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Crashing on Arboria
The 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?”
Unfortunately, he was unable to distract himself by looking into the labs. The possibility of exposure was too great. In addition, he was not certain he wanted to know exactly what was transpiring below him.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked, hoping they would leave this tunnel soon.
“To the moon Arboria.”
“Arboria? I don’t want to go to any moon. I’ve got to rescue my friends and save the Earth.”
“Isn’t it pretty risky telling that to Ming’s daughter?”
“Wasn’t rescuing me a pretty rash thing to do just for a thrill?” When he realized that Aura’s only reply would be a provocative smile, he asked, “What’s in Arboria?”
“People who’ll help you.”
“Why?”
“Prince Barin does anything I ask.”
I doubt it, Flash thought.
“Trust me,” she said with all the sincerity she could muster. In Flash’s opinion, it wasn’t quite enough.
Flash caught a glimpse of a cylindrical machine through one of the soundproof windows. The machine made him curious. He chided himself for being too cowardly to have peeked into the labs before. What he saw caused him to grip Aura’s shoulder and squeeze hard.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, not without some approval, as she removed his hand.
“It’s nothing,” said Aura, pulling him down. “They’re just conditioning him to our climate.”
“Right! You actually expect me to believe that!” replied Flash as he struggled to keep Zarkov in view as long as possible.
Knowing she was correct and resenting her all the more for it, Flash grabbed her by the arms; he restrained himself from shaking her. “Don’t you understand? I’ve got to help him.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him now. You’ve got to go to Arboria. What’s so important about saving him anyway?”
Flash released her, glared at her. “Life is pretty cheap to you people, isn’t it?”
“He is only a common scientist, no one to be truly concerned about.”
‘Let me tell you something about us Earthlings, Aura. Zarkov may be a weird bozo, he may have brought Dale and me here against our will, totally wrecking our lives, but his heart’s in the right place and he did what he thought he had to do. I have to stand by him because he’s my friend. With the exception of saving Dale and the Earth and a few other matters I can’t think of at the moment, saving Zarkov is the most important thing in the universe to me. You understand?”
Aura pursed her lips. “I must think about it.” Suddenly she smiled and her eyes glowed. “Have I told you I like you a lot?”
Briskly slapping her whip on her calf, Kala leaned over and inundated the scientist with her hot breath. “I sincerely doubt it,” she said in a sultry voice. “And rest assured, we shall do our worst.” Kala had an oval face with classic bone structure, which she deliberately accentuated by concealing all her hair beneath her ornate gold headdress (Zarkov suspected she was merely bald). Her glittering black blouse had loose, slashed sleeves. Over it she wore a vestlike lamellar structure with wide gold borders that rose in curved peaks on her shoulders. In the black middle of the lamellar was a circular gold insignia. The leather of her knee-length black boots had been treated in a manner identical to the leather of the tassels creating the whip at the ferrule of a narrow black cudgel.
“Please, Kala, we should derive no personal pleasure in our work,” said Klytus, concealing his hands in his sleeves.
“I realize that is your goal,” said Kala harshly.
Why is she so hostile to him? thought Zarkov.
“But there are others who believe finding pleasure in one’s work is a virtue,” she continued.
“And what possible pleasure could there be in reprogramming this Earthling?” asked Klytus.
“The pleasure of serving Ming and the state of Mongo for one,” replied Kala, boldly exhibiting the note of triumph in her voice.
Klytus remained silent. Ming covered his mouth with his black glove. Seeing this, Zarkov scowled. Why would Ming suppress his unholy mirth about those two, why would he permit them to use his name openly in a petty disagreement unless . . .
Oh my God! thought Zarkov. She and Klytus must be rivals!
And Ming had no qualms against seeing Klytus squirm; Zarkov had noticed that during the audience in the palace hall. Their political situation must amuse Ming to no end. But it bodes ill for me.
“My God! I was the one who . . .” said Zarkov.
Ming smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“You’re saying it’s my fault Earth is being destroyed!”
“You penetrate to the essence rather quickly, Doctor. I thought it might amuse you to know this before your mind is gone.” Ming turned to Klytus. “Proceed with it.” With a mock bow in Zarkov’s direction, Ming disappeared from view. Doors hissed open, then closed.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked the pale scientist. He feared the truth as much as he feared ignorance.
Perhaps there was a faint note of glee in Klytus’s voice as he replied, “We shall empty your mind.”
