Flash Gordon 2 - The Plague of Sound (3 page)

This was not a mechanism but a tall handsome young woman. She had long blonde hair and was wearing a short evening dress.

“Is Minister Minnig in?”

“Yes, he’s expecting you,” she said, stepping back so he could enter the foyer.

Mist spilled in with Flash, drifting across the faintly glowing yellow floor. “You’re—?” Flash said. Zarkov hadn’t mentioned anything about willowy young girls with platinum hair.

“Glenna Minnig,” she said, with a smile. “I’m the minister’s daughter. Come along to his study, won’t you?”

The study was a large room with a high, domed ceiling. The floors and walls were made of the same pale-yellow pseudowood. There were three fat red-plastic chairs and a small green desk in the room, all of the currently popular floating style. Minister Minnig was sitting in the chair nearest the desk, a glass of blue brandy cupped in his left hand.

“Ah, good evening, Gordon,” he said in his high voice. “So good of you to come.”

The girl stepped back out into the hall and the room’s pale-yellow door shut on Flash.

He crossed the room. “Dr. Zarkov indicated you had some information to give us, Mr. Minister, about the possible cause of the plague of sound.”

The lean man stood up. “Let me get you a drink first, Gordon.”

“No, thanks.”

The minister moved to a blank yellow wall, tapped it. A panel slid open and a small, well-stocked bar emerged. He placed his glass on a round green spot and a tiny silver arm lifted up a brandy bottle, poured, and recapped the bottle. “I suppose I wouldn’t drink at all,” said the minister, with a faint smile, “if I didn’t get a kick out of seeing this apparatus work.”

Flash watched him return to his chair. “You have some idea of who may be behind this thing?”

After sniffing at the brandy and then sipping it, Minnig said, “I hope you’ll forgive me, Gordon. In the heat of the meeting yesterday, I’m afraid I jumped to some illogical conclusions.”

Flash came up close to the other man. “Even a hunch might help,” he said. “You know Zarkov and I won’t act on anything you tell us without checking it out thoroughly.”

“Yes, Gordon, I do realize that.” He was looking not at Flash but up at the dome of the ceiling. “In the hours since I blurted out what I did to Dr. Zarkov, however, I’ve had some second thoughts. I’ve also, I must admit, discussed the matter with Glenna. Since my wife . . . well, my daughter is my most trusted confidante.” He lowered his eyes, smiling faintly. “Though I hope you won’t tell the president I consult a young girl when I’m in doubt.”

Flash turned away from him. He began walking slowly around the room. Stopping, he faced Minnig and asked, “You’re sure it’s just discretion?”

“What do you mean, Gordon?”

“You’re not afraid, are you? Has someone put pressure on you?”

Minister Minnig rose up out of his floating chair. “I fought to build this territory to what it is today, Gordon. And I’m not just using figures of speech; I mean I fought in the streets against the junta which had been oppressing the country for almost a decade. In the years since we overthrew it and set up a democracy I’ve done battle with a good many people, both verbal and physical battles.” With a frown, he sat again.

Flash said, “Maybe they threatened your daughter and not you.”

Shaking his head, Minnig said, “I assure you, Gordon, such is not the case. I know you’re disappointed, naturally, at coming here and not learning what you hoped. But you have my word: it is second thought and not cowardice which prompts me to remain silent. Silent for now, at any rate.”

“Why did you send for me tonight then?” Flash asked him. “You really haven’t anything to tell me.”

“I believe in meeting a man face to face.” With his free hand, he gestured at the blank walls. “Despite all the electronic means of communication I’ve got, Gordon, I’m still old-fashioned enough to like to look a man in the eye.” He paused to sip again at his brandy. “I must admit also that I’ve heard a good deal about you, Gordon, about your—what shall I call them?—exploits. The things you’ve done on Earth, on Mongo, and all throughout this infinite universe of ours. As an erstwhile man of action myself, I admire you.”

Flash said, “Okay, thanks. But I wish you’d give me some facts instead of admiration.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” replied Minnig. “Perhaps, when I’ve done a little more thinking, a little more cautious digging, I will have something to tell you.”

“Meanwhile, more buildings may collapse, more people die.”

“I fully realize that, Gordon. But I don’t want to accuse anyone falsely, even when there’s ample reason for expediency.”

