly thought. He called to the guide and pointed.

“Foremash. Should we be worried about those dactyls?”

The warrior raised one hand to shade his eyes, while two more went to the rifle case on his saddle and slipped the weapon clear of the leather.

“Maybe. Maybe too close.”

Tolly already had the Lebel to his shoulder. He had been curious to try the new rifle ever since he clapped his eye on it in Montlosier’s office. He drew a bead on a black outline and squeezed the trigger. The rifle gave a sharp crack. Less recoil than the Martini-Henry, he noted, and miraculously, there was no smoke at all.

The dactyls turned sharply in flight and began to flap away. Tolly had not expected a hit at this range, but the bullet must have either clipped one or been close enough to give them a good fright. Tolly worked the bolt and returned the Lebel to its case. Nice piece, he thought.

The thoats were shuffling down the steep path now, occasionally sliding on sections of steep scree, and the riders had to concentrate on keeping their balance. Below they could see a narrow winding thread of silver; the great River Iss that wound it’s way across half the hemisphere, although it would be counted little more than a brook on earth. Slowly they made the descent to the canyon floor to find it entirely dry, the Iss flowing underground for a stretch at this point, and began to make their way up the steep path on the other side.

Rufus was finding the heat oppressive. It was mid-day now and the canyon walls blocked the breeze that had made the ride on the plains more bearable. He was glad to see that they were nearly at the top now, winding their way between a series of great boulders. Then, the thoat ahead of him suddenly shied violently to the left, throwing Walter from the saddle and onto the stony ground. To the right, the red rocks were somehow on the move, flowing inexplicably towards the fallen man. Then Rufus saw the mass of giant spindle-legs and realised that he was looking at a swarm of land-crabs, their shells the same colour as the rocks around them.

In an instant Rufus had drawn the Lancaster howdah pistol and levelled it at the nearest creature. It was monstrous; four feet across the body with its legs and huge claws stretching twice as wide again. He let it have the first barrel between it’s weirdly spaced and staring eyes. With a thunderclap, a hole was blasted through the shell.

His thoat bucked at the sound, but Rufus kept his seat, ears ringing. The land-crab collapsed in spasms, its legs twitching madly. Foremash was shouting something. Walter scrambled to his feet. Rufus aimed at the next giant crab and fired again. The creature seemed to jump straight up in the air. There were shots behind him as other members of the party found and fired their weapons. The thoats were braying and backing wildly, but Gong had managed to swing Walter up onto his thoat and three or four giant crabs were now twitching in the sand.

The next instant the flow of crustacean bodies halted; or rather turned in on itself, surrounding the stricken crabs. There was a sickening clacking sound, like giant castanets, and the swarm began to feed upon its fallen leaders.

“Come on! Come on! This way!”

Foremash was shouting, urging the riders along a side-path, away from the swarm. The thoats struggled up the steep slope, rushing but unable to bolt. They found themselves emerging, at last, from the stifling heat of the canyon, to see the great red plains stretching around them once more.

*		*		*		*		*

The House of Nazang was perched on the edge of the Zab-Iss Canyon, one massive domed building made from red-brown stone surrounded by a wall with a sugar-loaf shaped tower at each corner. As they approached they could see another line of thoats approaching the gateway, raising a trail of dust. Tolly nudged his beast closer to their guide.

“Foremash; is that another caravan?”

“Yes. Tharks come to trade. I will also trade.”

“What for?”

“Foremash get smaash.”

“Eh?” “Smaash. A sort of flour made from the dried taytu tuber.” Thaddeus explained. “It is the food staple here on Mars.”

They were approaching the gateway now. In the shadow of the wall they saw what looked like a monstrous mechanical spider, and sitting in the midst of this strange conveyance, an Oolong. The mass of glistening yellow-brown skin, the trailing tentacles, the great bloated head. Walter shivered, it was as repellent as any image from the propaganda posters of the Martian War. He noticed that the thing was staring at him with its huge sunken eyes, glistening darkly… could it somehow read his mind?

Thaddeus cleared his throat. “Greetings!”  He called in his best Martian.

With a soft pneumatic hiss the Oolong turned to look at him.

Information Request: Please state a.	Name b.	Occupation / attachment on Mars c.	Purpose of visit d.	Gender* e.	Age* [* indicates optional information]

Thaddeus introduced each of them and explained that although Foremash had business to conduct they had principally come to see something of Oolong culture. The creature paused for a moment, and then replied.

Certificate of merit To: Thaddeus carruders For: excellent command of martian language

Request TO enter: granted.

They passed through the gateway. The walls were massive, Rufus noted, twenty feet thick, and fifty or more high. They seemed to be carved from solid rock. Inside they saw a paved plaza bordered by fields bursting with densely planted rows of crops. Some way away they could see a taller six-legged machine, driven by an Oolong, tending to one of the fields. On the plaza was laid out a strange sort of market. Several Tharks were inspecting neat piles of agricultural produce. Others were loading large sacks onto thoats. To one side were a line of metal chairs with strange tubing and rows of glass jars containing a dull red liquid. Gong turned to Foremash.

“What those chairs for?”

“Trading blood. One bottle for one sack smaash.”

So saying the Thark dismounted and approached the Oolong attendant. A moment later the friends saw him sitting in one of the chairs, a needle inserted into his armpit. Rufus hacked and spat.

“Bleedin’ Martians!”

Thaddeus was attempting to engage the door-warden in conversation, but was making slow progress. In response to his initial questions he was told:-

Fact Sheet: The House of Nazaang is an ancient establishment, famous for:- a.	Watchmaking b.	Hydroponic engineering It signed an independent disarmament agreement with the British Administration in 1881 but also agreed to be bound by the conditions of the 1882 Martian armistice.

