Flash Gordon 3 - The Space Circus

THE SPACE CIRCUS

THE SPACE CIRCUS
is the third in the series of fabulous novels inspired by the world famous comic strip
FLASH GORDON
, read daily and Sunday by millions of fans throughout the world.

Kidnapped, auctioned, forced to perform as a trapeze artist in a circus of slaves, Flash foils his evil blue captors and, with the help of Dr. Zarkov and Dale, escapes the planet Mesmo, and then dispatches an expedition to end forever the tyranny of that planet.

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 SPACE CIRCUS 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: 0-380-00064-4
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, July 1974

Printed in U.S.A

THE SPACE
CIRCUS

“T
here’s no such thing as an unidentified flying object,” boomed big, bearded Dr. Zarkov as he circled the large living room.

“You figure,” asked Flash Gordon, “that all the mysteries of the universe can be solved?” He was sitting on a wide pseudo-leather couch, his back to the large window which showed the night desert outside.

“If everyone were as bright as Dr. Zarkov . . .” said Dale Arden. She was a slim dark-haired girl, seated in a crimson wing chair.

“That’s exactly the point I was leading up to,” said the doctor in his resounding voice. “In this day and age, when we can hop, skip, and jump from planet to planet, from planet system to planet system, there’s no need to be puzzled by some nitwit spacecraft.”

“Maybe they’re not spacecraft, Doc,” said Flash. He was a wide-shouldered blond man, nearly thirty.

Zarkov strode to the window and jabbed a finger at the darkness outside. “A few hours in my lab over there,” he said, “and I’d have the whole problem cleared up.”

“Maybe that’s what Agent Cox of EII wants to talk to me about,” suggested Flash.

“If Earth Interstellar Intelligence wanted Zarkov, they’d ask Zarkov directly,” Dr. Zarkov bellowed.

“You probably awe them so much they’re afraid to approach you directly,” said Dale. “Or maybe they don’t know you’re back on Earth. You’re something of a gadfly.”

“You mean gadabout,” corrected Zarkov. “A gadfly is someone who makes a nuisance of himself.” He snorted and commenced pacing around the room again.

The three of them had returned to Earth from the distant planet of Pandor a little over two weeks earlier. They were all staying at the home and laboratory which Zarkov maintained in the Southwest desert country of the United States. Earlier that day, Agent Cox of the Interstellar Intelligence organization had phoned Flash and asked him to meet him late that evening in a town some seventy miles to the south.

“Cox won’t mind,” said Flash, “if you come along with me, Doc.”

Zarkov snorted once more. “I don’t crash parties I’m not invited to.” He stopped near the squat square robot bar in the corner of the living room.

“Drink, sir?” asked the voice box of the servomechanism.

“Nitwit,” muttered Zarkov.

The bar hummed for several seconds. “Don’t seem to have that one in the old memory banks, sir. How do you mix it?”

“I don’t know why I allow these gadgets in here,” said Zarkov as he strode away. “I suppose it’s because I’m a thoughtful host. Lots of good that does. EII doesn’t even invite me to their get-togethers any more.”

“This isn’t a party,” said Flash, grinning. “Cox, as I understand it, just wants to talk over the odd craft which have been sighted in this area over the past few days.”

“After all,” Dale said to Zarkov, “I’m not going along either.”

The doctor tangled his large fingers in his beard, tugging at it. “Considering all the tax money that gets poured into our security system, they should be able to detect and identify a few space crates.”

“You know how the game’s played, Doc,” said Flash. “Every time we come up with a new detecting device, somebody else comes up with a new way to outwit it.”

“Nobody outwits Zarkov,” said Zarkov. “I ought to spend more time here on Earth. The United Nations and the League of Solar Planets don’t seem to know which end is up half the time.”

“Speaking of time”—Flash glanced up at the large round multifaced clock floating up near the room’s ceiling—“I’d better take off for my meeting.”

“If you’re going to fly,” said Dale, “you’ve still got some time.”

“A pleasant clear spring night,” said Flash as he rose, “I think I’d rather drive over there in a landcar.”

The girl stood up, too, moving to him. “I’ll wait up.”

