. . . FIFTY million miles apart, and no way to bridge the gap. No way to telegraph myself back, to return my body and soul to their true home. Like a fool, I had thrown away my medallion back on Barsoom.

I stepped outside the cave and stared into the dark Arizona sky, so familiar and yet so cold. So alien, now.

And then I thought of Matai Shang, of his knowledge of Earth and our history. That meant the Therns were a presence on this world as well as on Mars. This cave in Arizona, its carvings and the Thern I’d killed there, were proof of that.

There might be other places. Other Thern way stations, hidden somewhere on Earth.

As soon as I realized that, I knew what my gold must be used for.

For ten bitter years, dear nephew, I searched. I followed every possible trail of rumor and legend, from darkest Africa to the Arctic wastelands. At times I despaired of ever locating the Therns again.

And then, in the Orkney Islands of Scotland, I found them.

I shall spare you the tedious details, but suffice it to say: I managed to obtain a medallion. But before I could return to Barsoom, there were many plans I had to make in secret. And the Earthbound Therns were now following my movements closely, plotting to reclaim the property I had taken from them.

I can trust no one. Except you.

No doubt much of this is puzzling to you. But I promise that soon you will understand the cause of my sudden death, my bizarre funeral instructions, and the reason the mausoleum door can only be opened from the inside. One thing I have learned from the Therns: if my body dies on Earth, then its “copy” shall also perish on Mars.

Know this: you are the key, Edgar. This is the task I entrust to you, along with all my worldly fortune. Protect my body, for the Therns will attempt to destroy it. Indeed, in the time it has taken you to read these pages, they may already have done so.

I slammed my uncle’s journal shut and leaped up, the implications of his words ringing in my mind. I rushed out of the study and outside, dashing through the night air across the pathways and hedgerows.

In the dark, I almost slammed up against the mausoleum. I ran my hands all along its surface, searching frantically. Nothing. No indentation, no keyhole, no depression of any kind.

You are the key, Uncle Jack had written. The key. But where was the lock?

Then I noticed the epitaph written above the door: INTER MUNDOS. My eyes darted to the letter E, then to D. E-D. Edgar. I pressed the two letters in succession. Nothing. I stood frustrated for a long moment. Then I remembered the telegram, the strange missive that had brought me here in the first place. I fished it out of my vest pocket and smoothed its crumpled surface.

DEAR NED

SEE ME AT ONCE

“Ned,” I said aloud. And I remembered one of Uncle Jack’s quirks: he never called me Edgar.

I reached back up to the inscription on the tomb and pressed the letters N-E-D in succession.

The door rolled open on well-oiled gears.

I stepped forward, peering into the dark. And stopped short at the sight that greeted me.

An empty casket. In an empty tomb.

A sudden movement caught my attention, and I whirled around just in time to avoid a plunging dagger. A wiry man in black suit and bowler hat reared back and raised the dagger again, aiming straight for my chest. I cringed, knowing this was my doom. I have never been a fighter.

Then a gunshot rang out, and the man fell to the ground.

Behind him stood my uncle, Captain John Carter. His revolver still smoking.

“Good lord,” I said, stunned. “It’s you.”

Carter smiled. “Hello, Ned.”

He pulled a small vial from his pocket, tossed it to me.

“Toxin derived from the puffer fish,” he said. “Simulates death.”

He knelt down and began to examine the assassin’s body.

I stared at the vial, beginning to understand. “You never found a medallion. In the Orkneys or anywhere else.”

“No. But I was right about the Therns.” He ripped open the bowler-hat man’s shirt to reveal a Thern medallion, adorned with the nine-legged spider design. “That’s why I’m so grateful to you for bringing me one.”

“I was just…bait?”

“No, no.” He stood, moved tenderly toward me. “You’re far more than that. I really do need a protector…that is, if you’re willing.”

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by emotion. I clasped my uncle in a fierce bear hug, almost knocking him over. He returned the embrace, then patted me firmly on the back and handed me his pistol.

Then, as I watched, he stepped into the mausoleum. The medallion seemed to glow slightly in his hand.

“Good-bye, Ned,” he said. “Oh, and Ned? You should take up a cause. Fall in love. Write a book, maybe.”

“Can’t you stay a bit longer?” I asked.

He shook his head, straining at the heavy door from inside. “It’s time I went home.”

The door slammed shut.

Write a book, he’d said. And so I have.

There’s one more thing. As I stood outside the tomb, pistol heavy in my hand, I could just make out my uncle’s muffled voice from within. “Och Ohem. Och Tay…Wyees…”

And then—for just a second—I thought I heard a woman’s voice entwine with his. A rich, deep voice, born of a world where savage women fought alongside men for a cause greater than themselves. The voice of a true princess of Mars, welcoming her warrior husband home.

“. . . Barsoom,” she said.

“Barsoom,” he echoed.

Within the tomb, there was a brief flash of light. And for the last time, John Carter was gone.

END