The Crystal Prince

by K. H. Scheer

He sobered quickly and was even faster getting to his feet. The onlookers cleared out in a hurry. As the soldier stood there in feigned uncertainty there was an interruption from another quarter. We heard laughter from a lean-figured man who stood across the street under the dark red lights of a basement tavern. In the crook of his arm he carried a heavy shock-gun, which was a latest Fleet issue.

  “With your permission, Your Excellence, my name is Morenth. I was about ready to give you a hand there, in case it was necessary. How could an Arbtan make such a mistake! “ He then made a slight bow and put his right hand to his forehead in greeting.

  “Be careful!” whispered the Arbtan. “I’m leaving. I am your servant!” Then he turned and ran away.

  The lean one laughed again. The triangular muzzle of his shock-gun was aimed at the ground. I looked at him suspiciously. How had he appeared so suddenly? Could he be a middleman for the Kralasenes or maybe even an authorized agent of the political secret police of Arkon? If any of these possibilities were true then the next thing in line would be an invitation. In fact he was already saying it.

  “Highness, would you do me the honour of being my welcome guest here in the tavern? I can offer you rarities from all parts of the galaxy!”

  “And intoxicating drinks, I suppose,” put in Tirako Gamno, “which can turn disciplined men into fools! Didn’t the Arbtan just come out of there or am I mistaken?”Again Morenth laughed. There was something unpleasant about it. “You are not mistaken. I followed him out because I expected there would be trouble. And incidentally…” He indicated his shock-beamer. “I have a license for this.”

  “He’s a galactic confidence man,” said Tirako in low tones. “Surely you’re not going to accept his invitation!”

  “Of course!”

  “You’re crazy!” he retorted. “What evil whim was it that made me accompany you into such an abysmal quarter?”

  I said nothing because I was thinking of more important matters. The Arbtan had come out of this cellar tavern. Its proprietor had appeared at just the right moment. His invitation had not only been very sudden, I thought, but also without reason.

  Nevertheless he must have had a reason! Was this another test? Inside, perhaps, would the officer be waiting that I’d just been warned about? Or would the latter be notified immediately so that he could come here personally and make a casual identification of me, meaning Macolon? But how could this lean one have known that I would be visiting this particular quarter of the city on this particular day? Did he have an efficient informer somewhere in the Institute? Could that have been one of the possibilities?

  In any case I could not neglect a chance to clarify such an apparently organized sequence of events. I had to follow up the invitation! Of course there was some reassurance in the certain knowledge that all candidates for the third phase of testing were being closely monitored. But I was tormented again by the old question: why were they specifically after me, Atlan? Who was 1, actually? From whence had I come? My memories from earliest childhood were vague. And still Fratulon remained silent.

  Inwardly angered, I blurted out, half aloud: “I hope he gets flat feet!”

  “Who—the proprietor of this tavern?” laughed Tirako, mistaking the meaning of my remark. “Shame on you! No true Hertaso and student of Faehrl should be making such statements! By the shimmering Arkon Triangle—where did I fail?”

  I looked him over from head to toe. Tirako was actually grinning. My aesthetic friend was even high-spirited. That’s why it occurred to me that in our moment of crisis he must have been counting on his service weapon.

  “Would you have fired?” I asked him. “On a deserving serviceman, an Arbtan in the Arkonide Space Fleet? Would you have done that?”

  He warded off the suspicion with a grandiose gesture. “What made you think that? Never! But I had spotted this one at the tavern with his weapon. Maybe he would be dead by now if I hadn’t recognized his harmless shock-beamer! Of course, had I killed him I should have been quite inconsolable.”

  Suddenly Morenth’s laughter faded as he noted in some consternation that Tirako was carrying a Luccot, which was a high-powered impulse raygun. The holding strap over the butt-end of it had been unfastened. It was dangling loosely from its holster as he walked along.

