by Alex Raymond
“Yes, it’s Dale Arden,” snapped Dale. She faced Kial now, but she was afraid to make a move toward him. He had the blaster pistol trained on her.
“An earthling, like Gordon,” said Kial.
“And proud of it,” replied Dale. “Who are you? One of those Mingolites we’re always having trouble with on Mongo?”
“It doesn’t matter who we are,” said Kial. “What matters is that we have you and Gordon and that’s the reason we came here.”
“You don’t look like Mingolites,” Dale said, puzzled. “Your clothes are weird. Another planet in Mongo’s system?”
“Enough of this nonsense,” said Kial. “Lari, come here. We’re going to see if all the myths are true about Gordon and Dale Arden.”
“Huh?” Lari asked.
“The myths say Gordon and his girl helped stabilize the country here for Prince Barin and his descendants. But how can they with Gordon as good as dead and Dale Arden nothing but a puff of dust?”
“Kial!” shouted Lari.
Kial turned to him with annoyance.
Lari was pointing at Flash Gordon, who was shaking his head and trying to rise. He fell back,
“He’ll never get up,” snorted Kial.
“Get on with it,” Dale interrupted. “If you’re not going to use that blaster pistol, give it to me.”
Kial grinned. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, lady?”
Dale stared him down.
“Now, now,” said a voice that Dale knew very well, “didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with guns?” Flash? Dale glanced at the superway where Flash still lay, trying to make himself get up.
“Hey!” yelped Kial.
Dale wheeled around. Behind Kial, a tall figure with blond hair and blue eyes wrestled with Kial’s right hand, which held the blaster pistol. Dale blinked. It was Flash Gordon! How—?
“What is this?” Kial cried, amazed.
Lari gaped. “It’s Gordon!”
“Gordon?” repeated Kial, opening his hand to release the blaster pistol. “Gordon?”
Dale moved back away from Kial. She watched as Flash—for it was certainly Flash—wrestled with Kial and turned him around and around.
“It’s just like dancing,” Flash said merrily. “I’d rather have a more attractive partner, but if it has to be you then it has to be you.”
“Shut up!” cried Kial.
“You shut up!” commanded Flash. He pulled quickly, twisted Kial’s arm up in a hammerlock, and faced him, gripping him around the waist. “Now, get out of here and leave us in peace and quiet.”
Kial was perspiring freely. He could not speak.
Flash spun him away and Kial fell into a heap on the superway.
Dale cried, “Look out, Flash! It’s Lari!”
Flash turned quickly just as Lari ran at him, aiming the blaster pistol. Flash doubled up his fist and struck out at Lari’s stomach.
“Ooof!” Lari said.
The blaster pistol spun through the air.
He went down on his back, staring at the sky.
Flash stood in the middle of the superway and dusted his hands. “Dale, are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Dale. “But how did you do that?” She turned and pointed to the Flash on the superway, still lying there on his side.
“It’s a long story,” Flash began slowly.
Kial was crawling over the roadway away from Flash and Dale. “Lari, let’s get out of here quick!”
“Yeah.” Lari rolled over and got to his knees. “Right now!”
“Tell me,” Dale said to Flash.
Flash grinned.
And, grinning, he vanished before her eyes.
Dale blinked.
“Flash!”
There was no answer.
She waved her hand out in front of her where she had touched Flash’s chest a moment ago.
Nothing,
She turned and looked at Kial.
But he was gone.
And so was Lari.
All three were gone!
Dale did not know what to do.
“But they were all here a moment ago and now they’re not here,” she said nervously.
She turned to stare at Flash on the pavement.
He looked up at her, eyes blurred, but a game smile on his face.
“Wow!” he said. “That was some shot.”
“Flash! How did you do that?”
“Do what, Dale?” Breathing heavily, Flash touched the back of his head where he had been hit by the butt of his own blaster pistol in Lari’s hand.
“How did you knock them out?”