Thaddeus asked about the market and fields around them. The reply was brief and to the point.

Frequently Asked Questions: The main agricultural products of the House of Nazaang are:- a.	Smaash. (Dried Taytu starch-powder) b.	Vakula juice c.	Martian Breadfruit

They had travelled far to visit the House of Nazang, Thaddeus explained, would it be possible to visit it? You must have a wonderful library. He was himself a scientist and would be eternally grateful, he explained, if he could see it.

Information Return a.	We have no food suitable for humans b.	We have hydrogen oxide to trade if required by humans c. visitors are not permitted in buildings D. Visitors must leave the plaza before dark

Walter, however, could not take his eyes from the smoothly moving parts of the six-legged machine in which the Oolong sat. He marvelled at the precision of its movements, the wondrous complexity of design.

“Thaddeus. I must have one of those vehicles. Ask him what he would take to sell it to me.”

“We cannot buy it with money, Walter. Trade with the Oolong in any precious metal or currency is forbidden by the terms of the Armistice. And I can’t think of which we might trade for it.”

Rufus, however, could think of something. He had kept back several chests of opium from his sale in Chinatown.

“Why don’t we see if Johnny Oolong ‘ere is partial to a bit of dope?”

“You have some?”

Rufus rummaged in his saddle-bag and pulled out what looked like a cricket-ball wrapped in paper.

“I never travel without a sample.”

The trade was swiftly done. The Oolong took the sample into the main building while the humans, much to Thaddeus’s frustration, were obliged to wait in the plaza. Eventually the gatekeeper returned and after some brief haggling the price was set at a chest’s worth of opium for one hexpod walker. Walter was ecstatic. Somewhat to their surprise, the Oolongs allowed them to take the hexpod with them in exchange for a signed guarantee on the opium delivery.

That evening they camped with the other Tharks who had come to trade. As the evening darkened into night they found themselves sitting around the thoat-dung fires that the Tharks had made. Walter was making up his bed on the hexpod when Foremash approached him.

“I have spoken to the owners of the thoat-cart. They have agreed to lend it to us so that we can bring the walker back to Port Victoria.”

“Good man Foremash! I can’t wait to get this little beauty on-board.”

*		*		*		*		*

Three days later found the friends standing on the Port Victoria Airfield as the sun rose, surrounded by their bags and baggage. Samantha, who had refused to be left behind, was bent over the heliograph bag, fiddling with the straps.

“I say! There’s a sight for sore eyes!”

They turned to see a tall spare man, clad in aviator’s costume, approaching with Barding. He gave them a broad, gap-toothed grin, and shook each of their hands in turn, lingering rather too long over Samantha’s, Thaddeus thought.

“Wichard De Arstedly, at your service Gentlemen… and Mademoiselle.”

De Arstedly, it turned out, was the captain of one of the service airships that ran supplies out to the forts in the south. He had agreed to drop the companions off at the village of the local Thark headman, not far from the ruined city. As they loaded their gear into the airship Barding approached with three Tharks carrying ammunition boxes and some sacks.

“This letter is for Lord Haberdash, the headman of the village. I promised to send some ammunition and flour out when I got the chance – so here it is. Give him my regards. And good luck.”

The door closed and the hum of the engines rose as they lifted off the ground and turned ponderously South. The cupola cabin was a pleasantly roomy affair, Rufus thought, with polished wooden stairs leading up into the main body of the craft and the cargo hold. They piled their baggage in one corner and took to the upholstered chairs by the windows.

Samantha rather frostily declined De Arstedly’s offer to sit next to him in the cockpit at the front of the cupola, but the air captain was in a chatty mood and was happy to talk to Tolly instead.

“I’m jolly pleased to be able to help you out, you know. This is my weekly run to Fort Waglan, and your stop is pwetty much on my way. Its not too far - about two thousand miles – should be there in about twelve hours.”

In the lower gravity of Mars, De Arstedly explained, airships could carry a good deal of weight, particularly when the buoyancy of helium (found abundantly on Mars) was augmented with anti-gravity generators, as in his ship. Airships were far less expensive that spaceships, and just as useful for routine transport. The only difficulty was the storms, which were frequent and ferocious. But one could usually get above them, or if need be, simply run before them.

But the weather was calm and De Arstedly kept the airship at about a thousand feet, so the passengers could gaze out across the endlessly rolling red plains. They saw little sign of life except passing flights of dactyls, and the occasional herd of wild or domestic thoats that stampeded one way or another as the airship’s shadow passed over them. Gong sat next to Samantha. At her request he had been teaching her the basics of Kung Fu and was reasonably satisfied with his pupil’s progress. For a beginner she showed plenty of spirit, he reflected, and a certain inner rage. Richard De Arstedly had better keep his hands to himself, he reflected, for his own good.

It was early evening when they spotted a thin line of smoke in the distance and, as they approached, made out a cluster of small domed buildings within a perimeter wall. As De Arstedly began to descend they saw Tharks spill out of doorways and a group make their way out of the compound towards them. At their head stood a dignified figure, somewhat older than the rest. De Arstedly grounded the craft and then hopped over to the door, kicking the folding steps down to the ground. Thaddeus stepped down with him.

“Lord Haberdash?”

“I am.”

“Major Barding sent us with this letter, and these supplies.”

They unloaded the consignment and the Tharks took up the ammunition boxes and flour sacks with evident satisfaction. De Arstedly was in a hurry to be off. He pointed to the horizon.

“There’s a wuddy gweat stowm blowing up over there. I’d better be in Fort Waglan before it hits.”

He could not leave, however, before a Thark family bustled aboard, glad of a flight to the Fort. As the airship began to lift off De Arstedly stuck his head out of the window.

“Toodle-oo. I’ll be back on Fwiday to pick you up!”