  “I see you’re improving, my friend,” I complimented him. “I had not noticed our friendly host here. Let’s go in…”

  3/ IDENTITY CRISIS

  The vaulted cellar chambers of Morenth’s place were roomy and undeterminably extensive. Here a person could obtain many things and completely enjoy many pleasures in secret. Colonial Arkonides of Morenth’s kind were equally hated or appreciated. It all depended upon whether or not somebody needed his services.Only a few minutes had passed since our incident with the Arbtan. The Fleet’s military police had made an appearance outside. It was amazing how those fellows could smell out trouble. In any case their C.O. didn’t bother us. Our questionable host had hastily offered to straighten out the “little matter”.

  I welcomed the interlude as a means of withdrawing for a few moments. I got up from the pneumatic cushions of the booth that was located in a sort of alcove, excusing myself from Tirako and the two girls we’d been provided with for company. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “My hand hurts a little. Is there any first-aid material in the restrooms?”

  Tirako wrinkled his brow in some surprise. The scratch on the back of my right hand hardly required such attention. One of the girls pointed out the way for me. Yes, what I needed would be found there. I left.

  The guest rooms of this place, which was called the Red Arches, were overcrowded with the noisy and celebrating spacemen from the fleet unit that had just landed. I could sympathize with them. They had been through 4 long months in the most advanced fighting positions of the Maahk region.

  When I reached the restroom I sent away the robot custodian who was engaged in cleaning work and then I locked myself inside one of the booths. A quick check of the chamber revealed that there were no remote video pickups in evidence. I opened up the small capsule that the Arbtan had given me. It contained a super-thin foil on which the writing was fully legible. There was no doubt that the message was from Fratulon.

  Also there was a photograph which I unfolded first. It was in 3-D and colour, showing the same man in three different poses. He was of medium height, apparently, with average features and no special markings of any kind. But I impressed every detail upon my mind since I’d have to be able to recognize him.

  “Tschetrum, 2nd Watch Officer of Argosso, 4 weeks personal companion to Macolon, just now landed on Largamenia. Information obtained from Chief Accountant at spaceport who got hold of crew list of armament supply squadron. My inquiries to Tanictrop were confirmed by him and some double-checking was involved. That’s why this last minute warning. Be careful in personal contacts. Tschetrum flew with Macolon on a special mission. Pay special attention to following data…”

  I read the message several times until I knew it by heart. As usual, Fratulon had performed magnificently. It was still a mystery to me how he had come by all these special contacts and who had financed and built all his secret depots and strongholds. Evidently somebody with plans for the future had taken a hand in all this—but who was this somebody? My actual father? Politically interested power groups?There were many possibilities. A thousand times I had thought of these questions and more or less dissected them, always turning new facets of the matter to the surface. Without the key to the puzzle, however, that’s all the farther I ever got.

  But this time even Fratulon appeared to have come out of his taciturnity. He gave specific warnings, provided exact details and was quite frank and open about the capabilities and methods of his operation. Maybe he was here on Largamenia himself. It reminded me that I had not always been called Atlan. It was merely the name under which I had grown up in Fratulon’s care.

  But if I were an object of search, if such powerful organizations of the State as poli
tical secret police and even the Kralasenes were looking everywhere for me, it meant that at my birth I must have had another name! Of course Fratulon wasn’t foolish enough to address me everywhere even as Atlan. Apparently even that could instantly betray me now.

  I abandoned my brooding and destroyed the message according to instructions. The evidence burned to ashes in the wash basin, after which I washed away the last trace. Then I sprayed an antiseptic film onto the back of my hand and returned to Tirako.

  He watched me thoughtfully and when he saw my hand there was a barely perceptible smile on his face. Of course the youngster had seen through my ruse.

  Our host approached us laughingly and announced: “Everything’s been taken care of, Excellency. The officer of the guard was satisfied with my explanation. I take it you’re not going to prefer charges and demand a punishment for the offence?”

  I waved a hand. “Nonsense! He was drunk. Tomorrow he’ll come to his senses. So what now, master of the Red Arches?”

