by Alex Raymond
“Here we are,” she said finally, and led the two tall strangers into her own chambers.
She watched them as they came in and stared about at the furnishings. She was proud of the room. Along one wall there was an enormous vidscreen now at rest. The other walls were blued steel polished to perfection.
The chairs were saddle-shaped metal perches, far more suited to the human body than the seats in a subterranean vehicle, and the couches were metal saddle-seats mounted on coiled springs. Everything was made of shining metal.
“Do you like it?”
“Fine,” said the blond.
“Flash? Yes, this must be Flash Gordon,” reflected General Zena.
“Great,” said the bearded man.
“And this one is Dr. Zarkov,” General Zena confirmed silently.
“Now,” said General Zena, turning to Flash, “we were in the midst of a discussion when that bomb went off, were we not?”
Flash turned red. “We were in the middle of a kiss, General Zena,” he said boldly.
She moved toward him, draping her arms around his shoulders, and pulling herself closer to him. “We were. It was an unfortunate interruption.”
Flash smiled, glancing aside at Zarkov. Zarkov turned away discreetly.
“Now,” said General Zena. “We continue the discussion.”
She planted her lips on his and pulled him tightly to her. She could feel the strength of his muscles, and then he was kissing her fully, and she seemed to be carried away into space somewhere.
After a moment he let her go.
“Oh,” she said, staring up at him. His blue eyes were twinkling at her—twinkling! He liked it, too!
“Now if that isn’t proof that we’re friends, I don’t know how else I can show it,” he said with a grin. “First I save your War Computer and then I show you I have only friendship to offer.”
“The friendship,” said General Zena, slightly out of breath, “is obviously genuine. At least, it is a cut above the average offered by my own personnel. Yes, the General is pleased.”
“Now, then,” said Flash. “Let’s forget about that execution you threatened us with.”
General Zena slid her arms around Flash’s shoulders again and lifted herself to him, kissing him on the mouth again. This time her eyes closed and she was thinking about flying through space and floating into weightlessness.
Then she was looking up into his face. “Perhaps we could postpone the execution—as I am convinced at this point that you are not an enemy of the state. Or of me, either.”
Flash smiled.
“And I permit you to join us in our death struggle against the hated Oranges!”
“I have another plan,” Flash said. “Instead of war, why not peace?”
General Zena frowned. “But the cybbies would be up in arms. It is their war. Not ours. And our entire economy is based on what the cybbies and the technoids do. We have often wondered . . .”
“Perhaps I can convince you, General Zena.”
“You have gone a great deal of the way toward convincing me already, Flash, my love,” said General Zena with a smile. “And I look forward to seeing how much more of that road we can travel.”
Flash smiled.
“But right now—”
The bearded man suddenly held up his right hand in a salute. “We will join you in your struggle with the Oranges,” he said in a strong voice. “It was never in our minds to shrink from our duty.”
General Zena smiled. “Ah. That is more like it. That is the kind of loyalty I like.” She turned to Flash and made a face at him. “You see, my love, how it is to be a good warrior.”
The blond giant had turned to his companion in utter disbelief. “What is this, Doc? Are you crazy? Have you lost your marbles?”
General Zena frowned. “What is this ‘marbles’?”
“His memory banks are foiled,” snapped Flash.
“I do not think so. He seems quite sane to me.”
The bearded man was talking out of the side of his mouth to his friend. “Ixnay on the alktay, Flash. I’ve got an emeschay!”
“Huh?”
General Zena touched Flash’s shoulder and turned to Zarkov. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your idiom, Doctor.”
Flash blinked and then smiled warmly at General Zena. “Perhaps he will make sense if he remembers that it takes two to make a war—and it takes two to make a peace.”
“Uttonbay uppay, mate,” said the bearded one, glancing at Flash.
Flash shook his head. “All right. You’ve got the floor. Doc.”
“Yes, Doc,” said General Zena with a smirk. “Talk.”
“I have a fantastic scheme, General Zena. A plan that will bring about total destruction for the hated Oranges.”
“Interesting, if true,” said General Zena. “You will tell me.”
“All right. Here it is. I have in my head a plan for a secret weapon that will completely wipe out the enemy.”
“How can I believe this?” General Zena wondered.
“You must take my word for it now. But don’t forget. I bring you technology and know-how from another world. A world that in some ways is in advance of your own world.”
General Zena pouted a moment, thinking. “Well, I like to hear you talk, Doc.” She giggled. “And you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to let you prove it. The execution is off. You will not die tomorrow. I will let you build your weapon and try it out. If it works, you have earned your life. If it fails, you die. The same is true of your companion.”
“Me?” Flash asked.
“You.” General Zena smiled. “However, you are in a slightly different category from your friend. Perhaps if all things work out between you and me, my romantic friend, you will not die quite so soon.”
Flash turned to Zarkov ruefully. “We’re not off the hook yet, Doc.”
“It appears not,” said Zarkov thoughtfully.
“I think you’re nuts, if you ask me. These two countries are both so war-crazy nothing can stop either side.”
“I am a scientist, Flash Gordon, and I have one of the best brains on Earth.”
