Flash Gordon (15 page)

“She’s a zillion miles away. Maybe farther!

“Bring it close in your head, Dale. Think of the Earth every minute and forget me.”

“Forget you?”
Her tears immediately followed one another as she stared into his face. Suddenly she shivered, and she looked at the hourglass. “You bastard, Klytus! You’re making the sands flow faster!”

“I am truly sorry,” said Klytus, unable to muster an iota of sincerity. “But I just remembered an important appointment.”

Dale rushed to the hourglass and attempted to lift it.

When she realized her efforts were doomed to failure, despite the fact that Klytus had lifted it with ease, she beat upon the unbreakable glass with her fists. Finally she was unable to strike it due to the spasms racking her body, spasms caused by her crying. She ran to Flash and embraced him. Her tears dropped from her face and onto his stomach.

Beyond the glass chamber and apparatus the hunchbacked dwarfs had built was a large terrace overlooking one of the most beautiful sights of the Mongian city—the pits of radioactive material (the radiation was virtually harmless) tapped to supply power. At various points throughout the terrace were stone vases holding glittering crystals of a variety of shapes and colors, standing in black soil. Barin and Aura had overlooked this scene when the space gas had brought the darkness to Mongo. Still, there were flecks of color in the sky.

Wearing a black gown and an ornate gold headdress, Aura stood near the chamber and watched as a few members of the court chatted and milled about. Her arms folded across her stomach, she stuck out her lower lip, an indication she was in a fiery, rebellious mood. She said nothing, she acknowledged no one. Her thoughts were mysterious, even to herself. She did not notice the Imperial Presence of her father until he had been standing next to her for several moments. “Father! You startled me!”

Ming exchanged no word of greeting; instead he partook of a strong purple wine laced with a mind-expanding drug of his own invention. He wore black robes and a black skull cap; his eyes were dreamy with the wisdom of his visions. Finally he asked, “Did you and the doctor enjoy yourselves on Sybaria last week? Don’t look surprised. You know Klytus tells me
everything.”
He smiled. For most, Ming’s expressions were meaningless; but not for Aura.

“Klytus wants me for himself! His agents are always making up lies about me!”

“And why is that, Daughter?” His voice was grave, even for him.

Aura knew only the truth would suffice. “Your power potions and your communions with the mystical essence of the universe won’t keep you alive forever, Father. One day I will succeed you, as is my destiny and my right. And what of Klytus then? He merely plans for his future. He is well advised to, though he does so ill-advisedly,”

Ming placed his hand on her shoulder. Three of his fingers rested on bare skin, and as usual the touch of his ever-cold rings sent involuntary shivers through her, shivers she controlled with minimal success. “I’ve brought you up well, Aura. You’re so much like me.”

She did not trust the fondness in his voice; it was the result of natural love or the natural desire of an emperor to dissuade his children from hastening the future. “Father, we haven’t been close enough the last few years. Perhaps we should remedy the situation.”

“Oh?” She did not have to see her father’s eyebrow to know he had raised it.

“I’ve missed the security of your company and the thrill of private moments when you drop your reserve and demonstrate your love for me.”

Ming rubbed his beard. “Yes, I freely admit I have missed that closeness between us as well. When I am through with this Dale Arden—I do not believe it will take very long—we shall strip down to our essences and I will tie you to my royal bed and I shall flog you senseless, until the blood flows from the wounds on your pert buttocks, just as we did during happier, more innocent days.”

“Oh yes, Father, yes!”

He took her right hand and kissed it tenderly. “And who can say? Perhaps your spanking shall be but the beginning.”

Her voice possessed a huskiness she had not quite planned on. “Yes, Father, that would be wonderful.”

By now virtually the entire court, silent and still, awaited the execution. The presence of death was very familiar to Aura, but she savored its sensation as never before. Her mind reeled at the plots she had hatched, the games she played, not for personal reward, not for power, not for sexual satisfaction (though that played its usual important supporting role), but for the purpose of alleviating the dreadful boredom that was more like a disease than a habit.

