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From: MelLin6695@aol.com
Subject: New TG - Waldo - Flash Gordon - Part 1 of 10
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Flash
By Waldo (mellin6695.aol.com)
Warning - Flash Gordon, Dale, Zarkov, Ming and the planet
Mongo don't belong to me, but were borrowed for this parody. If
you're not an adult, don't read any further. This story may be
posted on web sites that offer free distribution of stories to the
general public. Just drop me an e-mail telling me where it's
posted and I'll be happy.
Chapter 1 - The rescue
The space radio broadcast crackled and popped as the distant
transmission barely reached the rocket base's main radio room.
The radio operator put on a large set of earphone to block out
other noise so that he could concentrate on hearing the faint
broadcast. After two minutes of intently listening, he
determined that the broadcast was a repeated automated
emergency broadcast. He processed the recorded broadcast
through the signal amplification equipment to strengthen the
broadcast. That likewise removed most of the noise. He
listened to the amplified broadcast to verify his original
assumptions, before he activated the Intercom to the rocket
base's Management Control Room. "Radio room Operator
Wilson to Captain Browning. Please come to the radio room."
After he got a short acknowledgement that the Captain was on
the way to the radio room, the operator replayed the tape of the
amplified signal. He was just finished listening to the short
broadcast when Captain Browning entered the room, asking in
his high peek-squeak voice "What's the problem, Wilson?"
Although the Operator wanted to laugh every time that he heard
the high pitched falsetto voice coming from the big bear of a
man; the operator knew that the Captain's beard hid the scars
on his neck where a Validian laser blast had almost cut his
head off, thus the unrealistic voice. Pointing to a spare set of
earphones, he responded "Just got a faint call. It's on one of
those secret frequencies that Earth asked us to monitor without
telling us why we should be monitoring it."
"I see. Well, let's listen to it."
The Captain removed his black beret, revealing the bald spot
where the Tijeacr's slap with its razor sharp claws had removed
part of his scalp down to the bone. Putting the earphones on,
the Captain nodded for the radio operator to start the recording.
The amplifier removed most of the popping and crackling
resulting in an amplified voice so that the distant broadcast was
somewhat understandable. The Captain shut his eyes as he
listened to the recorded broadcast "Space Vehicle Tiara to
Earth. Space Vehicle Tiara to Earth. Emergency. A meteor has
damaged the ship. Captain Walken and twenty-three of the crew
are dead. Only I, Corporal Joseph Hurley, the Vehicle's Cook,
survived the impact. I'm temporary safe in the kitchen because
I've got all the food and water that I need and the air locks are
holding. But everyone else is dead. I don't know how long the
batteries will last to provide breathable air and heat. This
unsteerable vehicle is drifting in the dead of space. Request
immediate rescue. This message will repeat every two minutes
for as long as the batteries hold out."
Jerking his earphones off and throwing them hard against the
radio room's wall, the Captain's angry voice sounded somewhat
like Donald Duck's angry voice as he rapidly yelled "Walken's
dead. One of the finest men that I ever had the pleasure to serve
with in a combat situation. Fuck! Fuck! Fucking dumb luck. He
survived the Angorvlian Crisis. Three years later he was one of
the forty-two men who lived through the Stromburg Crash. Now
he's been killed by a damn meteor. Fuck!"
The big bear of a man paced the room, his face ruddy red, his
eyes blazing with anger and his large muscles contracting as he
fought to restrain the anger that he felt at the death of his
friend. Stopping his pacing, he took several deep breaths, then
said "I knew about this mission but I was under orders to be
mum about it. Well, there's only one thing to do."
He unbuttoned the top button of his tunic and pulled a key out
that he kept on a chain around his neck. He stood in front of
the wall safe, entered a combination onto the combination lock,
and then inserted the key into the lock. When the safe opened,
he removed a small notebook and began skimming through the
various pages, after making sure that he was holding the book
so that operator couldn't see any of the pages. After going
through about forty pages, he said "Ah ha. Here it is. Set the
frequency to 1.2.04.384.72.96.4.271."
The operator's puzzled look reflected his confusion. Being the
consummate technician, Wilson knew that there wasn't a radio
in space that used more than a six parsed code so everything
up to 96 was correct but 4.271 wouldn't work. He started to
request the captain to verify the frequency but the Captain
noticed his hesitation and responded "I know it sounds like an
invalid frequency, but it will work if you punch it in. I know that
we've got one ship in the Qua Quadrant that's monitoring that
high frequency. And that's the only ship that's close enough to
our damaged ship that could rescue it."
Clearing his voice while looking the young operator in the eyes
to decide if he could trust him, the Captain said "Now what I'm
getting ready to do, is in direct opposition to my orders. I want
to write something down, then I want you to read it as you
broadcast on that frequency. My voice is in the high range
where I would be not understandable and your deep voice is
perfect for any transmissions on that frequency."
He sat down and wrote several words on a page, then handed
them to the radio operator. The operator verified that his
equipment was set to the designated frequency then began
reading "Rocket Base Z-Alpha to Explorer 1. Space Vehicle Tiara
partially destroyed by meteor. Walken and most of crew dead.
Only the Vehicle's Cook still alive. Request that you investigate
to pick up survivor if possible. Will notify Earth at next security
briefing. Browning out."