Flash watched the minister’s face for a moment, then shrugged. “All right. If you decide you have something to tell, let us know.” He moved toward the closed door.

“No need to leave so soon, Gordon,” said Minnig from his chair. “There are many other things we can discuss beside this terrible sound plague.”

“Maybe some other evening,” said Flash. “Dr. Zarkov’s over at his new lab, and I may as well give him a hand there tonight, since nothing’s come of this meeting.” He didn’t see any way to open the door.

“I really wish . . .”

The door opened and the lovely blonde girl was standing in the corridor. “Don’t keep Mr. Gordon from more important matters, father.”

Minnig said, “Yes, you’re right of course, Glenna. As you say, Gordon, we must get together some other evening.”

“You don’t have to commit yourself now, Mr. Gordon.” She reached across the threshold and took his hand. Her fingertips were very warm. “I’ll show you to the door.”

“Good night, Minister Minnig.” Flash left the room.

“Thank you for coming,” called the minister as the room closed him in.

“N
ot much of a night for that, is it, sir?” asked the pilot.

“Walking is something you can do in any kind of weather,” answered Flash.

“As you wish, sir.” He guided the aircar down through the intricacy of ramps, setting it down beside a large artificial lake. “And a pleasant evening to you.”

“Thanks,” Flash said to Minister Mining’s pilot as he jumped from the hovering vehicle.

Flash had asked the man to let him off some distance from Zarkov’s lab. His recent interview with the reluctant cabinet member was puzzling him. He wanted to walk and think about it.

The aircar rose up and away with a wooshing sound.

Flash strolled down to the artificial gravel path which circled the misty lake. “Something about that chat with Minnig wasn’t quite right,” he said to himself. “Maybe a jog will clear my fuzzy thoughts up.”

There was no one on the path at this hour. Flash commenced running. The entire path was three miles in length. He finished that in seventeen minutes, not winded at all.

“But I still can’t put my finger on what’s bothering me.” He shook his head, then started for Zarkov’s lab, which was roughly a mile to the north of the lake.

He was still a good block from the building when something hissed at him from behind an artificial tree. Flash kept walking.

“Flash,” called a voice.

It was Dr. Zarkov standing behind the tree. “Zarkov?” Flash said as he moved back to him.

“Didn’t you hear me hiss at you?”

“I thought maybe this fake tree had sprung a leak,” he said. “What’s the purpose of all this skulking round?”

“Even with my gift for concise explanation, Flash, I can’t fill you in completely now.” Zarkov put his hand on Flash’s shoulder. “There’s no time. The Territorial Investigation Department boys are already enroute to my lab. I snuck out to tell you to use the side entrance. Then get into that big cabinet in the hangar room. I’ll take care of a few other little details after you do that. Come on.”

“Wait, Doc,” said Flash. “Why am I being so cautious?”

“Because you’re wanted for murder,” Zarkov told him.

Inspector Carr was a tall green man of about fifty, very trim and straight. He wore a three-piece metallic suit and a vinyl cloak. Hands behind his back, he strode through the huge hangar which adjoined Zarkov’s work lab. The floating globes of light made his suit glitter. “This is a very unfortunate business, Doctor,” he said, bending to look beneath the olive-green aircruiser which rested in this half of the hangar. “I know you are giving a good deal of time and effort to helping our government find the source of this sound plague.” He looked up at the burly, bearded doctor. “Any luck on that, by the way?”

Dr. Zarkov slapped a big hand against the side of the long needle-nosed ship. “I’m adapting this baby, with a whole caboodle of special sound-detecting gear, to go find the fellow behind the trouble,” he said. Now that he was not being cautious his voice again boomed. “We’ll find him.”

“When you say ‘we,’ are you referring to Flash Gordon and yourself?”

“Flash was due to pilot the ship,” bellowed the doctor. “But now, Zarkov must make other arrangements.”

“It’s all highly curious . . . oh, forgive me. I believe that’s Constable Briney at the hangar door with the dogs.”

“Dogs? You plan to drag a gaggle of yapping hounds into my bailiwick?”

“Actually these are robot dogs, Doctor,” explained the police inspector while crossing the hangar to let in his associate. “The commissioner authorized their purchase only last month. He’s quite anxious that we use them every opportunity we get. They cost nearly fifty thousand dollars each.”