A spotlight caught Flash Gordon, escorted by two hooded, bare-chested guards, slowly walking toward his doom. The Earthling’s hands were bound by electronically sealed cuffs. He wore only black leather briefs. The women of the court audibly drew in their breaths as the spotlight accentuated Flash’s muscular torso.

Aura watched with interest the other two Earthlings, Dale and Zarkov, as they stood on a level above their companion’s path, flanked by two lamellar-clad soldiers, behind unbreakable, soundproof glass. She could not restrain a smile as the Earth woman became hysterical, displaying an unseemly weakness, and beat her ineffectual fists upon the glass until she collapsed on the floor, her body racked by the force of her sobbing. The scientist, for the most part, concealed his fear and pain; awkwardly, he knelt and picked her up. He embraced her, caressing her hair, as she sobbed on his chest.

Aura looked at her father. “Look!” she said to him. “Water is leaking from her eyes! Is that what they call tears?”

“It’s a sign of their weakness,” replied Ming. She understood a fraction of the thrill of victory illuminating Ming’s existence.

Ming would not have felt so satisfied if his science had permitted him to peer into Flash’s heart.

Other than his being extremely distraught at the sight of Dale’s overpowering grief for him, Flash was a man at peace with the universe. His only regrets were the deeds he had not accomplished, the love he had not fulfilled, the life he had wasted. Yet these debt’s did not seem significant in the wake of what he had accomplished and the love he had experienced. In fact, he was filled with the joys of love and happiness of life. Glad that he had lived, he faced the end without fear. He could not even find it in his heart to hate Ming. Though he would not have helped the son-of-a-bitch if he had seen him with a broken leg lying over a track with a pneumatic vehicle rapidly approaching, his heart remained free of the evil seeds of hatred.

The doors to the chamber opened.

A slow drumbeat began.

Unseen by all, Ming’s excitement caused him to grasp Aura’s hand.

The guards escorted Flash into the chamber. They strapped his chest and legs into the chair, freed him of the cuffs, and tied down his arms. They lowered a black hood over his face and then quickly exited.

A doctor with brown hair entered the chamber. He injected a fluid into Flash’s arm and said, “This will help you on your way.” He turned and left.

As the door closed, a hunchbacked dwarf walked from the wings and aimed a device which emanated a red ray, causing the molecules of the door and the chamber proper to travel across the crack and bind themselves together, creating an impervious seal.

As the dwarf scurried back into the wings, Klytus walked out, holding a black handkerchief. He stopped beside the chamber, then looked at Ming.

Ming nodded. Klytus dropped the handkerchief.

A technician offstage pushed buttons and pulled levers.

A purple vapor totally obscured Flash. The people of the court applauded politely, and Aura felt a funny little tingling throughout her entire body.

Ming, on the other hand, threw back his head and laughed. Flash Gordon was dead!

T
HE
inscription on the brass plate read:

FLASH GORDON, EARTHLING.
EXECUTED FOR DEFIANCE OF
MING THE MERCILESS.

The black glass coffin containing the corpse had been paraded by soldiers throughout the Mongian city, serving the citizenry an example of what happened to those who defied Ming’s rule. There was no indication of how the citizenry reacted to this; no one dared speak, not to his mate or to his closest friends or to his family, for no one was to be trusted and Ming rewarded his spies well. But Klytus’s underground network, which kept tabs on every event or word which might be of interest to the regime, knew this: While individuals had not taken a stand on the context of Gordon’s speech to the court, they had not been reluctant to report its occurrence. The information banks of Klytus’s computers contained the names and serial numbers of those who had inadvertently reported to spies.

The coffin rested on a metal stand in a small room near the stoves where the Mongian dead were cremated. Here the nobles and their families said farewell to their loved ones. A hunchbacked dwarf wiped the glass coffin clean of fingerprints with a handkerchief; he paid more attention to his reflection in the shiny dark panels of the wall than he did to his work. (In his strata of society, he was regarded as a handsome devil; all the available female hunchbacked dwarfs were warm for his form.) Consequently, he was quite surprised when Aura, daughter to Ming the Merciless, wearing tight red trousers and a complimentary red tunic, entered the private room. She brought with her the brown-haired doctor.

