Flash Gordon 2 - The Plague of Sound Read online

  THE PLAGUE OF SOUND

  A SPACESHIP CAPTURED in a magnetic field and pulled beneath the earth into an underground city, FLASH GORDON jumps to safety only to be caught in the web of a giant man-eating spider, then saved by a titian haired beauty.

  Pan, a madman musician, seeks to rule a planet by the shattering effects of ultra-high frequency sound.

  Romance, spine tingling adventure, the sciences of the future, all combine to make THE PLAGUE OF SOUND a book you won't put down.

  OTHER FLASH GORDON ADVENTURES

  from Avon Books

  #1 The Lion Men of Mongo

  #2 The Plague of Sound

  #3 The Space Circus

  #4 The Time Trap of Ming XIII

  #5 The Witch Queen of Mongo

  #6 The War of the Cybernauts

  THE PLAGUE OF SOUND is an original publication of Avon Books. This work has never before appeared in book form.

  AVON BOOKS

  A division of The Hearst Corporation

  959 Eighth Avenue

  New York, New York 10019

  Copyright © 1974 by King Features Syndicate, Inc.

  Co-published by Avon Books and King Features Syndicate, Inc.

  ISBN: 0-380-00014-8

  Cover art by George Wilson

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Avon Books.

  First Avon Printing, January 1974

  Printed in U.S.A

  THE PLAGUE

  OF SOUND

  CHAPTER 1

  It was a clear black night and they were several million miles from home.

  Their aircar came drifting down through the night sky to land at the edge of the vast mall in the center of the capital city of Estampa Territory. The two square miles of plaza were paved with squares of sea-green tile. Globes of orange light floated above the mall at varying heights—five, ten, fifteen feet—bobbing in the warm breeze.

  Flash Gordon eased out of the landed aircar, then turned and held out his hand to Dale Arden. Flash was a tall, lithe, broad-shouldered man in his late twenties, blond, wearing a one-piece evening suit of the style currently popular in this part of the universe. Dale, a slim girl in her middle twenties with dark hair, wore a simple evening dress.

  “I’ll wait here for you,” said a metallic voice from inside their car.

  Dale laughed. “I still can’t get used to all the servomechs and gadgets here in Estampa,” she said as she took hold of Flash’s arm. “They’re more gadget-ridden than any place on Earth.”

  “One of the blessings of democracy,” said Flash. They started across the mall.

  Estampa Territory had, a little over two years ago, undergone a revolution. Now it was one of the few territories on the planet of Pandor which could boast of a true democracy. There were an elected president and vice president, a parliament, elected local governments, and a good deal more personal freedom than anywhere else on the planet. There was also considerably more technological progress. Too much, according to Dr. Zarkov. The three of them, Flash, Dale, and the bearded scientist, had come to Pandor three weeks ago. They had rented a large villa in the most fashionable part of the capital. The rent was amazingly low, mainly because the president and some of his cabinet were anxious to have a man of Zarkov’s abilities look over their country and advise them on the efficiency of the machines and processes they depended on. While the doctor did this, Flash and Dale explored the territory, its beaches and mountains. Tonight they were headed for a concert in the Municipal Hall.

  “I have my doubts about this concert tonight,” said Dale.

  A green-tinted man went by, recognized Flash, and nodded. “Saw your picture on my news wall,” he said. “Always been a great admirer of yours.” He walked on by.

  Flash said, “Hanging around with Zarkov is turning me into a celebrity.”

  “You’re much better known than he is.”

  Flash changed the subject. “I’ve never seen an opticoncert before,” he said. “I’m curious.”

  “I still prefer real musicians,” said the girl. “Just listening to tridimensional projections of musicians—well, that’s not my idea of music.”

  “Even if you don’t enjoy the concert, you can give Doc a full report on the technical end of it.”

  “Oh, he already knows all about how an opticoncert works,” Dale said, “without ever having seen one. He filled me in on it this afternoon, and also gave me some tips on how the whole process could be improved.”

  They reached the steps leading to the level of the hall they wanted. The steps carried Flash and Dale smoothly upward. A shining silver-plated robot greeted them, took their tickets, and guided them to their floating seats. The robot had a flashlight built into the tip of his right forefinger. “The concert will begin in 8.7 minutes,” the robot told them in a sedate whisper.

  The moment Dale sat down, a program popped out of a thin slot in the arm of her chair. She caught the rectangle of blue synthpaper and read it. “Looks like they’ve added Busino’s Planet Suite #3 to the program.”

  Flash set his program on his knee, watching the circular stage some fifty feet below. It was completely empty, except for a small black metal ball which stood on three legs at the edge of the stage. “We heard it on Jupiter once,” he said. “Very catchy”

  “I like Harrison’s Incomplete Symphony a good deal better, but they won’t be doing that until after the intermission.”

  The dome-shaped hall, which seated twenty-thousand people, was illuminated by dozens of globes of floating light. Gradually now the globes began to dim. When there was more darkness than light in the hall, the black metal ball made a clacking sound. Tiny beams of light suddenly shot out of it and all at once a full orchestra seemed to be sitting on the round white stage. Green-tinted musicians, pink-tinted musicians, all in one-piece evening suits. They were tuning up.

