Free Haydn of Mars by Al Sarrantonio

see a pair of emerald eyes in a shadowed face staring intently at me.
    I turned my head a few millimeters more and saw the Mighty in my peripheral vision, frozen in place, his attention focused on the creature as he slowly removed something from within his robes.
    He made a sign of silence, a finger to his lips.
    The green eyes brightened, like two miniature green suns, and the thing leaped out of the shadows at me, hissing loudly.   I saw long teeth and a broad snout and ears pressed back against its near-naked skull, and two gigantic paws full of saber-like claws flashing silver to either side–
    Something hummed through the air, and the creature gave a startled cry of anguish and fell at my feet, its body tangling with a broken chair.   It gave a rattling long gasp of pain and then was silent.
    â€œA wild cat,” the Mighty said, stepped to remove his weapon, a long, wide blade handled in what looked like polished junto wood which I had never seen before, from the monster’s neck.   He wiped the blade on his robe and then replaced it in the folds within.   He cocked his head sideways to study the beast.   “Not a particularly agile looking one, but he would have killed you.”
    I looked from the dead carcass, resembling a cat only in superficial ways – it was smaller, its pelt thinner, the head narrower.   I had only seen pictures of them.   They never stood on two legs, and had been deemed long ago animals by our scientists, a rogue turn in development.
    â€œThank you,” I said.
    He waved a hand in dismissal.   “Come.   We must go.”
    â€œIn a moment.”
    I reached over the dead body of the beast to retrieve the two books.   One of them, I saw to my disappointment, was only an empty binder, but the other was a real volume.
    The Mighty had stopped in the doorway, and turned to regard my treasure.
    â€œWhy do you go after such trifles?”
    â€œIt is not rubbish.”
    He started to speak, and then held his tongue.   “Come.   We must ride back now before twilight comes.”
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    That night I studied my treasure in my tent by lamplight.   Myra and young Hera, intrigued by anything new, at first professed interest, but when they saw that each page was merely filled with scribblings much like the last, they grew bored and left me alone.
    The language was similar to our own, but difficult to understand.   Other such books had been discovered, but they were very rare.   From what I knew, the ones that had lasted were made of fine paper and preserved in dry climates.    I knew in my heart that I held an artifact of the Old Ones in my hand.
    I had hoped for pictures, but there were only a few diagrams and charts.   The book’s title, Fuel Sources from the Martian Subsurface , was meaningless to me, though I quickly gathered it had something to do with science.
    An inscription in handwriting on the flyleaf was intriguing: To Ben, Who Travels a Long Way for Love of a Planet, from Mother and Father .
    Much of the rest consisted of discussions of how much of various elements, such as oxygen, was locked in the planet’s soil, and how to remove it.   The pages were very brittle, some of them flaking apart in my hands, so, after I while, I thought it best to put away my treasure, and did so.
    That night, curling into my bed, I dreamed of an Old One named Ben, and of tall clean spires and working machines, and plants nearly as tall, sprouting huge leaves showing the faces of ancients.

Seven
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    Another month passed, and my belly grew to term.   We had reached the central highlands, and the equatorial weather was warmer.   There were pasture lands here among the dry plains, and no desert to speak of except in strange oasis which sprouted like dusty pits in our path.   The caravan had again doubled in size, and seemed more like a traveling circus than the ragtag army it was.   I observed one raid on a