He touched the door release and the door went rattling up. Constable Briney was a large round man, pink in color. The pair of robot dogs were chrome-plated, highly stylized versions of flesh and blood dogs.

“Fifty thou?” shouted Zarkov. “I could whip up a dog like that for five. You guys were taken, Inspector.”

“They’re full of delicate equipment.” Constable Briney knelt, flicked a switch on the neck of each of the robot dogs. “Especially good at sniffing out fugitives.”

“Maybe six thou tops,” said Zarkov, “with all the sensitive equipment stuffed in them you’ll ever need. Plus a much more functional, and attractive nose than that plastic atrocity. For another two thousand, I could even rig them up to talk and play the piano.”

“We’ve no need of such accomplishments at the TTD,” said Inspector Carr.

The two mechanical hounds, making growling and ticking noises, began sniffing their way around the big hangar.

The inspector watched them for a moment, then said to Zarkov, “Perhaps you can give me some notion of what Gordon’s motive might have been?”

“He didn’t have a motive,” answered Zarkov in an exceptionally, even for him, loud voice. “For the simple reason that he didn’t kill anybody.”

“Ah, now, Doctor,” said Briney. “That won’t wash, won’t wash at all. This fellow Flash Gordon was seen arriving at Minister Minnig’s house this evening. Two of the poor late minister’s human servants will swear they saw Flash Gordon enter the house, go into Minnig’s study and, before the door was even closed, shoot the poor man down with a blaster pistol.”

“Hearsay,” said Zarkov, tugging at his beard.

The robot dogs were nearing the cabinet Flash had stepped into to hide.

“We have much more to go on than that,” added Inspector Carr. “The minister’s security system filmed the whole incident. I am in a position to tell you, Dr. Zarkov, that I have viewed the films myself. They dearly show, beyond any possibility of doubt, Flash Gordon enter the house, walk down the hallway, and into the study.” He tapped his green finger beneath his left eye. “I saw Flash Gordon gun down Minister Minnig.”

“Trick photography,” said the doctor.

The first mechanical hound hesitated before the cabinet door, then moved on. His partner trotted after him.

“The films have not been tampered with in any way,” the inspector assured Zarkov.

Constable Briney began chuckling. “We also have a trump card,” he said. “We have Mr. Flash Gordon’s fingerprints on the weapon.”

“It’s a big universe,” bellowed Dr. Zarkov. “It’s possible for two men to have the same prints.”

“Possible, but highly unlikely.” Inspector Carr shrugged. I’m afraid we have an airtight case against Gordon. The only thing which puzzles me is—why? What was his motive?”

“Strain,” suggested the constable. “All this limelight, being what you might call a celebrity. It’s a strain on a man. I recall a few years back we had a vice president who . . .”

“Baloney,” said Zarkov.

Briney blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t quite comprehend your meaning.”

“I refrain from using a more explicit term.”

“Our trackers seem to wish to go into your laboratory for a look around,” noticed the inspector.

“All right, they can go in there. Just so they don’t chew anything up, or lift their legs.”

“They’re not programmed to do anything like that,” said Briney, trotting over to let the mechanical dogs into the lab.

Inspector Carr resumed his walk around the hangar. He halted in front of the cabinet door. “Constable Briney has a bit more faith in those things than I do,” he said. “I always prefer to poke about a good deal myself.” He took hold of the handle and tugged the door open.

The cabinet was empty.

Z
arkov watched the police vanish in the fog, robot dogs at their heels. He stepped back, allowed the hangar doors to close themselves. Then he returned to the cabinet and pulled open the door. He pressed a spot on the floor, which caused a part of the rear wall to slide aside. “Damn good thing I had the foresight to make some improvements in this barn,” he said.

Flash stepped out of the hidden compartment. “This trip to Pandor was supposed to be a vacation,” be said. “Now I’m a fugitive from justice.”

“Baloney, as I pointed out to the constable,” said the bearded doctor. “I know you didn’t murder anybody. Did you?”

Laughing, Flash answered, “No, Doc.”

“Was Minister Minnig alive when you got there?”

“Yes, and when I left,” said Flash. “I don’t know why his daughter didn’t tell the police that.”

Zarkov’s bristly black eyebrows shot up. “What daughter?”

“Minnig’s daughter, pretty girl with platinum-colored hair.”

“Minnig’s a bachelor,” Zarkov told him.