NOTE: The Indiana Jones character is owned by Paramount Studios and Lucasfilm, Ltd. The contents of this story and all other characters are the creation of Cheree Cargill and are copyright (c) 1989 by Cheree Cargill. No infringement of existing copyrights is intended. This is an amateur story and no money was made from its writing. One copy may be downloaded for the enjoyment of the reader, but otherwise it may not be copied or reproduced in any form whatsoever without the express written consent of the author. This story is Rated R for some sexual situations.

Adventurer for Hire

Cheree Cargill and Laura Virgil

(originally printed in "Southern Lights" #1, and reprinted in "Field Studies" #3, 1994)

"No ... please. Anything -- I'll do anything but, please, not that," Indiana Jones begged, growing desperate. "Boil me in oil. Stake me out on an ant hill. Throw me into a snake pit -- but please don't make me work registration."

Dean Whittier was unmoved. Without looking up from his clipboard, he answered in the patient monotone that had seen him through countless lectures. "Everybody works registration, Jones. You've got the table from two to four." He made a pencil mark on his list and looked up at Indy's distraught face, then chuckled and patted the younger man's shoulder in consolation. "Buck up, Jones. It's not so bad."

As he walked away, Indy retorted, "You're a sadist, Jack! A goddamned sadist!" Whittier only chuckled again and continued on his way.

So it was that Indy found himself behind the social sciences table in Marshall College's gymnasium during fall registration. The gym bustled with the usual assortment of bewildered freshmen, eager to find their way among the division tables and advisors. The gym doors were open to encourage any hint of a breeze but the throng inside only added to the late August heat. Indy had long since discarded his suit jacket and now sat in his shirt sleeves, collar open and sleeves rolled up, perspiration beginning to show under his arms. Social science wasn't doing a booming business this afternoon; so far he'd only signed up two people for anthropology, a senior psychology major, and three giggling freshman co-eds for his own Archaeology 101 class.

Watching them walk away, Jones felt utterly dejected. Going to be another one of those semesters, he decided. Sometimes he wondered if it were really worth it. Just once he'd like to have a class full of serious students -- didn't have to be many -- half a dozen would do -- who were all as fascinated by the subject as he was. Just once ... a group that would seriously explore the meaning of Mayan crypt paintings or the development of the necropolis at Thebes, a group who came to envision life in ancient Assyria and not Professor Jones without his clothes on.

Just once... Indy thought, leaning back in his chair.

"Dr. Jones, come here! I've found something!" the excited young voice of Delbert Whitney called from his section of the dig.

Indy strode purposefully across the dusty ground and stepped carefully across the taunt strings dividing the dig into squares. Del was brushing at a section of the ground and, as Indy bent over him, he caught the glint of gold.

Squatting down beside Del, the veteran archaeologist took a paintbrush from his shirt pocket and joined his student in uncovering the find. The other students had stopped and were watching their progress, caught in the excitement of the moment.

More and more golden surface, embossed with glyphs, came to light and a couple of the other students joined in the excavation. The electricity in the air was palpable.

"It's the Coffin," Indy said in an awed whisper, his hands never slowing in their work. "It's the Golden Coffin of Azmodeus. This is the great discovery since--"

"Biology?"

"Huh? Uh ... no ... wrong table. Bio's down that way -- under the sign that says 'Science Department.'"

"Thank you." The befuddled student moved off.

Indy shook his head. Biology. Cadwallader was getting his usual swarm of second year students, all trying to fit the required two semesters of bio into their schedules. Must be nice to have your course required study. No such luck for archaeology...

WellIl ... speaking of biology... Indy smiled in appreciation at the lovely young co-ed standing partway across the gym, looking in confusion at the signs above the many tables. Her silvery blonde hair peeped from under her little beret and the blouse and skirt she wore followed the curve of her figure to stunning advantage. Put her in a slinky gown and a sultry look, he decided, and she'd be a dead ringer for Jean Harlow.

