Flash Gordon 3 - The Space Circus (10 page)

Huk’s wings extended once, flapped, then folded in on themselves. “Let’s agree right now how many more hours we’re going to keep on tonight.”

“What is there to agree on?” said Mallox. “We keep going till we find these little blue devils, or whatever they are.”

“No, we have to stop and rest sometime,” said Huk.

The strongman gave an impatient grunt before saying, “Very well. Whenever you two get tired, tell me and we’ll make our camp for the night.”

When Sixy finished eating, the three of them moved on. A heavy murky dark filled the jungle now.

“We could use a couple of these fireflies,” said Sixy. “Too bad they deserted us.”

They had been traveling under an hour when they heard something up ahead.

“Somebody’s shouting,” said Huk.

“It sounds like Booker,” said the strongman.

“Yes, it is Booker,” agreed Sixy.

As they moved slowly forward, the voice became clear. “Help me! Please, somebody help me!” Booker was shouting in the dark. “Help me. Is there anybody around to help me? Please, they left me in this quicksand to die. Please, somebody come and help me. I’m going to die this way.”

“There he is,” said Mallox.

Fifty yards to the right was a wide dark place in the jungle floor. A few of the giant fireflies were circling the spot, illuminating the struggling Booker. He was up to his waist in the thick, sucking ground.

“I don’t want to die here in this,” he shouted. “It’s not fair. Help me—somebody come and help me!”

Eyes narrowed, Mallox glanced quickly all around. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth. “Stop thrashing about, you fool. Keep still and we’ll save you.”

“What took you so long to get to me?” called Booker when he realized who it was. “Those guys left me here to die when I accidentally fell in. They didn’t even think I was worth saving. Please, get me out of this stuff.”

“Quiet down,” the strongman told him.

Carefully, the three men began to make their way to Booker.

But they never reached him. Seventy feet from the pit of quicksand, the earth beneath them suddenly opened up. They fell down into a square deep hole.

“A trap,” said Sixy as he hit the ground hard.

T
he man nearest Flash was thickset with a red beard. He wore a tunic and trousers of jungle green and had pouches and rucksacks, gunbelts, and bandoliers strapped to him. His eyes were partly closed and red-rimmed. “Well, well,” he said, “no slaves this trip, eh, my friends? That’s sad, that’s unfortunate.” He held a black blaster pistol aimed at Flash’s chest.

The three blue men in the party all grinned.

The fifth man was small and old, with feathery white hair swirling around his head. He was dressed in a tatered dark cloak. A thin arm protruded from a slit in the cloak. The old man’s weapon was a stungun. “That’s unfortunate,” he said.

“I fear,” continued the bearded man, “that we’re going to have to put you lads out of business for good and all.”

“We’re not slavers,” Flash told him.

“Not slavers,” echoed the old man.

“Perhaps you are tourists then? Nature lovers who’ve come here on a pilgrimage to study our wildlife.”

The three blue men grinned more broadly.

Flash looked from one man to another for a moment. “We’re runaways,” he said. “We escaped from a wrecked train yesterday.”

“We’d been slaves,” added Jape, “in Barko’s circus.”

One of the blue men tapped the red-haired man on the arm, then gestured at the radio. He nodded his round head up and down.

“Yes,” said the red-bearded man, “we heard about the wreck.” His left eye was nearly closed. “Why are you here?”

“Right now,” explained Flash, “we’re trailing a gang of real slavers who carried off one of our friends.”

The bearded man unsnapped a pouch which hung at his hip. He drew a short-bladed knife out with his free hand. From a sack on his back, he pulled a chunk of black bread. Dropping his pistol into a holster, he cut himself a slice of bread. He took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. “How many of you escaped?”

“Seven,” replied Flash.

“And were all but you two carried off?”

“No,” said Jape, “only two. We separated some hours ago, since the slavers seemed to have carried one of our friends in this direction and the other in another.”

“Tell me about the one,” the red-bearded man said as he chewed, “you’re looking for.”

“A girl,” said Flash. “A blonde girl in her twenties. At least two slavers are with her.”

“A girl,” said the old man.

