Flash Gordon 2 - The Plague of Sound

by Alex Raymond

  “Don’t take too long to flesh it out, Master Pan,” suggested Manyon. “We’ve picked tomorrow afternoon to intrude onto the Estampa airwaves.”

  “Yes, leave me now and I’ll set to work.”

  “Not yet, Master Pan. I have something further to report.”

  “Well, what?”

  “Looks like we’ve caught another aircruiser,” answered the green underling. “It’s being directed here right now.”

  “Where’s this one from?”

  “We believe it’s another from Estampa.”

  “Those fools in Estampa,” said Pan. “They must know more about us than you think.”

  “Not according to our sources in the capital, Master Pan.”

  “The other ship,” said Pan. “All the equipment in it was built for the express purpose of finding me.”

  “It didn’t help, though,” reminded Manyon. “We found their ship before it found us.”

  “The ship, but not the pilot. Where is he, by the way? You’ve had a day to hunt.”

  “It’s a big jungle out there, Master Pan. I wouldn’t worry, though. I’ve sent out several scouting parties.”

  A smile appeared on Pan’s face. “Perhaps well be more fortunate this time,” he said. “Perhaps the pilot will be aboard.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Dale saw the jungle open up before her. She moved her hand down from her throat and began breathing again. She’d been certain her ship was going to crash.

  The craft continued its downward journey. A large opening had appeared in the ground itself. Dale’s aircruiser passed through it.

  “What is all this?” the girl said.

  Her ship leveled out and passed over ivory-white towers and spires, curving white walkways. There was an entire city down here—a large, precisely laid-out city—all of it a spotless white.

  “And no noise,” Dale realized.

  The engines of her ship had turned off and it was drifting silently down now. Dale could hear no other sounds. Everything inside had ceased to tick, whir, and hum. Outside it seemed absolutely quiet.

  Yet there were people out there. Men and women, moving about. But there was no noise, not a sound.

  “They’re all dressed exactly alike,” Dale said.

  All the citizens of this spotless and silent underground city were dressed in simple yellow tunics, with helmets of soft nearleather on their heads.

  Frowning, the girl said, “And they’re all smiling, but there’s something unnatural about those smiles. They’re not quite right.”

  Silently her ship had landed in what appeared to be a public courtyard. There was a large white pseudomarble fountain which shot up plumes of tinted water, making not a sound. The courtyard itself was paved with white squares of tile that seemed to absorb the sound of the feet which passed across them.

  Her radio began to speak to her. “To anyone in the ship,” it said in a strange new voice, “listen and obey. You have exactly two minutes to step out of your craft with, hands held high. Should you fail to comply you will be stunned into unconsciousness.”

  “End of the line,” the girl said, rising out of the pilot seat.

  She crossed to the cabin door, opened it, and stepped out into the white silence.

  Sawtel thrust his gnarled hand into the last of the slave helmets. “There,” he said after a moment, “this one is through working, too.”

  Tad was watching the black man who had been green. “Show business,” he said. “You’re an actor, an entertainer.”

  “You’re real hep, cat,” said the black man.

  “Well, I read your mind,” admitted the lanky Tad.

  “You’re not jiving me are you, daddy?”

  Tad looked puzzled. “I can read your thoughts easier than I can understand your conversation, Mr., uh, Flip. Is that your name?”

  “You got it, man.”

  “Why do you talk like that?”

  “Man, that’s the way everybody in show biz on my home planet beats their chops, daddy,” explained the entertainer. “I been gigging around with those dudes so long I got me the same line of jive, you dig?”

  “It reminds me of something I read once,” said Tad.

  “Well, man, it’s like a variation of the way they talked back on a planet called Earth,” said Flip. “Way they laid the scam on each other in a crazy era known as the forties and fifties. I ain’t exactly sure when that was, but those cats really swung, you know. That’s nuff said about me—who are all you dudes?”

