Flash Gordon 3 - The Space Circus

by Alex Raymond

  “We’ve landed,” Dale said.

  “So we have.” Zarkov checked over everything on the control panel. Then he unfastened himself from the pilot seat.

  “Do you have any idea what kind of people the Mesmen might be?” Dale joined him at the egress chamber door in the floor of the ship.

  “Nasty rascals,” replied Zarkov. He strapped a backpack on, thrust a pistol into the belt of his work-suit, and grabbed a blaster rifle from the wall rack. “Any people who’d go in for the kind of galactic kidnapping they apparently do can’t be too lovable.”

  “We haven’t seen any of them yet,” said Dale. “As a scientist, you ought to keep an open mind.”

  “I’ve got an open mind,” said Zarkov in his booming voice. “But I know a nasty rascal when I encounter one. There’s nothing that says you have to be so detached as to be a nitwit.”

  He opened the door in the floor and slid down out of the ship.

  CHAPTER 32

  “At least you could give me some dry clothes or something,” Booker said.

  The big blond man pulled his long hair back and tied it with a leather cord. “Shut up,” he told Booker.

  “I can no way get all this muck off me,” said Booker. He was sitting close to the newly built campfire, scraping mud and slime off himself with a sharp stick and handfuls of leaves. “And even if I could do it, I’m still going to be wet. So I’ll probably get a headache and a bad cold. I always do when I get really wet.”

  “I’ll throw you back in if you don’t shut up,” said the yellow-haired slaver.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” said Booker as he flicked a gob of muck away. “Here I help you get a whole bunch of new merchandise and you—”

  “Whoa there,” said Sixy. “You told us you were forced into baiting that trap there, Booker.” Sixy was sitting with his back against a tree, his hands tied behind him.

  “Well, I was. But that don’t mean they have to let me sit around and catch a cold or worse.”

  “Perhaps you’ve learned a lesson,” said Huk. The hawkman was bound and lying on his side a small distance from the crackling fire. “Don’t trust anyone.”

  The yellow-haired man laughed. He had started roasting the wing of a wild bird over the fire. He withdrew the spit now, examined the meat, and held it over the flames again.

  “Don’t even give us nothing much to eat,” said Booker. “Ain’t nobody going to buy skinny old slaves.”

  “We’re a good week’s march from the market I have in mind for you,” said the yellow-haired man. “We’ll fatten you up before then.”

  “You could start now,” said Sixy.

  The slaver laughed again, shaking his head at his two blue associates who sat across the fire from him. “I’d almost like to keep you around for myself,” he said to Sixy. “You’re an amusing fellow.”

  “Untie me and I’ll juggle for you,” said Sixy.

  “They say that’s Bentan’s only fault,” said the yellow-haired slaver, “my sense of humor. I truly do love a joke.”

  “That’s your name—Bentan?” asked Huk.

  “Yes, bird man,” answered the slaver. “I’m known throughout this jungle. You’re lucky you fell into my hands and not those of some other slaver. I’m as kindly as your old maiden aunt compared to some of the devils you might have run into.”

  “Mallox might not agree with you,” said Sixy, nodding at the unconscious giant.

  The two blue men had dragged the strongman here and propped his stiffened body against a tree trunk. Small mosquitoes were circling him.

  “That one,” said Bentan, laughing. “He’s all bluff and wind. To hear him tell it, there’s no beating him.”

  “He did toss you in the pit,” Sixy pointed out.

  The yellow-haired man scowled for an instant, then laughed again. “An accident, that was. I lost my footing.”

  “I can understand that,” said Sixy, wiggling his toes. “A punch on the jaw like he gave you would make anybody lose his footing.”

  “You’re an interesting little fellow,” said Bentan. “You enjoy twitting me even when you know I could kill you in a minute.”

  “A good many things could kill me,” answered Sixy. “If I worried about them all I’d never have time for anything else.”

  “You got dry clothes in one of those sacks,” said Booker, pointing to a knapsack next to one of the blue men. “Even a pair of trousers would help.”

