1899- Journey to Mars

“Now that makes sense,” Billy said. “And I thought I heard and saw strange things on the Moon!”

“You don’t remember,” Dejah said to Guthrie. “I mean, you have no memory from the time...before.”

“I do not remember anything prior to the moment that I came to life in Wardenclyffe, New York, under the hand of Father Tesla.”

“Where is this Kingdom of New York?” Dejah asked. “It must be on the far side of Barsoom.”

“If we were outside,” Billy said, “I could point to it in the night sky. It’s bluish-green, and shines like a star.”

“Jasoom,” Dejah said. “You are from Jasoom!”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Billy said, “then yes, we are from Jasoom.”

[ 75 ]

Dakota Gostman heard a tiny sneeze during his sleep. He dreamed that a small, mouse-like creature nestled in a nearby corner of the floor on which he slept, and that this creature had a cold.

Hachew! It was the tiniest of sounds—it almost wasn’t there, except that he heard it. His eyes came open. There was the dim flicker of the variable electric lighting from the cavern outside the open doorway to their hut. Apparently these red martian people didn’t believe in doors that closed. It was odd. Everything about them was odd, and also it was sort of exciting at the same time.

He turned his head and tried to let his eyes adjust to the darkness so he could possibly see where the sneeze had come from. He could see nothing. He turned and made out the dim lumps of his mother and father beneath the thick, soft animal furs. They snored softly.

Hachew!

There it was again, but it was from the open doorway and not the corner of the room. The sound had come in and bounced around, making him believe it was from a different direction.

Dakota waited. A small head peeked around the corner, its bristling head and tufted ears perfectly silhouetted by one of the cavern lights along the far wall. The thing could have been some kind of a cross between a cat and a little pig. It certainly had a cat’s ears, but instead of a tiny, button-nose, it had a snout, with which it sniffed the room.

Dakota smiled. He had wanted a puppy ever since their neighbor back in Waco showed him the litter their flop-eared cur had whelped. His father had refused, telling him that he should wait and get a good hunting dog instead. Thus far, one hadn’t come along. While this thing sticking its nose into their sleeping quarters wasn’t by any means a dog, as such, it was still a furry animal of some kind. He got up to his hands and knees and let the sleeping furs slip off of him. He reached for his breeches and pulled them on, slowly, glancing back occasionally to make sure the thing was still there. It was, but he could now see its entire body silhouetted in the doorway. Now that he could see it all, it looked less like a dog or a cat and more like a small racoon-pig, if such existed. He buttoned his shirt and crept forward to the doorway on his knees.

“Hey little fellow,” he whispered.

The creature backed away from him. Dakota crept slowly to the open doorway and while he did he fished in his pockets for something he could tempt it with. But there were no morsels of food from the table. He had eaten all the nuts hours ago. A

ll he could find was a small box of matches that he used to light his father’s pipe for him.

Dakota stood. The moment he did the animal retreated to the shadowy wall of a nearby hut. Dakota felt beside the door for his socks and his boots and took a moment to slip them on. What he wouldn’t give to pick up the creature and caress its fur. It looked so soft. He wondered, absently, if it had teeth and whether it would bite. There was little chance it would be poisonous. Dejah Thoris and her red people wouldn’t let biting poisonous animals into their cavern. There was no chance of that. He had a though, hurried back to the sleeping furs, and arranged the pillows beneath the covers to appear, upon cursory inspection, as if were still there, sound asleep.

Socks and boots on, he slipped out into the dim light of the cavern.

The last he had seen of Guthrie, the robot had been standing on the outside of the hut on the opposite side from where Dakota had emerged. When Guthrie powered down like that, Dakota wasn’t sure if the robot was sleeping, or listening, or both. This wasn’t the first time he’d snuck away from the robot. But the thought had more than once insinuated itself into his mind that Guthrie sometimes allowed him to sneak away.

The little creature stood on its hind legs and waited. Dakota heard another faint sneeze.

“Got a cold, little one?” he asked.

It sneezed again as if in answer, then turned and moved slowly off.

Dakota followed, his boots whispering on the smooth, paved stoned beneath his cowhide boots. When the beast was near the cavern wall, Dakota noticed a guard coming his way, making a transit around the enormous space. He quickly got behind a jutting stalagmite and waited while the red man passed. His eyes had fully adjusted to the limited light, and he could see the creature by cowering near where one massive seam of wall rock met another. One rock was smooth, however, while the other one was rough. Dakota glanced upward and noticed that the smooth stone ran up in a straight line and disappeared into the ceiling overhead. He decided it was one foot of the foundation from the fake Atmosphere Factory that stuck up into the sky above the Martian canal, as he had heard last night at the table. Looking back to the creature, it was still there, mere feet away from a crack between the smooth stone and the rough.

“Don’t go in there, fellah,” he admonished it. As if on cue, the thing turned and scurried into the blackness of the crack.

Dakota stepped to the crack quickly and bent down. He reached his hand inside the crack and felt around. There was no furred creature there. Instead, mere inches past the opening, the crack widened into a far greater space. He remembered the matches in his shirt pocket and removed the box.

“Here goes nothing,” he said, and struck a match. Holding the lit match he first looked for the animal but couldn’t see it, then, assessing the crack, he decided he could fit his head and shoulders and in and wiggle his way through. He poked his head inside and saw that it did indeed widen greatly farther on. He couldn’t see the end of the little cave, but knew it couldn’t be very deep.

Dakota moved quickly. Still holding the match he managed to wriggle his way into the crack until his head came into the open space. He pushed with one arm against the inside wall and kicked with his feet until he was inside and could crouch. He felt heat from the match and quickly dropped it. It granted a little light for a moment before it winked out. In that scant moment of time he scuffled his way into the taller space beyond. He stopped, stood slowly, feeling overhead with one hand until he could stand. He struck another match.

One side of the passage was perfectly smooth—the gargantuan stone blocks that were part of the foundation—while the other was rough stone, chisled or blasted away somehow. It made for a slightly undulating passage. And the creature was there, waiting for him.