by Alex Raymond
“He?” General Ild smiled. “You are thinking in old-fashioned terms, Colonel Doctor Zarkov, deeply ingrained in you in your years on the planet Orth.”
“Earth,” said Flash.
“Urth,” said General Ild. “No matter.” She swung her arm and pointed to a travel suitcase that had been placed in the center of the circular room. “That is your assistant, who will carry your bomb and who will show you the way.”
Flash stared. He saw the suitcase and the chairs, but he could not see either a man or a cybernaut in the chamber with them.
“Okay. I give up. What is he, an invisible man or an invisible cybby?”
“Not invisible at all, Colonel Gordon. Cyb Agent Em-One ready to serve you,” snapped a metallic voice. “Death to the enemy!”
Flash and Zarkov stared at the suitcase.
“The damned thing talks,” said Zarkov. “How did you do that?” he asked General Ild.
“That is your assistant. Colonels. It will help you carry the bomb to the enemy’s War Computer.”
“That—that—bag?” growled Flash, staring in consternation at the suitcase.
“I am a highly sophisticated accurately-programmed cybernetic mechanism, delicately constructed and precisely functioning, quite able to lead you to the epicenter of the enemy’s nerve system. I am not a bag.” There was a pause. “Well, I resemble a bag, true. But I am a totally independent technoid agent of the Orange government, commissioned by General Ild to do my country’s duty. I do not accept the fact that you Colonels do not approve of me.”
Zarkov blinked. “Nothing personal, bag. Uh, Agent Em-One. It’s just that perhaps we had been expecting someone more—oh—like us.”
“But you are Aliens,” the suitcase clattered. “I am much more technically suited to important intelligence-gathering missions than you, and I am also qualified to the nth degree in sabotage. You are looking at a trained machine of destruction, Colonels. These memory banks and control resistors are the product of the latest in military and civilian methods of infiltration, recognition, and destruction. I would not be able to function if I resembled you.”
“I apologize,” Zarkov said, perspiration glinting on his forehead. He turned to General Ild. “Please tell—uh—Em-One that I didn’t mean it.”
“The cybernaut has no sensitivities, Colonel Doctor Zarkov,” General Ild said contemptuously. “Therefore, no apologies are necessary. Em-One is merely stating the facts.”
“On Earth we would simply say that Em-One has an inflated ego and an intolerable arrogance,” smiled Flash.
“I am not programmed for such emotional displays, Colonels. I am a dispassionate machine of destruction.”
“Now, Colonels,” snapped General Ild. “As to your mission. First you must get into your Alien clothing.”
“Our astrosuits?” Zarkov asked. “Won’t they know we’re from Earth?”
“They will think you have descended from the spacecraft in which you came, Aliens. And they will let you into their military complex. With the suitcase you will look like travelers, no?”
“Yes,” said Flash with a grimace. “I travel light myself, but this is ridiculous.”
“Cyb Agent Em-One will direct you to the enemy’s brain center so you can place the bomb for maximum destruction. Em-One is totally programmed to get you and the bomb there. You need have no worries on that score.”
“But what if we are captured? Or what if there are any untoward obstacles?” Zarkov wondered.
“Em-One is sufficiently programmed in ingenuity to work his way out of the most dangerous complications.”
“I am programmed to a capacity one half again as high as the most intelligent man on the planet,” said the suitcase. “I can work my way out of any obstacle planned by mortal man. Your trust will not be misplaced, Colonels.”
“Good, good,” said Zarkov.
“All right,” said Flash. “We’ll get into our astrosuits. Then what? How do we get across that no-man’s-land out there?” He gestured toward the vidscreen scanner on the wall which was playing the war outside.
“It is all arranged,” General Ild said. “I have taken care of everything.”
Clad in their astrosuits, Flash and Zarkov were ordered to follow General Ild once again, and they did so, winding through corridors and then down an elevator into the bowels of the planet. They came out into another subterranean excavation that dwarfed the others they had seen. This one was at least five stories deep.