The bearded man cut another slice of bread. He held it out to Flash. “Are you hungry?”

“No, we have rations.”

The old man reached another hand out of his cloak and grabbed the slice of bread.

“I’m Hopp,” said the red-bearded man. “Your story sounds true.”

“Flash Gordon,” said Flash. “And this is Jape.”

Hopp nodded. “It’s a bad sign if they brought the girl this way,” he said. “The slave markets that sell women are not pleasant places.”

“Not pleasant,” said the old man as he took a bite of the bread.

“How far away is the nearest market?” asked Flash.

“A hundred miles to the south from here,” answered Hopp. “It lies in a disreputable settlement on the river.” From another pouch he pulled out a blotched, folded wad of paper. “I have a rough map of the countryside hereabouts. I’ll show you.”

One of the blue men came up to Jape, tapped on the radio, and then the earphones.

“You’re welcome to listen,” said Jape, handing him the earphones.

“Despite the impression you may have gotten while you were in captivity,” said Hopp to the four-armed man, “the blue people can understand us. It takes some effort and patience. The masters are not willing to go to any trouble to communicate with their slaves.”

“You appear to be friends with these men,” said Flash.

“Everyone on Mesmo does not go along with the present government, with the policy of capturing slaves from other planets,” said Hopp. “Blue men with such opinions find they cannot live comfortably among their own kind any longer. So, rather than going to prison or to the slave markets themselves, they leave the cities and the towns. We have many blue people living in our jungle.”

“You’re from where?” asked Flash.

“Grew up on Mars,” said Hopp. “Worked a few years on Venus, then bummed around several planet systems. I was on Anmar when these slavers got hold of me.”

“How long have you been on Mesmo?”

“Five years. I escaped nearly three years ago from a cattle ranch where they had me working.”

“And how many others live in the jungles?”

“Hundreds,” answered Hopp. “Our group has about fifty members. We break into smaller groups within the big one. I lead a band of ten, usually. My other men are off hunting right now.” He unlaced a sack hanging from his other hip and took a flask out of it. “Drink?”

“No, thanks.”

After taking a long pull on the flask, the red-haired man said, “Never been able to shake the habit. And the liquor on Mesmo is awful, too.” He took another gulp, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“You’ve lived in the jungle three years,” said Flash. “Have you ever tried to get off the planet?”

“Off the planet,” said the old man, chuckling dryly.

“It’s next to impossible,” said Hopp. “That’s why old Abel here is laughing. The spaceports are guarded incredibly well.”

“With a hundred men,” said Flash, “I’d think you could take over a port.”

“Perhaps,” said Hopp. “You’ll have to realize that not everyone wants to go home, Flash.” He dropped the flask back into its sack. “No, not everyone is nostalgic for his home planet. Some of the men, and the women, too, who’ve been brought here by the blue men didn’t amount to much where they came from. You see, it’s often easier for the slavers to kidnap someone who’s alone in some out-of-the-way place. That’s why a good many of the slaves and the runaways are people without much family waiting for them on some other planet.”

Flash said, “I see. And I suppose a lot of them are doing pretty well in the local slave racket.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Hopp. “The life in the jungle isn’t that bad. There are dangers, as you just found out in your encounter with the vampire bats, but it’s a better life than that of a slave.” He reached into another pouch and took out a wedge of green cheese. “Another thing you have to realize is that many people, slaves or not, don’t have much ambition. So they’re as happy here as they were on their own planet.”

“I want,” said Flash, “to get off Mesmo.”

“Yes, I guessed that.”

“Can you help us?”

After slicing off a large chunk of the cheese, Hopp said, “Well, my friend, I can give you a copy of one of my homemade maps, showing you where the nearest spaceport is.” He took a few bites of the cheese. “Beyond that, I can’t give you any men. You see, we’ve been over these matters many times and there just isn’t enough enthusiasm for attempting a full-scale raid.”

“What about you?”

Hopp’s thick red eyebrows rose and fell. “Huh,” he said. “I haven’t thought about that. You mean, would I like to come along with you when you try to capture a spacecraft?”