Flash put his hands on her slim shoulders. He kissed her once. “If you get tired of waiting, at least keep a light burning in the window.”

Neither of them had any premonition of what was going to happen.

T
he night was chill and black, incredibly clear. Flash felt as though he had the entire desert to himself as his sleek black landcar sped along the wide road. There were no other cars on this stretch of highway, nor houses anywhere around. Stars filled the sharp black sky with specks of bright white light. There was not even one sky cruiser anywhere above. Low, rocky hills trimmed the sky. Beside the straight black road stood tall cacti, shaggy joshua trees. The bent-elbow branches of the trees bobbed in the chill night wind.

Funny, thought Flash, I’m used to being on my own in all kinds of isolated and desolate spots, but tonight I sort of wish I had some company on this little jaunt to meet Agent Cox.

After a few minutes more of driving, Flash thought, maybe a bit of noise from the outside world will cheer me up. He reached out and punched the radio button.

Nothing happened.

Flash gave the button another push with his fingertip.

Nothing happened.

Wait till I tell Zarkov about this, he mused. Letting the radio in his car break down.

Up above a low stone mesa, a flat circular spacecraft suddenly appeared. It glowed in the darkness—an intensely bright pale-yellow light flooded the area around Flash’s landcar.

Squinting, Flash put one hand up to shield his eyes. “Can’t see the road at all,” he said aloud. He slowed down, knowing the road was still straight and even ahead.

An odd humming began . . . it was outside, inside. The frame of the car vibrated with it.

“I wonder if that’s one of Cox’s mysterious ships up there,” Flash muttered. He slowed the landcar even more, creeping along. “Might as well stop.”

Through the yellow glare above him, he noticed that a panel had slid open in the underside of the strange ship and an enormous metal-jawed claw was being lowered toward his car. “Don’t like the looks of that,” said Flash. “Makes me feel like the prize in somebody’s penny arcade.” He checked out the roadway and the surrounding countryside as best he could in the blinding glare. Then he swung the wheel, tromping down on the accelerator.

The landcar shot off the road and bumped over gritty ground.

The circular spacecraft stayed with him, about thirty feet above. The glaring lights continued to burn down.

This isn’t going to work for long, Flash thought as he zigzagged the car across the desert. I’m liable to smash into one of these joshua trees before those boys up there get tired of fishing for me.

His engine suddenly stopped; the car rolled on, moving slower and slower.

The jaws of the hovering claw closed on his car with a rasping
thunk.
Then Flash and the car were jerked off the ground. Flash pulled on the door release, throwing his shoulder against it, but nothing happened.

The claw pulled his landcar up inside the ship, then dropped it down with a quivering thud on the metallic floor of a large empty room.

Flash hit the door again. This time it opened. He jumped free of the car and made a dive for the opening through which he’d been pulled. The panel shut an instant before he reached it.

There was no way to pry the panel open. And now, Flash realized, the ship was rapidly rising. Even if he managed to get out through the opening, he might be thousands of feet up in the air by then.

He stood up, hands on hips, and surveyed the metal room in which he was now a prisoner. It was large and rectangular, constructed of metal panels about two feet square. Flash went to the nearest wall and rubbed his fingertips over the surface. Haven’t seen an alloy like this before, he thought. I wonder what planet system these fellows hail from.

He made a slow circuit of his prison. There was nothing that looked like a door, or a possible way out, in any of the walls. Flash looked up at the ceiling. “Might be another sliding panel up there,” he whispered.

He walked over to his captured car, then looked upward again. Even standing on top of it, he wouldn’t be able to reach the metal ceiling. Anyway, that wouldn’t get me out of here, he speculated. Only closer to the lads who grabbed me.

He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Okay, I’m here,” he called out. “Now what?”

Only silence answered his question.

Since he’d returned to Earth and to America, where he felt relatively safe, Flash had ceased to carry any weapons. There was nothing in the car either, except a tool kit.

Flash returned casually to the vicinity of the landcar. He reached out for the trunk compartment.

Something sizzled up above. The entire rear of the vehicle glowed a flickering blue.

Flash withdrew his hand and moved back from the car.

It continued to glow for another five minutes.