by Alex Raymond
She had her hands on her hips as she stared with animosity and contempt at Flash and Zarkov.
Behind her were a half-dozen men, also dressed in green uniforms—long-sleeved shirts, belts, and ankle-length green slacks which fitted into black boots. They were clean-shaven, but wore their black hair in monk’s tonsures, shaved around the ears and on top.
Flash thought immediately that it was the grimmest-looking bunch of human beings he had ever seen in his life. Compared to them, General Ild and the Orange progs were swingers of the happiest sort.
“Congratulations,” the girl said in a soft but firm voice. “You have penetrated Green Headquarters.” Her red mouth flicked into a tiny smile. “Such capable and clever spies deserve a quick, merciful death!”
Flash turned to Zarkov.
“And we will be delighted to give it to you,” the girl continued, moving back a pace while two of the green-uniformed progs stepped forward with the barrels of their weapons only inches from the chests of the earthmen.
“Wait,” Flash said. “This is a mistake.”
“Your only mistake was the assumption you could penetrate the headquarters of Zenohaven with impunity,” snapped the girl.
“No, no,” Flash cried. “We are not spies. We came here to—”
“Bah!” snorted the girl. “We heard you admit your guilt through that steel door.” The girl looked around. “Where is that third party?”
Flash realized she had not recognized the voice of Em-One as that of a technoid. He glanced at Zarkov, who gripped the suitcase in his hand and kept his face blank.
“Third party?” Flash repeated. “There was no third party. Just Dr. Zarkov and I. Actually, we’re not Errans citizens at all. We’re from another planet. Earth. It’s in the solar system which you have just entered.”
The girl’s brows lowered over her beautiful green eyes. “Let’s not waste any time on these,” she called to the progs on either side of her. “Shoot them, boys! They’re miserable, sniveling, whining cowards.”
“No, no!” Flash remonstrated. “It is true that we came here from the territory of Ildhaven.”
The girl’s eyes rested on Flash’s face. “You tell the truth, spy—an odd thing for an Orange agent to do. We have had you in the scanner since you landed in our battlefield.”
“Yes. We admit we came from General Ild. But we came not to do you harm, but to escape from the Oranges. They are far too aggressive for us. Always war, war, war—”
“A hateful enemy,” scowled the girl. “But you do not fool me, spy. Kill them!”
“Immediately, General Zena,” said one of the green-uniformed men, raising his rifle.
“General Zena!” snapped Flash commandingly, moving toward her.
She waved off her progs. “Well?”
“We have come on a mission of peace,” said Flash, glancing aside at Zarkov warningly.
“Peace?” sneered the girl. “You?”
“Since we have been on this strange planet, all we have seen is destruction and ruin. Although our own home planet, Earth, has been torn by such spectacles for many years of its existence, we know you are on the verge of ruin here on this planet. Without war you could grow crops, raise cattle, build cities, live a life of happiness and joy, and retire in contentment.”
General Zena frowned. “It was once that way on our own planet,” she mused. “Before they destroyed the books, it was written that peace and quiet and prosperity were the ways of life among us.”
One of the green-uniformed progs pushed forward. “Don’t believe him, General Zena! He’s lying—it’s enemy propaganda! Geared to make us put down our arms and stop fighting. It is simply a tactic to give the hated Oranges a chance to destroy us.”
The girl glowered at Flash. “You are a very convincing speaker, spy, but I do not believe you.”
“Without all this war,” Flash continued doggedly, “you could put this metal into machines of commerce, you could live on the surface of the planet, you could enjoy life. Instead of pills you could eat real food—meat, fish, vegetables. You could grow crops, as I said before. My friend and I who come from another planet could teach you how to live the life of the gods!”
“Pah!” snorted the girl. “It sounds pretty sissified to me. Where would the cybernauts fit it?”
“They could do your chores.”
“As in history,” the girl mused. “Well, maybe there is a possibility,” she said, turning indecisively to her advisors. “What do you think, Zed?”