As the airship receded Haberdash solemnly invited the travellers to enter the village. There were some three-dozen dwellings, each a dome made of smooth red mud-brick, surrounded by a twelve-foot wall of the same material, punctuated by slender turrets. In the centre was a small plaza and a conical tower topped by a platform. Stools were brought out and they sat in the open. Haberdash introduced his daughter, Kalishi, and the members of his council Karwash, Sourmash and his military commander, Gaybash. He read Barding’s letter slowly and, at length, spoke.

“Kuaar Baradin writes here that you wish to go to the Nameless City. But it is an evil place. A cursed place. You should not go.”

“We thank you for your warning.” Thaddeus replied. “But we must go, whatever the danger. We would be grateful for a guide.”

“It is strange.” Haberdash added. “Two days ago five other humans also came to visit the nameless City. I did not agree, But they went anyway.”

“Who were these humans?” Thaddeus asked.

“Frenchmen. Their leader was named Bal-lok.”

At that moment there came a shout from a guard on one of the turrets. In the distance they saw a dactyl, and as it approached they made out a rider on its back. The huge creature swooped once over the village, circled and then landed on the platform of the tower above them. The rider slipped off his steed and, pulling off his helmet and goggles, came down the steps to talk to Haberdash and several other Tharks. Thaddeus could not follow the rapid conversation but he saw that their expressions were grave. A moment later and the dactyl and rider swooped low overhead and turned to clear the wall on its return journey and the old lord was returning to the circle of stools.

“That messenger was from Urigubu. There is news of a Turuq raiding party coming this way.” He turned and looked south. “They ride with the storm.”

Gong Ho followed his gaze. The horizon was hidden by a vast wall of muddy red cloud.

“Is that… sand?” He asked, incredulous.

“I reckon it is.” Said Tolly. He had heard of something similar on the North West Frontier; Dushmani tribesman would use a dust-storm to cover their advance, and attack when visibility was so low that British rifles had no advantage.

Haberdash called out some orders and all around them Tharks sprang into action. Thoats were penned, gates closed; Thark women and children were bustled indoors; armed warriors appeared and took up station on walls or towers. Samantha turned to Rufus.

“He said Turuqs were coming. Who are these Turuq?”

“Slaver Tharks. They raid the friendly tribes and sell captives to the Oolongs; that’s what Barding said, anyway. No doubt they’d get more for a nice young English lady. Best get out of sight.”

Thaddeus turned to agree, but found that his mouth was suddenly full of sand. The air became thick with flying grit, so dense there seemed no room left for air. They pulled on their sand-goggles. The world seemed to dissolve around them, Habberdash and his warriors became vague shapes, dwellings just a few yards away became dark smudges amid a general swirling brown.

They heard shots, muffled by the sandstorm, and the next moment the wall directly ahead of them became alive with silhouettes as raiders swarmed over the wall. Tolly dropped to one knee, the Lebel cradled against his shoulder. There was a crack and one of the attackers dropped backwards off the wall. Walter had a vision of grit flooding his Webley’s delicate mechanism, and unslung his elephant gun instead. Thaddeus levelled his revolver and fired, knocking down a raider just as he jumped to the ground. There was a crash as Walter’s shot struck another Turuq, blasting him back off the wall.

Out of the murk came a fusillade of bolts. There was a rush of bodies as the raiders jumped down like monstrous locusts and raced forward. Tolly snapped home a second round and put a bullet through the chest of the first raider before he could close, but several more immediately took his place. There was a grunt to his right and he saw that a bolt had struck Thaddeus in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. But with the speed of a pouncing lioness, a slim figure bounded from a doorway to stand astride the fallen professor, one arm outstretched. With a crack, Samantha gunned down the Thark closest to her and, thumbing back the hammer, raised her aim to coolly fell another scaling the wall behind.

But the press of numbers was too great to be held back, to Tolly’s left a dozen or more yelling raiders were charging in amongst the adventurers. One bolt hissed past Tolly’s ear, but another struck home in his side, just below the ribs.

Rufus had the sawn-off in one hand and a kukri in the other. As the raiders closed the distance he gave the leader both barrels in the chest before dropping the gun and drawing the second kukri. A Turuq struck at him from the left, and Rufus blocked the blow with his left kukri before spinning to lash out with his right, feeling the heavy blade slice deeply into his opponent’s neck, dropping him like a slaughtered ox at his feet.

Gong Ho stood calmly in Tiger stance, letting the nunchaku slip from his sleeve into one hand. The Tharks favoured a two-handed pole-arm, he saw, reasonable enough for warriors with four hands he reflected, and giving them considerable reach. As the first lowered his blade for a thrust, Gong leapt over the weapon, smashing his side-kick into the green jaw and sending his opponent hurtling backwards. As he landed, catlike on his feet, Gong swept the nunchaku down to crash onto the bald head of the next raider, sending him reeling to the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Tolly gripped the bolt that pierced his left side. It had gone clean through the flesh to the side of his stomach, piercing a couple of inches, and sticking out behind. But to Tolly it was little more than a flesh wound. The barb was clear of his skin at the back and with a grunt he wrenched the rest of the bolt through the wound and cast it away.

There was a shrill cry from behind them. Turning, Rufus saw three Turuq dragging a female Thark from Haberdash’s dwelling, and realised they had seized the headman’s daughter, Kalishi. They were hurrying away from the party and Rufus leapt after them. Wheeling, one drove at him with his glaive, but Rufus sidestepped, sprang forwards, and struck out with both kukris in a double backhanded slash. There was a shower of blood as both blades cut cleanly home, all but decapitating the raider, whose headless body sagged to its knees in the sand. Rufus stepped over the corpse, but saw that the other two Turuq had already hauled their captive around the far side of the hut.

