“Hey, you. What’s the big idea? You leading me on a wild goose chase? Or do you want to show me something?”
It sneezed in answer.
Dakota made a fake atchoo sound and the creature tilted its head for a moment, then waddled over to him.
He bent and picked up the thing with one hand and petted it. The match was almost gone. He dropped it and stood in the dark stroking the animal. Its fur was as soft as he had imagined it. It was warm and light, with prickly little feet and a breath like little dying flowers.
It was then that he heard whispers. He listened intently as he stroked the creature’s fur. Sure enough, these were indistinct voices, coming from far ahead down the passage.
“Spies,” Dakota whispered to the animal. “We have to get closer and find out what they’re talking about. Maybe my family is in danger. I wish Guthrie were here.”
The animal nudged his wrist with its little snout and Dakota felt a cool, leathery tongue carressing him. He smiled.
“It’s just you and me,” he said. “I’ll have to think of a name for you. I can think of one while we find out what they’re saying.”
As if in answer, the animal in Dakota’s arms seemed to go to sleep.
[ 76 ]
Edgar Burroughs jockeyed back and forth between states of utter ecstacy and abject misery. As he slam-banged the spare parts of the Argent around, wrestled them into place, hammered or tightened bolts on them, his mind was either in the warm pink sunlight with his love, Dejah Thoris, or in the darkness where her red men continually beheaded him for being so brash as to touch their Princess. When he was in the sunlight, the wind ruffled her hair and her almond-shaped eyes regarded him demurely. Her lips seemed to swell as he drew close to her. Her lips parted as she spoke three precious words to him.
He banged his knee into the transmogrifier, dispelling the dream instantly, dropped the spare spherical shell he had been trying to shove into place, and cursed like a sailor for half a minute.
One of Dejah’s guards came into the engine room and looked at him quizzically.
“Go away!” Edgar said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The guard, whose name he had learned was Tardos, shrugged, turned and left.
“Who am I kidding, anyway,” he said to himself. “The way she looks at him. I mean, he’s a handsome guy, a fighter and all that. But I damned well bet he can’t put a spaceship engine back together to save his life.”
Edgar had spent most of the trip to Mars idolizing John Carter. He wanted to be as big and strong as the mercenary. He wanted to be able to shoot and fight and kick the asses of giants! But he was Edgar Rice Burroughs, a man who couldn’t keep his head in his books long enough to get a decent education. A man who wanted to write books, but had never written anything more clever than bad love poems. A kid, really, who took to wandering in search of a job—Ohio, Tennessee, Texas, and finally Waco, where he was fortunate enough to find a job with Mr. Gostman. But...what a job! He was the only roustabout in history who built spaceships! Still, he was no Captain John Carter. And because he wasn’t, there was almost no chance he would be able to have...her. Or any woman like her.
The time would come, he knew, when he would have to make a decision. He would have to decide whether to state his love to the Princess, or step out of Carter’s way.
“It’s not fair,” he said. “I was the one who dreamed of her. I dreamed of her and Mars. She...and it, should be mine.”
He picked up the sphere, regarded it, saw that he had tried to get it to go into place inverted from its design. He sighed. It was true—he could fix anything. Anything, that is, but his own heart.
The sphere clicked into place at the heart of the transmogrifier. Edgar stood back and wiped his brow.
Tardos Mors entered the room again. “I must return to my Princess,” he said.
Edgar nodded. “That’s okay. You can’t help me here anyway. I’m almost done with this engine, then it’s on to the rest of the ship. How long till dawn?”
“It is a long time. Only half of the night is done.”
“Go then. I’ll get the Argent running.”
Tardos turned and left.
Edgar went into the cargo bay, selected a JPM pist
ol and checked the load. He looked down the ramp of the ship and saw nothing but darkness. Tardos and his companion had disappeared as if they were ghosts.
“Fine,” Edgar whispered to himself. “I do my best work all on my own.”
It would take him two days to get the ship ready for space, at a minimum, and that was only if there were enough spare parts for the job, and if the keel wasn’t cracked. That was his next inspection, after getting the transmog running.