FLASH GORDON THE MOVIE "Interlude" & Chapter 12 "Here Comes the Bride"

Read the Precious Chapter HERE!

Interlude

NOT only was the moon dangerously veering from its orbit, but comets careened wildly into the Earth’s path. The texture of the ether developed unusual, indescribable colors at various places for extended periods, as if the universe itself was somehow sickened by the Earth’s presence. On the planet, things had become even stranger.

Huge evergreens burst through the ice-packed surface of the North Pole. Ricky Montrose of Tazewell, Virginia, fell through a dimensional portal temporarily created by an electrical disturbance in the atmosphere; the kid was never seen again, much to the relief of his parents. (“He was a little terror!” Mr. Montrose became fond of saying.) Enrico Brusati of Rome discovered that his weight consistently registered at thirty kilograms, though his girth remained the most spectacular (or repulsive) in the city; no one could put forth a reasonable explanation for the phenomenon, and Enrico adamantly refused to permit the doctors to puncture his belly with a hat pin, even under the strictest conditions. Pravda insisted there was nothing fishy going on in the U.S.S.R., an observation which normally would have passed without notice; but the Soviet news agency made the remark every day, and foreign diplomats sent secret correspondence to their superiors complaining about the tigers stalking the streets of Moscow.

Theoretical physicists, however, became preoccupied with the color variations of the ether, and when Dr. Peter Falkenburg of the Jet Propulsion Labs in Pasadena, California, read a newspaper article on the disappearance of the Montrose boy, he had a startling premonition of Earth’s ultimate fate. “Only one man can construct a device which can send out rays to halt the degeneration of the ether,” said Dr. Falkenburg to a colleague. “We must find this man and offer him all the assistance he requires. He’s our only hope!”

“Who is this man?” asked the colleague, lighting a cigarette.

“Dr. Hans Zarkov!”

Here Comes the Bride

FLASH was on his knees constructing a parachute from a blanket when the abrupt swaying of the Sky Palace knocked him off the platform. He grabbed a bar, pulled himself into a hole, and found himself sliding down a tubular silver chute, unable to halt or even impede his progress. I hope there’s some laundry down there so I have a soft landing, he thought.

The chute took him to a dock. Holding onto the sill he had grabbed to break his fall, Flash realized he was seeing a rocket cycle, probably used by friendly visitors of the Hawk Man Kingdom. He had never before seen this invention, and consequently he had no idea how to fly it. But he thanked the Fates he was a fast learner.

Maintaining his balance with difficulty as he crossed the floor, he straddled the cycle, supporting himself by leaning against a metal bar. He gunned the engine. The force of the cycle’s kick, combined with the violent lurching of the palace, sent him flying against the wall. He pulled himself back onto the cycle and gunned it again, this time prepared for its kick. Exhaling bolts of flame so hot their color was pink, the cycle slid down its short track.

Unnoticed by all, Flash was a kilometer away from the Sky Palace when it exploded.

Sitting on a limb on the forest moon of Arboria, Luro the HawkMan picked an insect off his chest. “They were brave creatures, Vultan. With respect, the man who rid us of Klytus shouldn’t be deserted.”

Vultan winced. It was bad enough he was feeling claustrophobic beneath the canopy of foliage, but Luro had spoken loud enough for several of his other Hawk Men perched in the trees to hear. “Will you shut up? So maybe I’d do it differently if I could. But there’s no way I can help a man who’s dead!”

“Perhaps . . .”

“Yes?” said Vultan eagerly.

“No. Forget it. I was going to say that you could ensure that Flash Gordon didn’t give his life in vain, but it’s too ridiculous to even contemplate.”

Vultan pursed his lips and nodded. “True, true. Still, it’s too bad.” Resting his elbows on his knees, he placed his large fists beneath his bearded chin.

Suddenly, static drowned the murmurings of the HawkMen. A familiar voice manifested itself. “Flash Gordon to Vultan; do you read me? Mayday! Mayday!”

The Prince of the HawkMen looked about. Like many of his kind, he believed in reincarnation, but this development was unprecedented. Then he smiled with relief. He spoke into a wrist communicator. “This is Vultan. I read you! Where are you?”

“Flying blind on a rocket cycle.”

“We’re in Arboria. I’ll send you a homing beam.”

“Thank you, Vultan.” A pause. “For what it’s worth, Ming’s got Dale, Zarkov, and Barin.”

“I see,” the Prince said heavily. “My thanks to you.”

“Yeah? What for?”

“Oh, for giving a dumb old bird a second chance. After all, the worth of a man’s life can only be judged by the droppings he leaves behind him. Over to homing beam!”

Vultan suppressed a thrill of pleasure, for he knew he had committed himself and his subjects to a harrowing enterprise which would possibly result in the death or total subjugation of all. Nevertheless, he did not doubt his subjects would accept the risk. Some, such as Biro and Luro, would welcome it.

A certain blond Earthling also welcomed it. While flying a rocket cycle through green and blue skies he let out whoops and hollers and other Alabama war cries.

Dale Arden, on the other hand, experienced no exhilaration, no hope, no sensation, only an overpowering numbness and weariness that caused her every movement to be the result of a tremendous effort. Sitting on a bed of pillows, surrounded by unfortunate harem women who reveled in their exploitation, Dale resisted the comfort offered by the more hedonistic women who liked to keep in practice. Under different circumstances, her pink and blue gown would have inspired a number of sensual fantasies in her subconscious; its touch was soft, like the caress of a tender man. And knowing the caresses she would soon be subjected to, like any woman who permitted powerful men to use her body in any fashion they deemed fit (without regard for the spirit residing inside), she felt like a traitor to everything she had believed in, not to mention everything Flash would have wished for her. The fact that she had no choice but to surrender was not comforting, not in the least.

The doors to the chamber opened. Two red-robed guards threw Aura, daughter of Ming the Merciless, onto the bed of pillows.

Suddenly, the weariness left Dale. She felt alive again. But she was more like an animal than a thinking creature as she bore upon Aura and slapped her with all her might, sending her flying across the bed.

“Are you mad? Stop!” exclaimed Aura. “I’m a prisoner too!”

“You damned Mongoperson!” said Dale, ruthlessly and repeatedly striking Aura with a pillow, then wading in with her tiny fists. “You couldn’t tell the truth to save your life!”
Aura warded off the blows, only to find herself speaking to a wrestling opponent. “Dale, stop! I’m going to be exiled to Frigia in the morning!”

“Liar!” Rolling onto her back, Dale threw Aura across the bed for the second time. Her knee gave Ming’s daughter extra impetus.

Before Dale could renew the onslaught, Aura rushed toward the door, which opened automatically. However, the two guards threw her back into the room. On their knees, Dale and Aura faced each other across the pillows.

The savage rage was beginning to leave the Earthling now, but her hatred remained at a constant level. “It’s a trick,” she said woodenly.

“Is this a trick? Could tears come from my eyes if my heart hadn’t changed?”

Dale leaned over and touched the liquid flowing down Aura’s cheeks.

“I’ve been such a spoiled fool, Dale. I never knew what my father was until he let Klytus put the Bore Worms on me.” She shrugged. “I confess that at first the pain was rather interesting, but as the little creatures made progress, the pain became out of control, utterly unbearable.”

“I believe you, Aura, but I don’t trust you. You have Ming’s blood in your veins. You’ll be cozying up with him again in the morning.”

“Not if you give him this.” She pulled a black compact from the depths of her flimsy pink gown. “It’s a deadly poison. Unless his passions have gained complete control of him, my father drinks a Power Potion before he makes love. Drop this into his chalice!”

Dale stared at the compact for several moments, contemplating and discarding several courses of action. Then she shook her head. “I can’t, Aura. Not after I gave your father my word of honor.”

“What word?”

“To try to be a good wife if he’d spare Doctor Zarkov and Barin. He vowed he would.”

“My father has never kept a vow in his life!”

Dale appeared crestfallen. “Oh? And he seemed so sincere. Well, isn’t that just like a man? But I can’t help it. Keeping our word, or at least trying to, is one of the things that make us Earthlings better than you Mongopeople.”

Aura’s reaction was destined never to be revealed. For at that moment the door opened again. Flanked by two guards, Hedonia entered, wearing an ornate green gown that, Dale noticed with some satisfaction, exposed a bit too much of her tummy for her own good.


“Follow us,” Hedonia said to Dale. “It is time to prepare you for the bliss which is to come.”

Her lower lip trembling, Dale grabbed Aura’s wrist. “I’m lost. Nothing can save me now!”

A rocket cycle tore through the shimmering veils and swirling colors of the Mongian sky. Flash Gordon maneuvered it through the winds. He felt merged with the megaunits of power expended by the cycle; his muscles flexed with pleasure whenever he manipulated the steering controls. He zoomed over the peasants laboring in the mines, the vast forest of pale crystals, the charred remnants of Ming’s personal firing range, and finally, into the valleys and crevices carved into the barren land about the Mongian city. Flash felt an exhilaration he had never imagined possible as he swooped into an especially large crevice and saw the red and yellow city before him, at this distance an insect in his path, fated to be crushed and then forgotten. As it loomed, he gained more respect for it, but it was still a thing to be conquered, and he experienced a fraction of the pleasure Ming knew every day of his life. He permitted himself a moment of philosophical speculation, thanking the Fates he had always possessed a firm set of principles guarding him from the darker side of human nature, a luxury Ming had never enjoyed. And with that moment acknowledging the common spiritual bond between them, Flash divested himself of all feelings of nebulous kinship with Ming. The Ruler of the Universe was his foe. For the first time in his life, Flash was prepared to cast his principles into the void. After all, the hand of Dale Arden, not to mention the fate of Earth, was at stake.

He accelerated the rocket cycle. It shot forward dangerously, but he held the controls securely.

General Kala sauntered up and down the rows of monitors with an intense air. She could not have been happier if Ming had granted her a kingdom. The sudden loss of Klytus was an unexpected reprieve from a symbolic term of confinement.

Consequently, she became extremely deflated when the colonel from Battle Control appeared on her telescreen and said, “General Kala, Flash Gordon is approaching!”

“What?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, on a HawkMan rocket cycle. Shall I inform His Majesty?”

“Imbecile. The Emperor would shoot you for interrupting his wedding with this news. Fire when Gordon’s in range. Dispatch War Rocket Ajax to bring back his body.”

Flash swung around the rocket cycle as lasers, fired by cannons, bolted about him. Their heat seemed to singe the atmosphere itself. Unable to resist a grin, Flash prayed the Mongians’ communication devices were unable to transmit a close-up of him. His grin widened when he looked over and glimpsed the battleship slowly following him, like an obese carnivore suddenly granted the power of flight.

Aura rode upward in an elevator with a red guard. Her lower lip protruded more than usual, but otherwise she concealed her agitation admirably. She thought of the life she would lead on Frigia. It wasn’t the coldness she minded so much, but the inadequate men of the icy moon. The ever present subzero temperatures had a definite detrimental effect on some of her favorite pastimes.

She wore a golden headdress, a pink gown, and a complimentary wrap that hung from her shoulders like a cape. She unloosed the wrap and let it drop.

“Pick that up, would you?” she asked the guard in a commanding tone.

The guard obeyed instantly.

Just as his fingers touched the wrap and were beginning to tighten about it, Aura withdrew two long pins from her belt. Gritting her teeth (she had never personally killed before), she buried the pins deep in the guard’s back.

She appreciated the satisfied thrill that ignited her heart as she listened to the discordant noises of the guard’s mechanical parts breaking down.

Dale Arden felt like a poison was seeping into her pores; the sensation of her glittering black gown was abhorrent. Her life stretched before her like a dreary monologue in purgatory, and she foresaw an existence without joy and without pleasure. Already the thought of her limbs intertwined with those of the debased murderer filled her with a revulsion unparalleled in her memory. The more intimate details of their marriage—well, she wondered why he found it necessary to marry her at all, if that was what he wanted. She sensed more than she knew the answer; he had to marry her if the consummation of his lust was to defeat her totally. If he took her without their mutual vows, she would still be free in her heart, regardless of the debaucheries he committed on her body.

Boy, I haven’t slept with anybody like that since I was in high school, she thought.

As she walked down the seemingly endless hallways, escorted by two silent guards, she heard the voice of General Kala over the public address system:
“Attention, all wedding guests. While you await the ceremony, all palace screens will display for your viewing entertainment the executions of the traitors Barin and Zarkov.”

This news so numbed Dale that the guards held her arms and forced her to walk onward. Her only thought was a recurring chorus of That heel, that heel.

A weight within her crushed her organs. She had never before felt so alone.

“Tell me more about this man Houdini,” said Prince Barin to Doctor Zarkov. His interest was genuine, for they both were blindfolded and chained against a dungeon wall. They conversed to pass the time, to share their mutually incomprehensible dreams, to forge a bond of friendship.

For despite their widely divergent backgrounds, they shared a longing for freedom and spiritual wholeness. Both desires had been suppressed in Barin’s breast, and he envied Zarkov his control over many factors of his personal destiny. Barin instinctively grasped that until he had decided to fight with Flash and not against him, his life had been fashioned totally by naturalistic forces. Zarkov, however, had undergone heady moments of well-being and good wishes toward the universe, moments when the entire history of Earth seemed to swell in his breast and enlarge his sense of personal identity. How sad that their lives were to end so soon, when this scientist could have taught him the nuances of living he fervently desired to learn.

Zarkov, too, found Barin interesting, particularly as a subject frequently in touch with the right hemisphere of his brain. He regretted (what he considered to be) the myriad failures of his own life, especially the lonely days spent without the warm, passionate, hot, burning touch of a woman.

They tensed as they heard the dungeon doors opening.

A laser fired twice. Something shattered and fizzled.

“Oh my God! Barin!” exclaimed Zarkov, suddenly buried beneath a crippling sorrow for his departed, barbaric friend.

Another burst.

