Flash Gordon

by Arthur Byron Cover

  Flash and Barin moved off the disk, walking across the gangplank.

  The black shuttlecraft docked. Its doors opened.

  The people waited. Vultan looked toward Luro and Biro, but he did not wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Dale and Zarkov watched their captors, searching for an indication of their eventual treatment. Attempting to conceal his nervousness, Flash ran his tongue between his teeth, biting down until the nerve endings began to throb. Only Barin awaited Klytus’s appearance with a relaxed demeanor; he smiled at Flash and moved close to him.

  Finally, Klytus walked alone down the dock, into the banquet room. The very wind had stilled during his approach, as if he wielded power over the elements themselves.

  Prince Barin regarded the masked man with a royal, proud air new to the eyes of Mongians.

  Klytus, as usual, was unimpressed. “Agent Zarkov, you will be liquidated for treachery. As for you, Prince Vultan, you will surrender these fugitives at once or the Imperial Fleet will blast your kingdom and your subjects to atoms.” Raising his shoulders and holding his hands before his stomach, Klytus expected them all to succumb to the inevitable.

  11

  A Kingdom for Flash!

  KLYTUS turned his terrible, impassive mask toward all the people of interest to him in the Sky Palace, as if he was reading emotions he had lost all aptitude for comprehending. His cold, white eyes rested on a certain green-clad Prince. “Step forward, Barin.”

  The Prince’s shoulders rose. He spoke grimly. “Address me as Prince Barin.”

  “No longer, I think.” Klytus’s reply was casual, at least for him, but Flash believed the Great Gold Face had misunderstood a few nuances in Barin’s tone.

  Flash did not doubt, however, that Klytus would have smiled during his next statement if he had possessed the ability. Perhaps he did smile, despite his ingrained stoicism, beneath his mask. He said, “Princess Aura, under our expert persuasion, has implicated you, Barin, in high treason. You are under arrest”—he gestured in an arc—“along with these Earthlings. A prison ship will be here shortly to take you away.”

  Barin was pale. “You—you tortured Aura?”

  “You bastard!” said Flash. “She may be a spoiled, self-centered little brat, but there’s a decent core in her evil heart!”

  Klytus, ignoring Flash, spoke directly to Barin. “An interesting girl! I think she found it rather enjoyable.”

  Barin struck Klytus beneath the jaw, stunning him. Unheeding of the pain of his fist, Barin grabbed Klytus and spun him about. “Here, Flash!”

  The Earthling scooped up Klytus, ran across the gangplank, and hurled Klytus onto the disk as if he were a twenty-five kilogram sack of fertilizer.

  The first knife Klytus struck impaled his forearm. The second ripped through his stomach. Three and four stuck through his right leg. He struggled for a moment. His effort caused number two to tear into his intestinal tract. Still, he would not succumb, possessed as he was of an utterly logical will to live. Managing to slide his forearm from the blade, leaving behind a coating of a yellow puslike substance, he tried to support himself on his hands. He looked down at his organs slurping onto the disk. Then he collapsed. His fingers twitched four times. Now that the will which had perpetuated his existence had been snuffed out, his face began to flow through the openings of his mask.

  Horrified, Dale thought, I take it back. Flash would commit murder in cold blood, if blood’s the word. She shivered.

  Luro pecked madly at his shoulders. “This does it. We’re up the void now! The rockets will be on their way!”

  “Must you belabor the point?” asked a grumpy Biro.

  Vultan ignored the bickering of his two aides. “Into the air, my Hawk People! Take everything you can carry! Fly for your lives!”

  The Sky Palace immediately became a scene of pandemonium, as winged people scurried or flew about, some to the skies, others to retrieve their belongings from the nest areas.

  His clawed weapon in hand, Vultan turned to Flash. “You young hothead! You’ve brought down destruction on my kingdom!”

  Barin stepped between the Earthling and the Hawk Man.

  “No, Vultan, he has shown us the way. Stand with us and fight!”

  “Against the Imperial Fleet? Your yolk must have soured before you were hatched, my boy; you haven’t any brains!”

  Much as Zarkov had earlier, Barin clenched his fist in front of Vultan’s face. “It’s the perfect time. They won’t expect resistance, and we’ll take them by surprise!”

  “We can do it,” said Flash in a steady voice.

  Zarkov rubbed his hands briskly. “Do you have a lab? I’ll trick up some new weapons!”

  Vultan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Right now? In a few minutes? What kind of scientist are you?”

  Zarkov shrugged. “The usual kind. They taught us how to think pretty quickly back on Earth. You should have seen the things I had to come up with to get my doctorate.”

  “You’re all mad! My only duty is to save my Hawk People,” said Vultan. “Evacuate! Fly!”

  “Wait!” said Flash. ‘Take us with you.”

  Vultan shook his head. “There’s already much more than we can carry. Impossible.”

  Barin said, “You’re leaving us to die!”

  “You know Ming’s Law, Barin,” said the Prince of the Hawk Men. “Outside his kingdom, the hunter becomes the hunted.”

  In less than five minutes, the entire Sky Palace population had fled, leaving behind an extremely untidy banquet room and four stranded ex-prisoners. The Hawk People had flown in all directions, and now they were black specks against blue and purple skies with shimmering pink veils.

  Flash walked toward a luxurious section of the room. “Quick! Help me pull down these drapes. Find ropes somewhere. We’ll find ropes and jump to Arboria.”

  “It’s not quite that easy,” said Barin.

  “Do you want to stay here?” asked Flash tensely.

  “It must be fifty miles down!” said Dale, peering over the platform.

  “No problem,” said Zarkov. “A body reaches maximum velocity within a few hundred feet.”

  “Wonderful,” replied Dale sourly.

  Flash tossed a drape to Dale. “Lay it flat,” he said. “We’ll knot lines at the corners and tie them to our belts.”

  Suddenly, they heard a roaring so loud it drowned the hissing wind as an afterthought. Barin cursed, his words mere hints in the onslaught of sound. He remained behind as the Earthlings rushed to a balcony, only to see four huge fliers breaking through the clouds and moving toward the Sky Palace.

  Flash and Zarkov stared at one another, knowing there was no time during which to attempt another daring escape. Dale embraced Flash, burying her head in his chest.

  Like a man sentenced to die (and in his opinion, being brainwashed was a crueler fate), Zarkov retrieved a white drape and waved it from the balcony.

  The interior of the Imperial Flier was decorated in crimson and black motifs, only slightly darker than the colors of Ming’s dress uniform. The Emperor of the Universe wore a pointed skullcap with a widow’s peak; when the light struck it at certain unpredictable angles, it shimmered with white lines. Upon his chest were insignia representing the Golden Light that had Created the Cosmos and the Royal Red Blood that Coursed through His Imperial Veins. The material on his shoulders rose into curved peaks highlighted with a golden tapestry. He tugged at his beard as he watched Zarkov wave the white flag of surrender on a screen inside his Royal Command Post.

  “Oh Imperious Leader,” extolled an officer in a red uniform which, despite its finery, was extremely drab in comparison to that of Ming’s, “would it please you to see those accursed primitives blasted into so many wayward atoms?”

  Ming pretended to ponder the question. “Not yet. Send down a shuttle. Bring back Barin, Zarkov, and Dale Arden.”

  “And Gordon?”

  “No. Prepare Our Imperial Lander.”

  Tight-l
ipped and scowling, Flash watched the shuttle take away the three people who so quickly had come to mean more to him than life itself. His hands behind his back, he faced away from the monstrosity in human form who was responsible for this latest defeat. It was all he could do to restrain himself from tossing Ming off the Sky Palace; he imagined Ming falling between the platform and the disk, his skullcap glistening in the light of the cosmic whirlpool, his form ever diminishing as his limbs futilely waved about. Only the presence of two hooded guards aiming nasty-looking firearms (with yellow fins on either side of the barrel and casing) prevented Flash from fulfilling his fantasy. However, he did not despair. Though things looked pretty hopeless at the moment, he had triumphed over insurmountable odds in the past, and he silently vowed not to give up until this ruthless tyrant was an ignoble wretch in a foul dungeon, or a common laborer in the mines (whichever best served the cause of justice).