Aura snapped her fingers several times. “Get out, get out, get out!” She tossed a clothing bag on the coffin. Then she clapped her hands as if she was speaking to a disobedient pet.

The dwarf was so shocked at her unexpected appearance that he did not know which supplication to perform first; he merely bowed twice as he hurried out. Aura slammed the door behind him.

The doctor was late middle-aged; he was pockmarked but comely; his body was soft, but that was to be expected of a man of science. He wore a white smock. Around his neck hung a Mongian stethoscope, which basically consisted of two flexible rubber tubes attached to a living bug with forty-eight squirming, thin legs. He set his medicine bag on top of the coffin.

“No!” exclaimed Aura, taking both the medicine bag and the clothing, placing them on the floor. Avoiding the doctor as he attempted to capture her in a mad embrace, she opened the coffin lid with a red beam that emanated from her ring. She stared boldly at Flash’s body, covered with a black shroud. “Hurry!” she said.

Pursing his lips, the doctor took a loaded injection gun from the medicine bag. “Do you realize what happens to me if I’m found out?”

“You won’t be,” said Aura automatically. A pause. “I swear,” she added just as automatically.

“I’m a fool for you, Aura.”

Laughing, Aura pulled the shroud away; with a trembling hand, she walked her fingers down his body.

The doctor fired the injection into Flash’s arm. He casually tossed the gun back into the bag, then applied the stethoscope to Flash’s chest. The creature, sensing blood, sent several legs deep into the skin. While the legs absorbed the fresh blood the creature needed to survive, its body mysteriously communicated the sounds of the heartbeat via the rubber tubing. The creature would not harm Flash, though it would leave a temporary mark somewhat resembling a hickey. The doctor nodded. “There we are. I think he’ll be just fine.” He yanked at the stethoscope. The creature was reluctant to release Flash. The doctor pulled four times before the creature relinquished its hold with a loud pop. “Think it’s time to get a younger one,” the doctor mumbled. He looked at Aura; anticipation gleamed in his eyes. “Sybaria again? Same place, next weekend?”

Aura stifled a yawn. “I can hardly wait.”

Before she could resist, the doctor grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulled her over the corner of the coffin, and kissed her passionately, his tongue practically caressing her esophagus. When he released her, she finally remembered why she liked him, and it definitely had nothing to do with his personality. Grinning like a maniac, the doctor retrieved his bag and left her, as she had instructed and as his fear of exposure demanded.

Aura looked at Flash. Her eyelids fluttered. She kissed him. Her fingers dug into his scalp as if they could take root there. When she had finished indulging herself, Flash whispered, “Where am I?”

She placed her hands behind her back. “You’ve risen from the dead. I saved you.”

Flash pushed himself into a sitting position. “My God! How?”

“By magic, of course. With a kiss.”

“You’re a brave woman. After an eight-hour sleep, my breath alone could stun Ming at fifty yards. Where’s Dale and Zarkov?”

“Don’t worry about them; they’re safe for now.” She began pulling the clothing from the bag. “Well, I hate to do this, but I have to cover you up.”

“What?” Flash fingered his leather briefs. He grimaced.

“Quickly, before the other dwarfs come to cremate you. Put on this uniform.”

Flash hesitated, staring at her and then at the clothing.

“Oh, you’re such a child,” said Aura. “All right. I won’t look.”

She turned around and folded her arms across her stomach. The uniform she had given Flash consisted of a red leather jacket with golden insignia, a red T-shirt, black trousers, and black leather boots. She watched him dress in the reflection on the wall in front of her. Poking her cheek with her tongue, she nodded. “I like you a lot. You know that, don’t you?”

Aura escorted Flash to a conveyer belt in a seemingly endless tunnel with walls that were white, smooth, and curved. They were forced to crouch because the conveyer belt took them past many soundproof windows which, Aura explained, enabled her father to inspect the labs quickly and, to some degree, surreptitiously. Aura made Flash uncomfortable for many reasons, not the least of which was her insistence on crouching close to him. The scent of her perfume intoxicated his brain; he felt dizzy, he needed someone to support him, his legs were falling asleep and he swayed from side to side, but he was afraid to touch her. He resented her because he could not think of Dale while her obvious appetite tempted him.