Zarkov tensed. He imagined himself sitting up and breaking his bonds with a strength born of adrenaline. But his appraisal of reality promised no hope. “What?” he mumbled, praying he had not heard correctly.
Kala’s note of glee was anything but faint. “We are going to empty your memory as we might empty your pockets, Doctor.”
“No! Don’t do that!” Despite the futility of it all, Zarkov struggled mightily against his bonds. “Please, I beg you, my mind is all I have. I’ve spent my life trying to fill it!” When he realized that the obviously unmoved Klytus and Kala perceived him much as the Nazis perceived the prisoners in concentration camps, he became angry and indignant. “All right, I’ve had just about enough of this. Your unoriginal emperor is going to treat Dale like a two-dimensional character in a spicy pulp story. You people execute Flash who was a little stuffy but was definitely a right Joe. Now you’re going to brainwash me! That is the last straw! I’m not going to lie here and take this any longer! And I must say that you Mongians are perhaps the rudest people I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter!”
Kala purred, “Yes, Doctor, you are most misfortunate.” Her voice froze him with horror.
Klytus nodded at the technician. “Begin.”
The green radiation dancing between the metal bands amplified. A loud crackling like a thousand chitinous shells being crushed underfoot drowned all other noises. A purple ray oozed from the tip of the cylindrical device like an ectoplasm escaping from a mouth; it absorbed Zarkov as he increased his frenzied struggles, it tightened about his skull, it seemed to draw substance from him.
Klytus and Kala looked to a screen where flashes and flickers from Zarkov’s life passed by like specters reborn. Though the pictures generally regressed toward his childhood, they were intermittently interrupted by sensuous visions of Zarkov’s liason with his second wife, perhaps the high point of his amorous adventures; for in an attempt to draw his attention away from the purely intellectual pursuits which, inevitably, demanded the greatest amount of his time, she led him down a progressively kinkier and kinkier path, eventually giving up in disgust and taking up with an accountant whose desires were as prodigious as her own. It was clear from the visual record unfolding on the screen that Zarkov’s memories of this time took precedence over his childhood impressions. An especially enticing scene from his point of view—involving black stockings, a whip, transvestism, half a lid of marijuana, Volunteers by the Jefferson Airplane, and a rocking horse—was revealed to his torturers just before the purple ray took him back to the womb, whereupon Klytus signaled for the technician to shut off the ray.
Breathing hard, staring at the screen as if it was still disclosing perverse delights, Kala said, more to herself than to Klytus, “Remind me to revise my opinion of these Earthlings sometime. Perhaps they aren’t so primitive after all.”
“I suppose that is true,” said Klytus, “if your definition of civilized creatures includes those with predilections for freely indulging in barbarous, sensuous, mindless pastimes of lust.”
“What would you know about it?” inquired Kala in a tone which implied that in her opinion, he knew nothing about it. When she received no reply, she calmed herself with an effort and asked, “Shall we reprogram now?”
“Yes, but don’t fill him with anything above Level Three. I doubt if the human mind could take it.”
“Is that a veiled reference to your Level Five and your so-called superiority since—the accident?”
“Kala, remember the chain of command. I am still your superior. And I said Level Three.” Putting his hand beneath her chin, he turned her face toward him.
“I understand,” said Kala, demurely closing her eyes. “Level Three only.”
“I will return after hearing reports from our spies among the people,” said Klytus, walking through the entry as the doors hissed open.
The ebony night of Mongo was ending when Flash and Aura walked onto the spacecraft dock nestling between the tallest towers of the castle. Seeing the size of the red tower nearly a hundred yards away, directly in front of him, Flash came close to comprehending, for the first time, the mighty fortress that was Ming’s. Beyond the tower, great shards of red-tinged and blue-tinged light broke through the thinning space clouds, exposing portions of the barrenness below. Though the scene was magnificent, it did not awe Flash. The Mongian landscape was a drab parody of sterility, and there could be nothing awe inspiring about seeing it stir to its vague half-life. Of course, a Mongian might discern a certain grim beauty in it, but none of the soldiers in the sleek uniforms of Ming’s space corps, who milled about and occasionally smoked a particularly odorous type of cigarette, noticed the concluding moments of the night.
The uniforms which most closely matched Flash’s red jacket and black trousers seemed to belong to men in authority.
