The tunnel was dark. That wasn't great. But even worse- somewhere, unknown ahead, a presumed dragon waited.

Dr. Snively led our party; behind him was Detective LaLouf, shining her flashlight every direction in a scanning motion as she walked, as if searching every inch of the walls for clues. Then it was Laurence, who had his arms crossed as if uninterested or unconcerned. Then I followed, trying to stay close as behind me was Cleetus, taking up the rear and no doubt hoping for me to straggle so he could finally off me for my accidentally blowing up Earth. It was hard- staying close to the crowd made me feel like an easier fire target, but if I tried to cower out and retreat, Cleetus would be on me like a cricket on a cucumber.

We slowly moved through the space, none of us saying anything, unsure if the next step would be right on to our.vague enemy. But, then, to our surprise, we suddenly found ourselves in what appeared to be a large room, with two different opening paths before us. LaLouf shone her flashlight to the side and froze.

"Laurence!" she whispered quickly.

"Shhhhhh!" we all said.

"Laurence, look!" She pointed. On the wall in the circle beam was a drawing of two little green men with antennae, not unlike cave drawings once found in Lascaux.

"Are...are those Martians?" asked Cleetus quietly. They did look like the aliens I'd seen in cartoons growing up. LaLouf's flashlight panned beside them where, though faded, there appeared to be a script of some kind.

"Martian writing!" exclaimed Dr. Snively.

"Shhhh!" We all said.

"Hold on, Lola," Laurence remarked in a hushed voice. He approached the wall, moving his finger across the glyphs. "This...this is Martian? It looks remarkably close to modern day French!"

Not being much of a language guy, I wouldn't have noticed. The writing was pretty faded. But it did seem to resemble the Western alphabet the more I looked at it.

"What does it say?" I whispered.

"Does anyone here speak French?" asked Snively quietly.

"Honey, I thought you took French in high school," Laurence softly remarked to his wife.

"That was so long ago," she whispered back, "I don't know how much I remember."

"See what you can understand," he prodded.

Detective LaLouf moved her flashlight up the wall until she found what appeared to be the start of the passage. "It's been a long time," she whispered as she began her translation attempt: "We, of this planet, in the star year 69-"

"Nice," I said quietly, but no one else seemed to care.

"-construct this great hall in honor of the...metal guards we have perfected?" She paused. "I think that says 'metal guards'."

Cleetus quickly struck a defensive pose. "Does that mean 'robots'? Is this place booby-trapped with robots?'

"That's assuming my translation is right. "

"My sensors are picking up stronger electronic frequencies ahead," whispered Dr. Snively, "but not in this area."

"We can ponder the meaning of 'metal guards' in a bit," remarked Laurence quietly. "What else does it say, Lola?"

LaLouf continued: "We hope that they protect our planet for as long as the soil is red and our skin green. We hope they always see us as their masters and never the other way around."

"This is weird," I whispered.

"It was written by Martians," replied Cleetus, "their ways and ours are very different."

"You an expert on Martians now?"

"Are you? You're the one being ethnocentric and judging."

"-Can I finish?" LaLouf cut in.

We both quietly nodded.

"May fire burn ten times those who wrong us, and may stupid Earthlings learn...some manners?"

"It says that?" asked Laurence.

"Yeah, those are all words I'm actually confident I know the French for."

"What kind of manners do we need to learn?" I inquired softly.

"This is from year 69," whispered Cleetus, "Humanity had alot to learn back then."

"STAR year 69," I noted, "we have no idea what year that would be on our calendars."

"But this all looks super old," returned Cleetus, "so presumably awhile ago-"

"-WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP AND LET MY WIFE FINISH?" snapped Laurence, albeit quietly.

"Shhhh!" We all said.

"...it doesn't say the manners they want us learning," said LaLouf, "the rest seems to be...directions? Like, 'down the right hall, to the right, there they rest until next fight'?"

"It supposed to rhyme?" I whispered .

"Well, that's paraphrased," the detective confessed, "my best interpretation. The rest is too faint to read. Oh, but it does say the green fellow on the left is named Laknoxfoot and the green fellow on the right named Durdumples."

"Beautiful names," Cleetus remarked.

"And your name is Cleetus," I retorted, "now who's being judgy?"

Dr. Snively, sticking to our purpose for being there, scratched his head. "So, the Martains, whenever this was written, made this room as tribute to their metal guards, whatever that means. Is there any other writing elsewhere saying something more?"

We all pointed our flashlights at the other walls but found no words. There was, however, elaborate murals- they seemed to depict large, grayish-red dragons (or at least how I had always pictured dragons in my mind) flying over crowds of little green men. But there was something odd about the drawings- it almost seemed like the long ago artist had drawn the dragons so it looked like all their joints were held together by nuts and bolts...

"Are...the dragons supposed to be the metal guards?" I asked, genuinely interested to see if the others got the same sense. To me, that seemed to be obvious from the paintings. But everyone else reacted as if I had just unkowingly blown their minds like I unknowingly destroyed Earth years earlier.

"It doesn't mention dragons at all in the writings," whispered LaLouf with a gasp, "but they totally could be the metal guards!"

"Dragons? Metal guards? The same?" pondered aloud Laurence.

"Cole, you are brilliant!" said Dr. Snively, "that fits with my theory of inorganic life on Mars!"

"And explains all the oil we're finding," added Cleetus.

"But then," whispered Laurence, "what have become of the Martains who made these metal guards and this great hall and presumably these tunnels?"

We all fell silent.

"Not to go back and change the subject," whispered Cleetus but loud enough for all to hear, " but Cole, my name means 'glory' in Greek. If Martians spoke some form French, you can't tell me they honestly thought Laknoxfoot and Durdumples are beautiful names."

"Yeah, but where's your centuries old Martian wall paintings labelled 'Cleetus' if your name is so cool?" I whispered back.

He had no answer. Of course not. That said, I doubt there were any Martian halls with painted figures labelled 'Cole' either.