In the middle of it stood an enormous missile on a firing pad, apparently in an attitude of readiness. Technoids were crawling all over the metal skin of the craft, and lights were blinking furiously at a console set up near the pad.
A group of cybbies were walking about with yellow-lined pads of polyvinylpap, scribbling down notes.
General Ild gestured proudly toward the enormous missile.
“You’re to be sent over to Zenohaven by means of that guided missile, Colonels. The accuracy of the missile is guaranteed. It is radar-controlled and wire-guided. You cannot fail to land within a hundred meters of the computer.”
“A guided missile!” Zarkov repeated, his face pale.
“It has no warhead,” said General Ild with a smile. “Instead, you two and Em-One will be in the head. Once the missile is targeted in for its hit, you will be ejected from the craft.”
“But how do we survive that kind of a landing?” Zarkov asked. “I’ve had a few crash-landings in my time, and they can get pretty hairy!”
“Your agent will guide you,” General Ild declared coolly.
“And I hope Em-One has been instructed to keep us from being shot down on the way?” Flash blurted out.
“Never mind such eventualities,” the suitcase said. “I have been adequately programmed to take care of every emergency.”
“Egotistical little fellow,” muttered Flash.
General Ild moved toward Flash, and gazed at him steadily. “I am sorry we could not plan our future together, Colonel Gordon. It would have been rather lovely.”
“Possibly when Doc and I come back,” Flash said vaguely.
General Ild smiled faintly. “Yes, of course, Colonel Gordon. But there’s always that little fiancée on Orth, is there not? What’s her name, Dale?”
“How’d you know that?” Flash asked in astonishment.
“You told me, did you not, Colonel Gordon?” General Ild said calmly.
“Maybe so.” Flash was doubtful.
“Goodbye, Colonel Gordon,” said General Ild and bowed slightly. “Goodbye, Colonel Doctor Zarkov.”
And she was gone.
Flash turned to Zarkov. “She sounded like she didn’t intend to see us ever again. How do you like that, Doc?”
Zarkov frowned uneasily. “Well, I don’t like it.”
“Into the guided missile, Colonels,” clattered the suitcase. “From now on you take orders from me. Straight ahead, down those stairs, and then across the empty space.”
“Who’s going to act as Ground Control?” Zarkov asked irritably.
“It’s automatic, you Aliens,” snapped the suitcase. “Forward, march, Colonels! Down those stairs, and across the blast pad, and into—”
Flash and Zarkov started off at a trot.
“Hey!” screamed the suitcase. “Pick me up! Do you think I am a stupid human being?”
Flash turned and went back for the suitcase. “Just keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll chuck you in the baggage room and leave you.”
“Enough talk, Colonel Gordon. That’s it. Nice and easy. Hut, two, three, four! Straight ahead, down the steps, across the pad, and up the stairs to the missile cabin. Hut, two, three, four . . .”
CHAPTER 12
In minutes the missile was airborne, with Colonel Flash Gordon and Colonel Doctor Hans Zarkov seated side by side in the renovated cockpit staring at a console of absolutely incomprehensible instrumentation.
“I have the weird idea, Doc, that the girl is trying to get rid of
us,” Flash observed plaintively. “What do you say?”
“You lost your chance there, my boy,” Zarkov said with a drawl. “I thought we were going to get the red-carpet treatment for the rest of our stay here. Instead it looks more like we’re getting the red-blanket treatment.”
“Whew!” sighed Flash. “This missile really puts on speed at lift-off. I wonder when the nose cone tilts down and we start to drop again?”
“In exactly five seconds, Colonels,” said the suitcase, which rested at Flash Gordon’s feet next to the seat to which he was strapped.
“Thank you, Em-One, over and out,” said Flash.
“I still don’t know how we’re going to land this baby,” Zarkov complained. “I certainly don’t look forward to mushing out on the rocks down there in the middle of a battle zone. This is a real suicide mission,”
“Suicide is a value judgment,” said the suitcase. “This mission is not programmed in any way for defeat. It is programmed for victory. There is no possibility that the missile or its personnel will be destroyed.”
“Hear that?” asked Zarkov with a grin.
“That’s very comforting, Agent Em-One. Tell me this—when are we expected to reach our target?”
“Exactly three minutes and forty-seven seconds,” said the technoid suitcase.
“Not very much time,” said Zarkov.
The missile suddenly shook with tremendous force and seemed to veer from course. Then it righted itself and continued on.
“Anti-missile missile fire,” shouted Flash. “We’ve been spotted, Doc!”
“You are so right,” snapped Zarkov. “What do we do about that, Em-One?”
“Nothing, Colonels, unless we are hit.”
“Oh, great!” groaned Zarkov.
“I still don’t know how to land this thing,” Flash complained. “Can you give me a hint, Em-One?”
“I am programmed for complete landing steps which need not be revealed until exactly three minutes and thirty seconds from now.”
Flash glanced at Zarkov and shrugged. “I hope the little fellow knows what he is doing.”
“Attention!” shouted the suitcase. “Attention, pilots! Enemy anti-missile missile approaching on target.”
“How do we steer away?” Flash shouted.
“The missile is not programmed for evasive action.”
“Doc, we’re dead!” Flash said.
“Incorrect assumption,” snapped the suitcase. “There is a release mechanism on the nose cone. Pull the two right-hand grips near the altimeter dials and press button CR on your left. Do you observe them?”
“Got them, Em-One.”
“Release and press immediately.”
“Right on,” said Flash, and pulled the two clasps and pressed the button.
“Oh, great,” said Zarkov. “We delay the moment of truth by seconds instead of being blown to bits this instant.”
There was a loud blast around them, and they were suddenly catapulted through the air, end-over-end. Flash tried to open his eyes, but could not. The speed of their ejection was almost sonic. Then they began falling free, and at that instant, Flash opened his eyes.
“Doc!” he screamed. “Would you look at that?”
The centrifugal force of their spinning flight through the air had pressed them against the instrument panel. Now, as Flash looked back, he saw that the nose cone was not a sealed component at all, like the cabin aboard Pandora, but an open-ended nose cone. As he shouted, he and Zarkov began falling out of the cone into the air.
There were explosive blasts all around them as missiles shot by and rockets blew up.
“Grab my handgrip firmly,” said the suitcase. “Have no fear. I am programmed for your safety. We will win.”
Flash saw the suitcase falling near him, and he reached out and took hold of it. Zarkov heard the voice and reacted instantly.
“I am equipped with an anti-gravitational device which will prevent us from crashing to the ground,” said the technoid.
The suitcase decelerated their speed of descent and brought them into a very slow approach to the ground below. Bombs were bursting everywhere.
“We’ve missed the target, Em-One,” snapped Flash. “How are we going to get anywhere near the War Computer of the enemy?”
“Leave the mechanics to me, Colonels,” said the technoid suitcase. “Hold tightly to my handgrip. I am programmed to guide us between missile paths and bomb trajectories.”
“Oh, boy,” said Zarkov. “I’ve got to see this!”
The suitcase zigzagged through the shrapnel and pieces of flying metal while Flash and Zarkov closed their eyes and hoped.
When Flash opened his eyes he could see the ground below, coming up toward him through clouds of blue and black smoke. Flashes ripped up from cannon barrels and from mortar pots. Jet planes zoomed about them, riddling the air with tracer bullets.
“How did you manage to get us into this inferno?” grumbled Zarkov. “You’ve made a botch of it, Em-One.”
“Your statement is uncorroborated by facts, Colonel Doctor Zarkov. I am prepared for any eventuality, comrades-at-arms. Have no fear. I have built-in guarantees for your safety. Do not despair. We will win.”
“Propaganda at a time like this,” muttered Zarkov darkly, watching a missile zoom not four inches from his dangling foot.
“We will find shelter behind this hill,” announced the technoid suitcase. “Then we will continue on to our destination.”
Flash gripped the suitcase more tightly. “All right, but let’s settle down there fast. This is getting too hot for me!”
