by Alex Raymond
President Bentancourt was a short muscular man of fifty. When he saw Zarkov enter the oval meeting chamber, he made his way through the assembling group. “How are you progressing, Doctor?”
Zarkov’s voice was subdued. “Not as well as I expected,” he had to admit.
The president seemed to grow even shorter. “No one else has had any measure of success either,” he said, sighing. “I hoped . . .”
“Don’t give up on Zarkov,” said the doctor. “Success is right around the corner, I guarantee it.”
Conditions had grown even worse. The waves of strange sound attacked with increasing fury, like invisible harpies rending and ripping. Public buildings toppled, trains were flung aside, planes and aircruisers dropped from the sky. There were growing shortages of fuel, food, and raw materials. Most transportation was disrupted.
The meeting got under way and all the problems were reiterated. A good deal of talking was done, considerable shouting; the Minister of Agriculture cried. Zarkov sat in his floating chair, hands hidden in his bushy beard. He said very little, and this was in a low mumbling voice. Finally the meeting ended.
As they were leaving the capital building, someone called Dr. Zarkov’s name. He turned back, saw Minister Minnig, the president’s chief assistant, beckoning to him from a side door of the meeting room. “Let me see what he wants, Flash,” Zarkov said, turning back.
Minnig was a lean man of fifty. “I can’t talk now, Zarkov,” he said, glancing from side to side cautiously, “especially with him around.”
Shuffling papers and memos into an attaché pouch at a nearby table was a thin green man. He was General Yate, a supporter of the president at the moment but also a man who might want to rule Estampa Territory someday himself. If not as president, some said, then as dictator.
“Ah, missed one,” said Dr. Nazzaro, a rumpled man of sixty-one. He was Minister of Health. Bending, he reached for a fallen memo.
“Get your hands off that, you unkempt fool,” said Yate.
Nazzaro smiled and straightened up. “It’s too bad we no longer have the cavalry, General,” he said. “You’d look good on a horse.”
Minister Minnig pulled Zarkov away from the doorway. “Can you come and talk to me?” he asked anxiously. “Not tonight, unfortunately, since I have an embassy dinner I can’t miss, especially at a crucial and trying time such as this. But, tomorrow evening?”
“I’d really like to spend all my time in the lab. What is it?”
“I can understand that,” said Minnig quickly. “Ah, but your young friend, Flash Gordon. He’s as bright as you, Zarkov.”
“Well, almost.”
“Send him to my home tomorrow night,” said Mining. “At eight, shall we say? It may be nothing, but I think I know something about this sound plague. It’s . . . I don’t wish to discuss it with President Bentancourt yet. But a man such as yourself or Gordon—will he come?”
“I’ll guarantee it, Minnig,” said Zarkov. “Can you tell anything more about—?”
“Tomorrow night then.” Minnig hurried away.
“Huh,” said Zarkov and scratched his beard.
CHAPTER 4
He hadn’t expected the aircar.
Flash was extracting his shoes from the shining machine in his bedroom when the pixphone floating beside his bed started its beeping. “Yes?” he said, turning his head toward the small circular screen.
“Your car is here,” said the voice of the house computer.
The tinted screen showed a silvery aircar, hovering a foot above the street out in the misty night. “Which car would this be?”
“The aircar to take you to the home of Minister Minnig.” said the voice from the phone.
“Minnig didn’t tell Zarkov he was sending a car,” said Flash to himself as he tugged on his shoes. “Or maybe Doc forgot to mention it.” He took his thermal cloak from a chair back, saying aloud, “Tell the car I’ll be right down.” He’d been on Pandor long enough to be used to talking with machines and gadgets.
“Very good, sir.” The phone blacked out, making a faint sizzling sound as it did.
Dale was standing in the doorway of her room when Flash came striding down the corridor. “Sure you don’t want company?” she asked him.
“I do,” said Flash, grinning. “But Minnig told Dr. Zarkov he wanted to talk to me alone and in private. Hopefully, I’ll be back early enough for us to go somewhere for a late dinner.” He had stopped in front of the slim dark girl. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he kissed her.