As soon as the operator finished the message, the Captain
picked up the page, put it into his notebook and resealed
everything in his safe. Turning to the operator, he said "Now for
the hard part. I order to forget about that message that you
received along with what we discussed. You've never heard of
the Tiara, Corporal Hurley, or those high frequencies. You will
not discuss this with anyone."
As the big Captain put his black beret back on his head, he
looked up as if he could see through the metal walls of the radio
room and softly said "When I get off duty, I'll drink a toast to
your memory, old friend."
For a second, the operator thought that he saw just the briefest
glimmer of a tear in the big burley Captain's eye as the senior
warrior fondly remembered his dead friend. Then the Captain
strode out of the small room, leaving the operator to his duties.
******
Four hundred thousand miles away, a small rocket ship slightly
changed course because of the secretive radio message. The
new coordinates would take them toward the damaged ship's
last known location. Once they got there, they would use radio
directional finders to locate the remains of the Tiara.
******
Deep within the remains of the Tiara, Corporal Joseph Hurley
wore a bulky spacesuit within the kitchen. He didn't wear it
because it was comfortable or because he was worried about a
sudden air leak. He wore it because he was cold. The meteor's
impact had destroyed the engines and there wasn't any power.
No power meant no heat. There was a little power but he was
saving that for the hourly oxygen regeneration process and the
radio emergency broadcasts.
When the meteor hit, Hurley was in the kitchen baking a large
cake for the Chief Engineer's birthday. The impact tossed him
across the kitchen, resulting in bruises and minor cuts from
flying dishes. As soon as he climbed out of the rubble of his
destroyed cooking gear, he'd rushed to the Vessel's Intercom
and called the bridge - but there wasn't any answer. He started
to rush down to the bridge but just before he opened the air
lock; he luckily saw the flashing red lights which signaled an air
leak. He opened the emergency cabinet in the kitchen, removed
the spacesuit and slipped into it. He explored the various air-
locked areas one at a time, discovering that there wasn't any air
except within the airlock around the kitchen area. He
discovered the dead bodies of most of the crew in the armory,
where they had been doing routine maintenance on the
weapons when the meteor struck. The sight of seventeen dead
crew members scared him so badly that he considered rushing
back to the safety of his kitchen. Knowing that he had to
discover if anyone else survived, he proceeded searching the
vessel. Entering the bridge, he discovered why there weren't any
answers to his calls. Everyone on the ship was dead, except for
him. Even his beloved Captain, who was allergic to eggs and
required a special diet, was dead in his Captain's chair on the
bridge.
He spent the next two hours evaluating the ship space's
worthiness. He determined that the meteor's impact had caused
a small rupture in the vessel's walls. Only the kitchen was
spared because of the closed air locks in that area. The ship lost
most of its air through the meteor hole. Returning to the bridge,
he activated the emergency radio broadcast and turned off
everything else using electricity to conserve the limited
resources. Then he went back to the kitchen to wait for rescue.
A spacesuit isn't made for long term wear. It is designed for six
to ten hours, not for the five days that he wore it after the
crash. The limited amount of electricity in the batteries which
was needed for making oxygen and the automated emergency
radio broadcast meant that there wasn't any electricity for other
functions - such as for heat.
It was cold in the spacesuit. At the ship's distance from the sun,
the outside temperature was six hundred degrees below zero.
Within the semi-protected kitchen, it was a mild two hundred
below zero. Within his battery-maintained spacesuit, he kept it
a chilly one degree above zero. Any more heat and he would
deplete the battery's charge before help could arrive. There was
only an estimated three to seven more days of charge left on the
batteries. But he didn't think that help would come soon
because it was a good six weeks from the nearest rocket base -
Z-Alpha.
So he waited and sat in the dark, in his freezing cold suit,
removing it only when he had to eat, drink or use the bathroom.
******
"There it is. I've got it locked in on the directional finder. We
should be there in...twenty-seven point three hours."
A smile broke out on the man's face then changed to a frown as
he added "If only he's still alive. It's been nine days since the
impact."
The pilot of the small rocket ship adjusted a control on his
panel, then turned to his companion, letting their eyes speak
for them. Neither of them said a word. They knew too well the
dangers of space and its high cost in lives.
The two men were direct opposites in their appearance. The
pilot was an early thirtyish handsome, blonde-haired, six foot
tall, one-hundred-eighty pounds of solid muscle. He looked like
he could pose as a model for clothes ads or be a quarterback on
a football team. The bushy-bearded other man was balding, in
his late fifties, slightly overweight and looked like he belonged
behind a microscope instead of in a rocket ship. The young man
was clearly an adventurer from his fit body and intelligent
appearance. The other man - well, sometimes those research
guys also got the opportunity to go out into space.
The pilot verified the information on his main display screen one
last time, then switched the auto-pilot on. Turning to his
companion, he said "Well doc, its going to be a little crowded for
the next six weeks if he's still alive. Our small ship isn't made to
support more than one person for a long term flight. Except for
the oversized engine and extra fuel cells, this little baby was
only designed for short hops that shouldn't exceed three days."
The doctor grimaced then waved at the small bed just behind
where they were sitting "We're already used to sleeping in shifts
with the one bed. I'll admit it's going to be interesting with only
one bed, two chairs, and ten square feet of unused floor space
being shared by three people. I hope that our friend isn't
claustrophobic."
The pilot's stern eyes conflicted with the mild smile on his lips
as he corrected his traveling companion "you mean shared by
four people."
******
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