OZYMANDIAS By IVAR JORGENSON Illustrated by DAN ADKINS _There was open strife between the military and scientific staffs. But which was mightier?_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Infinity November 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The planet had been dead about a million years. That was our first impression, as our ship orbited down to its sere brown surface, and as it happened our first impression turned out to be right. There had been a civilization here _once_--but Earth had swung around Sol ten-to-the-sixth times since the last living being of this world had drawn breath. "A dead planet," Colonel Mattern exclaimed bitterly. "Nothing here that's of any use. We might as well pack up and move on." It was hardly surprising that Mattern would feel that way. In urging a quick departure and an immediate removal to some world of greater utilitarian value, Mattern was, after all, only serving the best interests of his employers. His employers were the General Staff of the Armed Forces of the United States of America. They expected Mattern and his half of the crew to produce results, and by way of results they meant new weapons and sources of strategic materials. They hadn't tossed in 70% of the budget for this trip just to sponsor a lot of archaeological putterings. But luckily for _our_ half of the outfit--the archaeological putterers' half--Mattern did not have an absolute voice in the affairs of the outfit. Perhaps the General Staff had kicked in for 70% of our budget, but the cautious men of the military's Public Liaison branch had seen to it that _we_ had at least some rights. Dr. Leopold, head of the non-military segment of the expedition, said brusquely, "Sorry, Mattern, but I'll have to apply the limiting clause here." Mattern started to sputter. "But--" "But nothing, Mattern. We're here. We've spent a good chunk of American cash in getting here. I insist that we spend the minimum time allotted for scientific research, as long as we _are_ here." Mattern scowled, looking down at the table, supporting his chin in his thumbs and digging the rest of his fingers in hard back of his jawbone. He was annoyed, but he was smart enough to know he didn't have much of a case to make against Leopold. The rest of us--four archaeologists and seven military men; they outnumbered us a trifle--watched eagerly as our superiors battled. My eyes strayed through the porthole and I looked at the dry windblown plain, marked here and there with the stumps of what might have been massive monuments millennia ago. Mattern said bleakly, "The world is of utterly no strategic consequence. Why, it's so old that even the vestiges of civilization have turned to dust!"