Indy's throat felt dry and he swallowed hard as he realized that she was looking directly at him, her ice-blue eyes half-closed, her rosy lips parted.

*Come over here, sweetheart*, he willed her. *Sign up for my class*. To his complete shock, she moved toward him. *Oh, darling! Come over here! Get some candy, little girl!* He kicked himself mentally at that but was gratified to see her approach him, her shapely hips swaying in a manner that made him want to beat one foot on the ground and howl. He put on his most charming smile.

"Oh, dear, I hope you can help me," she said in a soft, silky voice that nearly made him wet his pants.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak, leaning over his table with his best professorial air. "I certainly hope so, too." *Sign up for my class!*

She leaned forward in confidence, the action causing her full breasts to strain against the snowy fabric of her blouse. He clamped his teeth together and forced himself to lock his gaze on her face. Her sensuous lips only inches from his, she whispered, "This is really terrible ... but I've just discovered that I've left my checkbook at home. What should I do?"

His chair came back down hard onto the floor, where it had been teetering as he leaned toward her. "Uh ... why don't you try the financial aid desk? Maybe they can work something out. Uh, care to sign up for archaeology while you're here?" he asked hopefully.

She flashed him a dazzling smile. "No, thanks. I can't do hard stuff like science. I'm going to concentrate on typing and home ec this semester." Her gorgeous eyes flicked appraisingly over him for a second, then she shrugged ingenuously and strolled fluidly away, her hips pulling his eyes after them like a magnet.

He felt weak all over. At the table next to him, Rogers from the political science department guffawed and asked loudly, "What's the matter, Jones? Need to take a break or something?"

Indy looked over at him and Rogers rolled his eyes and whistled, shaking one hand limply to indicate "hot stuff." Indy closed his eyes and shuddered theatrically, whole-heartedly agreeing with his colleague's appraisal of the situation. Both men watched the girl disappear into the crowd and Rogers said reverently, "Boy, wouldn't *that* be a religious experience!"

Indy laughed and picked up a class schedule to fan himself with. Rogers turned back to his own table and the group of students who had clustered before it.

Gosh, it was hot in here, Indy thought, his mind wandering again. Reminded him of the Amazon jungle ... hot ... steamy ... primitive ... erotic -- er, exotic...

Slowly the choking jungle yielded before the powerfully swung machete in Jones' right hand. Sweat ran in rivulets down his sunburned face and soaked the torn khaki shirt he wore. Behind him, he could hear Jean struggling through the path he had made in the underbrush and he ventured a glance over his shoulder at her, smiling reassuringly. Her perfect face was smudged with dirt but was still beautiful. Her silvery blonde hair peeked out from under the pith helmet and her sweat-soaked shirt clung to her body like a second skin. She had opened the top buttons in the heat and Indy could see the upper curve of her lush breasts straining to be free. The sight stirred his primitive sexual urges and he thought of last night before the campfire, of the taste of her rosy lips and of her long legs entwined with his.

Roughly, Jones pulled his mind back to the business at hand. The Hovitos were hard on their trail, trying to catch them before they reached the Temple of Quechua. Indy was determined to get there first, determined to get his hands on the golden idol.

Abruptly, he halted as Hovitos appeared out of the jungle like apparitions. Jean pressed against him, her breasts heaving with fear, and he slipped his left arm around her trim waist protectively, even as his right hand caught up the whip and unfurled it with a crack. But this time he was outnumbered. The natives brought their blowguns up to their lips, their hard black eyes glittering.

There was no escape for the famed adventurer; it was the end. Fate could be a cruel mistress, he thought in this his most desperate hour. There was nowhere to turn, no avenue of escape and the enemy was upon him.

There was no green river over which to swing, no convenient window to leap from, no plane waiting to whisk him away. Instead, he was blocked behind the registration tables and the enemy approached in the guise of Peabody W. Osgood IV.