Flash had already stood on the port for several moments before he realized what he was doing: coolly exposing himself to men who would surely recognize him. The muscles of his neck tensed like coils of rope, but he struggled to keep his mouth impassive and to quell the panic in his eyes.
One by one, the men saluted Aura. She returned their salutes and they smiled as they stood at attention. Flash saluted as few times as possible, as many men as possible at a time, in an attempt to avoid notice in case he was committing a grievous error. In addition, he realized that if he created a steady movement, more men would be predisposed to study his features.
“What are you trying to do?” Flash asked between his teeth as he and Aura walked toward one of the rockets. “I’m going to be recognized!”
Aura unfastened a button near the threshold of her bosom, and now her breasts strained desperately for freedom from her tight red jumpsuit. “I doubt they’ll be paying much attention to your face,” she said imperiously. “Fall three steps behind me. Only Ming himself may walk by my side!”
Flash resisted the urge to snap back at her. Of course she was correct. He could not deviate from custom. He could not permit his pride to be his downfall. He complied with her instructions.
He only glimpsed the larger fliers—silver or golden cigar-shaped objects, with fins and sharply articulated wings and huge tinelike protuberances fixed onto the bows. With their platforms bordered by thin low railings (at different places, depending on their design), the large fliers resembled Barsoomian vessels. Flash and Aura walked toward a bullet-shaped version devoid of platforms, containing a cabin with enough space only for a pilot and, if available, a copilot. Painted a dull red with glossy yellow half circles and bars highlighting its structure, the flier resembled a toy more than a functioning ship. Its bow protuberance was a little stub; a stylish silver fin stood on top of the cabin; its wings were hardly well-articulated. Standing about or leaning on the flier were three noncoms, wearing black trousers with red stripes and black shirts with red and yellow buttons and patches; they snapped to attention long before Aura’s whispers to Flash were within their hearing range.
“When they open the door for us,” she said, “get directly into the pilot’s seat.”
“Eh?” Flash replied. He was afraid the sudden, noisy wind blowing pockets of brown and black dust like crippled dervishes had caused him to misunderstand her.
But she did not have the opportunity to repeat herself. The soldiers saluted her; they squinted from the dust (the burst of wind was already dying) and they refrained with difficulty from overtly staring at Aura’s diversion. Flash realized his escape was as good as made.
“You promised me a lesson, pilot,” said Aura woodenly as an eager soldier opened the flier door. “Are you ready to, uh, give it to me today?”
Flash touched his eyebrow. “Never fear, my most illustrious lady. When you’re safe in my hands, you’ll soon enough overcome your fear of flying.”
Inside the flier, Flash was unable to conceal his consternation. The controls deviated from any design he had ever seen; they were positively incomprehensible, with panels that consisted merely of colored squares and others that were a morass of buttons, levers, and wires. Even the curved ceiling was layered with controls and apparatus, including two perplexing devices of three connected parallel bars vaguely shaped like a helmet, one above each seat.
Before Flash had the opportunity to fasten his safety belt, the flier was propelling itself toward the crimson skies above. Flash could not help but notice that Aura was pointedly leaving her diversion intact.
Dale lay on a luxurious, circular bed of silk pillows and silk sheets. Though a portion of her mind was still alert (she had estimated that the bed could comfortably hold twenty writhing bodies, so long as only five were reaching the most frenzied heights of ecstasy), she had never before experienced such an all-consuming numbness. She feared her impending fate with all her instinct, but all her intellect and emotional thought was focused on the loss of the great romantic love she had always yearned for. She had known it so briefly! Her numbness making her unable to distract herself with the smooth cool touch of the silk, Dale did not wonder about the chambers beyond this one (which was just large enough to contain the bed), she did not strain to hear the chatter of the harem women next door. She had been unable to arouse a flicker of interest when the women exchanged her red gown for this white one, an exact duplicate in all other respects. Apparently, Ming had changed his mind about what color would most please him. She cried for Flash, she prayed a part of his soul resided in her, she wished she had known him better, both socially and Biblically, she feared the cold merciless creature whose hands would soon caress her, who would demand that her (physical) passion match his, who would soon soil her private parts with his filthy seed, who doubtlessly would force her to engage in acts which if performed with Flash would be glorious statements of love directed toward the oversoul, but while performed with Ming would be hideous mockeries of Nature’s great gifts to humanity.