But Gong had also heard the cry. As Rufus cut down the first slaver, he made a gigantic leap, bounding onto the roof of the hut. Now he sprang down onto the Turuq, smashing his side-kick into the neck of the first opponent and sending him sprawling like a broken puppet to the floor. The remaining raider levelled a bolt-gun at the martial artist, but before he could pull the trigger Rufus let fly with his right-hand kukri and the heavy blade crashed into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

Tolly worked the bolt on his Lebel, slammed home another round and fired, stretching a raider on the sand. Beside him Walter and Samantha were keeping up a steady revolver fire. But the attackers were drawing off now, he saw, and Samantha bent down to the stricken professor.

Thaddeus was feeling most peculiar. His entire shoulder and side had become quite numb as a result, he assumed, of some drug on the Turuq bolt. Time seemed to be slowing. All the better to slave you with… he thought, and then wondered what that was supposed to mean. The sound of battle was fading… was he loosing consciousness? No, the raiders were definitely falling back.

Haberdash appeared with a group of warriors and embraced his daughter. The sandstorm was lessening now and in the growing light they saw bodies, already half covered with dust, lying all about them. A few struggling shapes by the wall were all that remained of the Turuq attackers, and they were soon dealt with by village warriors.

Thaddeus was taken into the headman’s house and Sourmash, the village seer, skillfully extracted the barbed bolt from his shoulder. Thaddeus probed his wound as best he could with one arm. He was relieved to see that the bolt had missed the subclavian artery.

“Don’t worry. The bolts are not poisoned, only drugged. just rest.”

Sourmash treated the wound with salve from a small and highly polished gourd. Thaddeus was astonished when he felt a small but immediate improvement.

“That is wonderful medicine. Do you have some I could have?”

“It is rare.” The old Thark replied. “But you fought bravely. I make you this gift.” He passed Thaddeus the gourd.

Haberdash stood on the plaza in the midst of his victorious warriors. He waved the adventurers to join him.

“You fought well, Companions of Kuaar Baradin. You will always be welcome here. Rufash and Gongo; you have great skill and you saved my daughter. I name you ‘bani’ - Great Warriors. Salute!”

The Tharks cheered, Thaddeus translated, and Rufus and Gong exchanged glances.

But Thaddeus had an interest of his own to pursue. He had noticed that many of Haberdash’s warriors were armed with a Martian weapon he had never seen before. Longer and heavier than the usual pneumatic boltguns, these were made of polished hardwood and the yellow alloy they called Martian brass. Amid the celebration, he found out that the prized jar bagash ‘heavy boltguns’ fired exploding bolts – rounded canisters about the size of a large candle. Thaddeus bought one and ten bolts in exchange for a Martini-Henry rifle and a gold sovereign, both parties seemingly well satisfied with the arrangement.

*		*		*		*		*

They left the village at dawn, riding borrowed thoats and following Mishmash, their guide. Haberdash had reluctantly agreed to help them make their way to the Nameless City, as he called the ruins, repeating his warning many times.

“Do not enter. It is evil and haunted by demons.”

Now they had, for several hours, been picking their way across a vast boulder-strewn plain, taking care to control their mounts, which were far less docile than Foremash’s steady beasts. Rufus, however, was congratulating himself on having chosen the finest of the riding-thoats. His mount’s glossy scaly skin rippled with well-disciplined muscle, its bloodshot eyes rolled and stared with respect and obedience. It’s six-legged gait was brisk and sure-footed, and - he realised with growing alarm – becoming increasingly fast… He reined in, but this seemed to madden the beast still more, and it burst into a gallop.

Rufus’s thoat cannoned into Walter’s, barging past it, and then rocketed ahead, speeding past Mishmash to vault over a low boulder with a single bound. Rufus, somehow still clinging to the crazed beast’s back, could only call over his shoulder.

“Dahnt worry… all - under - control!” As he careered away.

Mishmash whipped up his steed and set off after him, followed by the others in a straggling line. The runaway thoat was heading directly for a small hill in the middle distance. It shot between two boulders, vaulted over a third and then disappeared from sight down a small ravine. As the animal bucketed madly up the other side Rufus finally lost his grip and was thrown from its back.

Suddenly air-born, Rufus twisted desperately to avoid landing on a large rock, and managed instead to come down on his feet, landing in soft sand. He breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing broken. He had sunk deeply into the sand and as he tried to raise one leg he found that the other slipped more deeply under. He was already up to his waste in the stuff. As Mishmash arrived and reined in his thoat he saw the Londoner slip completely beneath the surface of the sand, leaving a large hole behind him.

The others arrived and crowded around the whole. Rufus looked up at them.

“I’m fine. There’s a cave down ‘ere.”

“Well let’s drop you a rope and get you out.” Said Walter.

“Ang on. There’s something mechanical down here. I can ‘ere it.”

“Here Lufus. Use this.” Gong Ho dropped a small shining object into the hole.

Rufus held up his hand and the Venusian glow-gem blazed brightly, filling the cave with an eerie blue light. The sound, a soft regular whooshing noise, was coming from a crack at the far end, and as he approached it Rufus saw metal gleam for a moment and then disappear. Peering through a crevice he saw a large circular shaft, cut straight down into the rock. A second later, a huge piston plunged down the shaft to pause for a moment and then rise again.

He turned to the four others who were dropping down behind him into the cave, leaving Mishmash and Samantha to look after the thoats.

“Some sort of big piston shaft. I can see a doorway the other side of it.”

“Hidden Martian machinery, Thaddeus!” Said Walter.

“I think we must investigate, Walter!” Said Thaddeus.