  “Prepare for a surprise, Your Excellency. My chefs are from many parts of the galaxy, and not only from Arkonide planets. I am going to…”

  He paused as he noted my searching look, which was directed at someone beyond him. With an exaggerated accommodation he stepped to one side but could not refrain from following my gaze.

  There was the officer, precisely the man I had just seen in the photographs that had been furnished to me. He had just entered the cellar tavern and now he looked about with an air of uncertainty as though he did not know whom to turn to. In that moment I guessed that the former 2nd Watch Officer of the Argosso had been drawn into a game in which the rules were unknown to him. He was a pawn. Somebody must have contacted him and requested him to come here.When I saw him I decided upon a bold manoeuvre. I stood up abruptly and waved a hand, shouting across the tavern. “Hey Tschetrum old buddy! What brings you here?”

  He immediately became aware of me. And now came the critical moment!

  Morenth simulated a smile of complete innocence and moved even farther to one side. Which brought to my attention three silent strangers who seemed ready to close a trap. There was no doubt that they were armed—I’d seen that first of all. Under their wide capes, which gave them the appearance of travelling merchants, they were obviously wearing some kind of short-barrelled weapons—probably modern Luccots.

  Deliberately disregarding them I again called out Tschetrum’s name. And I laughed with the air of a man who was happy to see an old acquaintance again after a long period of time. The officer hesitated for a moment, staring at me questioningly, but then he began to smile. He took me for Macolon. I had won the first move.

  Although the three spurious tradesmen withdrew in an unobtrusive way, they nevertheless remained within hearing distance.

  Moments later I was embracing the uniformed newcomer, repeating his name aloud, and then I introduced him to Tirako Gamno. “This is Tschetrum, my former 2nd officer of the watch on the old Argosso. We flew a 2-man mission together once—I’ll have to tell you about it sometime. Have a seat, Tschetrum! How’s that old leg wound? Did it heal up alright?”

  Tschetrum was too much taken by surprise to note any imperfections in my facial plastic surgery. For him I was Macolon! And finally he himself spoke the name.

  At this the proprietor finally excused himself with a few courteous remarks. “When old friends and battle companions meet, there is much to talk about, Excellency. Permit me to return in a little while to see if you want anything.”

  He left—and I breathed a secret sigh of relief.

  Tirako furrowed his brow once more. He had suddenly proved to be an unusually sharp observer. Quite inconspicuously he was looking across the room at the three strangers who were following the tavern keeper. That little detail he had also observed. He gave me a peculiar look but remained silent.

  * * * *

  I carried on a 2-hour conversation with the officer who had made such a sudden and unexpected appearance. He drank too much but spoke with enthusiasm and never once suspected that I might not be his former commanding officer. The strange intruders had disappeared. I had been publicly identified.Shortly after 3 o’clock in the morning, Tirako insisted on leaving. He seemed to be wary of my high-spirited mood. Morenth had again contrived to be always around somewhere close to us. He did not miss a single detail of those things which actually only Macolon and Tschetrum could know about.

  Tirako tugged at my sleeve. “The hour grows late, oh noble candidate for Arkon’s highest award! We’re having mission briefings in the morning. If you want to listen with a clear head, then I’d say it’s time to…”

  Tschetrum interrupted with loud laughter. “Ho! If you knew Macolon’s staying power you’d lay off of him! ‘That time on Arbtzuk he had it worse than this by far!”

  My presence of mind returned quickly. Arbtzuk…? I had never heard the name of the planet. Even Fratulon was not omniscient, after all. What had Macolon and Tschetrum experienced together on that world? I diverted us away from the risky subject and shortly thereafter we all decided to leave.

  At that time, Tschetrum managed to whisper to me uneasily: “Do you have any idea why I was ordered to come here? Why didn’t anybody tell me that I’d find you here? It would have made things simpler…”

  I had to shift gears again. “Forget it! I pulled a few strings, is all. Naturally I knew that you had arrived with the armament supply force—but don’t mention a word about it!”