The door between the harem and the bed hissed open. Dale shivered, resisting the urge to cover her eyes; was it Ming? The question plunged her to the utmost depths of despair. She reluctantly turned, breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. It was Hedonia, an imposing brunette wearing a flimsy series of veils exposing an array of freckles on her shoulders and back. On a tray, balanced on her left hand as if she were a truckstop waitress, was a bronze chalice; the liquid inside bubbled audibly. Hedonia knelt beside her. “Drink this, Earthling.”
Dale peered into the chalice. She wrinkled her nose at the odor of the aquamarine liquid. “What is it?”
“It has no name. Many brave men died bringing it from Galaxy 6R-3Y. When the stocks become depleted, many more brave men will die. Here; drink it. It will make your time with Ming more agreeable.”
Dale lifted her hand to knock away the chalice, but then she reconsidered. “Will it make me forget?”
“No, but you won’t mind remembering.”
“That’s why men don’t mind dying for it. Listen: soon a slave girl will bring you a potion which will unleash your carnal desires. You will be absolutely pliable to Ming’s instructions. He will take you to . . .”
“Don’t tell me; let me guess. He’ll take me to undreamed-of sexual heights. Right?”
Hedonia was somewhat taken aback. “Why, yes. How did you know?”
Dale shrugged. “Lady, I’ve heard it all before, and I haven’t believed any of it. Does Ming always need this potion to get his women excited?”
Hedonia lowered her eyes. “I cannot comment on that.”
“You’d better tell the slave girl to bring me a double dose. I may not care what’s happening to me, thanks to this nameless drink here, but it’s going to take one hell of an aphrodisiac to get me aroused.”
Kala regarded the tiny eye-slits of Klytus’s mask. Perhaps more than Ming, she deduced his mood or thoughts from his eyes; she perceived the near-nonexistent with clarity. She drew information fraught with countless ramifications from the rapidity of his blinking and the movements of the pupils, not to mention all the other avenues of acquiring knowledge that were open to her in those six square inches. Thus far, his eyes had revealed no inkling that he was aware of her duplicities. Nevertheless, Kala scrutinized them with a dangerous transparency. Could it be he actually did not suspect she had given Zarkov a Level Six Indoctrination, reducing him to a mindless zombie? No matter, she thought, tingling with excitement, he’ll know soon enough.
As Klytus unfastened the last of the straps holding Zarkov to the table, he asked, “What is your name?”
“Hans Zarkov, Agent Number 2133 of the Imperial Anti-Insurgent Espionage Group.” The Earth scientist saluted with a raised fist, although he remained too weak to stand. “Hail Ming!” He lowered his arm, cupped his hands in his lap, looked at Klytus, and grinned like a child.
“What is your mission?”
“To seek individuals or groups who work to overthrow the Established Order of the Universe.”
“What is your favorite color?”
“Khaki.”
Klytus nodded. His hands, too, were cupped, and his shoulders were slightly slumped. “Good, good,” he said with a faint note of satisfaction that astonished Kala (for it was so uncharacteristic during circumstances such as these). “We must now proceed with the physical tests.”
Kala’s mouth twitched twice.
A technician handed Klytus a ball of ice soaked in a red syrup, standing on an inverted soy cone. Klytus inspected it as if he were about to consume it personally. “This is to test your reflexes,” he said. Then, with a professional, almost nonchalant air, keeping his elbow straight all the while, he gave the ball of ice to Zarkov.
Zarkov took it gingerly; he slowly, oh so slowly opened his mouth . . . and promptly shattered the ice on his forehead.
Aura’s rocket soared through veils of numerous hues in the sky. Though the flier felt sturdy to Flash, it was still like a gigantic toy, fragile in a few important places. As soon as it had left the docking area, Aura programmed navigational instructions into it; then she turned to Flash, crossed her legs, folded her hands over her knee, and began a spate of idle banter designed to lull Flash into a false sense of security. Incidentally, between remembrances and compliments, she taught him how to operate the controls. The complex system turned out to be simple; the automatic pilot did most of the work, and Flash did most of the little deviations from the course.
The veil lengths gradually became smaller; soon they were passing through a veritable kaleidoscope. The mesmerizing colors engulfed Flash in a hazy euphoria; time slowed, his fears for Dale and Zarkov receded into the background. And Aura sat through the cascade of beauty as if there was nothing unusual about it, as if one saw this sort of thing every day. For the first time, Flash envied the savage princess. Maybe she did.