  The illusion impressed a good part of the large audience. There were thousands of appreciative inhalations of breath.

  The conductor, who appeared to be completely real though he was only a projection, tapped his baton.

  “All very convincing,” Dale said to Flash. “But I wonder if they can play.”

  She never found out.

  Instead of the light, opening strains of the Planet Suite, the hall was filled with a wave of dissonant sounds which smashed at the ears of the audience. The screeching, nerve-shattering noises apparently were coming from the musical instruments in the hands of the opticoncert musicians.

  All across the hall people were standing up, some with hands over their ears, others screaming and shouting. The terrifying sounds went on and on for long seconds. The light globes began to pop, scattering fragments of tinted plastiglass down on the crowd.

  “Flash,” cried Dale, “what is it?”

  It was the beginning of the plague of sound.

  CHAPTER 2

  The technician was also wearing an evening suit. He was a heavyset green man, with a scowling face, bent over the small control panel. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong,” he repeated.

  The small plastic control room was beneath the stage of the Municipal Hall. Five men were crowded in there with the technician. One of them was Flash, who had just entered. “You mean you don’t know what caused those sounds up there?”

  Not looking at him, the technician replied, “I keep telling everybody I had nothing to do with it.”

  A lean man with a shock of white hair turned toward Flash. “You’re Flash Gordon, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Gilfocks, the assistant manager of the hall,” the white-haired
man said. “There really doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with any of the opticoncert equipment. We had a matinee of this exact same concert this afternoon. It went perfectly.”

  “The second violin was off,” said a plump green man with a thick red beard.

  “Perhaps,” admitted Gilfocks. “Yet there was nothing like this assault on the ears which just occurred up there.”

  A forlorn man against the wall said, “I’d best start to see about the refunds. Everyone will want his money back now, and we’re sure to be sued by half the audience. One old dowager told me those sound waves cracked her false eyeball.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Gilfocks. “You get going. Try to get as many of them as possible to take rain checks.”

  “No one’s going to want to take another chance on this opticoncert,” said the forlorn man as he went shuffling out.

  Flash asked the assistant manager, “You didn’t expect anything like this?”

  “Obviously not. What do you mean?”

  “No threats? No blackmail attempts?”

  “Oh, I sea what you’re getting at. But, no, there’s been nothing like that, Mr. Gordon,” answered Gilfocks. “Since the revolution, things have been relatively peaceful in Estampa.”

  Nodding, Flash moved closer to the control panel.

  The green-colored technician glanced up. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong,” he said once more.

  After quickly cheeking the panel over, Flash had to agree with him.

  Dale took a tighter grip on Flash’s arm. “Do you mind if we walk home?” she asked as they let the ramp of the hall carry them down to the mall. “I don’t want to be inside anything for a while.”

  “We’ll walk,” said Flash. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” answered the girl. “But that music, or whatever it was, was painful. Not only that, there was something frightening about it.”

  “I noticed quite a few of the people around us reacted that way,” said Flash. “It’s a lucky thing there wasn’t more of a panic.”

  “If that music had gone on much longer, there would have been.” She looked up at his profile. “How did you feel, Flash?”

  “I apparently wasn’t affected the way you were, Dale. I felt more or less uncomfortable, but not frightened, not in pain.”

  They walked along a mosaic tile walkway. The night sky was turning slightly hazy but hundreds of stars still showed high above them. Somewhere, far beyond those stars, in another planet system entirely, was their home planet, Earth.

  “Zarkov will be interested in hearing about this,” said Dale.

  Flash didn’t answer. He was frowning.

  “What is it?” asked the girl.

  “I’ve got a hunch,” he said. “I’ve got a hunch what happened tonight isn’t going to be an isolated incident.”

  “It’s going to happen again, at other concerts, you mean?”

  “Maybe concerts, maybe anywhere,” Flash said. “It’s not over yet.”

  He was right.

  Dr. Zarkov was a huge man in his forties. He had a full shaggy beard, which gave the impression of a life of its own. He was working his rough fingers through the beard, pacing the room. “One of these gadgets they persist in cluttering their lives with actually served some useful purpose,” he was saying to Flash and Dale now in his loud booming voice.

  It was nearly midnight, and they were in the large living room of their rented villa.

  “So the trouble at the concert wasn’t the only outbreak of sound, huh?” Flash was sitting in a floating synthglass chair.

  “Not at all,” bellowed Zarkov. “As I say, a couple of their newsrobots happened to be at the scene and recorded what happened.” He strode over to the television wall, which held a six-foot-square viewing screen. “I taped the news reports as they came over. I’ll play them back for you with the sound off. No use giving Dale a headache.” He flipped the playback switch.

  A picture of a complex of dome-shaped factories blossomed on the big screen. Something was already obviously wrong. The buildings were quivering.

  Zarkov jabbed a finger at the television picture. “These old air-raid sirens, from pre-revolution days, were still in place. At 10:01 tonight they started shrieking. Watch what happened.”