Miraculously, Zarkov found himself dropping. He nearly collapsed when he landed. He pulled off his blindfold to see Aura speaking into a communicating device in the wall.
“Scanner malfunction, Area Seven Seven Delta. Under repair . . .”

The Earth scientist and the Mongian Prince had not been prepared for hope. Looking into one another’s eyes, they repressed their laughter until Aura released the communicator controls. When they saw that an unknown insurrectionist had painted “Long Live Flash!” on the wall between their places of bondage, they shook hands and embraced like brothers.

Flash flew the rocket cycle on a zig-zag path toward a red-tinged cloud hanging in a yellow sky. Laser beams flew past him, and he knew it was a matter of time before one struck him or his vessel. However, as he disappeared into the cloud, the warship ran out of time. He was nowhere to be detected.

The ornate behemoth hung in front of and below the cloud. Though it waited patiently, the captain inside was anything but patient. He paced about the command console; his men silently awaited his orders while he merely waited.

The captain could not know (and he was not clever enough to suspect) that Flash had emerged above the cloud to greet an army of hovering HawkMen, spread out across the sky in a magnificent formation. They were armed with swords and Mongian explosives and lasers and clubs and with courage.

Vultan grinned, baring nearly all his white teeth, as Flash halted the rocket cycle beside him. He was proud of the Earthling, who had learned the subtleties of the vessel well under his tutorship.

“Our trap play worked well, Vultan,” said Flash.

“Excellent!” replied the HawkMan Prince vigorously, his stiff wings flapping; he hovered like a somnambulistic hummingbird. “Now they’ll electrify the cloud.”

Indeed, at that very moment the captain gave the order: “Charge capacitators to electrify the cloud. Prepare sky nets to catch Gordon’s body.”

The red cloud crackled with white bolts that not only embraced it, but crisscrossed through it so closely together that not even a bird could have survived the vicious onslaught. After a few moments, the captain ordered the electrical barrage to be halted. And waited.

As the cloud began its gradual dissipation, Vultan ordered the first wave of HawkMen to attack. The majority remained where they were . . . and waited.

Flash watched the first wave disappear into the cloud, and he wondered about the texture of their lives; he prayed for them. He knew that in war men were fodder for the generals and little else, fodder which had to be conserved because supplies were limited, but he also knew that each HawkMan possessed his hopes, dreams, and desires, the intangible objects that granted life its meaning. He trusted that each man who died today died willingly, for a cause he fervently believed in.

As the first wave of HawkMen descended upon the war rocket, Ming’s minions burst from the open hatches and onto the railways and fins with a thundering roar. Lasers singed the atmosphere. HawkMen struck soldiers with clubs, stabbed them with broadswords, sent them falling from the ship. But the soldiers possessed superior weaponry, and many a Hawk Man fell from the sky as his body bled and his wings burned due to the scorching heat of the laser blasts. Soon the battle area was filled with the screams of the dying; the ship was stained with the colorful Mongian blood; and bodies of both sides regularly plummeted.

Watching the scene from above, Flash hardened himself against his more compassionate emotions as the battle progressed and the cloud dissipated. The HawkMen were taking a terrible beating, but that was part of the plan. Flash spied old, irascible Biro, who radiated the vitality of twenty younger men, who had insisted so stubbornly on performing his appointed task that not even Vultan could overrule him; Biro crawled along the fin of the warship, carrying the explosive device which would blow up the bulkhead and allow the Hawk Men easy access inside. Biro crawled through the smoke of charred skin and overheated engines; he warded off several attackers; he planted the device (the bottom of which was a suction cup) and pulled out the antenna that would receive the detonation signal. Then he cried out; he grasped his side, nearly rolling off the fin.

“Biro’s been hit!” exclaimed Flash. “I’m going in!” And he promptly suited his actions to his words, revving up the cycle and bolting through the remaining wisps of red cloud.

“That young hothead!” said Vultan. Then he thought of Biro lying on the fin, of Flash’s bravery, of how the Earthling had not hesitated to rush to the aid of a companion he barely knew. “Ah, well, who wants to live forever?” he called out, laughing boisterously. “Attack! Dive, my Hawk Men, dive!”

And the remaining wave of Hawk Men swooped down to join the fray.

Flash leaped off the rocket cycle and onto the fin. Part of him was surprised at how he had accepted the grosser aspects of battle now that he was in the midst of it. He lifted Biro’s wing, winced at the sight of the wound, which must have been painful, minor though it was.

“Are you all right?”

“They just winged me. Here’s the detonator,” said Biro hoarsely, removing a tiny control unit from his belt.

Flash dragged Biro to safety and pressed a button on the unit.

The bulkhead exploded. Men (inside and outside, friend and foe) screamed as shards of metal exploded in a deadly spray. At least one soldier caught pieces in his head and heart. Flash’s stomach turned as he saw a Hawk Man collapse and futilely attempt to halt the blood gushing from his wounded leg. A soldier shot the HawkMan, putting him out of his misery. Picking up a laser gun Biro had appropriated during the battle, Flash sliced the soldier in half. He ignored his pleasurable sensations.

Flash moved into the warship.

Elsewhere, Vultan waded through the fray like an elemental force that only materialized whenever groups of men battled one another. He smashed in a skull with his club, disemboweled a second foe, and shattered a jaw, sending his victim plummeting. He stood tall and proud. There was an air about him, as if he was fated to survive the day, as if he was positive he would emerge from battle unharmed. That air, as much as his undeniable skill, was his greatest weapon. Vultan only allowed himself to be diverted from the task at hand when he heard the explosion. He glanced up, saw Luro make an affirmative and defiant gesture. “To the bulkhead, my Hawk Men, to the bulkhead!”

Soon Vultan caught up with Flash and the foremost HawkMen as they fought their way through the ship. A HawkMan set an explosive which tore asunder the door leading to the command post.

As the HawkMen barged in, fighting and slaying all who stood in their way, Flash tossed a Mongian grenade at the second level, killing the soldiers or else rendering them incapacitated. Vultan slew the captain.

The HawkMen had taken the warship.

Aura led Zarkov and Barin through the maze of dungeon hallways she had often explored as a child; she was amazed she remembered them so well. They reached an elevator door. Aura manipulated her ring; a light shone from the jewel onto the fixture beside the door. “They’ve changed the code!” she exclaimed.

Before she had the opportunity to despair, Zarkov lifted her wrist next to the fixture and began fiddling with her device. “It’s okay. I’ll try to work it out.”

Aura turned to Barin, who hefted the laser she had taken from the guard. Ever since she had been in his presence, her knees had been weak, and she yearned for him to take her in his strong arms. She could not recall having previously felt this way about a man, but there was a purity and security in Barin’s spirit that attracted her to him as if he were completely new in her life, as if she had finally met the man she would gladly call master.

“I’ve changed too, Aura,” said the Prince of the Tree Men.

“So have I,” she replied breathlessly.

“Can you still love me?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.

“I don’t know. We’ll try.” But there was no commitment in her voice. “I don’t know what kind of relationship would satisfy me. I’m not the monogamous type.”

“I know.” Barin smiled in a manner which implied he understood her internal conflict. “You have needs.”

“Yes. Perhaps an open, liberal relationship would be the best thing.” Though her words seemed to widen the gulf between them, she found it difficult to resist him as he leaned over to kiss her. She knew the kiss would be tender. Though Zarkov kept distracting her by moving her arm around, she had never known such a tenderness. She broke away with an effort. “Not now, Barin!”

For a moment Barin’s former personality reasserted itself. “You haven’t changed!”

“Please! If I’m not at the wedding I’ll be shot!”

At that point Zarkov succeeded in cracking the code. A light stabbed out of her wrist, and the elevator door opened.

As Barin moved past her to join Zarkov, Aura succumbed to her overwhelming passions and planted a kiss on her lover that almost caused him to drop his weapon.

“Hurry!” said Zarkov.

Aura ran down the hallway, and Barin entered the elevator. As the door closed, Zarkov said, “I thought it was a prime number. Part of the Zeitman series. I haven’t changed!”

HawkMen jury-rigged the warship instruments that had been damaged during the battle. Flash was amazed at how quickly and efficiently they worked on the complicated equipment; he recalled Vultan had confided in him that his people had been preparing several years to revolt against Ming. The arrival of Flash and friends, which had caused events to get out of hand, had merely caught them off guard. Flash did not see any prisoners of war, and he pointedly avoided inquiries concerning their treatment. He concentrated on mastering the warship flight controls.

Biro looked up from the instruments he had been working on; he wiped his brow and smiled. “Autopilot repaired.”

Vultan slapped his round belly. “Good, good. All right, everybody take off! Luro!”

“Yes?”

“Watch Biro here; see that he stays out of trouble.”

Luro and Biro grinned at one another, it was clear they both would be going out of their way to find trouble once the main battle commenced.

Vultan shrugged. Those two, he thought warmly. “Form into a battle stream behind the rocket,” he ordered. “Flash and I will bail out when the shooting starts.”

As the HawkMen filed out, Flash pushed buttons on a device in the upper right corner of his console. Numbers ran backward.

“What’ve you set there?” Vultan asked.

“That’s how long Earth has left, Mongian time. One of your mathematicians figured it out for me. The differentials due to the space curvatures gave him trouble at first, but I almost wish he hadn’t done such a good job.”

The digital clock read three minutes forty-three seconds.

“Level with me, Vultan. Will this do it?”