  “I’ll watch myself!” he laughed, somewhat crestfallen. “My leave was cancelled. OK, many thanks. I’ll have to assume further that my worthy commander took pity on me and sent me here to the Red Arches.”

  This was important information. Apparently the order for him to come here had been given to him by the C.O. of his own fighting ship. This would prove interesting to Fratulon, I was sure.

  It was 4 a.m. by the time we said goodbye. Tschetrum went off in a troop personnel glider for men returning from furloughs and we ordered an air car.

  “Let’s have one of the oldest and slowest crates available,” I stipulated, somewhat thick-tongued. “I’d like to stretch out my enjoyment of Tiftorum’s bright lights before I submit to being cooked, roasted or maybe taken apart.”

  Morenth suddenly appeared to be in a hurry. He seemed to be off the hook regarding his own part in the secret strategy. He declined any payment for his services, maintaining that he was in my debt. After all, he said, he had been spared the task of bringing that drunken spaceman to his senses in time to avoid trouble.

  We left him. The ancient steps to the street level were steep and worn but right next to them was an antigrav lift. The aircar was already waiting for us outside. Although it was truly a vintage contraption it had a built-in robot control. Tirako programmed our destination into the autopilot. The machine lifted off.

  I kept asking myself how the Arbtan had arrived at just the right time to warn me—above all, in just the specific cellar tavern that was involved in the plot! For the time being I abandoned my broodings on the matter but determined that sooner or later I’d get to the bottom of it. Most probably Fratulon had been instrumental in that part as well.Tirako Gamno interrupted my thoughts. “It will soon be light. There on the horizon—don’t you see the gleaming energy domes?”

  Yes, I’d been aware of them for some time. They were the typical testing areas where candidates strove to win the Ark Summia. There was special technology available on the planet of Largamenia which made it possible to simulate a large variety of other-world environments. Under each of those energy domes was a different terrain and condition—ice-cold or molten or perhaps filled with poison gas, and often under conditions of super-heavy gravity.

  Another name for the aspirant to this highest honour was Hertaso and much was demanded of him. He had to prove himself everywhere. Of course the necessary protective suits and other supplies and equipment were always placed at their disposal. Not even the masters of the Inner Circle who were members o
f the testing commission could set a man loose without protection in a hydrogen-ammonia atmosphere.

  However it was not alone a matter of protective equipment. One had to know how to use and apply such devices and materials in a proper fashion under carefully planned and induced emergency situations. The failure or casualty rate was extremely high. Therefore it was not to be wondered that out of more than 35,000 candidates for the 1st and 2nd examination grades a meagre 800 had reported for the 3rd phase of the testing procedures. And many of these had been pressured into it by their over-proud families. Moreover, after even these had been subjected to medical and aptitude examinations there were only 342 actual final candidates chosen.

  How many of these would probably survive and pass all tests from this point on?

  It was as though Tirako Gamno had read my thoughts. “Not I!” he said.

  “What?”“I won’t make it! I’d probably collapse under 2 gravs of pressure.”

  “Nuts to that, buddy! You’re stronger than you think!”“I mean a mental or psychological breakdown. I can’t understand or even appreciate why a young Arkonide has to be tortured simply so somebody can go through the motions of justifying their decision to grant or deny the Ark Summia. How many gifted men of our race might have earned and achieved their activation except for the fact that they couldn’t physically endure?”

  I turned in the narrow seat to look at him searchingly. “Those are revolutionary views, my friend.”

  He smiled and stared straight ahead—to the horizon where the energy domes glowed like a liquid incandescence. “Let’s not talk about it any more. Incidentally you were pretty fidgety all of a sudden when Tschetrum mentioned that planet, Arbtzuk. A person could possibly think that you’d never been there.”

  I secretly cursed his talent for razor-sharp observation.

  * * * *

  …this being the 1134th positronic notation fed into the secret pulse code of the true Imperator, by reason of the 2nd critical phase. The high-explosive destruct mechanism has again been activated. An unauthorized retrieval of my notes is thus impossible.Be it further set forth as follows: