by Alex Raymond
“You don’t visit the right restaurants. You’re a hamburger-and-french-fries man.”
“I’m a steak-and-home-fries man,” Flash protested.
There was a rustling in the haze that had drifted around them. Flash tried to see through the murk.
“Is there something over there?” he asked Zarkov.
Zarkov peered and squinted. “I don’t see anything—at least, I don’t think I do.”
There was a moment’s silence.
From behind them came a sudden sound.
“Spies,” a metallic voice said. “Despicable spies.”
“Huh?” Zarkov grunted.
“What was that?” Flash asked.
Both had turned around and were staring into the smoky air.
“Prepare to die,” said the metallic voice again. “Dirty, rotten, unprincipled spies.”
“What the hell?” cried Zarkov.
The earth shook as another bomb exploded nearby. The rush of air from the explosion instantly blew all the smoke pall away and Flash and Zarkov found themselves staring into the enormous muzzle end of a giant cannon.
“My God!” Zarkov choked.
The cannon was mounted on four mechanical legs, jointed like copper plumbing pipes. At the bottom of the jointed legs were steel grippers like feet that clung to rocks and punched holes in the dirt to stabilize the movable cannon.
Above the muzzle of the cannon were bulging mounts resembling human eyeballs, inside which Flash could see tiny bright lights blinking on and off, as if the bulbs shielded computer controls relaying the image outside the “eyes” back to a remote console.
And then, at the working end of the cannon barrel, where in a normal earth operation the gunner would be seated in an adjustable chair, Flash saw an oval, egg-shaped formation of steel that had one light at the top and a wide irising orifice at the bottom.
It had flexible cable legs, too, and arms of the same material.
“You are Orange spies. Prepare to die, corrupt, deceitful, and perfidious agents of our enemies.”
Zarkov gazed into the sky. “Where are you Em-One, when we need you?”
“We are not spies,” snapped Flash. “We are earthmen who have come to this planet on a mission of friendship.”
“Lies,” snapped the egg-shaped cybernaut. “All lies. You are Orange agents sent to infiltrate our defenses and destroy us. You will not.”
The tiny right arm of the ovoid cybernaut reached out and gripped the firing mechanism of the gun with its metal claws and pulled back.
“Fire,” the metallic voice said in its deadly monotone.
CHAPTER 13
The explosion that came was an anticlimax. Both Flash and Zarkov had stared in stunned horror at the enormous mouth of the cannon—a cannon barrel into which both men could fit easily—unable to move away from it.
Poof!
A lot of smoke and dust puffed out of the cannon barrel, rolling over the two earthmen. A smell of cordite contaminated the air.
“What the hell?” cried Zarkov. “The shell was a dud.”
“Incorrect conclusion from the evidence at hand,” said a familiar voice from the rear of the cannon. “I have fulfilled my program of destruction on the operator of this weapon of the enemy.”
Flash peered around the edge of the cannon and saw the suitcase sitting at the rear of the gun near the breech block.
“Em-One!” Flash said. “I thought you’d gone to locate the target.”
“Exactly. So I have done so, as I was programmed. In returning to you, I came upon the cannon with its operator preparing to blast you to bits. I simply overcame the enemy cybernaut with my magnetic stunray and shorted out the electronic gun controls. When the cybby operator pulled the lanyard, nothing happened except an explosion of the primer.”
“Not bad,” Flash admitted.
“I repeat, you have nothing to fear. I am programmed for your survival and safety. We will win.”
Zarkov muttered, “He’s getting to be an obnoxious little rascal, you know?”
“A little bit of him goes a long way,” Flash agreed.
“Value judgments are received and shunted into the neutralizer cells of my memory banks, Colonels. They have no effect on my performance.”
“Translation,” Zarkov said. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”
“Let’s get on to the target, Em-One,” said Flash, studying the enormous cannon that had been ready to kill them.
“First I must be sure I have neutralized the cybby I hit with my stunray.”
“Well, get on with it,” Flash ordered impatiently.
Em-One said, “Affirmitive, Colonel Gordon. I have examined the cybby with my stroboscopic perforay eye. His inner controls are temporarily out of commission. We can continue on our mission.”
“Which direction, Em-One?” Zarkov asked.
The smoke was still swirling about them, screening them off from attack by air or ground.
“You will conceal yourself in the barrel of the cannon, Aliens,” said the suitcase.
“What?” Flash stared at the cannon’s barrel. “You mean climb into the inside of the barrel?”
“That is correct.”
“What if someone fires the damned thing?” Zarkov asked.
“I am not programmed for infantile humor,” snapped the technoid. “It is a one-in-a-million chance that such a thing could happen, and a zero chance in the particular sector in which we now find ourselves. It will not happen. Repeat. Negative.”
“Well,” said Zarkov.
“Hurry up. Quickly, lest enemy sensors pick us up. There is plenty of room for both of you in the barrel. I would not have ordered you to do so if I had not calculated your exact girth and weight.”
Zarkov raised an eyebrow at Flash. “Climb in, Flash,” he said. “You heard the orders.”
“Immediately,” said the suitcase. “I detect the approach of a large Green tank not too far from us. If we do not move, my calculations are that we will be on a collision course with the tank and will be discovered.”
“But this is a Green cannon.”
“All tanks are programmed to destroy unidentified objects in haze and smoke. There is sufficient haze and smoke present to make our presence here a potential danger. Hasten, please.”
“Then what do we do?” Zarkov asked, climbing in after Flash and lying beside him in the barrel.
“We simply ride the cannon to Green headquarters.”
“How far is it?” Flash asked.
“A long distance. But it will be a safe ride. I am programmed for your security. Have no fear. We will win.”
Zarkov shook his head. “Miserable little toy!”
“I am not a toy. I am a sophisticated cybernaut with mental capacities almost twice that of the average human being. You are safe with me.”
The cannon began moving over the rocks and debris of the battlefield. There was so much haze that Flash and Zarkov could not make out the activity on the ground. There was, however, a great deal of rumbling and thumping, and an occasional explosion that signified that another blockbuster had strewn rock detritus about.
“Incredible,” muttered Flash as he peered out the muzzle of the cannon and watched the gun move along the ground on its four joined pipe legs.
“Well, it looks like Em-One is right. We’re going to walk the rest of the way over the battlefield!”
“Correction,” said the metallic voice from the operator’s seat. “My optic scanners have observed an entrance in a rock pile. I sense that this is the port to a cybernaut repair station.”
“Don’t go in there,” cried Flash. “We’ll be discovered!”
“Not necessarily a correct assumption, Colonel Gordon. My reasoning center concludes that there is a possibility we can seek transport there at a much faster rate than on the battlefield. Besides, there will be less chance of being struck by a bomb or missile. The danger of discovery is clearly evident, but outweighe
d by the threat of accidental death on the battlefield.”
“Forget it,” growled Zarkov. “You’re in charge.”
“Affirmitive,” said the metallic voice of the technoid.
“How are you going to open the door?” asked Flash.
“Magnetically,” said the voice, and Flash and Zarkov watched the steel door slowly open in the slope of rocks in front of them.
Soon they were moving down a rock-walled corridor that had been blasted hastily out of the earth. After a suitable interval, they were winding their way into the bowels of the planet along a steeply descending passageway also hewn from raw ground.
Then, suddenly, they emerged into an enormous underground chamber where vehicles of all kinds—all painted green—were assembled for repair by dozens of enemy technoids.
The technoids were crawling over the vehicles, intent upon their work. Flash saw some in the shape of screwdrivers, in the shape of hammer heads, in the shape of saws, chisels, clippers, swarming over tanks, cannons, vehicles, and smaller weapons that he did not even recognize.
“Wow!” cried Zarkov. “Would you look at those military vehicles! What I wouldn’t give to spend a day or two looking this war museum over!”
“I’d just as soon get back to Earth, myself,” Flash retorted.
“Well, yeah,” said Zarkov. “I suppose that would be a better option. But if we have to stay here—”
“Attention, Aliens. I will move you close to the underground speedway. Do not let yourself be seen as we pass by the technoids.”
“Right,” said Flash in a low voice.
“Where’s the underground speedway?” Zarkov wondered. Then, as he spoke, both he and Flash could see the chute at the end of the big repair room. And in view in the chute was a fairly small vehicle that resembled an old-fashioned stock car, except that it was designed like a rocket and had the wheels covered.
The cannon moved over the floor of the repair shop and proceeded toward the chute. Flash punched Zarkov in the side and pointed ahead.
“A couple of technoid security guards.”
Zarkov nodded.
“I see them,” said the metallic voice in a low tone. “Never fear. I am programmed to protect you. We will pass them by.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Zarkov.
“I am not programmed for falsehood or fallacious information,” said the voice. “Now please observe silence.”
They moved past the security guards, whose bright lights blinked and blinked at the cannon, and then turned to blink at something else. The two technoids did not approach the cannon at all.
The gun moved past the entrance and down an incline toward a long cylindrical tube that ran horizontally through the rock underground. There were several of the small vehicles waiting at the way stop.
On the forward side of one of them, the letters HQ were written.
The cannon moved over to that one.
“I am moving you close to the correct underground car,” the technoid whispered. “Use the cannon for cover, and climb down into the vehicle marked HQ. We will then pilot it through the subterranean route to the Green Headquarters.”
“Right on,” said Zarkov, and waited for the cannon to stabilize. He jumped down, helped Flash, and the two of them grabbed the suitcase from the operator’s seat and took it into the vehicle.
As they climbed in, they glanced around to see if they had been observed.
They had not.
Zarkov slammed the metal doors shut. They found themselves in a small cabin not unlike a rocket’s, with two seats, equipped with safety belts, and a console in front of them displaying a myriad of controls.
The suitcase immediately opened at one end, and coils of flexible cable emerged, gripping the controls with the claws at the end.
“As you see you do not have to drive this vehicle,” the technoid observed. “I am programmed sufficiently to maneuver it where it must go. Sit back, Aliens, and leave the driving to me.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to drive it,” said Flash. “How does it work, anyway?”
“It is an aircar propelled by an air current expelled from the aft tubes. That air moves the vehicle forward. Air expelled from ventral tubes keeps the vehicle from touching the ground. The air is forced out through the exhaust vents by the force of steam behind it, caused by the instantaneous heating of trapped moisture to the boiling point. The heat which produces this rise in temperature is afforded by a miniature nuclear reactor encapsuled in the inner block of the vehicle’s engine.”
“Sorry I asked,” said Flash.
“Fascinating,” said Zarkov. “Wish I had a pencil and paper to take notes.”
“I am directing this vehicle to the storeroom near the enemy War Computer, Aliens.”
“Very good,” said Flash. “You go right ahead!” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “These seats are pretty comfortable for a subway system, Doc. You know?”
“Beats anything I’ve been in on Earth,” Zarkov admitted.
They zoomed through the subterranean tube at an incredible speed. Flash could see way stops flashing past. On one of them there were three technoid security agents with weapons standing there looking at them.
“Attention, Aliens,” snapped the suitcase. “We have been identified as enemy passengers in the subterranean system of the Greens.”
“How do you know?” Zarkov asked.
“My micro-perforay-eye sees a reception committee awaiting us at the next station. We were detected as we passed the last way stop.”
“How did they do it?” Flash asked.
