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Zebadiah (perspective)
“At once, Captain Zebadiah Carter!” With no spoken command, the three thoats executed ‘Troopers left about!’ and headed at ground-shaking speed for the shoulder of the hill where they had appeared. Deety and Jake closed in quickly. Deety hugged me, banging me on the back of my noggin with the barrel of her shotgun in doing so.
“Oh, my captain, I’m so proud of you!”
I kissed her. “Hilda is the hero, not me.”
“I’m proud of Hilda, too. Aunt Hilda, are you all right, honey?”
Hilda stopped nuzzling her man long enough to answer. “That big lunk bruised my ribs. But he couldn’t help it. He’s rather sweet, actually. Handsome, too.”
“ ‘Handsome’!”
“Deety baby, you don’t expect a Great Dane to be pretty by the same rules as a butterfly.”
Deety looked thoughtful. “That’s logical. I must look at him again, with unprejudiced eye.”
“Postpone the debate, girls, and listen. Jake, can you manage a sword salute?”
“Eh? Certainly!”
“Okay, here’s the drill. We line up, Jake on the right, Hilda next, Deety next, me beside Deety—Deety, you can ‘Present arms’ with a gun?”
“I’ve seen it. I can fake it.”
“Good. Hilda, all you have to do is a Girl Scout salute. I give ‘Draw—Swords!’ You gals do nothing; Jake and I draw and come to order arms in three counts. Then I give ‘Present—Arms!’ Jake and I do it, two counts, one for each word—but Deety, don’t move until I say ‘Arms!’ ”
“I’ll be out of step,” Deety objected.
“They won’t be critical. When I ‘Return … swords!’ you come back to order arms—and I’ll say, “Fall out” and Doctor Burroughs—you’re Doctor Burroughs in public from now on and you two are always ‘princess’ and I’m always ‘captain.’ Protocol. Any questions? I hear them coming.”
We lined up. The thundering herd rounded the shoulder and came straight at us, lances at charge, only this time it was the starboard wing man who was about to skewer me. They didn’t slow and I was ready to beat the Barsoomian record for backward broad jump—but couldn’t because both women remained rock steady.
When it seemed impossible that they could stop, the thoats slammed on brakes with all twenty-four legs, and stopped dead as three lances swung up vertically into perfect salutes. My boy almost brushed the tip of my nose with his, but upright his lance was four meters away.
“Draw!—Swords!” (Grab—Draw—Down! Hup! two! three!)—and Sharpie tossed in her own variations. No Girl Scout salute for her—she followed our motions, right on the beat, with her hunting knife.
“ ‘Present’!”—hilts to three chins—“Harmp!” Blades flashed down while Deety chucked her gun into the air, caught it with both hands. I’ve seen it done more by the book, but never with more snap.
The three giants let out wild yells, which I chose to interpret as cheers. I waited a long beat, then dismissed my “troops.”
But the big boys weren’t through. Tawm Takus glanced right and left, and suddenly bunting bloomed from those upright lances, joined together into one big banner (magnets? magic?), spelling:
WELCOME TO BARSOOM!
Greater Helium Chamber of Commerce
