In the dim Water Temple, where the dead grinned
down on the dead, Hale met his D-day. Should he
give an ex-comrade to the torturing Lhrai or
chance the massacre of Terrestrial thousands?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories September 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Hale cut the motor as he swerved off the ancient plastic roadway.His one-man beetle thumped over the shoulder and, wheels whispering,coasted down the sandy, moonlit slope. It threaded between mightylinla cacti that had the size and shape of spaceships towering greyin the night. He braked it to a slanting stop and got out, a big,long-legged man who carefully kept the little car between himself andthe Martian water temple that sat a short distance away where the dunesof the desert began. He thought, Strange to be afraid of getting shotby Randy.
Weiss said, from the shadows, "Better get out of the moonlight, Hale.That beetle won't stop a blaster bolt."
Hale crossed to the clot of men that made dark blurs under the linla.Weiss said, "What took you so long?"
Hale said, "I had to get my gun recharged. Sturm was working on it whenSam came busting in the shop and told me you'd cornered Randy." Hetouched the blaster at his belt, then brought up the hand to get outa cigarette from his jacket pocket. He struck a match on the blasterbutt. "Why call me? Why not call the Patrol?"
Someone stirred in the darkness, clearing a throat. "Patrol never hunga looter yet and as long as Boss Ricco kicks back to Patrol brass, theynever will. This one, we'll take care of personally. The redboys wanthim."
Over the cupped match flame, Hale sent a hard glance in the directionof the voice. "Eight, ten men aren't enough."
Weiss said placatingly, "We were tipped that he'd try this temple.We were waiting for him, but he got past us. First thing we knew, hekilled the guardian inside. We heard the shot. We called on him tosurrender, but hell, he knows what the redboys will do to him if we gethim alive."
Hale said again, "Why call me?"
"You know these old water temples. One narrow entrance, no windows.He can't get out, that's for sure, but we can't get at him withoutlosing a lot of men." Weiss put a hand on Hale's arm, and Hale movedimpatiently and Weiss took it away, saying, "You know Randy better'nany of us."
"We came to Mars together," said Hale. "We worked our way out on thesame crate. We started our farm, but Randy didn't stick. He saidthere was always easy money on a frontier, and Mars shouldn't be anydifferent. Said he preferred four ladies to a hoe."
"He should've stuck to cards," said the man who had cleared his throat.
George Weiss said, firmly, "We want you to go in and talk to him. Youwere his best friend. He'll listen to you. Tell him it's no use."
Hale said, "That's what I figured." He turned to look at the temple,squat and white in the gloom. The doorway was tall and thin and deadblack, and behind it, part of the blackness, was Randy and his gun. Andhe'd be desperate. As Hale turned back he caught a faint, acrid odor,and he knew that a Martian was nearby, crouching, waiting to see thatthis was done right.
"There've been a hundred temples stripped of their twin-stones in thepast year," Weiss said. "Our redboys are getting fed up with it. TheC. A.'s too busy whipping the climate to tend to looters, and thePatrol buys its liquor and mammas with loot money. Half the law is toodamned busy, and the other half's crooked—and we're in the middle. Theredboys have run out of patience."