Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs

by Mike Resnick

  The Times reporter was a gracious young woman, aged somewhere between her forties and death, I suppose. Her name was Miranda Kittain, with a tightly knit suit and wiry glasses that she would peer over from time to time as she asked me about all manner of personal things. I became increasingly irritated as we spoke, but Julian kept a patient hand on my wrist, which helped me weather the various intimate questions.

  “And how do you see Earth now?” inquired Kittain at one point. “You are, after all, royalty of the Moon. Do you feel that they now owe you homage and deep fealty here on Earth?”

  “I ask no one to owe me anything,” I said, and wrapped my fingers around Julian’s wrists. “All I request, really, is to be left alone and accorded the benefits that any pleasant outworlder be allowed to accrue here on your . . .” I paused and mentally sought for the correct word. “Your generous planet,” I finally finished.

  Apparently that was the exactly correct thing to say. “Our Generous Planet” was the headline in the very next edition, and from that point onward matters were much more beneficial.

  Still, it was something of a challenge whenever we tried to do something as simple as go into and out of our apartment. There were always reporters asking us about our opinions of the day, no matter how utterly trivial that day’s events might be. I couldn’t quite fathom the reasoning behind the thinking. Why did it matter to them what we thought of anything, really? We had landed on Earth with Julian for the first time in ten years and me for the first time ever. What possible difference did our ill-informed opinions make?

  A great deal, as it turned out. Eventually I decided not to put any serious thinking behind it. We were, to them, mere oddities in the world. They accorded our opinions far more worth than any of them were truly entitled to, and if that was to their benefit, then so might it be. It was of no consequence to me.

  I flopped down into the couch in our sizable living room. It was nothing especially elaborate: living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. Though the shower was particularly amazing to me, and I would spend half an hour at a time simply standing there and allowing the water to cascade all over my naked body. Every so often Julian would stick his head in to make certain that I had not gotten myself into any manner of trouble, and he would laugh as I assured him that there was nothing to be concerned about. I was fine, he was fine, all was fine.

  Now, though, I was not considering all to be fine. I had been on this world for several weeks and was still feeling as if I were some manner of strange device rather than a contributor to the world around me. I lay slumped upon the couch and stared off into nothingness until my Julian finally asked after my concerns. “I am bored,” I informed him.

  “Bored?” His voice echoed the sentiment, sounding more puzzled than anything else. “Why bored, my sweet?”

  “Because I have naught to do.” I picked idly at the clothing that attired me. “Moon clothing,” I said with an air of frustration. “Moon shoes. Moon hair. Everything about me fairly screams of the world from which I came. What is the point in pretending to be that which I am not?”

  “Well!” Julian sounded a bit aghast, but not by much. “I can see where one such as you might well be bored. We shall have to attend to that immediately.”

  A half hour later, a lovely young woman was at the door. Taller than I was by a full head, her name was Mimosa (devoid of last name), and her skin was so distinctly red that one would have thought her to be a native of Barsoom (the likes of which we were only hearing from over radio phones via the colony founded by the esteemed John Carter of Virginia). Tall and elegant, Mimosa looked me up, down, and then up again before finally shaking her head, sighing heavily exactly once, and declared, “This simply will not do. Make no mistake, princess of the Moon.” She added as an afterthought, “You are charming in your own right. You are petite and well-balanced, and clearly also possess some native strength. But those who see you, once they have managed to leave aside the curiosity of your gait, will perceive you as hopelessly postmodern. Do you understand?”

  I shook my head “no.”

  She brushed away my response as if it meant nothing. “Worry not. There are matters of far greater consequence than whether you simply understand what I’m talking about.”

  “Oh,” was all I could manage to say.

  Whereupon I was quickly, and without any further loafing, gathered up and shunted off to various stores throughout Manhattan. We moved so rapidly that much of what I encountered could readily be referred to as a blur. It was clear that my concerns and speculations were of little to no relevance: Mimosa knew precisely what she wanted, and my thoughts on the subject, to say nothing of Julian’s, were quite simply beside the point. Indeed, I discovered halfway into the journey that Julian 5th had been left behind somewhere. Doubtless he was wandering around helplessly in one of the stores that we had long ago left behind. Upon being informed of this predicament, Mimosa merely shrugged and waved it away as if Julian’s presence was of little to no consequence.

  Clothes, shoes, furs, hats, purses, makeup. All that and more was piled onto me while Julian’s assorted charge cards were utilized with wonder and splendor. Whenever one was filled up, another was merely brought out in its place. This was fine with me. As long as he had enough whatever-it-was to deal with the expenditures, I was more than happy to allow them to be made.

  We were not done until well into the night, having stopped briefly to enjoy a fine meal consisting of who-knew-what which was subsequently washed down by even more of who-knew-how-much. Consequently, when we finally returned home, we were barely standing. I have to admit, it had been quite some time since I felt that good. So much so, in fact, that when I returned to Julian’s apartment (to which he had returned at some point, obviously), his stern expression was so high-handed that all I could do was giggle. Julian 5th continued to stare at me as I sank into the nearest chair, several large bags slipping out of my hands.