The tallest of the green-uniformed progs shook his head. “It is propaganda, General Zena. Do not believe the silver-tongued rogue. He is implanting passivity in you, under the guise of peace. Then, when you are lulled to tractability, he takes over, and surrenders us all to General Ild!”
“Lies!” shouted Flash. “I am speaking the truth. My companion and I are earthmen. We do not come from Errans. Can’t you tell by my hair—my companion’s beard? We are different from you. We are from another world.”
“You are different,” said General Zena, watching him out of her green eyes. “And there is a different kind of energy emanating from you.” She frowned. “Actually, Zed, I feel rather strange about this man. Hmm. I wonder if it could be true that there is a possibility we could end this war and live in peace?”
“Not while the Oranges live!” snapped Zed. “We’ve got to wipe them out—and then we will live in peace.”
“It is highly unlikely that we will wipe them out, Zed,” said General Zena haughtily. “You know the cybbies will not allow the war to stop, even if we do conquer the Oranges. The only way to gain peace is to take over the war from the cybbies and then sue for peace with the Oranges.”
“Impossible,” growled Zed. “In no way can that be done. It is mandatory that we continue fighting.”
“If you keep fighting,” said Flash, “you’ll destroy yourselves in the end. Don’t you understand?”
General Zena turned to her progs. “Leave us, will you please? I want to talk to these visitors.”
Zed shook his head. “We won’t leave you unarmed, General Zena. Even though you’re a General, we don’t trust you that much. You might be persuaded by this skilled orator to surrender to him. And then he would kill us all for General Ild.”
General Zena stood up to Flash and stared up into his face. “I need proof of your intentions.”
“Proof?” Flash smiled and reached out to take General Zena’s shoulders in his hands.
Programmer Zed shifted the rifle and began to squeeze on the trigger.
“Is this proof enough?”
He drew the girl toward him to kiss her.
At the last instant her eyes widened and her mouth opened. Flash pulled her to him and kissed her firmly. She beat against his chest for a moment with her fists, but then slowly relaxed and drew her arms around his shoulders.
“Yeow!” yelled Zarkov.
Flash broke from General Zena and held her at arm’s length. What was wrong with Doc?
Zarkov was staring at the suitcase which was on the floor. “The damned thing turned red-hot in my hands,” he told Flash. “I had to drop it.”
“Traitor!” screamed the suitcase. “Traitor! I will report this treason of Colonel Gordon’s to General Ild.”
Zarkov backed away. “The damned thing went crazy!”
Flash reached out and grabbed the handle, but it was ablaze with electrical current. He drew his hand away sharply.
Instantly the bottom of the suitcase opened and flexible cable legs extended, lifting the cybernaut from the ground.
“Death to the enemy,” the suitcase shouted in its metallic voice.
“It’s a cybernaut!” yelled Zed.
“An undercover technoid,” another prog cried.
The suitcase raced away, turned, and swept the entire group of green-uniformed progs with a blast of electronic stunray. There was a crackle of lightning and an echoing thunder. Flash and Zarkov went to the floor. Since Flash was so ne
ar General Zena, he knocked her down with him.
“Viva the Oranges! Down with the Greens! I go to destroy the War Computer Brain!” shouted the suitcase. There was a whirring sound, a buzzing, and the suitcase started down the corridor.
Flash rose quickly.
Already General Zena was on her feet. “Stop that cybernaut!” she screamed. She had drawn a handgun from her waist belt and leveled it at the moving suitcase.
Flash grabbed my arm. “Give me that! You’ll muff the shot! It’s carrying a powerful bomb!”
General Zena struggled with him a moment, and then relinquished her hold on the handgun.
Zarkov was on his feet. The green-uniformed entourage lay on the floor, paralyzed by the technoid’s blast of stunner electrons.
“Stop that robot!” screamed General Zena. “It’s headed for the computer room!”
