The Crystal Prince

by K. H. Scheer

  The further course of my life had been determined by Fratulon. He had not neglected to provide for me the equivalent of a first class college education. Since he couldn’t possibly be knowledgeable in every branch of knowledge, scientific experts in various fields of study had secretly become my teachers. Although I had not been able to publicly pursue my higher education, this method had nevertheless been effective. As luck would have it there was an old Arkonide law which permitted such instruction to be officially recognized, provided the student could prove himself in the examinations.

  Well, I had apparently demonstrated well enough on Largamenia that my erudition and training had been of a high calibre. Now everything depended upon my taking over the high position to which I was entitled. Necessarily, this meant an overthrow of the acting Imperator.

  The intentions here were perfectly legal and all of it sounded very fine but my logic sector had whispered rather mockingly to me that Orbanashol would no doubt have something to say about being removed from power. Which Fratulon fully realized. Our most urgent measure now was to turn to the Arkonide people, widely dispersed as they were on several thousands of colonized worlds, and to inform them concerning the facts of the situation.

  After my acquisition of the Ark Summia, I had achieved a completely new status. Prior to that I had been forced to remain in obscurity. Without the Ark Summia my chances would have been zero. But now my logic sector had been activated. I had been recognized openly at least by certain responsible officials. This had been the prerequisite. Now I was in a position to come forward and take an active part in my own destiny. Although the false Imperator had known that the easiest and most likely place to catch me would be on one of the five test planets, he had missed his greatest chance by only a matter of minutes.

  Thanks to Tanictrop I had been able to assume the identity of a dead officer. Now I could stop the masquerade. * * * *

  I got up from the operating table and looked at myself in the mirror. Two of the strange men who had accompanied Arctamon here were very capable surgeons and biochemists who had assisted Fratulon in an operation which had restored my genuine face. Now I was Atlan once more but with that identity I could never have been granted the Ark Summia since the latter process was a matter of public scrutiny.The post-operative pains were gone. Under the effects of a bio-synthetic plasma, the incisions had closed without any trace of scars within a matter of hours.

  A half-hour before this we had received some very crushing news. My pretended “father”, the great scientist Tanictrop, had been apprehended by the Kralasenes of Sofgart the Blind shortly before his planned escape. On a very sleazy pretext they had shot him. Tanictrop’s death struck deep into the roots of my being. Without the self-effacing help of this man I would not have had a chance to take my final tests.

  Then, only a few minutes ago, we had received the second depressing piece of news. Admiral Tormanac had been taken into custody, in fact by the Chief of the ISP himself.

  This very high-ranking officer, known as Offantur, had been brazen enough to accuse the beloved Fleet commander of being an accomplice to my escape. If I regarded my Uncle Orbanashol with abysmal contempt and hoped for his well-deserved death, this man Offantur inspired me with an unquenchable flame of hate. He was a monster in human form. There was no more willing instrument that Orbanashol could have found than this chief of the Imperial Secret Police. 14 years ago this man had been the Chief Aide to my uncle, and Fratulon had been able to show me photographic evidence that it was he who had directly murdered my father during the hunting expedition.

  Offantur had arrived on Largamenia only one day after my escape from the Paraclinic. His first move was to set up a total blockade around the planet. Even the interplanetary transmitter traffic had been cut off. Largamenia belonged to defence sector Orbys-Nukara and all of its Fleet units were placed on top alert.

  Offantur was of course intelligent enough to know that this measure would be extremely unpopular with the public but that was not all. In view of the importance of the ceremonious events of the Ark Summia awards, Arkonide TV networks had sent at least 30 camera crewmen to the test planet. This not only included cameramen but also a fairly large technical staff and in addition the best-known news reporters of the Greater Imperium had been present. Naturally these men expressed their own views concerning the unexpected events which followed. So it was that the ISP chief had not done any favours for the Imperator with his brazen actions.