Suddenly, they were awash in a green sky with a density that, however illusionary, equaled that of an ocean. The atmosphere nearly buoyed the flier. In the center of the mists floated a tiny world with thick white clouds—and with glaring streaks of charred land—carved into the light green surface.
“That’s Aquaria. Once it was the lovely Water Kingdom of the Lizard Men. They rebelled . . . and my father blasted them!” She grinned, speaking her last words with relish. She then realized that Flash disapproved. “It seems cruel, I know, but how else should one rule the universe?”
Flash bit back his reply as he bore to the left more sharply than the automatic pilot had intended. Aura watched his impassive face; occasionally a muscle in his neck twitched. She rubbed the upper crests of her breasts. She stirred deliciously in her seat.
The red flier burst into the cool blue sky as if breaking through the surface of water. Dropping his stoic manner for an instant, forgetting the intoxicating scent of his benefactress, Flash gaped at the moon of Frigia, a semicircular hunk of ice floating in a cold pocket of the atmosphere, with icicles fifty miles long, with bases twenty miles in diameter, hanging from the edge of the southern hemisphere. There were crevices and valleys like huge slashes made with a giant butcher knife, but they only served to increase the moon’s hold on Flash’s imagination. The Terran quarterback felt his heart drawn to this cruel vista of death; he yearned for the peace of its cold embrace even as he yearned to challenge it for the sheer glory of survival.
“Every moon of Mongo is a kingdom,” said Aura, continuing the conversational tack. She seemed oblivious to the glorious vision in the sky. “My father keeps them fighting each other constantly. It’s a really brilliant strategy.”
She talks like a surfer girl from southern California, thought Flash, resuming his impassiveness but surreptitiously orbiting the moon by overriding the automatic pilot. I guess when you’ve got her other attractions, you don’t have to talk like an adult. “Why don’t the moons unite their forces and overthrow Ming?” he asked, hoping to keep his mind off those attractions.
Aura giggled. (Flash’s stomach turned.) “You saw what happened to the Lizard Men,” she said. “Hey! Keep us on a straight course!” She quickly reset the flier on automatic pilot. Satisfied, she pressed a button; the three metal bars descended on two rods; Aura maneuvered them until they slipped over her head. Squirming, she closed her eyes and concentrated.
Before long, Flash blurted, “What’s that?”
Aura sighed like a martyr. She pressed the same button and the rods took the device to the ceiling. “A thought amplifier. I’m going to call up Barin. Don’t you have thought transmissions on Earth?”
“Sometimes there’s a telepathic incident, but I’ve never witnessed one.”
“You mean you can’t read my thoughts?” The manner in which she stared at him and fiddled with her open collar fully revealed them.
Sighing, Flash gestured with his palm upturned. “I came here with Dale.”
“She’s not here now. And you know the old saying: ‘If your baby’s millions of parsecs away, love the one you’re with.’ ”
In exasperation, Flash looked toward the ceiling. He saw the amplifier over his head. “Wait! Could I call Dale with that?”
Aura accentuated her perpetually pouting expression. “If I showed you how. But I’m not about to.”
Flash exuded friendliness and warmth; he had switched on the old Gordon charm. “Pretty please?”
“You’ll have to use more effective persuasion than that,” she said, leaning over to touch his hair.
He moved away from her and felt relieved when she sank into her seat and pondered her next strategy. Rubbing his hand over his mouth as if to wipe away an imaginary kiss, he studied the consoles. Why didn’t you watch what she was doing? He pressed buttons, passed his hands over panels, and flicked switches, but nothing happened. He scowled. Suddenly, he passed his hand over the flight control console with a determined, final air. Frigia began to grow ominously larger through the window.
“What are you doing?” asked Aura.
Flash ignored her; he did not even shrug. Aura scrambled for the controls, but Flash grabbed her arm; he roughly threw her to her seat. She stared at him with loathing. After a moment she stood up before the controls so it would be more difficult for Flash to restrain her. He, too, stood, bracing himself behind her and tightly holding her wrists, forcing her hands to rest against her breasts.
“Let me go!” she squealed. “We’re diving into Frigia!”
“So what else is new?”
Aura attempted to kick him. Wrapping his left leg about hers, he held her easily. She gave up, realizing his strength could incapacitate her with a mere second of effort. “We’re going to be killed!”
“Not if I tune in on Dale,” said Flash.