  The factory buildings began to shake violently. Cracks appeared, zigzagging across the domed roofs. Soon the buildings were collapsing, breaking into enormous fragments.

  “That’s awful,” said Dale.

  Flash was sitting forward in his chair. “Like some terrific earthquake.”

  “You get the right vibrations going,” said Zarkov, switching the screen to black, “and you can destroy anything. That’s what sound is, vibrations.”

  “Like the old story about the opera singer shattering the wine glass with his voice.” said Dale.

  “Where were these factories?” asked Flash.

  After giving his beard a few violent tugs, Zarkov answered, “Five hundred miles to the north of here, coal and steel country.”

  “Were they working a night shift?”

  “Fortunately not tonight,” answered the doctor, “That kept the casualties down.”

  “But people were killed?” Flash stood. “We were fortunate then. Whoever’s behind this is apparently capable of tumbling down buildings like the Municipal Hall.”

  “The one other occurrence,” said Zarkov, “involved a cargo ship. It’s whistles started wailing, and the thing cracked in half. That was three hundred miles to the south of us.”

  Flash said, “Maybe they’re taking it easy on the capital.”

  “That occurred to me,” said Dr. Zarkov.

  “Have you talked to President Bentancourt?”

  “He called me about an hour ago. Professes to be completely puzzled by the whole damn business,” boomed Zarkov. “Asked me if I thought this would happen again.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him,” said Zarkov, “it sure as hell would.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Two days later, Dr. Zarkov acquired a laboratory and workshops. They were located some five miles across town from their villa.

  “That goes in the other room, nitwit,” Zarkov was bellowing at a robot when Flash and Dale arrived a little before midday. The scientist was standing in the exact center of an empty hangar, hands on hips, superintending the unloading of equipment and supplies from three hovervans. “And you, you clunky bag of bolts, don’t you know what This End Up MEANS?”

  “I’m not a robot, sir,” replied the gray-complected man who was struggling with a heavy crate. “It’s merely that I happen to have a sallow complexion, which people often . . .”

  “Never mind, never mind.” Zarkov turned to shake hands with Flash and hug Dale. “All things considered, it’s going very well. I should be at work by nightfall.”

  Dale spun around slowly, once, taking in all that was going on in the hangar. A dozen robots, or rather eleven robots and the sallow-faced foreman, were carrying in crates and cartons. “So President Bentancourt agreed with your opinion of the sound-wave problem?” she asked.

  “He agreed with my view of the best solution,” said the doctor. “Which is to allow Zarkov’s intellect to wrestle with the problem.” He put a big knobby hand on Flash’s shoulder. “Do you realize that not one blasted lab in the whole damn territory has been able to get a fix on the source of this sound plague? Not even the Interferometry Center, and they plunked down over two million dollars for that joint.”

  Flash turned to watch a long sharp-nosed aircruiser being wheeled into the hangar by five green men in overalls. “What’s the airship for, Doc?”

  “More than one way to skin a cat,” boomed Dr. Zarkov, “as they are so fond of saying on Venus. Look at all the oily fingerprints on the cockpit windows.” He started toward the aircruiser. “Hey, you louts, don’t you own work gloves?”

  In the two days since the first attacks of the sound plague, ten more disasters had occurred.
A rush-hour train on the newly installed electromagnetic railroad system had started shrieking a few minutes out of the Southport station. The increasing sounds shook the train cars until they cracked and split open, and then sprawled and crashed off the rails. One hundred and six morning commuters had died. Out on the Territorial Thruway, three giant landtrucks hauling fuel had begun vibrating and then exploded, spewing black smoke and throwing shards of jagged metal high into the afternoon air. Landcars, aircruisers, and an experimental. submarine were similarly destroyed.

  No government or private technical facility had so far been able to find out what was causing the plague of sound. There were numerous explanations, none of them based on any hard information.

  Rapidly, panic spread throughout the territory. The strange waves of sound which could vibrate huge buildings into rubble, could fling trains off their tracks, were disrupting the patterns of life in Estampa.

  Late the day before, Dr. Zarkov had phoned the president and suggested, at the top of his voice, that he’d like a lab and workshop of his own. President Bentancourt offered a nearby college facility, but Zarkov turned it down. He wanted things set up his way, his way exactly. The president complied.

  Now Zarkov was circling the airship, wiping at the smudges on it with a plastic chamois. “I should have the entire problem solved in under a week,” he told Flash. “If we were on Earth, I could lick it in three days at most.”

  “You have an idea what’s behind all this?”

  “I have six dozen and one ideas,” responded the doctor. “Eliminating the lousy ones, following up on the good ones—that’s what’s going to fill the time.”

  Nodding at the aircruiser, Flash said, “I’d like to pilot it.”

  “That’s exactly what I had in mind,” said Zarkov. “If I don’t track down our sound man by the end of the week from here, then you’ll do a little roadwork.”

  Three days later, the president called an emergency meeting of his cabinet and the top military leaders of Estampa Territory, Flash and Dr. Zarkov were also invited.