“No doubt. They’ll switch on the lightning field around the city. And when this baby hits it—BOOM! It’ll blow that field dead, and my HawkMen fly right in.” He twirled some radio dials. “Let’s hear what the airwaves have to say!”

Vultan and Flash stood frozen as the traditional ceremonial music of Mongo crackled through the speaker.

Flash turned pale. “Oh my God.”

Though the stoic monitors cared not for how her mannerisms indicated her emotional state of mind, Kala found their presence unnerving as she paced back and forth. Without warning, she had found herself fighting off a HawkMan attack while Ming was engaged in a social function he would not permit to be interrupted. Sometimes she wandered to the main console, which she alone knew how to operate now that Klytus was dead, but mostly she paced the length and breadth of the room.

The face of the colonel posted at Battle Control appeared on the screen. “I am pleased to report that Rocket Ajax is returning, General Kala.”

“With Gordon’s body?”

“I presume so. Communications are out for some reason.”

Suddenly alert, Kala dashed toward the main console. “Are they in the proper approach pattern for today?”

The colonel hesitated, licking his lips. “Actually, they are not.”

“Open fire.”

“On Ajax, General?”

“Open fire! All weapons! And charge the lightning field. I take personal responsibility in the Emperor’s name.” Though I reserve the right to change my mind at some future date. As the turrets’ shocks reverberated throughout the castle, Kala spoke into the public address system, “Attention, all wedding guests. There is no cause for alarm. The city’s weapons are being fired in continuous barrage in honor of His Imperial Majesty’s wedding.”

As Dale slowly marched the intricate path through rooms and the throngs of the court, her life became even more desolate. Her ornate black headdress seemed to weigh her down. She was totally unaware of Aura’s renewed treachery against her father, of the escape of Barin and Zarkov, of the attack upon the city led by Flash. She had become a person without an identity; no longer an individual by any definition of the word. Cut off from her past on Earth, her future became, impossibly, increasingly repulsive. When she heard the voice of Kala over the speakers, a twinge of hope momentarily stirred in her breast. Though she had perhaps indulged in too many attempts to make her fantasies (particularly those of a certain order) come true, she was a realist at heart, and she did nothing to nurture that hope. It was utterly impossible for Flash to have survived the explosion of the Sky Palace.

Thoughts of a similar nature went through Ming’s mind as he walked up a flight of steps which led from beneath the palace hall to the altar where he had wed so many times before. He wore his finest red clothing, the gold collar of his softest jacket being formed by three circular shapes that encased his visual perceptions in a luxurious cage. The anticipation he felt for this Earth woman threatened to distract him forever from the spiritual matters of genuine importance an emperor was duty-bound to dwell upon. However, he did not regret his preoccupation with mundane affairs. To the contrary. Oneness with the universe could wait a while.

That is why Ming nodded with approval when he heard Kala explaining that the barrage of gunfire was merely a salute. He did not wonder why she had ordered this unprecedented act. Nervously rubbing the fingers of his right hand, he hurried to his wedding as quickly as his stoic façade would permit.

The gaudy city, which resembled a plastic toy from a distance, was enclosed in a net of ever-moving yellow gold bolts. Flash marveled at the power the Mongians possessed, for the city lights behind the field had not dimmed in the slightest. He was tempted to make some kind of moral judgment, but he was too busy dodging laser blasts and keeping the warship relatively on course. The ship had been hit several times, and it required all his strength to manipulate the altitude controls. Consoles hummed; exposed wires fizzled; white smoke even rose from the digital clock counting down the time remaining to Earth.

Vultan climbed up a ladder leading to the second level and an exit hatch, but he paused halfway when he realized Flash was not leaving the controls. “What are you doing? It’s time to bail out.”

“I forgot to tell you. I broke my rocket cycle.”

“So come on. I’ll carry you.”

“Bail out, Vultan—quick, while you still can.”

The Prince of the Hawk Men both leaped and flew toward Flash. “Are you crazy?”

“The laser fire’s too heavy. You know we’ll never hit that field with nobody at the wheel.”

“You’ll blow to pieces, Flash! It’s suicide!”

Flash tried to keep his voice steady. “No. A rational transaction—one life for billions.”

When Vultan grabbed his arm, he fought off the Prince. “You loony bird, go on, get out of here! Your men need you outside!”

White smoke intermingling with an odorous gray fume entered the control room as a terrific explosion rocked the warship; even Vultan nearly lost his footing. He regained his balance, then contemplated the Earthling as he slowly caressed his beard. “So long, Flash,” he said quietly, though the volume of laser fire continued to increase. “It’s been . . .”

“I know. For me too, Vultan.”

The warship swerved to one side and a rear exhaust sputtered. Vultan moved for the escape ladder. He paused when he had reached midway, as Flash said, “Tell Dale I know it would have been good.”

