Hurricane Hannah. Sue Civil-Brown
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of a whimper.
Hardly reassured, she backed up. Lumbering as if stairs were unfamiliar, Buster began to descend the now fully opened gangway.
Hannah backed up. Swiftly. If she had an ounce of common sense, she’d flee at once from this hangar and send that annoying Buck Shanahan in here to deal with Buster.
Which, she decided, much as it might wound her pride, she was going to do.
Then she remembered from countless TV shows that alligators could move very fast. Faster than one might think.
That did it. She turned and ran for the door, her feet barely touching the floor. Behind her, scaly scrapes followed quickly. Buster apparently had no intention of letting her out of his sight.
She reached the door, but of course it was barred. She worked the lever as quickly as she could with sweaty palms, and at last managed to throw it back. She could hear Buster right behind her, but she refused to look back. That would only waste valuable escape time.
With a mighty shove, she pushed the door outward and darted through it.
The heat and humidity of the tropical morning felt like a punch in the face. She hardly noticed it as another growl propelled her away from the hangar, toward the office. As she ran, she vaguely noticed that the clouds had come no closer, but appeared darker than yesterday. Heat waves shimmered above the runway in the heavy air.
And scales still scraped behind her.
All of a sudden, Buck Shanahan appeared around the corner of the office. He was dressed in the same khaki as yesterday, though the clothing looked fresher.
“What the hell—?”
She ran right past him, saying, “Get rid of that prehistoric beast. Now!”
It didn’t help to hear his laugh as she flew toward the office door. Once inside the air-conditioned building, she collapsed on a chair and put her head between her knees, feeling as if she were on the edge of fainting…or vomiting, either of which would embarrass her to death.
Closing her eyes, she clung to self-control.
A few moments later, Buck sauntered into the office and closed the door behind him.
“Did you kill him?” she demanded.
“Hell, no. He’s an island icon. They’d lynch me.”
She lifted her head and waited a moment for the world to stop swimming in the adrenaline sea. “He was on my plane! He tried to get on my bed! And he was roaring at me….”
“Roaring?”
“Roaring.”
He started laughing.
She managed a glare and resisted the urge to throttle him. “What’s so funny?”
“Well, Sticks, alligators roar for only one reason.”
“What? They want to eat what they see?”
“Nope.” He grinned around the ever-present cigar. “It’s a mating call.”
Hannah’s jaw dropped. It was entirely possible that it dropped all the way to the floor, but she didn’t bother checking. “What?” she asked finally, hoarsely.
“I guess he thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.”
“Oh. My. God.” Hannah put her head in her hands.
“Hey, it’s a compliment.”
“What? That he thinks I look like an alligator?”
Buck chuckled. “Relax. I’ll get you some coffee and breakfast. He’ll hang around for a while, then wander off to a cool pond before he overheats.”
“He was on my plane!”
“So you said.”
She really, really wanted to draw and quarter this guy. No sympathy. No human feeling. Laughing at her fright. Wasn’t she entitled to be frightened when a huge alligator appeared beside her bed? Only a fool would be sanguine about that!
“You’re crazy!” she declared finally, a wimp-out when compared to strangling him.
“Probably.” He didn’t appear at all disturbed. “Blame it on the tropical air.”
“You must have blacked out one too many times.”
That got his attention and he glared at her. “I was a Top Gun, Sticks. I never blacked out.”
“Maybe you just didn’t know it.”
“Flying what I was flying, I’d have known it.” He scowled at her. “What’s with you, anyway? I told you Buster’s a fixture around here.”
“Not on my plane, he isn’t.”
All of a sudden, Buck’s frown slipped into a cockeyed grin. “You must smell real good to him.”
That was the point at which, if some weapon had been handy, she would have landed herself in prison for life. The only alternative was to storm out, but before she lifted her rump from her seat, Buster’s roar sounded outside.
Buck shook his head. “He’s really determined.”
“Tell him I’m not interested in his species.”
Buck, still grinning, asked, “What species are you interested in?”
“Nothing from Mars,” she shot back.
“Ho! You read that stuff?”
“Shut your mouth, Shanahan, before I shut it for you.”
“You know something, Sticks? My mouth is usually shut. It would help if you would stop provoking me.”
“What? Now it’s my fault you’re an idiot?”
He put his hands on his hips, and now she could no longer read his face. The tip of his cigar bobbed up and down as if he were chomping rapidly on it.
“You,” he said finally, “are walking proof of why I avoid Venusians.”
“If I’m lucky, the mother ship will rescue me soon.”
“It won’t be soon enough for me.” With that he walked out of the office, leaving her alone to stew in her own juices.
The last of the adrenaline washed out of her system, and she crumpled like a deflated balloon.
She didn’t need this.
AS BUCK STRODE toward the hangar, hoping that the schematics would reveal some kind of quick fix for Hannah Lamont’s plane so he could get her out of here as swiftly as possible, Buster was shambling away into the shade of the tropical foliage in the direction of the nearest pond. He’d spend the rest of the day there, keeping cool and dining on the occasional fish or too-slow bird.
Damn woman, he thought. She even had Buster confused. Whatever had made the gator board her plane? Or go into the hangar to begin with? Buster was far too canny a beast to box himself in like that.
Shaking his head, Buck entered the hangar and marched over to the computer. Sometime during the night, the download had finished, leaving him with a heap of schematics to run over.
He sighed as he looked at the printout. Personally, he preferred the older planes. Simpler. Easier to repair. He could even machine parts himself for his DC-3. That stack of printout was nothing but an indictment of modern complexity.
Then he felt like a hypocrite. After all, he’d flown some of the most complex machines in the world, and had loved it. He just didn’t think he could repair one with the facilities at hand.
Bending, he lifted the stack from the basket on the floor and carried it over to the metal desk, where he dropped it. Switching on the desk lamp, he sat and began to pore over the schematics, checking for the likeliest point of failure before he started tracing