Peabody, which he insisted everyone call him -- "of the New Haven Peabodys" -- instead of his more innocuous middle name of William, delighted in finding people at inescapable, inopportune moments and talking them into exhaustion. If anything could be classified as an inopportune moment, this would surely be it. Indy couldn't leave and he'd certainly not be able to find anyone to spell him for a while, because everyone avoided Peabody W. Osgood IV like the plague.

Peabody loved to talk. About anything. At any time. At great length. And his knowledge was purported to be endless, as was his I.Q.

He was certainly an asset to the mathematics department, but he bored everyone to tears and no one could stand to be around him for longer than it took to get away from him. Peabody slipped behind the table and sat in the empty chair next to Indy.

"Hello, Henry," he said primly. That was something else he insisted on doing that drove Indy to distraction. Peabody simply would *not* address Jones by his preferred moniker.

"Hello, Peabody," Indy answered in despair, glumly noting that, while he himself was sweating like a pig, Peabody was cool and crisp in his three piece suit.

Peabody leaned closer, staring through his thick, rounded spectacles, which made his eyes look twice as big as they already were. "You look flushed."

"I'm okay," Jones mumbled. "It's just the heat."

"You look as if you're excited about something. Your pupils are dilated and your breathing is rapid. And, good Lord, Jones, you have an erec--"

Like a striking make, Jones had his jacket lapel in a white-knuckled fist and was hissing through clenched teeth into Osgood's started face, "So help me God, Peabody, if you don't get your worthless ass away from my table and back to your own department, I'll knock you so flat you'll have to stand up to take a shit!"

The smaller man struggled futilely in the crazed archaeologist's grip. "Jones! Please -- the material! Let me go!" At last he extricated himself and pulled away, hastily straightening his suit and putting the table between himself and Indy, then paused to daub with a spotless white handkerchief at a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead. "You're mad, Jones! I'm going to speak to the dean about this!"

"You do that, Peabody," Indy replied with a tight grin that had no humor in it. "You just do that."

As Peabody huffed away, Jones slumped back in his chair, wondering what manner of sins he had committed to have this day inflicted on him in punishment. Rogers looked in concern at his colleague's flushed face, the glazed, blank expression in his eyes and his overall haggard appearance.

"Hey, Indy," he said. "Why don't you go take a break? Get a drink of water or something. I'll keep an eye on your table for you."

Jones nodded and wandered dazedly across the gym to the men's locker room. There, he splashed water on his face and gazed at himself in the mirror, wondering if he'd had those gray hairs this morning. Surely not; surely they'd appeared in the last hour.

He splashed his face again and presently felt better and went back to brave the social science table for his remaining allotted time.

He sat stuporously, his chair tipped back against the wall, the heat in the gym oppressive. Think cool, he commended himself. Think snow ... high mountain snow ... cool snow...

Indy advanced cautiously out of the circle of the firelight, gun ready, the snow making a soft shushing sound under his boots. His eyes strained to pierce the darkness, searching for whatever it was he'd heard moving around. He didn't step too far from the fire, fearing that the sound might have been caused by a wolf or even a snow leopard, something he didn't want between him and the fire.

Abruptly, a large shape charged from the darkness to his right hand and, quick as Indy was, the creature was quicker, knocking the pistol from his hand and away. Indy leapt back into the firelight, simultaneously clawing the whip from its hasp and sending it cracking out against the animal, halting it just at the edge of the firelight.

There it crouched, motionless, its eyes glittering up at the man, who now stood frozen, too, unable to believe the creature he saw before him.

Slowly, the creature rose and stood up to face the archaeologist, stood on two legs, its shoulders slightly stooped, its hands held palm-up in a non-threatening stance. It was covered with coarse, dark hair over its entire body, save for its face, palms, breasts and the soles of its feet. These revealed a leathery black skin and the slight swelling of the breasts and protrusion of the nipples showed the creature to be female. Standing upright, the top of its pointed skull came just to Indy's shoulder.

But Indy was to take all this in later. For now, his eyes were riveted on those of the creature. Though set in a feral face, the dark brown eyes were unafraid and intelligent. It flicked its gaze toward the whip still held ready in Indy's hand and slowly hunkered back down onto its haunches.