“No sale, Dale,” Flash said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I funked it. Didn’t quite come off, you know, as Zarkov would say.”
“You knocked them out and they disappeared!”
Flash glanced around. “They simply ran off; maybe you weren’t watching carefully.”
“They vanished. And so did you.” Dale was close to tears of frustration.
“Me?” Flash touched his military uniform, his belt, his boots. “Vanished? I don’t feel invisible.”
Dale stormed at him. “Don’t play with me, Flash. It isn’t funny! How did you make yourself into a twin and get those two maniacs to leave?”
“I didn’t,” Flash said coolly. “Next question.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’ll scream,” Flash said. “But it won’t do you any good. You’ve imagined the whole thing.” He frowned. “Although I certainly don’t know why those two ran off the way they did.”
“They didn’t run off!” Dale shouted. “They vanished.”
“The way I did,” Flash murmured. He put his hand out and touched Dale’s arm. “Come on, Dale. Let’s get on our way to Arboria. I think the heat’s gotten to you.”
“The heat hasn’t gotten to me and I’m just as sane as I ever was. What I want to know is how you made yourself appear in two places.” Her face was red.
“I didn’t do it,” asserted Flash.
“I’ll put my fist in your nose if you don’t drop that male-superiority bit of yours.”
“No, you won’t,” Flash said impishly, leaning toward her and grasping her wrist. “Calm down, and let’s get on our way.”
Dale bit her lip. “Oh, all right,” she said in exasperation, pulling her arm away from Flash’s grasp, “don’t tell me.”
“What’s to tell?” Flash asked.
They began to walk along the superway.
Dale felt her good humor returning as they strode along. It was, as it had been, a beautiful day, with the sky showing clear above the trees and the forest sounds returning to normal about them.
A silvery monkey flashed through the branches, leering down at them. An alardactyl of a luminescent orange plumage chased after some creature in the brush. The flyworts bleeped in the distance.
“We should be close to Arboria, don’t you think?” Dale asked.
Flash smiled. “Yes, I do think. I’m glad to see you’re back to normal after your, er, aberration.”
Dale shook her head. “You’re not going to make me get mad at you, no matter how hard you try. I swear there were two of you and one of you disappeared.”
“Nothing disappears, really. It’s an illusion.”
“That blaster pistol of yours vanished!”
Flash frowned. “I think I must have simply misplaced it”
“But those two hoodlums had it. And they had mine as well.”
Flash nodded. “That’s something we’ve got to find out about when we get to Arboria.”
Dale nodded. “All right, but it’s like witchcraft. Two men disappear one time. Our zarcar is ruined. Two men return and vanish again. You appear and disappear.” She shook her head. “Too much seems to be happening all at once.”
“There’s some logical explanation for it,” Flash said insistently.
They rounded a turn in the superway and Flash pointed wit
h a triumphant gesture.
“There it is. Arboria!”
In truth, it was Arboria. They both saw it through the slant of the roadway and the arch of the trees. It was exactly the same as they had remembered it: an entire city, molded out of giant trees and branches. The city itself rested on a foundation of giant live timber that had been formed into apartments and rooms and chambers of all kinds. The upper city had then been fashioned from wood on top of the trees, with great vistas and parks and streets made out of reconstituted wood fibers called celluloplast.
They should be there in minutes.
Flash took Dale’s arm and walked faster.
Dale smiled.
She looked again at the city, always fascinated by its naturalness, its forestry feel, its singular haunting woodsy beauty and—
There was no city there.
Arboria had vanished.
Like Kial. Like Lari. Like Flash.
Vanished.
Flash halted in his tracks “It’s gone!” he gasped.
“There’s got to be some logical explanation,” Dale replied mockingly.
“But—but—”
Flash got down on his hands and knees, feeling the pavement of the superway.
“What are you doing?”
He crawled along the surface.
Dale was frightened. “Have you gone mad?”
“The superway!” Flash whispered. “It’s different.”
“Different?”
