Robert Sheckley - The Last Weapon

Edsel was in a murderous mood. He, Parke, and Faxon had spent three weeks in this part of the deadlands, breaking into every mound they came across, not finding anything, and moving on to the next. The swift Martian summer was passing, and each day became a little colder. Each day Edsels nerves, uncertain at the best of times, had frayed a little more. Little Faxon was cheerful, dreaming of all the money they would make when they found the weapons, and Parke plodded silently along, apparently made of iron, not saying a word unless he was spoken to.

But Edsel had reached his limit. They had broken into another mound, and again there had been no sign of the lost Martian weapons. The watery sun seemed to be glaring at him, and the stars were visible in an impossibly blue sky. The afternoon cold, seeped into Edsels insulated suit, stiffening his joints, knotting his big muscles.

Quite suddenly, Edsel decided to kill Parke. He had disliked the silent man since they had formed the partnership on Earth. He disliked him even more than he despised Faxon.

Edsel stopped.

Do you know where were 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. Dont fly off, Edsel. Just think of all the money we can make when we find the weapons! The little mans eyes glowed at the thought. Theyre 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 was 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 theyd 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 hadnt counted on the weeks of freezing, starving on concentrated rations, always dizzy from breathing thin, tired air circulating through a replenisher. He hadnt 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 governmentwould pay for those legendary weapons.

Im 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 anytime.

They found the correct mound in mid-afternoon, just as Edsels 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, Ill 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, artforms, tools, everything indicating the ghost of a titanic civilization, a thousand years beyond Earths. 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 hadnt 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 wasnt anything like them.

The men went inside. Edsel picked up the first thing his hand reached. It looked like a .45, only bigger. He went to the door and pointed the weapon at a shrub on the plain.

Dont 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. Theres 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.

Dont 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 wouldnt 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.

Lets get started, Faxon said, moving toward 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.

Ive 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 hadnt 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 thats 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 dont want to be a party to that sort of thing. Just count me out.

All right, Edsel said.

Dont worry about me talking, Faxon said quickly. I wont. I just dont want to be in on any shooting or killing. So I think Ill go back.

Sure, Edsel said. Parke was standing to one side, examining his fingernails.

If you get that kingdom set up, Ill 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 didnt make any noise; there was no flash, but Faxons 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 suddenly 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, marvelously compact things. There were weapons which would freeze, and weapons which would burn; others which would crumble, cut, coagulate, paralyze, and any of the other ways of snuffing out life.