After a moment Dale said, “All right, I’ll stay here in my room and read a book until you come home.”
As Flash went out the front door of their rented villa, the house computer said, “I hope you’ll have a pleasant evening, sir.”
“Thanks,” said Flash over his shoulder, “same to you.”
The fog was thick. It filled the cobblestone street, seemed to fill all the space between the ground and the night sky.
A whir and a clicking came from the hovering air-car. “Mr. Flash Gordon, isn’t it?”
The rear door swung open by itself. Flash saw there was a human driver in the pilot seat. “Yes. You’re from Minister Minnig?’
“That I am, sir. Been with him since I was a wee lad. Climb in and make yourself comfortable, sir.”
Flash eased into the vehicle and sat on the soft leather rear seat. The door slammed shut and the car rose gently up through the fog.
“Yes, I was a little bit of a tyke when I first began working there,” continued the driver. “Well, now, I called it work, though of course my dear departed father, who was driver and pilot to the Minnig family for nigh on forty years, was only humoring me. Allowing me to tinker about a bit.” The pilot was a thickset man of about fifty, dressed in a one-piece gray suit and a matching cap.
“You’re lucky you haven’t been replaced by a gadget,” said Flash, leaning back in his seat. “Estampa seems to be very machine-minded at the present.”
“Ah, but what can replace a man?” asked the pilot. They were high above the city. An occasional spire or fragment of walk ramp showed through the mist. “It is my good fortune, sir, that Minister Minnig prefers to have living human beings around him.”
The aircar flew through the night. Ten minutes later, it started dropping slowly down toward the ground. “That would be your destination, sir,” announced the pilot. “Can you make out the blue light glowing there in the fog?”
Flash looked out. “Yes, is that the front door?”
“It is indeed, sir.” replied the pilot. “Do you wish me to get out and help you?”
“No need for that.” The door next to Flash popped open, swinging outward, with a click and a hum.
“I’ll be ready to take you home whenever you wish, sir.”
“Thanks.” Flash hopped to the walkway, and located the ramp which curved upward to the blue light. Once there, he touched the red spot in the center of the house’s door.
Inside the house, a buzzing started. In about thirty seconds, the door rattled open. “Come in, won’t you, Mr. Gordon.”
This was not a mechanism but a tall handsome young woman. She had long blonde hair and was wearing a short evening dress.
“Is Minister Minnig in?”
“Yes, he’s expecting you,” she said, stepping back so he could enter the foyer.
Mist spilled in with Flash, drifting across the faintly glowing yellow floor. “You’re—?” Flash said. Zarkov hadn’t mentioned anything about willowy young girls with platinum hair.
“Glenna Minnig,” she said, with a smile. “I’m the minister’s daughter. Come along to his study, won’t you?”
The study was a large room with a high, domed ceiling. The floors and walls were made of the same pale-yellow pseudowood. There were three fat red-plastic chairs and a small green desk in the room, all of the currently popular floating style. Minister Minnig was sitting in the chair nearest the desk, a glass of blue brandy cupped in his left hand.
“Ah, good evening, Gordon,” he said in his high voice. “So good of you to come.”
The girl stepped back out into the hall and the room’s pale-yellow door shut on Flash.
He crossed the room. “Dr. Zarkov indicated you had some information to give us, Mr. Minister, about the possible cause of the plague of sound.”
The lean man stood up. “Let me get you a drink first, Gordon.”
“No, thanks.”
The minister moved to a blank yellow wall, tapped it. A panel slid open and a small, well-stocked bar emerged. He placed his glass on a round green spot and a tiny silver arm lifted up a brandy bottle, poured, and recapped the bottle. “I suppose I wouldn’t drink at all,” said the minister, with a faint smile, “if I didn’t get a kick out of seeing this apparatus work.”
Flash watched him return to his chair. “You have some idea of who may be behind this thing?”
After sniffing at the brandy and then sipping it, Minnig said, “I hope you’ll forgive me, Gordon. In the heat of the meeting yesterday, I’m afraid I jumped to some illogical conclusions.”