General Zena put her arm around Flash and pointed to the door. “Out you go, Doc.” She giggled again at the sound of the word. “I will inform Prog Zed to give you the fullest cooperation not only from the proggies but from the cybbies and the technoids as well. We will call it Project Illkay!”
Zarkov looked stunned.
Flash raised an eyebrow.
“Fools,” snapped General Zena. “You think we do not have language breakers on Errans? How do you think we can converse this way so easily with an alien race?”
General Zena hugged Flash.
Zarkov turned red.
“Now get with your emeschay, Dr. Zarkov, and I wish you much luck.”
Zarkov, head hanging, left the chambers. General Zena turned to Flash and smiled brightly.
“Now we go to work on our project, my love.”
CHAPTER 16
The underground laboratory was deserted now except for the two men inside it. Dr. Hans Zarkov glanced at the ceiling where the indirect light filtered down, at the walls where vidscreens were mounted but which were inoperative now, and at the benches and tables full of transistors, resistors, condensers, wires, and electronic equipment of all kinds.
He was pacing furiously, glancing at this and that, and storming about at his companion. The companion was Programmer Zed, dressed as always in his green uniform. The prog was watching Zarkov with an amused air, silently taking notes on a pad in his hand as Zarkov caustically waved his arms about and growled orders in his resonant voice.
“Okay, and I want all that old-fashioned gear out of here, you understand that, Zed? Out! I don’t know how you guys ever managed to build a cybernaut, much less make the damned thing work. You’re using equipment that’s been outmoded on Earth for eons.”
The prog looked up mildly. “As I told you, Alien Zarkov, this lab has been
out of operation for at least twenty years. You said you wanted a work area which would be out of the general line of activity. With the war on and the cybbies wandering about—”
“Right, right!” boomed Zarkov, spinning on his heels and glowering at the prog. “We can’t afford to have those damned machines spying on us.”
Programmer Zed nodded. “This laboratory is ideal, then. Internal-surveillance scanners were not introduced until after this lab was put out of operation. According to the plans, there are no internal scanners here by which the cybbies can oversee what we’re doing.”
“Security is essential,” boomed Zarkov, slapping one fist in the other palm.
“Yes, sir,” said the prog.
“Now, where’s that storeroom you told me was attached to this lab?”
“Here, Alien Zarkov,” said the prog, pointing to a door at the end of the large work area.
Zarkov opened it. The space inside was filled with old metal containers and piles of burned-out condensers and broken wire and heaps of metal.
“I want all this mess shipped out, Zed,” snapped Zarkov. “Got that?”
The prog wrote it down. “Right. No problem.”
“I want this storeroom spotless. Hear me?”
“Right,” said Zed.
Zarkov entered and pushed aside a pile of junk. He stared about at the walls and ceiling.
“Okay. And when it’s empty, I want it locked up and I want the only key. Do you read me, Zed?”
“Yes, sir,” said the prog.
“Okay.” Zarkov gave his fierce black beard a tug as he glanced around for the last time. “Have you got all that equipment down?”
“I’ve made a list, Alien Zarkov. I’ll have the material delivered within the hour.”
“Good,” said Zarkov. He was staring at the blank vidscreens along the walls. “Zed?”
“Yes, Alien Zarkov?”
“Call me Doc, will you? That ‘Alien’ stuff gives me the creeps.”
“All right, Doc.”
Zarkov grinned. “Now, let’s assume you’re a cybby. Right?”
Zed shrugged. “So?”
“You want to bug this lab. Right?”
“But you said—”
“Never mind what I said. Just put yourself in a cyb’s shoes. You want to find out what we’re doing here. Right?”
“Right.”
“Okay. Where would you put your optic bug?”
Zed frowned. He glanced around at the ceiling and the walls. “Well,” he drawled slowly. “I suppose the best place to work from would be that far corner.” He pointed. “The other corners are ruled out because you’ve got the ventilation port at one end, the air-conditioning vent at the other, and the heating unit in the third. They all cause a lot of vibration and interference.”
Zarkov grinned. “Good, Zed. That’s what I wanted to know.”
“I’d put it there, then. So?”
“Add one unit to that list of yours. One optic bug. We’ll put it in ourselves. And then let them discover it.”
Zed shook his head. “I don’t understand at all, Doc.”
“I realize that. That’s why you’re working for me, Zed.”
Zed quirked an eyebrow at Zarkov.
“Okay, now get packing,” ordered Zarkov. “We’ve got a lot of work to do and time’s awasting.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Earth idiom,” said Zarkov. “It means there is no time to lose.”
“Doc, on Errans we call that a cliché.”
Zarkov glared at him.
The material Zarkov ordered was delivered into the old laboratory within two hours, including the optic bug. With Zed’s help, Zarkov installed the bug and then tied the bug into one of the main lines of the surveillance scanner console.
“Feed out some info to the progs, Zed,” said Zarkov. “I want the cybbies to know about this within the hour. Got me?”
“Feed out some info?” Zed frowned. “You mean you want me to tell another programmer about the bug?”
“Yes. Somebody who can leak it to the cybbies.”