“That must be one hell of a little planet you guys have,” said Vultan.

Flash shrugged. “Not too bad.”

By now the city resembled not a toy, but a crazy arcade. The warship thundered forward though it was struck several times, sending showers of sparks onto the barren landscape. It thundered forward as if its metal parts had somehow become infused with Flash’s tremendous will.

Behind it were the HawkMen. They advanced bravely, avoiding the streaks of burning light stabbing through the air. Though he was horrified as a Hawk Man near him was turned into a charred parody of a man, Vultan’s voice was joyous as he communicated to his men via his wrist radio: “Onward, my brave warriors! Don’t, falter! Let this be known forever as Flash Gordon’s day!”

General Kala was dealing with the many communication breakdowns hampering her defense of the city when Barin and Zarkov burst into the room. Holding his laser at the monitors, Barin said, “Freeze, you bloody bastards! Freeze!”

The monitors, who up until that point had still spoken aloud, quietly informing Kala what they saw and what they were doing, instantly complied. Their sudden silence was eerie.
Standing behind the central console, Kala withdrew a laser pistol from her black leather holster. Barin instantly spun on his heel and shot the pistol from her hand. It twirled on the floor until it stopped cold in a corner.

Zarkov advanced toward Kala. “Take us to Ming!”

Kala said indignantly, “We do not lead traitors to the Imperial Presence.”

“I’ve heard that story many times before,” said Zarkov. “Don’t worry; we’ll find a way. Barin, why don’t you grab an imager from one of those agents?”

“Certainly,” said Barin eagerly. He tore an imager off the nearest monitor. Sparks flew and static resounded throughout the room as the Prince recoiled in unexpected horror. For the monitor did not possess eyes; instead, frayed wires protruded from his empty sockets. The monitor screamed silently and lowered his head against the console; a moment later the remaining monitors did likewise.

Zarkov rubbed his beard. “I wonder why I didn’t know they were cyborgs. Guess that information must be Level Seven.”

Unseen by both the intruders, Kala moved around the console and withdrew a slim tube from her boot. She aimed it at Zarkov, pressed a button. A tremendous jet of flame roared from the tube, singeing the scientist’s head, before Barin spoiled her aim by firing his laser directly into her chest. Collapsing, having expired instantly, she slid partway down the steps that separated the main console from the monitors.

Before Zarkov could thank Barin, the colonel from Battle Control appeared on the screen. “Rocket Ajax is still approaching. We guarantee its destruction when it reaches the lightning field. Life-form scanners identify Earthling Gordon at the controls.”

“Holy Moley!” exclaimed Zarkov. “We’ve got to do something!”

“General Kala?” said the colonel. “Will you please show yourself on the screen?”

Barin fired the laser toward the image of the colonel, and the communication device exploded with a crashing and hissing.

“We’ve got to deactivate that lightning field!” said Zarkov, rubbing his hands, anxious to get to work. “Not only that, but we’ve got to save the Earth!”

“Admirable goals, both of them,” said Barin, “but how can we accomplish them?”

“Thanks to my Level Six indoctrination, I think I can override the field controls here. Your mission, whether or not you choose to accept it, is to destroy the control panel of the third atomic generator near the pits of radioactive material.”

“But they’re too far away. I’ll never make it!”

Zarkov tapped his forehead. “I know a shortcut. Listen now, I’ve only got time to say this once. Go down the hall, make a left . . .”

A definite shortage of oxygen in the warship began to affect Flash’s performance. He felt dizzy. He knew he was going to die, but he had hoped it would be quicker than death by suffocation. Nevertheless, despite the difficulties, Flash managed to keep the warship on course.

Though her heart was pounding, Dale felt numb, practically deceased, as the short, balding priest Zogi, who possessed wayward clumps of gray hair and an obsequious manner unrivaled in all Mongo, performed the barbaric marriage ceremony. Dale, flanked by guards, stared at Ming standing opposite her. She was mesmerized by an unwelcome fascination with the evil aura of his unrepentant personality. His stoic façade had crumbled, and his lean features struggled to contain the expression of his pleasure.

“Do you, Ming the Merciless, Rightful Ruler of the Universe, take this Earthling to be your Empress of the Hour?”

“I do.”

“I don’t!” said Dale, futilely trying to pull away from the guards.

“Do you promise to use her as you will?” the priest asked.

“I do,” said Ming. His anticipation was keen.

“Not to blast her into space?”

Ming raised an eyebrow and glared.

Zogi cleared his throat. “Until such time as you grow weary of her?”

At that moment, Barin exchanged fire with red-robed guards in the corridor. As he hid in a recess, there was a hubbub of confusion as the guards got their orders mixed up. Barin took advantage of the situation and blasted them. He retrieved a high-powered laser from a tripod and, carrying it in both hands, rushed down the corridor. His greatest fear was that he had run out of time.