  Huk tried, and finally succeeded in, getting into a somewhat more comfortable position. “This market you’re taking us to,” he said. “Who are its customers?”

  Bentan took his fowl wing away from the fire. It was burned. “Just the way I like it.” He detached the spit and threw it over to one of the blue men. After taking several huge bits of the sooty meat, he said, “They’re not so high-class as your former masters, I’ll wager. Across the jungle there are a number of farmers. They practice what we call slash-and-burn farming.” He took a few more bites, laughing as be chewed. “A slash-and-burn farmer, he cuts away the trees and burns away the rest of the underbrush in a patch of jungle. Then he’s got himself some acres for growing.”

  “Not very good land, is it?” asked Huk.

  “Not as good as that the gentry own, no,” answered the yellow-haired man. “But good enough for a few years of crops. Then the farmer finds himself another patch of jungle to slash and burn.”

  “That’s where we come in,” said Sixy.

  “Yes, you’ll be farm lads.”

  “They can’t pay much,” said Sixy. He began to rub his toes over his injured ankle. He wanted to keep the slaver and the two blue minions distracted. Because he’d noticed, which they hadn’t yet, that Mallox was regaining consciousness.

  “I’ll make about fifty harlans on each of you,” said Bentan. “Plenty of money for the kind of life we lead.”

  “We could arrange for you to get more than that,” said Huk.

  “Oh, so?” The slaver laughed.

  Sixy casually glanced at the yellow-haired man, noticing that the man’s rifle was on the moss a few feet from him and that his pistol was snapped inside its holster. “Our other friends have money,” he said.

  “Indeed? I have never heard of a slave with a bank account before.”

  “When the train was wrecked,” continued Sixy, “we salvaged a good deal of money from the dead passengers, also from our guards and from the circus people.”

  “It amounts to several hundred harlans,” added Huk.

  “I think I’ll settle for the two hundred harlans I’ll make by selling you to the farmers.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” said Booker, who was shivering. “You’re not supposed to sell me like that. That was part of our deal.”

  Mallox jumped straight for the seated slaver at that instant. “Now, you yellow-haired devil!” he roared.

  The strongman yanked the slaver upright, lifted him high over his head, and tossed him across the fire.

  The man’s big body bowled over the two blue men.

  With a triumphant growl, Mallox leaped the flames. He snatched up both of the Mesmen, banged their heads together several times, then dropped them, dazed, to the ground.

  He dived for Bentan.

  The slaver doubled up, twisted around, and brought his feet up into the giant’s chest.

  It didn’t phase Mallox, He threw three tremendous blows into Bentan’s face.

  The slaver groaned and fell. He rolled over once, gave a great sigh, and was still.

  “Ha,” said Mallox, “I knew I could beat that devil in a fair fight.”

  “Good work,” said Huk.

  “Now, I’ll cut you loose and—”

  Something was rattling in the brush off in the darkness beyond the circle of light the fire produced.

  They all turned to look in that direction.

  A dog emerged, snarling. It was a robot tracking dog and it had found them.

  CHAPTER 33

  “We must be near som
e form of humanity,” said Dr. Zarkov in a subdued voice. “I hear gunfire.”

  Dale held back, catching hold of his arm. “Hadn’t we better avoid them, then? We’re here to find Flash, not get ourselves shot.”

  They’d been moving across mossy ground, surrounded by the huge high trees of the jungle. “I want to make contact with someone relatively soon,” said the doctor. “We need a little more information about this planet. Once I get myself oriented, learn the language and the customs, we can track down Flash.”

  “I know you’re a very gifted man,” said Dale, “but to do all that may take weeks.”

  “Nonsense,” he responded. “Zarkov can usually pick up a local language in a matter of hours. Customs, I admit, take a bit longer.” He took hold of her hand. “Now let’s get closer to this fracas.”

  “All right, but don’t go barging into someone else’s fight.”

  The bearded doctor bounded silently ahead, Dale following. “You can learn a good deal about people by watching them fight,” he told her.

  The crackle of blasters grew louder as did the whir of stunguns and some kind of electrical crackle Zarkov couldn’t quite identify.

  Dr. Zarkov motioned Dale to halt beside him. He jabbed a thumb at the darkness above. Through the tree branches and leaves penetrated a few glowing yellow lights. “Some kind of aircraft.”

  “Aircraft and guns,” said the girl. “An advanced civilization for sure.”

  Zarkov made a slight tangent on the course they’d been following.

  About a quarter mile up ahead through the maze of trees someone screamed.

  Crouched low, moving without any sound, the doctor and the girl made their way forward.

  “No need to stun me or kill me or anything,” someone shouted. “I surrender. See, my hands are up. I quit, you understand.”

  Zarkov dropped to his knees. Dale followed suit “Look at those nitwit things there,” he whispered. “Some kind of mechanical dogs, probably used in hunting people down.”

  “We may be walking Into an action by the local police,” said Dale.

  Still on his knees Zarkov inched ahead. “Look at that fellow there, with the wings,” he said. “That’s a hawkman from Mongo.”

  “Yes” agreed Dale, “it is. These might be escaped captives then, do you think?”

  “If we can scare off those blue guys we can ask the hawkman,” said Zarkov.

  There were a dozen blue militiamen circling the campfire. Each man was armed. Three robot dogs were on the scene as well, snapping bright metal teeth at the men on the other side of the fire.

  Huk, freed just as the first robot dog found them, was behind a wide tree with a blaster pistol in his hand. Mallox and Sixy used an adjacent tree as a shelter against the attacking Mesmo National Militia men.

  Bentan had come to and made a charge at the nearest blue man. They’d shot him twice with blaster rifles. That was the scream Zarkov and Dale had heard. The blond man was still alive, sprawled almost on the embers of the fire.

  Booker had been standing between two of the trees, waving his hands over his head and calling out, “I give up. No need to fight with me, you guys.”

  A militiaman shot him in the leg.

  Scrambling, Booker dived for shelter.

  Another blaster crackled across the night. Leaves and vines were burned away to nothing.

  “That’s what I get for trying to cooperate,” said Booker when he was safely behind a fallen log.

  Zarkov stroked his beard. “I think these lads may be able to tell us a few things,” he said.

  “If we could get near them,” said Dale.

  “That’s no problem,” said Zarkov. “All we have to do is outfox those blue guys—that won’t be too difficult for Zarkov.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The rain fell straight down through the morning sky. Flash stood at the porthole of the cabin he and Jape were sharing on the cargo barge. He could see Hopp out on the deck, joking with the fat captain and sharing a cup of rum with him.

  “Something new coming over,” said Jape, who had been monitoring the radio again.

  Flash turned away from the wet misty morning. “About us?”

  “About Huk and the others I’m afraid,” replied the four-armed man. Slowly he detached the earphones. “According to the latest news reports Captain Suell of the Mesmo National Militia announced last night that he was closing in on the fugitive animals.”

  Frowning, Flash said, “You’re right, that must mean Huk and Sixy and Mallox.”

  “The last report came through shortly after midnight,” continued Jape. “The militiamen had run the fugitives to ground and were closing in.”

  “No word since then?”

  “All the radio will say is that further information is expected shortly.” He set the radio down on the floor and stood up.

  “We don’t know enough about how the government manages the news here on Mesmo,” said Flash. “If they’ve captured our friends they may be keeping it quiet until they’ve got all of us.”

  “There are other possibilities,” said Jape, a hopeful note in his voice. “Huk and Mallox may have won the struggle with the militia. That would also account for no more messages coming from Captain Suell and his cronies.”

  “Hell, all we can do is keep listening to the radio,” said Flash. “If they have been recaptured then well have to make a plan to rescue them.”

  Jape rubbed one hand across his chin and tugged at his ear with another. “That’s going to be harder than getting Narla away from the slavers.”

  Flash grinned. “Nothing has been easy on Mesmo,” he said.