The rock was loose and somewhat crumbly, and they had soon made the crevice large enough to admit a man. Gong Ho found a good foot placement and waited for the piston to rise. The next instant he leapt across the yawning gap, landing and rolling onto the metal floor the other side, just before the huge piston descended again. Each followed until just Walter (??) [Rufus ??] remained. As he jumped a stone rolled beneath his heel and he stumbled, tried to stop himself, and then leapt desperately – and too late. The gigantic piston raced down, clipping his shoulder so that he was spun upside down like a rag-doll to crash onto the floor by the others, winded and gasping for breath. Thaddeus examined the shoulder.

“You were lucky. It just clipped you. Nothing broken.”

“I don’t – feel – uh - very – lucky.”

They found themselves in what they assumed was a sort of maintenance room for the huge piston, at the end of a smooth corridor of perfectly rectangular cross-section, carved or melted through the rock. A few yards ahead of them stood a strange steel door. Gong Ho and Rufus studied the lock. It was of alien design, made to receive several key-parts simultaneously, but by using both of their picking tools together they found a way to rotate the mechanism. With a pneumatic hiss the door disappeared into the ceiling above them.

They were standing by a junction. One way led to the left, ahead the corridor turned sharply to the right. Peering around this they saw a dozen or more yards of tunnel beyond which fierce lights illuminated some larger space. There was a pungent but unfamiliar scent in the air, and their ears registered the muffled strains of some weird, piping music.

Rufus and Gong Ho slipped silently forward along the wall on the left and turned the corner. Light shone from a doorway on their right and ahead of them was another steel door. Now they heard something else. Low murmurings of conversation and the click of counters on a table. Keeping to the shadows on the far side of the tunnel, Rufus took a look into the room. Two Turuq guards were sitting at a table, bent in concentration over an arrangement of counters before them. Neither was facing the door. Rufus and Gong exchanged hand gestures. The next moment both slipped noiselessly forward, one on the left, the other on the right.

One guard glanced up, astonished, the next instant Rufus’s kukri slashed through his neck, severing it. As the other opened his mouth to cry out he found Gong’s garrotte around his throat. He gaped silently for a moment, like some enormous green fish, before the wire bit though his arteries and lay him twitching on the floor.

They gathered in front of the mechanical door. The smell was stronger here and the strange music loader. Now they could also hear, or rather feel, a thumping drum beat, pulsing through the metal wall. They readied their weapons and Tolly nodded to Rufus and Gong.

As the door shot open they found themselves in a wash of sound, light and scent. Uncanny organ music filled their ears, hypnotic pipes amid frantic African drumming. Clouds of pungent smoke billowed out to meet them with a musky sweetness that made the heads spin. But what really halted them, dazzled, was the light. The chamber was filled with swirling colour, great glowing patterns that pulsed and flowed with the crazed music.

They were standing, dumbstruck, in a largish smoke-filled chamber, the walls of which danced with light reflected from some crystal device suspended from the ceiling. In the centre of the room writhed a human woman, dancing as if spellbound. Thaddeus saw that she was young and all but naked, clad in a tiny costume made of green silk and golden chain. Beneath a square-cut Egyptian bob of black hair her eyes were closed and her crimson lips parted as if in ecstasy.

Rufus found himself staring at the way the coloured light slid over the dancer’s limbs. Gong had his head to one side, as if trying to make sense of the music. Walter, however, was entirely swept away. He stood enthralled, his senses full to overflowing, his body already swaying to the thumping beat.

Tolly saw that the wall facing the dancing woman was almost entirely covered by a gigantic mirror. At least it looked like a mirror. He levelled rifle at the centre of the glass, and pulled the trigger.

With the crack of the rifle shot the music suddenly stopped, and the multi-coloured lights froze. The glass wall was riven with a radiating spiders-web of cracks. A small piece of glass dropped forward, revealing an open space behind.

As if woken suddenly from a dream, Walter came to his senses. Now he hefted his Webely prototype and raked bullets thunderously across the glass, bringing the whole sheet down in smithereens. They now saw a smaller room behind. In its centre, surrounded by complex controls and instruments, sat an Oolong in its hexpod engine. It sat, stunned for a moment, and then two steel bolts hissed out from its mechanical seat. One narrowly missed Walter, the other struck Tolly’s jacket, nicking his upper arm.

Walter dropped to one knee, but before he could re-cock his Webely, Tolly raised his rifle and put a bullet squarely between the Oolong’s sunken, staring eyes, spattering the thing’s brains on the wall behind.

He turned to see Thaddeus and Rufus supporting the sagging figure of the dancer. She looked around dreamily.

“Wow. Are you real? Who are you guys?”

“Thaddeus Carruders, Mademoiselle, at your service. Might I ask your name and how you come to be here.”

The young woman focused on him with some difficulty.

“Well, thank you, Mister. One Elizabeth Page, of Nashville Tennessee, at your service. And ah don’t rightly know how ah came to be here, how long its been, or just where here is; tho’ ah guess it can’t be earth on account of all the weird green guys. One minute a gentleman is promising me the star spot at the Planter’s Club in Singapore, and the next I’m locked in the hold of a ship for an age. This gal got real good at peeing in a bucket, ah can tell ya!”

“Did this ‘gentleman’ ‘ave a black beard and go by the name of Don Solomon by any chance?” Asked Rufus.

“Say – yes! Do you know him?”

“We met him.” Said Rufus. “Before he was… late.” The five exchanged glances.

Walter was picking his way through the debris in the spy-room. One of the dead Oolongs tentacles was still twined around the shattered light and the music controls.

“Not much we can salvage from this lot, chaps. I say we press on.”

*		*		*		*		*

They took Elizabeth (‘call me Betty’) back to the piston room where Samantha had placed a lantern in the opening, providing intermittent light. They left the women in conversation across the shaft-way, locked the door, and retraced their steps.