“A moment ago it turned to the right, Dale,” said Flash. “Now it goes straight, upward, and then to the left!”
Dale stared.
She closed her eyes. She could still see the superway in her memory.
Flash was right.
She opened her eyes and put her hand to her mouth. Her hand trembled.
“Flash, I’m frightened.”
Flash stood, gripping her hand.
“There’s some—”
“I know. There’s a logical explanation for all this!” Dale intoned sardonically.
Flash turned and stared blankly at her.
“What is it?”
CHAPTER 15
The youth who held the poised crossbow on Zarkov moved back a fraction of an inch. For a moment, a flicker of doubt showed in his eyes.
“Where do ye hail from, outlander?”
The arrow was still aimed at Zarkov’s throat.
“If we’re to talk,” Zarkov said, “I think you’d better aim that crossbow somewhere else, if you please. It makes me nervous. You wouldn’t want to impede my free flow of speech, would you?”
A faint smile crossed the youth’s face. Zarkov could see that the boy was extremely handsome, without yet even the down of a beard on his face.
“Ye have a sense of humor, outlander,” the youth said admiringly.
“And a sense of proportion,” Zarkov added quickly. “As I trust you have, too. Now, if you’ll kindly put that bow aside.”
“Ye swam the dismal swamp?” asked the youth, his eyes flicking across the giant lily pads and the fluorescent islands of algae on the surface of the morass.
“Dismal swamp,” repeated Zarkov With a smile. “Aptly named. I swam it, youth.”
“Sar,” amended the youth, his eyes narrowing.
“Sar?” Zarkov laughed. “Perhaps we’re related. I’m Zar. Zarkov.”
The brown eyes jumped. “A strange name for one of Arboria. By yer dress I assume ye to be of Barin’s kingdom.”
“Yes,” said Zarkov. “And you?”
The crossbow relaxed. “I am a simple country boy,” Sar said with satisfaction. With a deft movement, he slipped the arrow into the quiver looped around his shoulder. “The forest is home to me.”
“Excellent. I have come on a mission from Prince Barin.”
Sar moved over to Zarkov. “And the swamp?”
“My airscout crash-landed. I was unwary enough to select the dismal swamp as a landing place.” Zarkov smiled wryly.
“By the manner of yer speech, I do not think ye be a native of Arboria.”
Zarkov shook his head. “I am from a planet called Earth in a distant solar system.”
The youth nodded. “And for what reason would ye be flying an airscout across the forest kingdom?”
“Two friends are lost along the superway from the spaceport to Arboria.”
“It is merely a matter of twenty miles,” reflected the youth. “How could it be that they have lost their way?”
“The question had occurred to us,” said Zarkov. “That is why I set out in the airscout.”
“And who do ye refer to as ‘us’?”
“Prince Barin and I.”
“Ye are acquainted personally with Prince Barin?” the youth asked in surprise. “It is a privilege. The brave Prince Barin and his wife, Veta.”
Zarkov’s eyes were very still. “Veta? That is not the Princess Barin I know, Sar.”
Sar smiled flatly. “I am merely practicing caution, Zarkov. And the Princess’s name is actually—?”
“Aura, if it is any business of yours. The daughter of Emperor Ming.”
Sar sighed. “Then you really are Dr. Zarkov.”
Zarkov was amused. “You have heard of me?”
“Everyone knows of Dr. Zarkov. Sire, I am not quite such a simple country boy as I may seem to be. I am an agent of Prince Barin’s intelligence council. The I.C., as it is called.”
“A very secret group,” Zarkov replied quietly. “I have heard of it.”
“Then you know that we patrol the entire forest kingdom, searching out infiltrators from Mingo and other enemies of the state.”
Zarkov laughed. “Your accent is slipping.”
Sar nodded. “I know you, Zarkov. I respect you, but I had to be sure you were not an agent in disguise from Ming’s realm.”
“No, I’m the real thing.”
“I believe you. Now, how can I serve you?”