  “Would you mind telling me,” he said with measured stiffness, “where you were the rest of the afternoon? I lost track of you somewhere around the Middle Squares.”

  “Well, that’s a very fortunate circumstance, because I’m not quite sure how you would have been able to keep track with us.” That was Mimosa’s take on the subject, and then she was no longer able to withhold herself and she began to cackle dementedly. I, having flopped down onto the chair, continued laughing.

  “I think that will be quite enough, Mimosa,” said Julian. There was nothing but seriousness in his voice and he was clearly already quite annoyed. “I called you here to help Nah-ee-lah get herself focused. Not get herself drunk.”

  I pointed an accusing finger to him and declared loudly, “You would speak in such a way to the daughter of the husband of—” Then my voice trailed off as finally I said blankly, “What was I saying?” Then I started laughing once more and continued to laugh. I was vaguely able to hear Julian’s annoyed protests over my condition, but eventually I was able to do nothing else save to fall asleep.

  When I awoke it was close to five in the morning. Julian had left me on the couch. Slowly I extracted my legs and moaned with pained softness in acknowledgment of the dire straits in which he’d left me. I carefully made my way through the darkened room, stepping carefully over the pieces of clothing that lay scattered around. Within minutes I had denuded myself of my clothing and entered the room, sliding across the bed and draping an arm around his steadily snoring body.

  “Oh,” said Julian. His voice was very controlled; if anything, there seemed to be largely a vague sense of disappointment. “How nice of you to join me.”

  I moaned softly, feeling the first surges of energy thumping against my head. I swallowed the rest of the noise and found myself speaking in a most offhand manner, as if I had just awoken seconds earlier and was about to be humiliated by the captain of the guard. “Are you okay?” I said cautiously.

  “Me? Oh, yes. I had something to eat hours earlier,” he assured me.

  “An
d Mimosa?”

  “That’s who I ate.”

  Another moan in response, but it was about all I could manage. “I don’t feel too well.”

  “That’s to be expected.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m reasonably sure you got drunk.” There was passiveness to his voice. “Pretty badly drunk, if I’m not mistaken. I stuck Mimosa in a cab and sent her home. And I left you where you were.”

  “Oh, Julian.” I began to sit up, and suddenly dizziness swept over me. All I could manage was to fall backwards. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What are you apologizing for? You are a moon maid. You may do whatever you want with whomever you want. Don’t let it trouble you.”

  “Of course it troubles me. I don’t feel well, and it’s dark, and I’m reasonably sure I completely screwed up everything. How can you love me?”

  “Because that is what is supposed to happen,” he assured me. He nudged me around and slid his arm under my head. “I mean, granted, not every day. But there will come the occasional time where you do things you can’t do or shouldn’t do. When you have imbibed yourself into a corner and no longer feel any sort of—”

  I placed my hand atop his mouth and silenced him. “You need to stop talking,” I finally told him. I pushed myself up on my elbow and brought my mouth down upon his. At first he tried to voice some manner of protest, but it was thin and not especially convincing. The kissing grew in intensity and conviction, and in short order all manner of discussion had been set aside. Only the physical aspects of what we were encountering were left to be felt, and I can assure you that every morsel of it was there for us.

  I fell asleep shortly after that and did not awaken until one in the afternoon. Blinking away the lights, I hauled myself out of bed and pulled on a short robe. Moments later I had staggered out into the afternoon light and saw my amused lover waiting for me in the living room. “Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon. There is much we need to discuss.”

  “Yes, I’m sure there is.”

  “Understand,” he began, “that I have much money saved up. Ten years’ worth, to be precise. And yet there are certain necessities that have to be attended to, such as—”

  “I’m pregnant,” I informed him before he could utter another word.

  He drew back his head, looking astounded. “Wh—when did that happen?”

  “Last night.” I went to the coffee machine and found that there was still some in the receptacle. I removed the pitcher and began pouring some into a mug despite the lateness of the hour.

  “But how could you—?”

  “Know?” I shrugged. “I just know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” I set the coffee pot down, strolled over to Julian 5th with the filled mug, and ruffled the top of his head. He was still sitting there with a stunned expression; it gave me a warm feeling. “It’s going to be Julian 6th.”

  “You can tell?”

  “I can tell. So, now, what would you suggest?”

  “Well—” He shrugged helplessly as he grinned. “I suppose now we get married.”

  “As you wish,” was all I said.

  The wedding was held not too long after that. The soldiers who had been waiting for us on the space vessel were there, and a number of others as well: politicians, scientists. The President of the United States was there, mostly because he seemed to feel that that was where he should be rather than as a result of any asking on my part. There was no hurry; humans may be able to churn out children within nine months, but the process requires seven months for me, a fact that I did not happen to mention to him until the sixth month.

  And so it was that after precisely seven months of pregnancy, Julian 6th was born into the land. By that point the excitement over my presence on Earth had diminished somewhat, nor were people impressed when Julian 6th was nothing more than a purely average-looking youngster. Furthermore, since the birth of the child meant that we could no longer attend to outside activities, Julian 5th and his beauteous wife (that is what they called me, rather than my referring to myself in that manner) became mostly creatures of the indoors.

