Message-ID: <18128eli$9812190446@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/18128.txt> From: MelLin6695@aol.com Subject: New TG - Waldo - Flash Gordon - Part 1 of 10 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <1cb669f3.367b2761@aol.com> 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." ****** -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>