Flash came up close to the other man. “Even a hunch might help,” he said. “You know Zarkov and I won’t act on anything you tell us without checking it out thoroughly.”
“Yes, Gordon, I do realize that.” He was looking not at Flash but up at the dome of the ceiling. “In the hours since I blurted out what I did to Dr. Zarkov, however, I’ve had some second thoughts. I’ve also, I must admit, discussed the matter with Glenna. Since my wife . . . well, my daughter is my most trusted confidante.” He lowered his eyes, smiling faintly. “Though I hope you won’t tell the president I consult a young girl when I’m in doubt.”
Flash turned away from him. He began walking slowly around the room. Stopping, he faced Minnig and asked, “You’re sure it’s just discretion?”
“What do you mean, Gordon?”
“You’re not afraid, are you? Has someone put pressure on you?”
Minister Minnig rose up out of his floating chair. “I fought to build this territory to what it is today, Gordon. And I’m not just using figures of speech; I mean I fought in the streets against the junta which had been oppressing the country for almost a decade. In the years since we overthrew it and set up a democracy I’ve done battle with a good many people, both verbal and physical battles.” With a frown, he sat again.
Flash said, “Maybe they threatened your daughter and not you.”
Shaking his head, Minnig said, “I assure you, Gordon, such is not the case. I know you’re disappointed, naturally, at coming here and not learning what you hoped. But you have my word: it is second thought and not cowardice which prompts me to remain silent. Silent for now, at any rate.”
“Why did you send for me tonight then?” Flash asked him. “You really haven’t anything to tell me.”
“I believe in meeting a man face to face.” With his free hand, he gestured at the blank walls. “Despite all the electronic means of communication I’ve got, Gordon, I’m still old-fashioned enough to like to look a man in the eye.” He paused to sip again at his brandy. “I must admit also that I’ve heard a good deal about you, Gordon, about your—what shall I call them?—exploits. The things you’ve done on Earth, on Mongo, and all throughout this infinite universe of ours. As an erstwhile man of action myself, I admire you.”
Flash said, “Okay, thanks. But I wish you’d give me some facts instead of admiration.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” replied Minnig. “Perhaps, when I’ve done a little more thinking, a little more cautious digging, I will have something to tell you.”
“Meanwhile, more buildings may collapse, more people die.”
“I fully realize that, Gordon. But I don’t want to accuse anyone falsely, even when there’s ample reason for expediency.”
Flash watched the minister’s face for a moment, then shrugged. “All right. If you decide you have something to tell, let us know.” He moved toward the closed door.
“No need to leave so soon, Gordon,” said Minnig from his chair. “There are many other things we can discuss beside this terrible sound plague.”
“Maybe some other evening,” said Flash. “Dr. Zarkov’s over at his new lab, and I may as well give him a hand there tonight, since nothing’s come of this meeting.” He didn’t see any way to open the door.
“I really wish . . .”
The door opened and the lovely blonde girl was standing in the corridor. “Don’t keep Mr. Gordon from more important matters, father.”
Minnig said, “Yes, you’re right of course, Glenna. As you say, Gordon, we must get together some other evening.”
“You don’t have to commit yourself now, Mr. Gordon.” She reached across the threshold and took his hand. Her fingertips were very warm. “I’ll show you to the door.”
“Good night, Minister Minnig.” Flash left the room.
“Thank you for coming,” called the minister as the room closed him in.
CHAPTER 5
“Not much of a night for that, is it, sir?” asked the pilot.
“Walking is something you can do in any kind of weather,” answered Flash.
“As you wish, sir.” He guided the aircar down through the intricacy of ramps, setting it down beside a large artificial lake. “And a pleasant evening to you.”
“Thanks,” Flash said to Minister Mining’s pilot as he jumped from the hovering vehicle.
Flash had asked the man to let him off some distance from Zarkov’s lab. His recent interview with the reluctant cabinet member was puzzling him. He wanted to walk and think about it.
The aircar rose up and away with a wooshing sound.
Flash strolled down to the artificial gravel path which circled the misty lake. “Something about that chat with Minnig wasn’t quite right,” he said to himself. “Maybe a jog will clear my fuzzy thoughts up.”