“But who?”
“Now there’s got to be someone among the progs who’s working for the cybbies,” growled Zarkov, scowling at Zed’s denseness.
“I suppose there is,” mused Zed. “We’ve always suspected Programmer Zyug. But—”
“Get the rumors going, Zed. About the secret weapon we’re building in Lab Resurrect. Right? The cybbies will be dying to find out what we’re doing. And they’ll eventually discover that optic bug.”
“I see. You want them to keep us under surveillance.”
“You bet your life,” said Zarkov.
“But—?”
“I want them to keep the lab under surveillance. Because”—he lowered his voice discreetly—“we aren’t going to be working in it at all. We’re working in that supply room next door.”
Zed’s eyes lighted up. “Aha!”
“And if anyone finds that out, Zed, I’m going to feed you to the cybbies!”
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Zed beamed. “I like it.”
“We’ll set up a dummy table in there and fiddle-faddle around with some idiotic rig. You know?”
Zed laughed. “A cover weapon.”
“You’ve got it, Zed-baby.”
Programmer Zed’s estimate of Proggy Zyug was accurate. Within hours the optic bug was in operation. Without letting the cybbies on the eye know they were aware of the surveillance, Zarkov and Zed tested the electronic capacitance of the bug and discovered it was definitely on.
With great industry, Zarkov and Zed set up a wild-looking piece of machinery on the table in full view of the optic bug. And the two men kept babbling to each other in terms that were not too far out but which were quite baffling to the observers.
“Now we’re going to produce an electrostatic shield here,” Zarkov explained. “I want a shunt-off system introduced just before the final phase of the operative system. For backup, I’d like an inductive coil that feeds on the instigator control.”
Zed kept nodding intelligently. “Yes, sir. I’ll get that right now, sir.”
And so it went.
Occasionally Zarkov would vanish into the storeroom at the far end of the lab. Inside the storeroom he would bustle about and bang things around. Then he would come out and join Zed at the phony machine.
And then Zed would go into the storeroom, and stay a while. Only for short times were both of them in the storeroom, so as not to excite comment from the surveillance team on the optic scan.
Zarkov made it as brief as he could.
“Okay, here’s what we’re doing, Zed. I’m building a transmitting device to send radio signals to the War Computer of the People of the Orange.”
“But the War Computer is too far from here for us to beam a message. Doc,” said Zed thoughtfully.
“I know. I’ll take care of that. Now. You’ve had your intelligence technoids go over that machine, I’m sure.”
“Yes, Doc,” said Zed. “We know how it’s made. In fact, we borrowed some of their ideas for ours. And they borrowed some of ours for theirs. To all intents and purposes, the machines are practically identical.”
“I figured as much,” said Zarkov, “when General Ild told us to come in and destroy yours. Okay. We’re going to work on a signal that will be transmitted into the input of the War Computer. Got that?”
“Certainly. The cybby in charge of the War Council here punches in orders right after Council meetings. I’m sure the Oranges do the same thing.”
“Exactly. Now, the problem is to beam the signal into the computer at the point directly after the input gear is tied in on the power line. You understand?”
“Right. We use a teletypewriter. So do the Oranges. The letters each have different voltage drops. We can easily duplicate that by monitoring one of our own signals and breaking it down.”
“Good. We simply send the message in, beam it toward the computer, and sit back an
d wait for the computer to respond by transmitting the message on to the cybbies and technoids fighting the war.”
“And what’s the message?” Zed asked.
“The signal will read: ‘Beware. The cybernaut next to you is a spy. Turn and destroy.’ ”
There was a silence, “Fascinating,” sighed Zed. “Most ingenious.”
“And of course,” Zarkov continued, “that’s why we have to keep this thing a secret from the cybbies. The idea is so explosive that if they found out what we were doing to the Orange cybernauts, they’d begin to fear for their own lives and destroy the project. You understand?”
“I do,” said Zed. “We must never let this leak out.”
“Right on!”
Zed cleared his throat. “But how do we get that message into the Ildhaven sector of Errans?”
“What about the artificial suns?” Zarkov wondered.
“Bounce the signal off the surfaces?” Zed thought about that. “Not a bad idea. But we can’t be sure it’s going to work. And besides, the electronic heat impulses in the sunettes—that’s what we call them—may interfere with the message.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that.” Zarkov sighed. “Well, that gives us a problem, doesn’t it?”
Zed nodded.
“Okay. We’ll have to depend on air transport for transmittal,” Zarkov said.
“A missile?”
“Sure. The booster transmitter in the missile for retransmittal of the message we send here. Why not? A guided, wire-controlled, straight-on missile. We shoot the missile up over Ildhaven. We equip the missile with anti-antimissile devices, blow up all the antimissile missiles sent to crisp it, and keep the missile overhead while the message is beamed down. We control the beaming of the signal from here. Right?”
“It’s worth a try,” said Zed.
“Okay. If it’s worth a try, we try it.”
“I’ve got it all down, Doc.”
“Well, that’s all there is to it. Now let’s get out into that lab before they begin breaking down the walls to find out what we’re doing in here.”