“By helping me find the superway. I must find my friends.”
“Who are they?” Sar asked.
“Flash Gordon and Dale Arden.”
“They are in the forest kingdom?” Sar asked, surprised.
“Yes. They returned last night from Earth. There is a celebration scheduled for this afternoon in Arboria. We are honoring Prince Barin for the liberation of Mongo from the despotism of Ming the Merciless.”
“I know all about that,” said Sar. “That is the reason I am near the border of Mingo.” He hesitated.
“You have a special reason for being here?” Zarkov asked.
“Not really,” the youth said cautiously. He avoided Zarkov’s eyes. “Come,“ he said, “let’s get started for the superway. It’s only a mile or two through the woods.”
“Good,” said Zarkov. “I would never have found it by myself.”
Sar smiled. “That’s right.”
“You don’t have to agree with me so readily,” grumbled Zarkov.
The forest was thick, giant conifers sending branches and needles high into the air. Their thick trunks crowded one another, leaving barely enough room to pass. The path led over a thick mat of cones and needles that had lain there for centuries. An undergrowth of bear’s-paw ferns with huge fronds presented a stiff resistance, against which they struggled continually for passage.
Flying mammals and leaping tree lizards shot through the foliage all around them. Red-and-orange tree rodents flashed briefly in the dapples of sunlight. A giant alardactyl screeched high in the air.
Then all was silence.
It was a cathedral-like silence that Zarkov remembered from Earth and the days he had spent in church as a boy.
Only the sound of their own boots crunching through the coniferous residue on the forest floor could be heard.
“Oof!” Sar cried.
Zarkov whirled around to see what the trouble was.
He never found out.
A heavy weight smashed against him from above and bore him to the ground, where he twisted and turned, trying to
get away from some active force that held him firmly in its grasp.
He saw the scarlet cloak then, and the body of a large fellow who jumped out of a tree and was now aiming a huge rocklike fist at his chin.
Zarkov struggled to reach his blaster pistol. He saw the face of his assailant. The man’s complexion was an amazing indigo blue, which made his yellow eyes even more remarkable.
As he flailed about, Zarkov saw Sar struggling with another ruffian in a crimson cloak. That man, too, was blue. Sar was not doing too well; he could not seem to fight very well. His crossbow lay broken in two on the ground.
That made Zarkov renew his own efforts against the man who had jumped him. At least, he thought, there were only two ambushers, not more.
“Here, here!” bellowed Zarkov. “Why are you attacking us? We’re honest fellows, much like yourselves.”
“Forest-kingdom rabble,” the blue man growled. “Rabble.”
Zarkov had his blaster pistol loose now. He aimed it at his assailant’s stomach. But suddenly, he found himself flat on his back in the needles looking up into the man’s slightly tilted yellow eyes.
Zarkov’s blaster pistol was gone, kicked away by the blue man’s booted foot.
The blue man was dressed in a stretchsuit beneath the crimson cloak. The stretchsuit was made of an iridescent type of plyoweave, which caught dots of sunlight, making the surface dance. It was a garment much like an old-fashioned leotard and was colored in an ink-blot design of orange on yellow. Inside the crimson cloak, the effect was one of some kind of exotic grasshopper. The man wore a skullcap of red to cover an obviously bald blue head.
“Cease!” he commanded, his voice deep and firm, but tinged with a very heavy Mingolite accent. From his plyoweave stretchsuit he drew a curved dagger of duroplast and placed the sharp edge of his boot on Zarkov’s throat. “One move, and I’ll separate your gizzard from your backbone!”
Zarkov shrugged.
“Captain Slan,” said the other blue man, who was dressed in an identical costume. “I have the forest youth secured. And his ancient weapon is inoperative.”
Captain Slan smiled faintly. He stared at Zarkov. “And I have the old man in hand.”
“Old man!” Zarkov boomed. “Listen, you yellow-livered poachers, you’d better have a good explanation for this indecency.”