There were flashes in the air all around them, and the explosions were deafening to the two earthmen.
The suitcase veered in the air and took off for a nearby rock outcrop that could have been a gentle hill in the smoke and ruin.
They were close to the ground now. Flash saw the half-buried hulks of rusting iron, the snouts of broken cannons buried to the muzzle, the twisted ruins of tank tracks and tank plate protruding from the burned-over ground. It was a graveyard of civilization, the epitaph of man’s inhumanity to man.
They zoomed quickly through a cloud of gunsmoke and turned slightly to approach a clearing at the top of the hill and beyond the outcrop of rock.
“Oh, oh,” said the suitcase. “It’s a machine-gun emplacement.”
Flash stared downward. The cybernaut had identified the position correctly. The machine gun was straddling a rock upthrust and firing through a vee in the rock shelter ahead. The gun was painted green.
“An enemy gun,” said the suitcase. “But have no fear, Colonels.”
Suddenly the side of the suitcase opened and what appeared to be a pair of hand grenades popped out, heading directly for the machine gun.
“How did you do that?” Zarkov gasped.
“I have been programmed for all potentialities,” said the suitcase. “Do not fear, Colonels.”
The grenades had been lobbed exactly in the right direction. One struck the machine-gun barrel and blew up. The other hit the traversing mechanism and exploded in a yellow flash.
The remains of the machine gun lay smoking in the rubble around it.
“Beautiful,” Flash said.
“There is no time for compliments, Aliens. We must settle to ground here.”
“Okay,” said Flash.
The suitcase lowered gently to the ground, and Flash and Zarkov stepped out onto the rocky landscape of the war-torn planet.
The technoid spoke up.
“Release me, Colonel Gordon.”
Flash let go of the handgrip, realizing that Zarkov had been standing beside him and staring at the ruins of the machine gun for several seconds now.
“I shall return immediately. First I must make reconnaissance observations. I have a complex mechanism for direction-finding that will zero in on the enemy War Computer Center.”
“Very well,” said Flash.
“I hope we can count on the little fellow,” sai
d Zarkov. “I’m becoming kind of attached to him. Or it.”
“There is no category in my programming for emotional responses, Aliens. Please do not expect any answer or comment on my part. My programming is devoid of sentiment. Goodbye for now.”
The suitcase zoomed into the air and vanished in seconds in a cloud of haze that steamed up from the mined rocks near them.
Zarkov sank down behind a flat rock and leaned against it. Flash joined him.
“Well,” said Zarkov with a wry laugh, “we wanted to get over to the enemy side.”
“And here we are.”
“I don’t know. Was General Ild so awful that you couldn’t stand her? I think she would have been very nice.”
“I still don’t know what turned her off,” said Flash ruefully. “One minute she was gung-ho for me—and the next she wanted to send me into exile.”
“Now you begin to analyze the romance,” Zarkov snorted. “You think that bunkroom of ours was bugged?”
Flash stared. “I’ll bet it was, come to think of it. She knew Dale’s name, and I never told her what it was. She must have been tuned in to us. I never would have been so candid if I’d known we were wired.”
“Too late now,” sighed Zarkov. “Don’t feel too bad about it, pal. I never could quite go for that elegant cuisine they had rigged for us. Yuck.”
“Reconstituted seawater,” sighed Flash. “What I wouldn’t do for a good plate of ham and eggs, southern style!”
“You’re making me faint,” Zarkov closed his eyes.
The ground trembled.
Flash turned just as an enormous explosion blew scraps of metal and flames high into the air not a hundred yards from them.
“What was that?” Zarkov wondered.
“I hope it wasn’t Em-One, or we’re never going to get out of this no-man’s-land alive.”
“I wonder where he went, anyway?”
“Maybe he’s gone back to General Ild. Maybe we were supposed to be dumped here in the middle of Dante’s Inferno.”
Zarkov shook his head. “This could be my worst nightmare yet. Why don’t I wake up and remember I ate veal scallopini last night?”
“No chance. I’m in this with you. I don’t even like veal scallopini.”