Having explored the smaller tunnels they now approached the wider, brightly-lit corridor to the right of their original route. They found themselves at a sort of crossroads. The corridors seemed empty of life, but Rufus could hear a fizzing crackle coming from the right-hand corridor. He and Gong slipped silently forwards to investigate.

On the left was a doorway opening onto a guardroom like the one they had found earlier, but larger. Peering in they saw three Turuq guards, one with his back to them. Rufus stepped noiselessly towards him. The Thark must have sensed something for he suddenly turned his head, but too late. Rufus lashed out with his double backhand swipe and the guard’s head literally flew from his shoulders. As the corpse pitched forwards, jetting blood, Gong leapt over it, his flying sidekick smashing into the neck of the second Turuq, catapulting him against the wall. The remaining Turuq turned to snatch up a bolt-gun, but before he could use it he jolted upright as Tolly’s sabre emerged from his ribcage, before dropping him to the floor.

Having bundled the bodies out of sight as best they could in the sparsely-furnished guardroom, Rufus and Gong re-joined the large corridor and slunk on towards the crackling noise. Peering around the corner they saw a brightly lit room some forty feet square, the centre bathed in the blaze of electrical arc-welding. Long metal tables were littered with pieces of machinery and from the ceiling hung a dozen or more mechanical arms. One of these arms was welding something on one of the tables, while two more held pieces of what looked like an enormous hexpod walking machine. Placing his head on the floor, Gong could just make out the Oolong operating the arms, staring down through a glass window in the ceiling above.

Just then, the crackling blaze of welding stopped. The arms placed the finished component on a table and went limp. Gong saw the Oolong move away from the window above. He slipped into the room, checking the window above, and then waved the others forward.

“Good lord, Walter. This is some sort of hydraulic-magnetic ball-joint.” Exclaimed Thaddeus.

“I say, Thaddeus. This is an armoured carapace for a hexpod.” Said Walter.

“And look.” Thaddeus raised a strange oblong object of dull golden metal. “A fully-charged potassium fuel cell.”

“Let us not be long, Gentlemen.” Said Gong. “Who knows when the Oolong will leturn.”

Hurriedly the two technophiles surveyed the mechanisms, noting down what details they could. Then they retraced their steps to the crossroads, and decided to check the other corridor. Again they found a small guardroom just before the main assembly room, but this one was empty. The workshop was lit, but quiet. The mechanical arms hung motionless, and they could see no Oolong operator in the window above.

But Thaddeus was staring at the long objects laid out on the steel tables.

“Heat rays, Walter. In various stages of completion!”

“And look Thaddeus! A complete heat-ray crystal!”

As the two scientists bustled excitedly around the room, Tolly, Rufus and Gong went back to the main corridor and gazed ahead. Tolly fiddled with his eyepatch.

“I think there may be some large space down there. I can feel air movement.”

“Let’s find aht, before whatever’s aht there finds us.” Said Rufus.

Reluctantly, Walter and Thaddeus followed as the party crept down the main corridor. On their left they found a locked steel door, on their right another small tunnel led off. But ahead of them they could now see that the wide corridor led into some larger space, from which they could hear a distant clanking. A little further they found two small metal rooms that they realised must be large lifts, no doubt leading to the surface and perhaps other levels. Thankfully they were empty and motionless.

But by now the hammering sounds were quite loud and they could see the corridor led into a huge underground cavern. Creeping forward they peered out on a weird scene.

They were on one side of a huge natural cave. On their left they saw twenty or so chained Tharks, mostly women and children, working with picks and mechanical drills, overseen by Turuq guards. On their right they could see piles of rags in some sort of slave-pen, now unoccupied. Ahead of them gaped a neat semi-circular hole carved in the rock, out of which emerged a gleaming monorail track. Here stood another group of Turuqs, and an Oolong fiddling with an instrument panel. But standing in the centre of the cavern floor, towering over the scene, was a giant armoured hexpod.

This was nothing like the small devices that they had seen Oolongs use for personal transport. This was a fighting machine, like the dreaded Tripods that had terrorized earth, but now more heavily armoured and resting on six formidable legs. Beneath it hung two flexible tentacles and, nestled just beneath the metal belly, the unmistakable housing of a heat-ray.

After a whispered Council of War, Tolly, Walter and Thaddeus crawled forwards to lie prone at the cavern mouth, training their weapons. Rufus and Gong stepped over them and slipped into the cavern.

The cavern was lit by arc-lamps high above which left pools of shadow by the larger boulders. Gong and Rufus slipped from one to another of these, tracing a course around the wall to the left, heading for the slave-drivers and the captive Tharks.

They were more than half-way, now, and still the guards gazed at their captives. Then, just as he was approaching knife-throwing range, Rufus slipped. It was a tiny noise, but together with the flicker of accompanying movement it was enough for the guard to notice him.

Rufus leapt forwards into a sprint. For a moment the Turuq gaped stupidly at the shape racing towards him, and then he caught up his bolt-gun, opening his mouth to shout. As he sped over the rocky floor Rufus levelled the Lancaster pistol and let fly. The shot narrowly missed the guard, but he flinched as the bullet flew past his ear. The next moment and Rufus was upon him, sweeping aside the bolt-gun he kicked him backwards, and finished him with a stroke of his kukri.

Tolly, Thaddeus and Walter lay, their weapons trained on what they hoped was the weakest spot on the heat-ray housing of the war machine. Walter held his elephant gun while Thaddeus squinted down the sights of his Martian bolt-gun with explosive ammunition. Tolly held the Lebel lightly, hardly breathing. When Rufus’s shot rang out he squeezed off the round. It was, by any standards, a good shot – at some forty yards and uncertain light, but Tolly had to admit a trace of disappointment when he saw his bullet strike the heat-ray some two inches to the left of his aiming point. Would it be enough to disable the weapon? For surely they could not hope to defeat the machine if its death-ray was working.