Flash steadied himself on his knees, leveled the handgun onto the elbow of his left arm, and peered through the sights at the suitcase in the corridor. The sights of the weapon was strange to him, but he took a chance and fired.
The first shot missed.
The suitcase leaped into the air, steadied, and sent a ray directly back toward Flash.
“Death to the traitors, Aliens! Death to human beings! Death to you, Aliens!”
“The damned little monster,” growled Zarkov, getting to his feet. “He was programmed to bring us in here and destroy us. That’s what happened—General Ild double-crossed us.”
“Right,” snapped Flash. “Relax. I’ll get him.”
The suitcase vanished from sight.
General Zena shivered as she stood next to Flash. “He went down the corridor. Hurry!”
She led Flash along the passage and when they got to the corner, she pointed. Already Flash could see the suitcase almost at the last door.
“That’s the entrance to the War Computer Room,” screamed General Zena. “Somebody stop that thing!”
Flash leaned against the wall and steadied the weapon on the technoid.
He could hear an ominous ticking coming from the suitcase. The suitcase was in front of the steel door into the Computer Room, struggling with the door. The door would not budge.
The suitcase shivered and one side opened. Flash was blinded by a sudden ray of yellow light that shot out of the suitcase.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes.
The steel door began to slide open. Flash could see the suitcase pushing it open and making for the stairs that led down into the War Computer Room.
“Stop!” he shouted.
He squeezed the trigger.
The wall near the door disintegrated.
“The sights are not zeroed in,” snapped Flash. He squeezed the trigger and fired again.
He could see the brilliant flash the moment he had finished. There was repercussion that laid him flat against the floor, sprawling ten feet from where he had been when he fired. A scream erupted from General Zena. Zarkov was thrown back against the wall in the whoosh of smoke that billowed down the corridor.
The steel door was wrenched from its frame and sailed through the air into the War Computer Room to crash onto the floor. Smoke and fire swept through the corridors. Pieces of concrete aggregate and reinforcing rods erupted into the ceiling, tearing out parts of the lighting system.
Fire burst out in the War Computer Room, igniting several of the black-box controls of the War Computer.
Flash, his hair singed and his face covered with ash and soot, crawled backwards to General Zena where she lay on the floor, sobbing and choking.
Zarkov was on his knees, shaking his head and pounding his ear, trying to hear again.
“What did you do?” General Zena asked in a faint voice.
“I saved your lousy War Computer,” said Flash.
“But the technoid—” she gasped.
“He was getting to be a damned nuisance anyway,” Zarkov growled, looking through the smoke and flames at what remained of the doorway to the War Computer Room.
CHAPTER 15
After the initial shock, General Zena was all action. She ran back to the programmers, who were just coming out of stunned paralysis, rising on their knees, shaking their heads, and groping about for their weapons.
“Follow me,” she shouted. “Round up the cybbies. The War Computer was bombed. We’ve got to do an in-depth survey of the damage.”
Programmer Zed began helping his companions to their feet, and finally they were all trotting after General Zena. When she came to the still-smoking entrance, she saw that the blond-haired stranger was staring down into the large chamber where the War Computer was positioned.
General Zena recalled that she had been stunned when this rather outlandish proggy agent had tried to kiss her. Or, for that matter, had he kissed her? So shaken was she by the ensuing excitement and the attempted bombing of the big computer that she had completely forgotten what had really happened there in the corridor.
He had kissed her. Now she remembered. And it was the most upsetting kiss of her life—she, who had been no stranger to kisses and caresses.
Deliberately she banished all memory of it from her mind and waved her hand in the direction of the big computer chamber.
“Come on, Zed. You and the rest of the proggies, get down there immediately. Zed, send Zaj to the barracks to round up all the cybbies there. I want a complete turn-out of every cybby now on the machines. I want this mess cleaned up. Where’s Cybby One?”
A tall, coiled cybernaut, almost as tall as she was, ambled out of the smoke toward her. “Here, General Zena.”