Fascinated, Indy let his hand drop cautiously, ready to swing the whip back into action if need be. But the creature stayed immobile just at the edge of the firelight, silent and watching.

After a time, Indy carefully moved to locate his pistol in the snow and, after a quick check, slipped it back into its hoister. The creature never moved, except to follow him with its eyes as he sat down on the camp stool on the other side of the fire. Minutes ticked by and Indy finally reached into his pack to pull out several slices of bread to toast before the fire.

The creature startled him by emitting a low whine, the first sound he had heard her make, and he quickly reached for his whip. But she had not moved from her place and was only eyeing the bread longingly. He tossed her a piece, which fell on the ground before her. Cautiously, she picked it up, sniffing the bread thoroughly before scrambling a bit farther out of the firelight, her back slightly turned to him, and wolfing the bread down hungrily.

Indy watched the creature curiously and wonder began to infuse him. Surely this was the legendary yeti. He was on the right trail! Perhaps this creature would be the key in finding the Nepalese treasure trove he sought!

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a harsh growl to his left and he swung to find a huge male at the edge of the firelight. Taller than Indy, broad shoulders and chest bulging with muscles, the creature advanced, reaching out a long sinewy arm and, before Indy could react, grasped the archaeologist's shoulder and shook him.

"Dr. Jones?" the creature asked. "Are you okay?"

Indy blinked up at Rod Caruthers, Marshall College's star tight end. The huge young man looked concerned and said, "You were just kind of sittin' there, like you were in a coma or somethin'."

Indy cleared his throat and tried a sheepish little smile. "Uh ... no, I'm okay, Rod. I guess my mind was wandering. Do you need to sign up for a class?"

"Yes, sir ... Archaeology 201, if it's still open."

Still open, Indy mused as he filled out the proper paperwork. Just barely making is more like it. Oh, well, small classes were usually the best ones ... more one-on-one contact.

He was smiling as he looked up to hand Rod the proper slip of paper but his smile faltered a bit as he saw that the lovely blonde co-ed had reappeared before his table, only this time firmly under Rod Caruthers' massive, protective arm. Indy's eyes flickered uncertainly from one to the other for a second, then he bravely put the smile back on.

"There you go, Rod. See you in class."

"Thanks, Dr. Jones."

"Ooooh, Roddy," the girl gushed, starry-eyed "You're such a brain! I could never get through the courses you do!" She turned her worshipful gaze on Indy and purred, "Isn't he wonderful?"

Indy returned a wan smile.

Rod blushed and drew her away. "Aw, come on, Marisue. Cut out that nonsense. See you later, Dr. Jones."

Indy kept smiling until they were well away from his table then sagged a bit. His downcast stance only lasted for a minute, though, then he brightened considerably, for making his way towards the table was Fred Albertson, one of the psychology professors and -- more importantly -- Indy's relief at the social science table.

Indy was practically dancing with relief as Albertson took over for him. It was obvious that the other man wanted to chat but Indy gleefully shoved the registration materials into his colleague's hands, grabbed his suit jacket and fled the gym.

He didn't stop until he was safely inside his own small house, jacket and tie discarded, and a good stiff drink in one hand. There, he sat staring into his empty fireplace, his eyes still a bit glazed from the harrowing afternoon.

Diversion, he decided presently. He needed a good diversion to take his mind off it. Something totally removed from the stupefying atmosphere of Marshall College...

A guarded expression came over his face and he rose, strolling over to surreptitiously pull the window shades down. Once sure that he wouldn't be observed by any casual passerby, he went over to his book case and reached up to the top shelf, probing behind the dusty volumes of references books lodged there. Presently, he found what he was looking for and brought down a dog-eared magazine.

Settling back into his easy chair, Indy smiled happily and turned his rapt attention to the gaudy, colorful pictures within.

This John Carter of Mars was something else, he decided as he flipped the pages of the comic book. Now *this* guy had adventures!

THE END