  The child grew up quickly, and, even though he was not really supposed to (thanks to laws that dictated only the shortest of swords were permitted) no one hyped matters up too much when Julian began training his like-named son in the fine art of swordsmanship. “It is for the benefit of his maturity,” Julian 5th said in such a way that guaranteed that only he, Julian 5th, would conduct the teaching, and only he, Julian 6th, would benefit.

  And who was I to say no? My every day with Julian 5th was a delight. I could say nothing to this wonderful man who had saved me from a deterioration that would have led to depression and death. “As you wish, my love,” was the entirety of my sentiments to him. How could they not be? He was my everything. We would be happy and free forever.

  Yet there were times when my attention was drawn back to the land of the Moon. There would be periods where I would scan the skies, watch the waxing and waning of that endless vehicle that always circled the Earth, and wonder what was going on there exactly. We had left at a time of confusion, when the Moon was in great chaos and different groups were fighting zealously for control. What had happened with them? What had transpired with Orthis, the monstrous human who had long craved me and settled for endeavoring to drag the whole of my world down to his level?

  Ultimately I decided that there was no use in worrying about him anymore. The chances were that he would never be seen again, that the forces of the Moon had disposed of him and were back to fighting their internal wars.

  We had no need to worry about them.

  I am the moon maid, and my world is set.

  Time has no meaning. That is what Julian would say to me. He would tell me that time has no meaning. That everything is happening at once.

  The first time he actually said that to me, we had been together five years on Earth. He had simply sat there at breakfast, in our kitchen in our remote cabin, and he smiled. “Time has no meaning,” he had said. “I’ve come to that realization, and I simply thought I owed it to you to tell you that.”

  “Thank you.” I had no idea what to say to that.

  He saw my puzzlement and felt the need to explain a bit further. “We will always be together. We will always be two as one. This life—next life—previous life. Sometimes you’ll understand and sometimes you won’t. It will be fine. It will all be fine.”

  He went back to his breakfast and did not speak of it again.

  It is madness. Madness everywhere.

  They were not supposed to have come here, and yet they have.

  The Kalkars. The people of the Moon, vicious and furious and unable to be stopped. The Kalkars, creatures of violence and anger, who battled everyone and everything, including each other. Shorter, broader, more vicious than humans, and far nastier than anything anyone has to throw at them.

  The Kalkars who had finally become united under the sword of the man who had dominated them.

  Orthis. Orthis the untamed, Orthis the terrible. Orthis, the man who had now returned and had brought tens of thousands upon thousands of Moon Men with him.

  Earth was a world ripe for conquest, and the citizens didn’t even realize it. For five decades in the previous century, Earth had waged nothing but constant war. Now that endless battle was over; the Earth had done everything it could to undo what it had become. All guns save for the most minimal ones in existence had been disposed of. No blades, save for the swords that Julius 5th and 6th handled, were allowed to be wielded.

  Earth was tired of war. It had become a harrowing point for everyone and once it had been finished, it was finished.

  Except not anymore.

  The ships came hurtling down, and they were utterly destructive, bearing with them a full one hundred thousand of the Moon’s deadliest enemies. At the head of the assault: Orthis, who had been relentless in his endless battles that had finally resu
lted in what had been, for him, the only possible outcome.

  It was unknown to any on the Earth how long it had required Orthis to carve out his plan of attack. All anyone on our world knew was that beings from another world were coming to visit.

  Only Julian 5th knew of a certainty. At this point, fourteen years had passed since he had returned. He had worked his way up to leader of the International Peace Treaty, but for all the suggested strength of the title, he had in fact little to no power accompanying it. War was descending upon an Earth that had only a quarter of the number of defenders to respond to the assault that the men from the Moon had planned.

  And they laughed.

  At the one man who could have saved them.

  They laughed. At him.

  Once Orthis and his men reached Earth, the laughter quickly ceased, unless one counted the boundless laughter that emerged from Orthis’s lips. With his many vessels and fearsome weaponry, they rolled over both Washington, D.C. and London almost simultaneously. On the flagship, off which Orthis operated, there was a devastating weapon that was known broadly as an electronic rifle. It was the single most devastating firearm of its kind, and that was accounting for the fact that no one quite knew what its kind was.

  Julian 5th, of course, figured it out almost immediately.

  To test his theory, Julian withdrew his ships to a remote part of the world—the forested place to the north called Alyeska—and there he hid and planned. He had brought me, along with our then-fourteen-year-old son, and kept us secured, for he worried about our safety more than anyone else’s.

  Orthis searched long and hard for him, and finally, upon the close of the year 2050, the two fleets met once again. I was on the ground, still furious that Julian had not brought us along. “You,” he said firmly, “have a far more important mission ahead than I. Only you can raise our son properly so that he can take his place in the order of our family.” I considered this admonition to be less than sterling; it was my intent to be by Julian’s side. But he would not have it, and so it was that, despite my desire to be elsewhere, instead the ship of Julian sailed into battle against his archenemy while I watched from below.