There was a boom from his side and Walter’s heavy Bradly-Stuart went off. To Tolly’s amazement a hole appeared exactly two inches to the right of his shot – directly on the weak-point. A moment later the entire heat-ray disappeared in a flash of light at Thaddeus scored a direct hit with his exploding bolt.

The hexpod reeled slightly. The heat-ray rotated to point directly at them.

Nothing happened. With a cheer, Tolly, Walter and Thaddeus jumped to their feet and pressed forwards into the cave.

As Rufus rose from his first victim the other two nearby guards span to face him, levelling their bolt-guns. Then Gong, unseen behind them, smashed his foot into the neck of the first Turuq, who stumbled into the other, upsetting his aim so that the bolt flew high. Rufus let fly with his throwing knife, catching the guard in his green shoulder before Gong flawed him with a punch to the jaw.

There was a hiss of hydraulics behind him and Rufus turned to see the hexpod facing him. Its heat-ray might be out of action, but its two tentacles now stretched out, their ends snapping open to reveal barbed blades.

Gong Ho had been studying the war machine ever since they had entered the cavern. Its armour looked impenetrable, but he had noticed a grill of some sort on its roof. Now he jumped lightly onto a small boulder and, muttering a brief prayer to Budong Mingwang, cast the grappling hook of his Cizhe climbing rope upwards. To his relief, the hook caught firmly and Gong launched himself into space.

Tolly, Walter and Thaddeus turned to look, astonished, as Gong swung like an acrobat right under the belly of the armoured hexpod, and then as the line shortened, jack-knifed straight up into the air, landing like a cat on the roof.

There was a gasp to Tolly’s right and he saw the Turuq guards gazing upwards in horror, one of them raising a boltgun. Before he could fire, Tolly snapped his rifle to his shoulder and put a bullet through the green head. Walter hefted his Webely and prayed the mechanism would work. It thundered into life, knocking down first one and then a second Turuq in a welter of flailing arms and legs.

Gong found the grill fastened by a simple latch. A deft twist with his throwing knife and he had wrenched the hatch open and was looking down on a mass of slimy flesh. The creature had some sort of weapon in its tentacles, but Gong kicked it aside and smashed a fist into the blubbery body before gripping hold of the writhing mass and heaving the Oolong clear of its cockpit to crash down and burst like some obscene melon on the rocks below.

Rufus had snatched up a pick axe and smashed through the lock holding the line of chained Tharks. With a rattle they began to pull themselves loose and reach for improvised weapons. Rufus turned to see the Oolong by the monorail controls was aiming bolts towards Tolly and company. Rufus leapt towards him. With one long leap, longer than the gravity of earth would have permitted, he cleared the metal track of the monorail and landed beside the Oolong, knocking it sprawling with the butt of his Lancaster. He planted a boot on the nexus of its twitching tentacles, and stuck the barrel into its face.

“Fight back why dontcha? Make my day.”

*		*		*		*		*

Now armed, the newly liberated Tharks made short work of clearing the rest of the base of Turuq and surviving Oolongs. It turned out that the slaves were held largely as hostages for members of their family sent to spy on humans, but they were also put to work enlarging the underground base. From the Oolong that Rufus had captured they discovered that the base was one of many working on technology and weapons forbidden by the Armistice. The monorail connected them with Zodanga Oolong territory. The assembly rooms allowed them to construct combat hexpods from shipped parts. One of the chambers they had passed was a projection room showing scenes from hidden lenses on the surface. In the other direction was a hive of giant subterranean insectoids controlled by a chemical ‘queen’, and bred to attack humans. The light-and-sound chamber was an experiment in human mind-control. But Thaddeus was not quite satisfied with this answer.

“Why slave-trade a young woman for this? There must be easier ways to get human captives.”

The Oolong hesitated, then replied:-

Opinion Survey: desirability Ranked from 1 to 5, five being the highest. Human Female -5 Thark Female – 3 Oolong Female – 1

With the help of the Tharks and the mining explosive available they blocked the monorail tunnel. Next, to Walter’s delight, they found that the heat-ray crystal they had discovered was a perfect fit for the one shattered in the fighting hexpod. Testing it they found the weapon now worked. When they finally decided to leave, Walter was able to fit the hexpod into the lift and bring the machine out of the hidden entrance onto the surface, to the astonishment of Samantha and Mishmash when they saw the sinister device walking unsteadily behind Tolly and the rest of the party.

It was still only midday, they found to their surprise, and they rested gratefully in the shade of a huge boulder for lunch.

*		*		*		*		*

It was mid afternoon before the party set off again, making their way towards the top of the low ridge ahead. Betty, now clad in Samantha’s spare clothes, rode Walter’s thoat, and some fifty yards behind Walter more or less succeeded in making the armoured hexpod lumber slowly after the thoats.

They crested the top of the ridge and reined in their mounts, looking down into the basin beyond. Ahead of them stood a low mountain of red stone. Shaped like a shallow ziggurat, the huge ruined city towered over the plain, its outlines so eroded by the sands of time that it almost seemed to be some enormous natural feature.

Mishmash seemed to be looking at something else, however, and Tolly, following his gaze, saw two small white pyramids, nestled into the slope some way ahead.

“Tents. It must be the French expedition.” Tolly said.

“Well, let’s go an’ meet ‘em.” Said Rufus.

Leaving the hexpod and thoats just out of sight with Mishmash and Betty, the other six picked their way down the slope and over a large dune towards the encampment. Two tents stood by a campfire, alongside a string of seven thoats. They were met with a shout from a thark standing by the beasts and two men came out of a tent, one holding a rifle.

