Authors: Arthur Byron Cover
Flash Gordon
DUEL IN THE SKY
Far below the royal perch of the Hawk Men leader, a great battle disk glimmered in the sunlight, supported on a giant shaft, its surface greased and ready.
Flash saw it and groaned—there was nothing under it but the bottomless sky.
He and Barin, Prince of Arboria, were to duel, clad in loincloths and armed only with whips.
They entered the ring and the disk began to tilt and sway, sending Flash slipping and sliding to the lower side. Jumping at the advantage, Barin struck, his whip tearing Flash’s weapon from his hand.
The Hawk Men leader touched a button and hundreds of knives shot up from the battle floor. He grabbed at Flash, bending his body back, back toward the deadly knives.
“Flash!” Dale’s voice rang out. “We have less than twelve hours to save the Earth . . .”
The disk tilted dangerously toward the sky . . .
Copyright © 1980 Famous Films B. V.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to: Permissions,
Jove Publications, Inc., 200 Madison Avenue,
New York, NY 10016
First Jove edition published December 1980
ISBN: 0515058483
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
Jove books are published by Jove Publications, Inc.,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
CHAPTER 1: Flash Gordon Scores
CHAPTER 4: A Journey through the Barriers of the Ether
CHAPTER 5: Captured by Faceless Minions
CHAPTER 6: The Judgment of Ming
CHAPTER 7: Flash Bites the Big One
CHAPTER 8: Crashing on Arboria
CHAPTER 11: A Kingdom for Flash!
CHAPTER 12: Here Comes the Bride
CHAPTER 13: The End? Well, Maybe . . .
The author thanks Charly Lippincott and Linda Levine for their valuable assistance during the composition of this fast-action extravaganza.
For many reasons, the author would like to acknowledge the cast of thousands who have worked at the Change of Hobbit Speculative Fiction Bookstore in Los Angeles, including Mayer, Mike, Victor, Alan, Barry, Tad, Bill, Gil, Mark, and anyone else, especially one Sherry Gottlieb, and most especially (for personal reasons) one Lydia Marano.
PROLOGUECosmic Pawns
“U
NDERLING
, I am weary.”
The unconcerned voice which replied to the statement was incapable of warmth or pity. It had never expressed a passion, not even the tacit admission of an emotion. “O Master, what might I do to relieve the weariness which has so mercilessly beset you?”
A pause. “You might amuse me.”
“For the purposes of amusement, there is your harem of submissive, willing slaves.”
“With sleek bodies tanned by discriminating applications of artificial light, that I know. I am not interested in that sort of amusement.” Another pause. “Perhaps later.”
“You have your scholars to present all manner of inventive and obscure arguments for your approval.”
“Underling, today I have no desire to listen to a cowardly old man with quivering knees lecture me on the finer points of logic.”
“Does it not please you to listen to philosophers explain why life is meaningful only beneath the iron hand of your august rule?”
“It pleases me, but it does not relieve my boredom.”
“I might arrange for your tributes to be given within the hour.”
“Do not bother; it can wait.”
“Is there a duty of state which might please you?”
Another pause, this one long and heavy. “Klytus.”
“O Master.”
“What would you say if I informed you that my weariness was the result of my singular loneliness?”
“I would reply that the loneliness of a star blazing in the vacuum of space is a small price to pay for imperial greatness, for the vast spirit which rules the nine moons of a kingdom that is truly the center of the universe.”
“You would make such a reply?”
“Indeed I would, Sire, without hesitation—that is, if you were to say that you were lonely.”
“Do you believe I am lonely?”
“No, Sire, though if you were to say you were, then I would believe it instantly, with all my soul.”
“Klytus, you disappoint me.”
The unconcerned voice expressed the barest hint of surprise. “Sire! How have I failed thee?”
“As We cannot condemn the space-hound for its savagery, We cannot fault thee for shortcomings inherent in thy very nature.”
“I exist only to serve you.”
“And, Klytus
—you have no soul.”