“There are other ways beside force and numbers to take over a field,” said Flash. “Yes, I’m asking if you want to try to get off Mesmo. Talking to you, I get the feeling you’re not as satisfied with living here the rest of your life as some of the others.”

“It’s something to think about, my friend.”

“Something to think about,” said the old man.

H
uk tried to fly free.

But they were ready for that.

As the hawkman came flapping up out of the trap, they threw a weighted net over him. Huk struggled, twisted, fought against the net. It was no use. He was pulled back down to the ground.

He thrashed around, still trying to fight free. They hit him across the back of his skull. His wings fluttered once, his body twitched, and then the hawkman collapsed into unconsciousness.

Sixy, down in the earthen hole, made no attempt to climb out. His right leg had twisted under him when he hit and his ankle was badly sprained.

Mallox roared and bellowed. His big hands clawed into the dirt wall of the freshly dug pit. He climbed up out of the ground.

“Stay right where you are, big fellow!” ordered the large yellow-haired man who faced the giant. He held a blaster pistol in his hand.

“I don’t take orders from the likes of you.”

The strongman hurled himself through the air and hit the other man hard in the stomach with his shoulder.

The pistol fired. It had been knocked back and was aimed straight up. Burned leaves, ashes, and soot came falling down to splash on the two big struggling men.

“I did my part,” said Booker. “Get me out of here now.”

The two shaggy blue men who’d netted Huk paid no attention to Booker. They cautiously circled the fighting men, each holding a stungun.

“You won’t,” panted Mallox, “be able to hold out much longer against me.”

“I can handle two like you, big fellow,” grunted the other. He drove two harsh blows into the giant’s chest.

It took a little of the wind out of Mallox. He took a surprised step back. Then he dived forward again, head low, and butted his opponent in the lower abdomen.

The man’s long yellow hair flapped. He staggered, one knee dipping toward the ground.

“Stop watching that fight,” said Booker. “Get me out of here. I could really sink in this stuff, you know.”

While the light-haired man was still off-balance, Mallox hit him full on the chin.

The big man stumbled, swayed far to the left, and then toppled over into the hole.

“Just what you deserve,” the strongman shouted after him. “Now for you little blue dev—”

They made no attempt to fight him hand to hand. The two blue men fired their stunguns at Mallox.

He froze, hands reaching for them.

“Okay, you fixed him good,” said Booker. “Get me out of this muck, will you?”

The blue men went instead to the edge of the hole. One uncoiled a rope which hung at his wide belt.

“He’s in no condition to grab hold of that rope,” said Sixy from down below. “Your big friend is out cold.”

The blue man swung the rope in Sixy’s direction, motioning him to take hold.

Sixy climbed up. “I’m a little surprised at you, Booker,” he said when he was on solid ground. “Playing along with these slavers or whatever they are.”

“What kind of choice you think I had?” asked Booker. “They made me do it, said they’d kill me if I didn’t. I had to! Didn’t make no sense to risk my life, since it wouldn’t’ve helped you guys any.”

Sixy massaged his sprained ankle with the toes of his other foot. “What do these fellows plan to do with you—with us?”

“Same thing everybody does with us,” answered the black man. “Sell us.”

C
aptain Suell of the Mesmo National Militia was standing stiffly beside one of his ground tanks, a cup of herb tea in one gloved hand. He was admiring the way the barrels of the mounted blaster cannons sparkled in the light of the aircruiser that was hovering above.

The belly of the cruiser flapped open; a large crate was lowered.

“Let’s handle that as gently as we can,” projected the blue captain to the militiamen who caught the case and eased it to the ground at the edge of the night forest.

“Sir.”

Suell turned to the lieutenant who had come up behind him. “What is it, Padd?”

“One of the patrols scouring the woods came across a trapper who had an interesting story.”

“I’m not interested in stories, Padd. What I want are facts,” thought the captain. “It’s incredible to me that these beasts could stay at large as long as they have. I’ve come out to this godforsaken wilderness to personally supervise the hunt. I don’t have time for tall tales.”

“This man captured the runaways, sir.”

Captain Suell allowed his eyebrows to rise a fraction. “Did he now? What, please tell me, has he done with them?”

“He says they turned the tables on him,” said Padd, “and escaped again.”