"Huh? What courses? What departments?"

'Any department but education. Engineering mathematics. Physics OneOh-One. Thermogoddamics. Machine elements. Saber and dueling sword. Swimming, And-don't laugh-English poetry from Chaucer through the Elizabethans. I enjoy teaching something worth teaching. I don't charge for courses I teach; the Chancellor and I understand each other,"

"I'm not sure I understand you," I said, "but I love you anyhow. Let's go swimming."

"'-and he had two horns like a lamb,

and he spake as a dragon'!"

Zeb:

Before heading for the pooi our wives argued over how Barsoomian warriors dress-a debate complicated by the fact that I was the only one fairly sober. While I was telling my 'shameful story," Jake had refreshed his Scotch-onrocks and was genially argumentative, Our brides had stuck to one highball each but, while one jigger gave Deety a happy glow, Sharpie's mass is so slight that the same dosage made her squiffed.

Jake and I agreed to wear side arms. Our princesses had buckled them on; we would wear them. But Deety wanted me to take off the grease-stained shorts I had worn while working. "Captain John Carter never wears clothes. He arrived on Barsoom naked, and from then on never wore anything but the leather and weapons of a fighting man. Jeweled leather for state occasions, plain leather for fighting-and sleeping silks at night. Barsoomians don't wear clothes. When John Carter first laid eyes on Dejah Thoris," Deety closed her eyes and recited: "She was as destitute of clothes as the Green Martians....ave for her highly wrought ornaments she was entirely naked..." Deety opened her eyes, stared solemnly. "The women never wear clothes, just jewelry."

"Purty shilly," said her father, with a belch. "Scuse me!"

"When they were chilly, they wrapped furs around them, Pop. I mean 'Mors Kajak, my revered father.'"

Jake answered with slow precision. "Not... 'chilly.' Silly! With a clash of blades and flash of steel, man doesn't want family treasures swinging in the breeze 'n' banging his knees. Distracts him. Might get 'em sliced off. Correc', Captain John Carter?"

"Logical," I agreed.

"Besides, illustrations showed men wearing breech clouts. Pro'ly steel jockstrap underneath. I would."

"Those pictures were painted early in the twentieth century, Pop. Censored. But the stories make it clear. Weapons for men, jewelry for women-furs for cold weather."

"I know how I should dress," put in Sharpie. "Thuvia wears jewels on bits of gauze-I remember the book cover. Not clothes. Just something to fasten jewels to. Deety-Dejah Thoris, I mean-do you have a gauze scarf I can use? Fortunately I was wearing pearls when Mors Kajak kidnapped me."

"Sharpie," I objected, "you can't be Thuvia. She married Carthoris. Mors Kajak-or Mors Kajake, might be a misspelling-is your husband."

"Cer'nly Mors Jake is my husband! But I'm his second wife; that explains everything. But it ill becomes the Warlord to address a princess of the House of Ptarth as 'Sharpie." Mrs. Burroughs drew herself up to her full 152 centimeters and tried to look offended.

"My humble apologies, Your Highness."

Sharpie giggled. "Can't stay mad at our Warlord. Dejah Thoris hon- Green tulle? Blue? Anything but white."

"I'll go look."

"Ladies," I objected, "if we don't get moving, the pooi will cool off. You can sew on pearls this evening. Anyhow, where do pearls come from on Barsoom? Dead sea bottoms-no oysters."

"From Korus, the Lost Sea of Dor," Deety explained.

"They've got you, Son. But I either go swimming right now-or I have another drink... and then another, and then another. Working too hard. Too tense. Too much worry."

"Okay, Pop; we swim. Aunt H- Aunt Thuvia?"

"All right, Dejah Thoris. To save Mors Jacob from himself. But I won't wear earthling clothes. You can have my mink cape; may be chilly coming back."

Jake wrapped his sarong into a breech clout, strapped it in place with his saber belt. I replaced those grimy shorts with swim briefs which Deety conceded were "almost Barsoomian." I was no longer dependent on Jake's clothes; my travel kit, always in my car, once I got at it, supplied necessities from passport to poncho. Sharpie wore pearls and rings she had been wearing at her party, plus a scarf around her waist to which she attached all the costume jewelry Deety could dig up. Deety carried Hilda's mink cape-then wrapped it around her. "My Captain, someday I want one like this."

"I'll skin the minks personally," I promised her.

"Oh, dear! I think this is synthetic."

"I don't. Ask Hilda."

"I will most carefully not ask her. But I'll settle for synthetic."

I said, "My beloved Princess, you eat meat. Minks are vicious carnivores and the ones used for fur are raised for no other purpose-not trapped. They are well treated, then killed humanely. If your ancestors had not killed for

meat and fur as the last glaciation retreated, you would not be here. Illogical sentiment leads to the sort of tragedy you find in India and Bangladesh."

Deety was silent some moments as we followed Jake and Hilda down toward the pool. "My Captain-"

"Yes, Princess?"

"I stand corrected. But your brain works so much like a computer that you scare me."

"I don't ever want to scare you. I'm not bloodthirsty-not with minks, not with steers, not with anything. But I'll kill without hesitation....or you."

"Zebadiah-"

"Yes, Deety?"

"I am proud that you made me your wife. I will try to be a good wife... and your princess."

"You do. You have. You always will. Dejah Thoris, my princess and only love, until I met you, I was a boy playing with oversized toys. Today I am a man. With a wife to protect and cherish... a child to plan for. I'm truly alive, at last! Hey! What are you sniffling about? Stop it!"

"I'll cry if I feel like it!"

"Well... don't get it on Hilda's cape."

"Gimme a hanky."

"I don't even have a Kleenex." I brushed away her tears with my fingers. "Sniff hard. You can cry on me tonight. In bed."

"Let's go to bed early."

"Right after dinner. Sniffles all gone?"

"I think so. Do pregnant women always cry?"

"So I hear."

"Well... I'm not going to do it again. No excuse for it; I'm terribly happy."

"The Polynesians do something they call 'Crying happy.' Maybe that's what you do."

"I guess so. But I'll save it for private." Deety started to shrug the cape off. "Too hot, lovely as it feels." She stopped with the cape off her shoulders, suddenly pulled it around her again. "Who's coming up the hill?"

I looked up, saw that Jake and Hilda had reached the pool-and a figure was appearing from below, beyond the boulder that dammed it.

"I don't know. Stay behind me." I hurried toward the pool.

The stranger was dressed as a Federal Ranger. As I closed in, I heard the stranger say to Jake, "Are you Jacob Burroughs?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Are you or aren't you? If you are, I have business with you. If you're not, You're trespassing. Federal land, restricted access."

"Jake!" I called out. "Who is he?"

The newcomer turned his head. "Who are you?"

"Wrong sequence," I told him. "You haven't identified yourself."

"Don't be funny," the stranger said. "You know this uniform. I'm Bennie Hibol, the Ranger hereabouts."

I answered most carefully, "Mr. Highball, you are a man in a uniform, wearing a gun belt and a shield. That doesn't make you a Federal officer. Show your credentials and state your business."

The uniformed character sighed. "I got no time to listen to smart talk." He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. "If one of you is Burroughs, speak up. I'm going to search this site and cabin. There's stuff coming up from Sonora; this sure as hell is the transfer point."