“The ring,” Ming said sternly.

Zogi’s eyes widened as he glanced at his aides. The second aide finally produced a crystal ring. Wide-eyed and perspiring, the priest gave it to Ming, who held it before Dale. A guard roughly lifted her hand into position, and Ming forced the ring onto her finger.

“Repeat after me, Your Majesty: With this ring I thee wed . . .”

“With this ring I thee wed . . .”

The lightning field was but a few seconds away when Flash heard the final vow of the ceremony over the radio. He had thought he would feel anger or sorrow, but instead he felt nothing, not even regret that he was about to die. He bit his lower lip. “Poor Dale. What a damn shame.”

Barin fired into the door and kicked it down. Before the startled Power Men could react, he began shooting at all the regulating devices and other controls. The machinery coughed up red smoke. A soldier on guard aimed a weapon, but Barin cut him in two.

Meanwhile, Zarkov pressed a button at the smoking console in the monitoring room. He had worked feverishly for the last two minutes, but now he experienced an elation much like Barin’s.

Flash did not know the lightning field had been switched off until the warship had nearly crashed into the castle.

The wedding guests had realized it seconds earlier, and Zogi and his aides had realized it before they. The priest’s eyes practically popped from their sockets, something they always did when panic gripped his soul and he lost faith in his gods (which occurred with alarming frequency). Knowing that his subconscious would forever regret he had not kissed the bride, knowing that escaping the oncoming rocket was more important than a little sexual titillation any day, he hiked up his robes and ran from the altar as quickly as his stumpy little legs would take him.

Ming raised an eyebrow.

The Emperor of the Universe saw Dale fleeing into the doorway from which she had emerged onto the altar. He wondered why the guards had not detained her. He noticed the guards fleeing from the palace hall. In fact, the entire wedding reception was running amok in all directions; the caterers had overturned the tables of food in their haste to find an exit.
At this point Ming could not fail to perceive the warship bearing down upon the gigantic picture window of the palace hall. The huge tine fixed to the bow seemed to call for him as the warship crashed through the window with an ear-splitting noise future generations would say was heard ’round the universe.

Ming ran to the right, he ran to the left, but in the end he stood where he knew the Fates had dictated he stand: in the center of the wedding platform. He did not feel pain, he did not experience fear, he only stared in astonishment as he grasped the tine which had passed through his chest. He did not hate Gordon, nor did he curse the Fates. For he knew during those moments, as only one who frequently communed with the universe could know, that he had been destined to lose.

As the Ajax crashed into the palace hall, it propelled Ming with it off the platform; his weight tipped it over as it came to rest, and he eventually appeared to be standing on the lower level, though in actuality the Ajax was supporting him.

Ming pulled himself forward on the tine. He left it vibrating behind him, coated with blue blood and pieces of his internal organs. Tenaciously holding on to life despite the inevitable, Ming knelt, tried to stand, refused to fall.

The blond Earthling, pale and shaken from his harrowing experience, crawled from the wreckage and retrieved a golden sword from the rubble. He raised it, fully prepared to use it if necessary.

“You could have been ruler of a kingdom,” said Ming hoarsely, defiantly turning his ring on Flash even as his life ebbed away.

“Turn off the generators and I’ll spare your life,” Flash said.

Ming’s upper lip curled in a snarl. “My life is not for anyone to take.”

“Your power is fading,” said Flash. He was fascinated at how Ming was becoming transparent before him, though he knew he should have been occupied with other matters.

Closing his eyes, Ming turned his ring on himself. He sent his will to uncharted realms, he divested himself of his considerable ego. The cold matter of the universe called. The myriad planes and dimensions of space became easily accessible to him. And as he sent his mind to the aforementioned uncharted realms, his atoms loosened their mutual bondage and became a red gas that flowed into his ring as if it had been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.

For a long moment the ring stayed in the air; then it dropped onto the floor.

Flash lowered the sword.

Dale emerged from the doorway. Running toward him, she exclaimed, “Flash, Flash!”

Vultan entered the palace through the rubble created by the Ajax. “Congratulations, Flash! You’ve won!”

Barin burst through a doorway directly opposite Vultan. He held his weapon high. “I’ve destroyed the generator controls! The Earth is saved!”

At that point, the globe which had disintegrated the Lizard Man and Zarkov’s pistol flew into the room and halted in front of Flash. The victors tensed, Flash stepping before them.
“Hail, Flash Gordon, conqueror of Mongo!” said the globe.

Shouting with delight, Flash leaped into the air, and pandemonium erupted throughout the courtroom.

To Be Concluded Tomorrow at Atomic Kommie Comics

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