Dale lay on her stomach; her eyes were closed and she tried to block out the chattering harem women. She wished the minutes were longer, so as to delay Ming’s approach, and she wished they were shorter so the ordeal would be over that much more quickly. The nameless drug was unable to combat her ever-growing fear of the immediate future.
Dale—it’s me—Flash—are you—receiving me?
Her heart pounding, her breathing rapid, she sat up, verging on sheer panic for the first time since arriving on Mongo. Suddenly her greatest fear had become that of losing her sanity.
It’s telepathy. I’m inside your head. Just try to think of me!
Flash clenched his fist in front of Aura’s face; he was not threatening her, he was merely expressing his frustration. The amplifier bars around his head shimmered with a dull blue glow. “She’s not getting me!”
“I must reverse my earlier sentiments and tell you not to use your brain, but your mouth instead.” She straddled him, rubbing her groin and inner thighs against his legs. The heat of her body as well as the heat of the blue glow caused him to break out in a sweat.
I’m with you, Dale. Just concentrate hard and think to me!
I was saved, I tell you, thought Flash, desperate to convince her. I’m still alive. I never felt so alive!
Oh thank God! thought Dale, nearly swooning. Where are you?
In a rocket, racing to the moon of Arboria for help. Are you okay?
I’m terrific. Even in her thoughts, Dale’s sarcasm was like undiluted lemon extract. I’m a prisoner in Ming’s royal sack.
Flash did not know which development shocked him the most: Dale’s predicament or the fact that Aura was now kissing him, expertly nibbling at his lips and caressing his teeth with her tongue. Somehow she had divined every erogenous zone around and inside his mouth. Her fingers quickly unfastened his jacket; beneath his T-shirt, his chest smoldered with her heat, pouring through the material as if it did not exist. Flash tried not to pay attention to what her other hand was doing. Fake Ming out! he thought.
How?
Come on, girls know how. It’s been done to me before.
It has? Dale asked.
Just pretend you’re in high school, and fake Ming out till I get back.
It’s too dangerous for you here. You can’t come back. Stay where you’re safe and I’ll find Dr. Zarkov somehow!
God! This chick really knows how to turn a man on!
I didn’t quite get that, thought Dale. Think it again.
Flash shoved Aura off his lap; she landed on her elbow and her coccyx, her back smashing against the console. Forget I thought it. It wasn’t about you anyway!
What!? Dale heard a door slide open; the knuckle of her right forefinger in her mouth, she turned to look, expecting Ming prancing like a stallion, ready to shower her with the most personal and (in this case) repulsive attention. But it was only a slave girl, a tall, buxom redhead wearing a shimmering golden gown, carrying another chalice filled with a liquid.
Hang up, Dale thought to Flash. I’ve got to go!
Where?
Someone’s in here. We’ve got to stop thinking like this!
The slave girl bowed. “I am pleased to inform you that his Imperial Majesty shall grace you with his presence very soon. I have with me a potion which shall prepare you physically and emotionally for the ardors of love which will surely follow close upon his arrival.”
The slave girl shook her head. “I regret to inform you it is forbidden.”
“By whom?”
“No one in particular. It simply is not customary.”
“It is if I ask it. Now sit and chat a spell. Besides, I hate to drink alone.”
Sitting, the slave girl offered Dale the chalice. Dale took it, but did not drink; she said, “Tell me, what’s your opinion of Ming?”
“He is the Most Illustrious Ruler of the Universe.”
“Don’t give me that. I mean, what’s your opinion of him sexually?”
The slave girl paled. “I’ve never heard any complaints. No one would dare; she would be executed.” She paused. “I do not believe we are permitted to have an opinion, though of course if Ming the Merciless ever desired me, I would gladly submit to the rigors of his investigations.”
“So then you would enjoy it?”
“I would strive to do so,” replied the slave girl, demurely bowing her head.
“What attracts you to Ming?”
The slave girl looked toward the ceiling; a dreamy haze glistened in her eyes. “He is so forceful, so ready to order executed those who slightly displease him. Those who greatly displease him are tortured. When he personally slew Prince Thun today, I experienced a beautiful tingling sensation, as if my spirit had flown to the stars and back. Yes, I admit it; I would freely submit to the caresses of Ming. However, I fear I am unworthy, for he has never noticed me.” Again, she bowed her head.