“It’s all your responsibility now, Cybby One. The corridor must be cleaned up, and any damage to the computer banks repaired instantly.”
Cybby One was an insolent, over-programmed, over-sophisticated beast, General Zena knew. But he was the best of the lot, the best cybernaut ever produced by the Green prog staff. But he could be very trying at times.
“I receive the orders, General Zena. I am acting on them.”
General Zena turned away.
“However,” the metallic voice of Cybby One clattered, “you realize the security breach will be investigated by a full board of the Cybernaut War Council. It was through your breach of discipline and lack of resourcefulness that the technoid bomber infiltrated the War Nerve Center.”
General Zena flared up. “Save all that for later, will you Cybby One? I’m tired of your eternal bickering and blame-placing.”
“I act upon your orders, General Zena,” said the android and stalked away.
General Zena climbed down the stairs into the big chamber where the giant computer was installed. She walked along its massive front and studied it carefully. She was followed by several of the proggies who were taking notes on pads of yellow-lined polyvinylpap.
On the steel ladders and catwalks surrounding the installation, cybbies were clambering up and down, probing into the inner workings of the cells with their optic perforay-scanners. Scores of technoids were whipping about, delving into parts of the machinery where the explosion might have sent something awry.
General Zena turned to the proggies. “Okay. I think it’s under control. We’d better leave it to the cybbies or there’ll be an investigation.”
“Right, General Zena.”
They trooped out.
In the corridor General Zena found the blond-haired stranger standing there waiting.
“Your little maneuver didn’t work,” said General Zena.
“Didn’t work?” the stranger repeated in surprise. “I saved your computer, didn’t I?”
General Zena felt uncomfortable. Those blue eyes were boring into hers. She looked over the big man’s shoulder and saw the other bearded man approaching.
She turned to the blond. “Let’s get out of here. I have to talk to you before we execute you.”
“Execute?”
“For espionage and intent to sabotage.”
“But I saved your whole war machine!” cried the blo
nd giant. “What kind of gratitude is that?”
There was a commotion behind her. Programmer Zed moved forward, holding a disintegrator rifle in his hands.
“Is this enemy Alien bothering you, General Zena?”
General Zena turned and stared at Zed. He was a fawning little pipsqueak, she thought suddenly, no match at all for the blond man or the bearded one. “Oh, beat it, Zed. Get back to your cybbies and see if you can pick up the pieces where we left them.”
Zed grimaced. He bowed, his little tonsure gleaming in the overhead lights. General Zena felt like kicking him.
Then he left.
She turned to the blond man. “You and the bearded one. We will go to my chambers.”
The man shrugged. “Call me Flash,” he said. “It’s my name. Flash Gordon. This is Doctor Zarkov.”
“Call me General Zena,” said the girl. She stared at the blond prog again and felt weak in the knees. Then she remembered the kiss and turned abruptly away.
“Come, Aliens,” she said, and walked away from them.
General Zena had been married for two years to one of the top proggies in the country of Zenohaven. He had been a good husband for a general—the mantle she had inherited from her aunt. He had been head programmer for the entire cybby unit that was running the third army. The first and second were in the charge of a master computer.
He had been killed in a freak accident. One of the new cybernaut models had short-circuited accidentally during an exercise and had fused into the console panel at which it was working. General Zena’s husband had unfortunately been at work on the cybernaut at the time with a screwdriver, and had been vanished in a puff of purple smoke.
And that was that.
General Zena had had no time after that for romance. She had been busy ever since running the war. The Oranges had retaliated after a disastrous rout seven months ago, and they had been pushing the Greens very hard. It was a rough business, and it was going to get rougher.
She strode along, glancing now and then into the doors of the corridors where the proggies were at work on new cybernauts and new war machines. The proggy in charge of the technoid section had come up with a real secret weapon that it was hoped would wipe out the Oranges forever. The details were top secret, even from General Zena. It was best she not know until the technoid was complete, anyway. There was too much looseness in security.