  Perhaps Ming, with his undeniable understanding of human character, realized Flash’s thoughts as he watched the muscles of the Earthling’s back tense until they were like coiled springs; perhaps Ming possessed the same incredible will and self-control that prevented Flash from reacting to the sudden turn of events like an uncivilized brute. Indeed, Ming barely indicated how much he gloated. He merely waited until the shuttle had disappeared and Flash had turned to him. Only then did he distort his lean features with an evil smile.

  Relaxing with an effort, Flash rubbed his palm on the bare skin above the crest of his red and black tank-top shirt. “Why aren’t I going with them?”

  Ming’s smile disappeared. He spoke with a neutrality Klytus would have been proud to achieve. “I have other plans for you.”

  Flash snorted. “I can imagine.”

  “You want to destroy me. Why?”

  “I must destroy you if I’m to save the Earth.”

  “What if I granted you a kingdom?” Ming rested an elbow on a palm, caressing his mustache with his free thumb and forefinger.

  “If you what?”

  “Ming the Merciless, Rightful Ruler of the Universe, here and now offers Flash Gordon a Kingdom of Mongo to rule over as his own.”

  “You’re as crazy as a bedbug. Why would you do that?”

  The Emperor divested himself of his imperial manner as much as he dared; his smile was an unsuccessful attempt to breach the social barriers between them. “I confess it: You fascinate me. I’ve never before met your like. You’re a hero.

  “You’ve survived every peril of Mongo. Your name is whispered in the streets. You even slew the dreaded Klytus. Who better than you to rule a kingdom?” His eyes suddenly revealed him to be lost in his own thoughts. “You’ll learn the trick of it soon enough. My illustrious grandfather was hailed as the evilest ruler the universe had ever created. During his prime, life was sweet and pleasurable for his subjects, because they never knew when it would become unbearably cruel—or when it would cease altogether. Now it’s easy to see where my grandfather made his mistakes. The reality of his malevolence is something less than the legends would have me believe. Indeed, my grandfather hardly qualified as the embodiment of pure evil, regardless of his avowed intentions. However, there are tyrants whose ideals of themselves are great accomplishments. The knowledge that my ancestor perceived what he must do so clearly has given my life a genuine purpose. Without this knowledge, my highest ambitions would be fulfilled merely by mindlessly slaying and fornicating and communing with the universe, goals any common tyrant in my position can easily achieve. My grandfather’s ideals are as permanent as a thousand monuments, for they have erected a monument nobler than stone in my ruthless heart.”

  I’ll buy that, thought Flash, though Ming’s words uncomfortably reminded him of those of a leader of men he held in great esteem, a leader whose ideals represented tolerance and benevolence, in addition to sacrificing for the good of all, a leader cut down before his first term in office had ended. In recent years this leader’s actual performance in office had been criticized, perhaps accurately, perhaps not (for in the misty land of politics, everything is relative). But no one had ever denied that the mere fact of his ideals had become a potent force in the hearts of a generation.

  “You’ll soon enough learn the trick of being a ruthless tyrant,” continued Ming. “Terrify your subjects, give them shows. Barbarous creatures! Violence is all the poor brutes understand. Rule well enough, and I’ll even return you to Earth.”

  Flash blinked.

  “Its moon is drifting very close to it right now. Making allowances for time differentials due to the curvatures of space, I should think Earth’s end might come within a few hours.”

  “You’d call off the attack?” Flash was almost hopeful.

  “I could.” Again, the neutrality of tone.

  “Everyone would be saved?”

  “Just those left alive. After the earthquakes and tidal waves and the inevitable breakdown of civilization, they won’t be quite the human beings you remember. They’ll be more tractable, easier for you to rule in the name of Ming.”

  “You mean slaves.”

  “Let’s say they’ll be satisfied with less.”

  “Mindless zombies!” snapped Flash.

  “Ask your friend Zarkov. He’ll explain what happens to animals subjected to extreme stress.”

  Very funny, thought Flash. If you have your way, I’ll never see Zarkov again. “What about Dale?”