“I kneel corrected.” The rustle of robes brushing against metal.
A sigh. “Tell Us, Klytus, since it appears We are doomed to suffer this weariness, at least for the time being, what affair of state should We choose to help Us wile away the hours?”
“Perhaps—the testing of a civilization?”
“Hmmm, yes. The life or death of millions upon millions. That might send the blood flowing through these tired veins. Have the computers make their selection.”
A hand sheathed in golden metal reached out and flicked a switch. It pushed a button and waited patiently before a slot. Green, yellow, and red lights flashed. There were pings and scraping sounds. A white card slipped from the slot into the sheathed hand.
“The computers have selected an insignificant planet in Sector 468G29, Sire.”
“Not Sector 468G29! It’s so dreary, so relentlessly, dreadfully
boring.
Its dullness is legendary even in the society of the drones beneath Our fair citadel. Nothing interesting ever happens there.”
“The prospects do not please me either, Sire, but according to the computers, there has been an inexplicable oversight. This planet’s civilization has never before been tested.”
“Oh?”
“We must test this insignificant planet in this dreadfully boring sector for the protection of the realm.”
“Very well. And have the maintenance man and current programmer executed.”
“O Master, they were executed last week for that little error which allowed Vultan to conceal his daughter’s existence for so long.”
“Have their replacements executed.”
“They have not yet been appointed.”
“Select a few volunteers then, Klytus, and inform them of the price of failure.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Proceed.”
“Yes, Master.”
The sheathed hand pressed buttons and flicked switches, the computer bank hummed as connections were made, gears slipped into place, and electrons coursed through coils. Waves of interference flowed across the view screen in the center of the console. Bright stars gradually appeared, floating like scoops of radioactive dust in the blackness. It was Sector 468G29.
The Master stifled an imperial yawn. A hand in a scintillating red glove waved. “Please, Klytus, I’ve no desire for sightseeing. I can do that while I meditate. Proceed more quickly.”
“Yes, Sire.” The sheathed hand turned a knob and on the screen appeared a blue world partially enveloped by white and gray mists and orbited by a barren rocky moon. The world was Earth.
“What do you know of this world’s civilization, Klytus?”
“Surely not enough to satisfy your endless thirst for knowledge, Sire.”
“Please try.”
“The civilization has reached Level Two, but the intellect of the inhabitants does not deal with it rationally. A peculiar personality trait, which all the inhabitants possess to some degree, is an amazing ability to refuse responsibility for their own actions, or for their existences, in general. To this end they live in a number of principalities, each with its own government, but there is no dictator to cut through red tape and bureaucracies. I must say, Sire, they are not very reasonable.”
“Interesting, interesting.”
“They possess other unusual qualities, Sire, including a philosophical outlook unique throughout the galaxies, though it has presented them with little advantage.”
“And what is that, Klytus?”
“The deeds and thoughts of life are somewhat arbitrarily divided between those they call ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ The good are supposed to make life better for all people, and the evil worsen it.”
“And is this planet a utopia of well-meaning intentions, a paradise of delight?”
“No, Sire, not in the least. Only a few can meet the behavioral standards which are the results of their ideals, and the others but pretend. There are many ways of carrying out the pretense. One method is to set up a huge faceless body called a ‘corporation’ which insulates each man from the results of his decisions. Orders are carried out through long chains of command so that when a decision backfires, creating an inordinate amount of pollution or contaminating a village, the person truly responsible can blame underlings or forces beyond his control. Therefore, he can believe he is successfully continuing the pretense of meeting the high philosophical standards.”
“And what is the so-called purpose of these corporations, Klytus?”
“To amass tremendous amounts of credits, so that the rewards of the capitalistic schemes can be utilized to earn more profits.”
“Why do they not simply demand tribute from their underlings?”
“As I said, Sire, they are not reasonable.”
“Are the people of this civilization aware of the true size of the universe? Do they meditate regularly, experiencing the myriad forces of the cosmos?”
“A few do, Sire, but in the main that is not considered profitable.”