“You naturally emanate human wave characteristics,” the metallic voice explained patiently. “Human beings are forbidden in the recesses of Cybernaut Levels One and Two—those are the places where cybernauts manage the war and technoids fight the war. Hidden in the cannon barrel, your emanations were confused with the emanations of the steel in the cannon. But in this vehicle, you were observed on the vidscreens of the security technoids in the speed transit system.”
“If you say so,” sighed Zarkov.
“Idiom not understandable,” said the metallic voice.
“Forget it,” said Flash. “What are we going to do?”
“I am programmed for any eventuality. We are simply going to escape.”
“Escape?” Zarkov echoed. “How? We’re trapped in the ground!”
“But even in the ground there are ways,” said the voice.
The vehicle slammed to a stop as the aft air suddenly stopped rushing out of it. Only the ventral exhaust kept the craft from touching the bottom of the tube.
“Release the catches on the top hatch,” ordered the voice.
Flash reached up and he and Zarkov opened a hatch at the top of the vehicle.
“Now climb out, and take me with you.”
Zarkov grabbed the suitcase and followed Flash up on the top of the vehicle. Once there, Flash could see that the vehicle had stopped right next to a metal ladder that led up the side of the tube to a round escape hatch. A sign mounted in the tube said: EMERGENCY UNIT.
“Climb up,” said the metallic voice.
“What about the vehicle?” asked Flash, looking down the ladder past Zarkov at the immobile aircar.
“I have programmed the controls to take over for me. In a moment it will continue down the passageway. While the enemy pursues the car, we will make our escape up the emergency tunnel.”
“Neat,” said Zarkov.
The aircar suddenly trembled and swooshed away along the tube in the same direction it had been traveling before it stopped.
“Now where to?” Flash asked.
“Keep climbing,” snapped the suitcase. “Up, up, up. It is not too far.”
Flash climbed and kept looking back to be sure Zarkov and the suitcase were with him. Finally he came out into a small steel room resembling a decompression chamber in a submarine. He climbed aside and pulled Zarkov up the last few feet of the ladder.
“Our mis
sion is coming to a close,” chortled the suitcase.
“Here?” Flash asked.
“Success is ours,” the suitcase clattered. “We are very near the War Computer we must destroy.”
“How the hell do you know?” Zarkov asked, glancing around at the very small steel chamber where only one tiny red light glowed for illumination.
“I have been programmed to lead you to the target, Aliens, and I tell you we are very near to it. There is a hatchway here that must be opened.”
“I don’t see it,” said Flash, peering at the steel walls that enclosed them.
“It is cleverly concealed,” the metallic voice replied. “However, it will not resist electromagnetic force. Stand aside, Aliens. Let a competently programmed and equipped cybernaut show you how it is done.”
“Insufferable little monster,” growled Zarkov.
“Tut, tut,” said Flash, gripping Zarkov’s shoulder. “Maybe he can do it.”
“Of course I can,” clattered the voice.
There was a surge of electromagnetic power in the steel caisson inside which they had found themselves, and then one of the sides of the room slowly bulged outward.
“Aliens, my data banks reason that our mission is almost over.”
The hatchway swung out and Flash, Zarkov, and the suitcase stepped out into another room.
The room was crowded with green-uniformed people.
“Correction,” said a harsh voice. “Your mission is over!”
CHAPTER 14
It was a woman who spoke. Flash and Zarkov stood stock-still in the opening of the steel wall as the group of green-uniformed progs stared at them and covered them with rifles and handguns.
The woman was obviously the leader of the group. She was very young, with jet-black hair, green eyes, and a haughty, defiant cast to her head. Her body, which was most shapely, was dressed in bright green material, wrist-length sleeves, a deep V-neck, a wide ornamental belt of gold, and stretch trousers that tapered into soft-leather boots.
She had a jet black band around her throat in which glistened a green stone like an emerald. On her wrists she wore black bands in which were set similar green stones. Her hair was brushed down over her forehead, with the sides sweeping backward over her ears. It was parted on the right side.