  “Don’t you know?” Flash asked him. “You were sent out to capture us, weren’t you?”

  Flip winked at the pile of disabled helmets. “I don’t remember everything that went on while I was wearing that crazy lid, daddy,” he replied. “With that thing on, I just did what they told me, tommed around, and did just exactly what they told me with a happy grin. We was supposed to round up any strangers, that I know, and bring them in for processing.”

  “Pan is always recruiting said Jillian, who’d been talking with some of the other freed slaves.

  The other five men were standing in a half circle on the jungle trail. Now one of the tall ones said, “I think I’d simply like to head for my own territory now. How about you, Lando?”

  Lando, the other tall one, said, “Well, I don’t know, Marc. If these people hadn’t saved us by taking those helmets off, we’d still be slaves. Maybe we ought to join this rebel army the young lady’s been telling us about.”

  “You can join,” said Marc. “As for me, my wife and three youngest kids are back home. That’s where I’m going.”

  “We won’t stop you,” Sawtel said. “Anyone who wishes to join us can; those who don’t may go. We aren’t like Pan. We want only volunteers.”

  “Well, then,” persisted Marc, “I’m leaving for home.” He slapped his rifle. “Nobody’s going to recruit me again.”

  “Before you go,” Flash said to him, “I’d like your clothes.”

  “Huh?”

  “Flash wants to get inside Perfect City” said Tad. “He needs a disguise.”

  Flip shook his head at Flash. “I played a year there, man, and you ain’t missing nothing.”

  “I’ll trade outfits with you,” Flash said to the tall man. “Were about the same size.”

  Marc eyed him, then said, “Sure, why not? The sooner I get out of this slave tunic, the better.”

  “Yeah, and this flash cat’s got hisself some fine and mellow threads,” observed Flip.

  While Flash and Marc moved off the trail to exchange clothes, Jillian turned to the black man. “I don’t quite understand why you . . . why you weren’t yourself.”

  “See, chick, I’m a mimic,” said Flip. “Don’t ask me how come, cause I don’t right know. But ever since I was a kid, I been able to change my shape, change my looks. I pretty soon found out I could use the knack to earn me some bread, you know. Where I grew up, you learn that bread is your only friend. So ever since then, I been gigging around the universe. You dig what I’m laying down so far, chick?”

  “So far.”

  “Okay, so my last gig before doing a year or so at PC was on a touring aircruiser. So dig, I am doing my schtick, impersonating some cat, when we happen to pass over this jungle. And wham, blam, we get sucked right down into Perfect City. I am so scared that before I can think to switch back to my own natural self, these dudes slap one of those slave beanies on my head.” He shrugged. “That’s how come I been trucking around as a fat green cat all this time. I like my own self better.”

  “What next?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “Oh, I’m going to stick with you dudes, baby,” said Flip. “A cat with my talent, you going to need me.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” said Flash as he stepped back onto the trail dressed in the slave tunic.

  CHAPTER 22

  The platinum-haired girl crossed her trousered legs, looking out at the long afternoon shadows which cut stripes across the artificial lagoon and the arti
ficial pirate barge. “He’s taking long enough,” she said. A stun rifle rested across her knee.

  “You know how brainy people are, lots of things on their minds, never punctual.” A small yellow man was standing in among a group of frozen waiters, watching the entry gate of Paradise Park.

  The two of them were inside a restaurant in the defunct park. Five waiter androids in white suits, each one looking convincingly human, were grouped near the entrance of the kitchen. They’d been turned off and left there when the park closed. All had a patina of dust, and the headwaiter had a nest of tiny red spiders in his mustache.

  “He may not take the bait,” said Glenna. “Maybe he knows where the girl really is, Hasp.”

  The yellow man said, “He doesn’t know. She never told him. She’s mad because he didn’t rush off to Mazda after her missing boyfriend.”

  “He’s taking a long time to get there.”