There was no one on the path at this hour. Flash commenced running. The entire path was three miles in length. He finished that in seventeen minutes, not winded at all.
“But I still can’t put my finger on what’s bothering me.” He shook his head, then started for Zarkov’s lab, which was roughly a mile to the north of the lake.
He was still a good block from the building when something hissed at him from behind an artificial tree. Flash kept walking.
“Flash,” called a voice.
It was Dr. Zarkov standing behind the tree. “Zarkov?” Flash said as he moved back to him.
“Didn’t you hear me hiss at you?”
“I thought maybe this fake tree had sprung a leak,” he said. “What’s the purpose of all this skulking round?”
“Even with my gift for concise explanation, Flash, I can’t fill you in completely now.” Zarkov put his hand on Flash’s shoulder. “There’s no time. The Territorial Investigation Department boys are already enroute to my lab. I snuck out to tell you to use the side entrance. Then get into that big cabinet in the hangar room. I’ll take care of a few other little details after you do that. Come on.”
“Wait, Doc,” said Flash. “Why am I being so cautious?”
“Because you’re wanted for murder,” Zarkov told him.
Inspector Carr was a tall green man of about fifty, very trim and straight. He wore a three-piece metallic suit and a vinyl cloak. Hands behind his back, he strode through the huge hangar which adjoined Zarkov’s work lab. The floating globes of light made his suit glitter. “This is a very unfortunate business, Doctor,” he said, bending to look beneath the olive-green aircruiser which rested in this half of the hangar. “I know you are giving a good deal of time and effort to helping our government find the source of this sound plague.” He looked up at the burly, bearded doctor. “Any luck on that, by the way?”
Dr. Zarkov slapped a big hand against the side of the long needle-nosed ship. “I’m adapting this baby, with a whole caboodle of special sound-detecting gear, to go find the fellow behind the trouble,” he said. Now th
at he was not being cautious his voice again boomed. “We’ll find him.”
“When you say ‘we,’ are you referring to Flash Gordon and yourself?”
“Flash was due to pilot the ship,” bellowed the doctor. “But now, Zarkov must make other arrangements.”
“It’s all highly curious . . . oh, forgive me. I believe that’s Constable Briney at the hangar door with the dogs.”
“Dogs? You plan to drag a gaggle of yapping hounds into my bailiwick?”
“Actually these are robot dogs, Doctor,” explained the police inspector while crossing the hangar to let in his associate. “The commissioner authorized their purchase only last month. He’s quite anxious that we use them every opportunity we get. They cost nearly fifty thousand dollars each.”
He touched the door release and the door went rattling up. Constable Briney was a large round man, pink in color. The pair of robot dogs were chrome-plated, highly stylized versions of flesh and blood dogs.
“Fifty thou?” shouted Zarkov. “I could whip up a dog like that for five. You guys were taken, Inspector.”
“They’re full of delicate equipment.” Constable Briney knelt, flicked a switch on the neck of each of the robot dogs. “Especially good at sniffing out fugitives.”
“Maybe six thou tops,” said Zarkov, “with all the sensitive equipment stuffed in them you’ll ever need. Plus a much more functional, and attractive nose than that plastic atrocity. For another two thousand, I could even rig them up to talk and play the piano.”
“We’ve no need of such accomplishments at the TTD,” said Inspector Carr.
The two mechanical hounds, making growling and ticking noises, began sniffing their way around the big hangar.
The inspector watched them for a moment, then said to Zarkov, “Perhaps you can give me some notion of what Gordon’s motive might have been?”
“He didn’t have a motive,” answered Zarkov in an exceptionally, even for him, loud voice. “For the simple reason that he didn’t kill anybody.”
“Ah, now, Doctor,” said Briney. “That won’t wash, won’t wash at all. This fellow Flash Gordon was seen arriving at Minister Minnig’s house this evening. Two of the poor late minister’s human servants will swear they saw Flash Gordon enter the house, go into Minnig’s study and, before the door was even closed, shoot the poor man down with a blaster pistol.”