  The rain beat down upon the riverside settlement. The rain and the wind. Pieces of rotten raw wood were torn off the fronts of the tumble-down buildings. Slimy mud splashed up against the slanted walls. The names of the narrow saloons and rundown stores and shops were washed away, streaking milky-white and bloody-red paint down the wood and pitted glass.

  The street leading from the swayback piers was awash with sticky brown mud. A wretched, bedraggled dog was painfully making its way along the muddy street, nosing the muck in hopes of finding food. Up on the eaves of a smoke-colored saloon sat a lone green monkey, hugging itself and quivering in the wet and cold of the raw morning. Hidden under the beams and eaves of other tottering buildings forlorn birds huddled, cooing mournfully.

  “All right for a visit,” said Hopp, “but I wouldn’t want to live here.” He laughed and patted Flash on the back.

  “Where are the slaves kept?”

  “We’ll have to slosh up the street a little,” replied the red-bearded man. “There’s a kind of big barn at the edge of town. First, though, my friend, we’ll stop at a grog shop I know of and ask a few questions and perhaps spend a few coins. It might save us some trouble.”

  “You mean there’s a possibility we can buy Narla back?” asked Jape.

  “Couldn’t afford it,” said old Abel.

  “We can afford to buy some information, though,” said Hopp. He pointed at a low wooden building which had once had a whitewashed front. The name Lilson was scrawled next to the jagged door opening. “We’ll stop in here.”

  “Wipe your feet,” shouted the small yellow man behind the bar. “I don’t want muck all over my imported hardwood floors.”

  “What kind of greeting is that, my friend?” Hopp strode to the bar, holding out his hand.

  The yellow man nodded his head sparingly. “Yes, it’s you Hopp,” he said. “I’m glad to see you. But I’m very worried about my floors. I’m starting to suspect that I used the wrong kind of varnish on them. They seem to eat up this frightful mud rather than repell it. And if you only knew what I paid for them.”

  “But I do know, Lilson, you’ve told me many a time.” He swung a pouch around in front of him and fished two bright silver coins out of it. He dropped them on the countertop. “A cup of grog, if you please.”

  “And your friends?”

  “You know old Abel.
He never turns away from grog. But the other two lads will pass.” When Flash was next to him at the counter Hopp said to the small yellow proprietor, “You might be in a position to earn two more coins like these, Lilson.”

  The proprietor put two cups on the counter, leaned forward and scanned his floor. “That’s an interesting notion,” he said. “Elaborate.”

  There was only one other customer in the small dim room, a ragged blue man who was slumped over a table against the far wall.

  Hopp lowered his voice anyway. “We’re interested, my friend, in the activity of the slave market, the recent activity.”

  “A shameful trade,” said Lilson. He put his hand over the two coins, raked them off into his other hand. “If the settlement had any trace of civic pride we’d have run those scoundrels—”

  “Yes, my friend, I’m sure,” cut in Hopp, with a laugh. “But I don’t want to buy a sermon. I want to know about any new girls who’ve been brought in during the past day or so.”

  Lilson’s eyes took in Flash and Jape. “They’re buyers?”

  “Not at all,” said Hopp. “They’re searching for a lost acquaintance of theirs.”

  “Plenty of girls in the world,” said Lilson. “Best to leave the slave market alone.”

  “A blonde girl,” said Hopp. “A thin one, as I understand it, but considered pretty by some.”

  Lilson rotated his palm. “Two more coins were promised.”

  Hopp took those from another pouch and dropped them directly into the proprietor’s hand. “You’ve seen her, heard of her?”

  “Let me think,” said Lilson as he absently fixed himself a cup of grog. He drank it then wiped his wrinkled lips. “Three girls were brought in yesterday shortly before the midday meal. They were all fat ones.” He turned to Flash and Jape. “Fat girls are very popular in certain parts of the jungle.”

  “We are interested, my friend, in a slim blonde one,” reminded Hopp.

  “Early this morning,” said Lilson. “So I hear. Such a one arrived on the barge of that miserable Norlan.” He paused, then laughed a reedy laugh. “Indeed, Hopp, I hear he and the slaver had a slight set-to over the girl.”