  On the far side of the lagoon the android simulacra of Dale Arden was pacing anxiously, turning her head again and again to look at the unlocked nearwood gate in the high wall around Paradise Park.

  “They sure did a good job on that one,” observed Hasp. “I’d like to meet the real thing, even if she is a brainy type.”

  “You couldn’t even make an impression on that nuts and bolts version,” Glenna said.

  “You’re too brainy, too, Glenna. You spend altogether too much time thinking.”

  A hooting commenced high above them.

  Hasp hesitated, then went to the open doorway of the mechanical restaurant. “Now who the hell is that?”

  “What is that?” Glenna, stun rifle in hand, came over to look up at the afternoon sky.

  “Airtruck,” said Hasp, pointing. “What’s it say on the bottom of the thing? ‘Mott’s Electronics.’ We’re not expecting a delivery, are we?”

  “Of course not. There isn’t even anyone in the workshops to handle it.”

  The big flying truck was setting down beside the lagoon. It honked again.

  “That couldn’t be Zarkov, could it?” asked Hasp. “Trying some brainy trick.”

  “It doesn’t look like him, does it?”

  The burly driver was a clean-shaven man with shaggy blond hair. He realized the two people were watching him and waved in their direction, shouting something.

  “Go get rid of him,” Glenna ordered.

  The Dale Arden android had stopped pacing.

  “You’re better at getting rid of people, Glenna,” said the yellow man, holding back.

  “Honestly, Hasp.” She walked out of the restaurant and straight toward the truck. “Yes, what do you want?”

  The big driver waved once again. He shoved open his door and jumped to the ground. “Got this load of gudgeon pins for you people. Where do you want it?”

  “There’s some mistake.” Glenna stopped a few feet from the man. “We’re expecting no deliveries.”

  “Huh, that’s funny now.” The blond man reached back into the cab of his truck for a small stack of papers. “This is Paradise Park, isn’t it?“

  “Obviously” answered the platinum-haired girl. “But we didn’t order anything.”

  “Well, then maybe I better talk to . . .” He squinted at the blue sheet on the top of the pile. “Mr. Reisberson, I guess.”

  “We have no Mr. Reisberson here.”

  “Could be this doesn’t say Reisberson,” admitted the driver. “Our office robots got a lousy handwriting. Here, Miss, see if you can make it out.”

  “All right.” She stepped up close to him. “Where?”

  “Keep looking at the paper,” said Zarkov. “This is a blaster pistol you feel nudging your side. Get your pal over here right away.”

  “You’re Zarkov?”

  “I shaved off my beard,” he told her. “At certain times sacrifices are necessary. Now get him over here.”

  Glenna beckoned at the yellow man. “Hasp, come over here quickly.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Flip adjusted his gait until he was in step with Flash. “Who you want me to be, man?”

  “That’s what I want you to tell me,” answered Flash.

  The impersonator was watching a silver monkey go scampering through the twilight branches. “Am I digging you, Flash, baby?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Hey, I read you. You mean you want me to impersonate one of these cats in PC. I’m hep, but which one?”

  “I want to get a look at any labs or workshops Pan’s got,” said Flash. “And there has to be someplace where he’s got the equipment he’s using against Estampa.”

  “You’re sure he’s the dude who’s jumping bad with Estampa, daddy?”

  “From what I’ve heard about him so far, Pan seems to be a pretty likely candidate.”

  Frowning, Flip trekked along the trail in silence for a moment or two. “Like I said, man, when you got one of them slave lids on you ain’t too sharp about what’s happening round you. There’s one section of PC, though, where none of us slave cats was allowed. The cat who ran that was a big green dude who always wore a smock, a white smock. He didn’t have no helmet, ’cause I recollect he had a shiny bald noggin. Yeah, he was the chief technician or something like that.”

  “Can you impersonate him?”

  “No sweat, daddy,” Flip assured him. “I can do everything but that white smock. Like I say, don’t ask me how I do it, ’cause I ain’t got the foggiest. My old mom always told me I must be a mutant of some land, but I think she said that mostly to put my daddy down, you know. Anyways, man, I’ll be your chief technician.”