“Would you care for a sip?” asked Dale, holding the chalice toward her.
The slave girl shook her head. “It is forbidden. This ration was selected for Ming’s Chosen, and I shall not receive my slave’s rations until the end of the week.”
“Oh go ahead. I can’t finish it all by myself.”
With trembling fingers, the slave girl took the chalice. She sipped it, then paused.
Dale nodded. “Quality stuff, isn’t it?” As the slave girl prepared to take another sip, Dale tilted the chalice, forcing her to take larger and larger gulps. “Bottoms up, sweety.” In more ways than one.
Aura’s pouting expression was uncharacteristically sincere as she sat with her arms folded beneath her breasts and her eyes straight ahead. Flash could not resist smiling to himself, but only because she would not see it. Extrapolating from hints about her past and what little he knew about Mongian society, Flash deduced she was confused and hurt, for surely she had never been so rudely and soundly rejected.
“You men!” she snarled, breaking a silence of several minutes. “You think your pride is so important that you must maintain your so-called honor because it somehow supplies you with your masculine attributes. I must inform you, Gordon, I know from long personal experience that all men give in sooner or later, regardless of their pride. In the end, nothing is more important to them than coupling with a woman like me. You’re no different, Gordon. You’ll succumb to my charms . . . eventually.”
Despite himself, Flash felt sorry for her. He sadly shook his head. “Aura, I’ll be frank with you. I get the itch every once in awhile, and I scratch it too, just like every other robust, red-blooded American male I know, but I don’t scratch it with just anybody. Honey, you just don’t understand what makes a man tick. There’s more to a satisfying relationship than physical beauty, sophisticated techniques, compatible perversions, and a ravenous sexual appetite. There has to be mutual respect, kindness, consideration, the desire to have a mature and meaningful relationship however long it lasts, and full acknowledgment of the male as a human being in his own right. Men aren’t cheap vessels you can use up and throw away. Men have feelings too, and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll reach some of the more rewarding plateaus of life.”
Aura stuck out her lower lip. I don’t think she believes me, Flash thought as he suffered a long moment of despondency. It would certainly make things a lot easier if he reached the center of decency he sensed in her evil, perverted heart.
The red flier was hurtling through the verdant skies spotted with yellow droplets that warmed the moon of Arboria, trapping and holding the heat generated by the cosmic whirlpool. White mists swirling about, dissipating in the flier’s wake like fibers shorn by antimatter energy rays. Eventually, the tiny rocket created only a minimal disruption, for soon the intertwining strands of mist averaged a hundred yards in diameter. “Can’t we avoid them?” asked Flash. “Every time we pass through one, I can’t see a blamed thing.”
“Don’t worry; the automatic pilot sees better than we can.”
As they broke through an especially large strand into the verdant skies, Flash saw Arboria for the first time. Tremendous roots and limbs tapering into nothingness rose from the light green fog screening the moon. The realization of their size numbed Flash. They were like the legs of gigantic dead spiders, somehow trapped in an eternal milky liquid.
Flash stared at a weaving tan root with green veins as they descended into the thick fog which seemed to cling to their flier like an ineffective adhesive. Their instruments showed them to be nearing their landing site, and the fog quickly became thicker and more tenacious. Flash gave Aura a questioning look.
Aura shook her head to demonstrate her mystification. “The fog’s usually not so bad at this time of the year.”
“How far to the landing pad?”
“Six-point-four. I’ll just drop the flaps a little.” She smiled with wide eyes, genuinely amused, when Flash touched her wrist to prevent her from manipulating the controls. “Trust me.” She flicked a switch.
Not again! thought Flash. “Pull ’er up!”
But it was already too late. Branches snapped loudly in quick succession; one cracked the window in front of Aura before it broke; she covered her face and screamed. The flier grazed one huge trunk only to graze another; though its fall was gradually slowing, it was being battered around by nature’s indifferent creations as if it was a rubber ball that had been dropped from the limbs above the green fog. Flash’s seat belt and shoulder strap threatened to tear through his uniform as he bounced in his seat.
Suddenly the flier smacked head on into a trunk, throwing Flash and Aura then backward, as it careened into thick heavy vines. The flier rose and fell for several minutes like a yo-yo; the vines had caught it. When it finally ceased moving, Flash, pale and out of breath, smiled weakly at Aura. “Trust you, huh?”
To Be Continued Tomorrow at Atomic Kommie Comics
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