As they neared the campfire the two men were joined by the slim figure of a woman from the other tent. She and the shorter of the men stepped forward, as two more men emerged from the tents behind.

“Bonjour!” Called Thaddeus. “Vous êtes français?”

“Naturally. And you, from your accent, are English, no?” The man replied.

He was a short man of about fifty with a pronounced belly. He wore a fez, a well-groomed goatee beard, and silvered pince-nez that caught the light of the sinking Martian sun. The woman was a strikingly beautiful blonde of about thirty in a well-tailored but dusty safari outfit. Her blue eyes regarded them coolly. Thaddeus introduced the party and explained their mission to survey the ruins.

“I am Professor Henri Balloque of the École de Haute Études and zis is my patron, Countessa Esterhazy. But I am sorry to tell you zat zere is nussing of scientific interest here. You should try elsewhere.”

“You may think so, but we are bound to make our own study of the site.” Thaddeus replied.

When it became clear that he could not change their minds, Balloque’s manner changed. He smiled for the first time.

“In zat case let us join our forces! A larger survey team may certainly accomplish more.”

The Countessa also seemed to unbend.

“Allow me to complete our introductions.” She added gracefully. “That is Lazlo, quartier-maître, Jean, my assistant, and Max, the photographer. And that is Balderdash, our native guide…”

“Zis calls for a drink in celebration.” Balloque declared loudly. “Jean! Uncork the bottle of best cognac – ze one saved for special occasions – and glasses for everyone!”

Tolly sensed a change in mood among the foreigners. There was a briskness to their movements that put him on his guard. Rufus and Gong felt it too. They exchanged glances. The drinks were brought out on a silver platter and passed around. Gong knew the tell-tale scent of almost every terrestrial poison. He sniffed but could detect nothing but alcohol in the glass he held. The two groups formed a rough circle, facing each other, and Balloque raised his glass. Walter noted, with some surprise, that all of the French appeared to be left-handed, since all of them held their glasses in that hand.

“A toast! Let us drink to your… Queen Victoria!”

At the signal the foreigners went for their guns. Lazlo, who had never unslung his rifle, swept it up now and went for Tolly; the others pulled revolvers from their holsters or waistbands.

But the adventurers were ready for them, and moved faster yet. There was a thunderous exchange of fire, and when the smoke cleared there was no doubt as to the victors. Although several were wounded, all of the adventurers still stood. Of the foreigners and their guide, only two now lived. The Contessa lay moaning on the floor, one lung and a shoulder shattered by bullets. Balloque was on his knees, blood staining his waistcoat, Thaddeus’s sword-stick transfixing his rib-cage.

There was a shot, and a bullet blasted a hole in Countessa Esterhazy’s blonde head. Shocked, the friends turned to see Samantha returning her pistol to its holster.

“Irritating woman.” She said.

*		*		*		*		*

A search of the camp revealed expensive provisions, an unusually large heliograph, a code-book, and, hidden under some archaeological samples, a Martian heat-ray crystal.

Thaddeus had bandaged Balloque’s chest-wound and although he was breathing raggedly, the archaeologist was alive and able to talk.

“I – claim – diplomatic – immunity.” He grunted. Thaddeus eyed him sternly. Then he spoke in German.

“If you tell us what we need to know I give my word we will see you safely delivered to the authorities in Port Victoria.”

Balloque seemed to consider for a moment. Then he gave a grimace and a nod.

“Very – well.”

“You traded atomium for the heat-ray crystal? How much?”

“Twenty, uh, kilos. Sub-critical mass.”

Tolly was still looking around the tent. By the writing-desk was a shoulder bag. Inside he found a large book. It was clearly very old, bound in a strange pale leather that somehow made his skin crawl. Gingerly he turned to the title page.

Unaussprechlichen Kulten

Unspeakable Cults. Hadn’t he heard of that somewhere? One of the cursed tomes of occult knowledge that was supposed to send the reader mad? He carried it out to show Thaddeus and Balloque. At the sight of it the wounded man gave a grunt of gurgling laughter.

“You read German. Why not have a look? There is much to learn.”

Meanwhile, Gong had been scanning the code-book. Page after page of four-digit numbers. Walter stood and peered over his shoulder.

“That’s interesting. No prime numbers. Looks like tabulated data of some sort.”

“You can make sense of this?” Gong was incredulous.

Walter’s mathematical mind was racing. Taking the book from Gong he spread it on a packing crate and began jotting numbers in the margin. Tabulated data, he was pretty sure now. If it was a Vigenère cipher that would make it … With a flash of insight, Walter realized what he was looking at. An encrypted series of times and sets of sky coordinates. Why? So that a heliograph operator could send messages to a ship. A ship that would be in a certain place at a certain time. The next time for transmission was - let him see – yes, at sunset this evening. And at the back of the book was the one-time pad for the message encryption. Looking closely he saw six tiny marks in ink, each separating a score or more of numbers. The last mark would be where the last message stopped. There were plenty of numbers still to be used. They could send any message they liked, he realized, in the enemy’s own code.

He turned to the others.

“Gentlemen. I have made a most interesting discovery…”

*		*		*		*		*

The sun was setting on the red plain. Thaddeus stood by the heliograph, checking, yet again, the coordinates were correct. Walter, holding a scrap of paper began tapping out the short message.

FDRH BHOI LOSZ JWCP HILM YHUA OKLY

S18 0211 E1375425 kommen zu uns

“Come and get us.”

Tolly looked up into the darkening sky.

“Now we shall see what we shall see.”

The further adventures of Tolly, Rufus, Thaddeus, Walter and Gong will continue in Chapter Four City of Nightmares.