  “Still, if they don’t allow slaves in that area, I’ll be kept out myself,” said Flash.

  “They didn’t let us regular cats in,” said Flip. “But there was a crew of workers, sort of an elite corps, maybe. Cats who probably had some kind of technical background before Pan caught them. I could get you in that way, as a new lab flunky.”

  “Okay, fine. We’ll try that.”

  “Flash!” It was Tad. He came running back along the trail from his position up ahead. “We’re getting close to the Perfect City and I’m picking up something.”

  Flash slowed. “What?”

  “They’ve captured another airship,” said the lanky young man. “It was from the capital of Estampa.”

  Flash placed a hand on the boy’s arm. “Who was in it, can you find out?”

  “A girl,” replied Tad. “You know her, Dale Arden.”

  “Damn. What was she doing out here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “Zarkov wouldn’t send her out here alone.”

  “She did this on her own,” said Tad. “She felt far as I can make out from reading her thoughts at this distance, that Dr. Zarkov should have come hunting for you right away. When he didn’t she rented this aircruiser and came looking for you herself.”

  “Yes, that’s Dale all right.” Flash stopped completely. “Where is she in the city?”

  “They’ve taken her to Pan,” the boy said.

  “This changes our plans,” said Flash.

  Dale didn’t see him at first.

  Then the enormous pipe organ far across the room began to play.

  The girl hugged herself. The music was strange and unsettling.

  The large-clad figure at the keyboards played for another full minute before ceasing and turning to stare at Dale. “Welcome to Perfect City,” he said. “I am called Pan.” He left the organ bench to move silently across the ivory-white carpeting. “Did you enjoy my playing?”

  “Enjoy is not quite the right word.”

  “You don’t look like a fool, Dale Arden. I hoped you might understand what I’m doing in my music.”

  “I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I necessarily enjoy it,” the girl said. “Is that why your people brought me here—to be an audience?”

  “I don’t enjoy flippancy in anyone, most especially in women,” said Pan as he drew nearer. “Though perhaps Flash Gordon has different tastes.”

  “Is .
. . do you have Flash here?”

  Pan laughed. “Not yet. He should soon be here, however. My slave patrols are scouring the jungle for him,” he told her. “I do, though, have the ship Dr. Zarkov put together for him.”

  “You seem to know all about us.”

  “My dear, you’re universally famous,” laughed Pan. “Besides I have people in Estampa who are loyal to me. I have no difficulty in learning whatever I want to know about the capital.”

  “Are you the one responsible for the plague of sound?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  “Why?”

  “For the good and sufficient reason that I wish to rule not merely this city, but the entire planet,” he said. “Now I have Perfect City, but eventually I will rule a Perfect Territory and someday a Perfect Planet.”

  “Tomorrow the world,” murmured Dale.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Something I heard in a history class on Earth once,” the girl said. “So you don’t intend to go on destroying Estampa?”

  “If I destroyed it all, there’d be nothing left to rule. No, as a matter of fact, you’ve arrived at a most auspicious time, Dale Arden. Tomorrow I deliver my first message to Estampa. They must either surrender or continue to suffer.”

  The girl turned away from him. “Why did you pick Estampa as your first victim?”

  “Perhaps because it’s the most democratic territory on this planet,” answered Pan. “Or perhaps it’s only because I was born and raised there. It was there they laughed at me, at my music, and at my ideas.”

  “Is the idea for Perfect City yours?”

  Pan said, “Basically, yes. I had some technical help in working out the details. Not only, you see, did the fools in Estampa not understand me, they didn’t even realize how horrible the grating vibrations of their machines were, the discordant blare of what they call civilized urban life. All the ticking, whirring, honking, hooting, clanging, banging, roaring, clattering of their cities. It’s a wonder it doesn’t drive them all mad.”