  Ming drew himself to his full height. “We have decided to marry her. She promises to take Us on hitherto unimagined pathways to ecstasy. We will breed with her and send our Imperial progeny back to populate your Earth.” He shrewdly assessed Flash’s expression. “You prefer death to a kingdom?”

  Flash nodded grimly.

  “I’m disappointed, but I suppose I should have expected that a hero would refuse.” He walked to the edge of the platform. “Still, I’d rather see you at my side . . .” He kicked a chalice into the void. “. . . than scattered into atoms.”

  By now Flash glared openly at Ming; he reined in his anger with difficulty.

  “But as you wish,” said Ming. “We’ll return to the Imperial Rocket,” he said to the hooded guards. “Leave the Earthling here, to his doom.”

  Inside the prison ship, Zarkov supported Dale as they peered through a portal and watched the Sky Palace gradually recede in the blue and purple skies. They ignored Ming’s presence.

  “Amazing,” said Zarkov, ever the analytical scientist. “Those columns of light below the palace must be solid enough to cut off gravity waves. What an incredible paradox! The most dependable foundation is the most nebulous of energies.”

  Zarkov continued expounding on his speculations in order to distract Dale from her concern and fear, but the intellectual exhibition was incomprehensible babble as far as she was concerned, especially when the Sky Palace lurched to one side and then began to wobble like a poorly thrown Frisbee.

  Dale covered her face; Zarkov embraced her, expecting her body to rack with the spasms of her crying. But she controlled herself, and Zarkov feared that her heart had become numb, insensitive to its pain. Perhaps something vital in her soul was soon to be snuffed out forever.

  The doctor drew in a sharp breath, then immediately regretted it. For Dale looked up to see the Sky Palace falling through billowing clouds.

  The palace had fallen for only a few seconds when laser beams stabbed out at it from the vessels of the Imperial Fleet.

  A series of small explosions sent out arcs of yellow sparks and torrents of smoke.

  Suddenly the entire palace was lost in a blaze of red and yellow. When the smoke cleared, only shards of debris plummeted through the clouds.

  Dale turned to Ming. “You murderer!” she exclaimed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  But the only reply of the Emperor of the Universe was a sardonic smile.

  Interlude

  NOT only was the moon dangerously veering from its orbit, but comets careened wildly into the Earth’s path. The texture of t
he ether developed unusual, indescribable colors at various places for extended periods, as if the universe itself was somehow sickened by the Earth’s presence. On the planet, things had become even stranger.

  Huge evergreens burst through the ice-packed surface of the North Pole. Ricky Montrose of Tazewell, Virginia, fell through a dimensional portal temporarily created by an electrical disturbance in the atmosphere; the kid was never seen again, much to the relief of his parents. (“He was a little terror!” Mr. Montrose became fond of saying.) Enrico Brusati of Rome discovered that his weight consistently registered at thirty kilograms, though his girth remained the most spectacular (or repulsive) in the city; no one could put forth a reasonable explanation for the phenomenon, and Enrico adamantly refused to permit the doctors to puncture his belly with a hat pin, even under the strictest conditions. Pravda insisted there was nothing fishy going on in the U.S.S.R., an observation which normally would have passed without notice; but the Soviet news agency made the remark every day, and foreign diplomats sent secret correspondence to their superiors complaining about the tigers stalking the streets of Moscow.

  Theoretical physicists, however, became preoccupied with the color variations of the ether, and when Dr. Peter Falkenburg of the Jet Propulsion Labs in Pasadena, California, read a newspaper article on the disappearance of the Montrose boy, he had a startling premonition of Earth’s ultimate fate. “Only one man can construct a device which can send out rays to halt the degeneration of the ether,” said Dr. Falkenburg to a colleague. “We must find this man and offer him all the assistance he requires. He’s our only hope!”

  “Who is this man?” asked the colleague, lighting a cigarette.

  “Dr. Hans Zarkov!”

  12

  Here Comes the Bride

  FLASH was on his knees constructing a parachute from a blanket when the abrupt swaying of the Sky Palace knocked him off the platform. He grabbed a bar, pulled himself into a hole, and found himself sliding down a tubular silver chute, unable to halt or even impede his progress. I hope there’s some laundry down there so I have a soft landing, he thought.