  * * * *

  Fratulon appeared in the room wearing a Fleet combat spacesuit, over which was his battered and inseparable war harness. “Ready, Atlan? You sure you want to risk it?”I dismissed the question with a wave of my hand as Tirako handed me another combat suit. The magnetic fasteners had already been opened for me.

  “The planet looks as if somebody had spaded up a giant anthill. About 20,000 ISP troops have landed. At least 1,000 ships of the Orbys-Nukara Task Force have all local space blocked off. Now maybe you can see why I wasn’t so keen on an immediate takeoff!”

  I listened for some sort of communication from my logic sector since I had already become accustomed to it. But it remained silent.

  “What we’re after now is quite simple,” I said. “It would take us months to ever find such a splendid opportunity as this to come across all the leading newscasters and reporters of the Imperium in one place. I have to speak with them!”

  “Granted,” replied Fratulon. “But if your reasons are tremendous, so is the danger. During your school time on Largamenia I’ve only been able to collect about 100 trustworthy allies, so in an emergency we can’t expect any backup protection or fire cover.”

  “We won’t need it,” I told him. “We’ll just appear on the scene, present our proofs and disappear again. If this stronghold of yours is as safe and undetectable as you think it is, we can return here and hide as long as we please, until the other side gives up the chase.”

  Fratulon narrowed his eyes at me. “Very well. Your Highness has given the command. Dammit—until now I was the one who gave the orders!”

  “And that you will be again,” I said, allaying his fears. “Don’t think I will ever under evaluate your background and experience. But my justifications for the present action should be obvious.”

  “That they are. All right, then let’s get going. But I’ll be glad when we’re back safe again inside this structure.Tirako secured the fastenings on my combat suit. I made a test activation of the power supply and saw that the indicators were normal. “We’ll get back here,” I said. “Just make sure nobody tracks us.”

  He nodded. It had been taken care of. The chief of the only tracking station that could concern us was on his side—as a matter of fact on my side! It was gratifying to finally be able to say such a thing.

  A half-hour later we were transported out via the transmitter. We came out in the immense cellar vaults of a trusted confidant. I hadn’t yet made his acquaintance but he was the exact opposite of Morenth who had long since been the first to challenge my identity. A few minutes later, Tirako Gamno and Arctamon came out of the transmitter, to be followed then by heavily armed men. The latter greeted me respectfully.

  I thanked them for their loyal support and then gave them an audience in which I listened to their personal wants and concerns. This Fratulon had advised. He insisted that duties of this nature were, after all, within the sphere of responsibility of a Crystal Prince and future Imperator.

  By nightfall the preparations had been made. Mestacian was the name of the merchant who owned this vast ancient system of storage vaults. He had just returned from a reconnaissance flight.

  “The people of the main city of Tiftorum are in a revolutionary mood, Your Majesty,” he reported. “The ISP is overstepping its powers and making infringements which are not likely to go unchallenged—especially here, so far removed from the triple star of the Arkon worlds.”

  “Please, friend, you may call me Atlan.”

  The elderly man laughed
. “I will take that liberty. Thank you, Atlan. You will find support everywhere. My men have been spreading rumours about strange events. All the reporters and special correspondents of the public communications services are already alerted. Questions are becoming more insistent. The gentlemen of the news media have already suspected that things aren’t right here. We have often taken the liberty of whispering your name and high station among them.”

  “Any casualties?” asked Fratulon with his usual startling frankness.

  “No. We were careful. The printed fliers giving Atlan’s life story and the truth about Gonozal’s death have been distributed. We dropped 100,000 of them from an air glider. I’ve heard that some of them have shown up in the main news control centre. They say Offantur is raving.”

  “I hope that lard-head comes apart at the seams,” grumbled Fratulon. “Atlan, it’s time.”

  We took the garments that had been prepared for us and put them on over our combat suits, after which we got under way.

  * * * *

  In spite of the prevalent turmoil, the old section of Tiftorum took on its usual life style by nightfall. We avoided the use of aircars and took to the rolling sidewalks. Near the old Patrium, a historic arena with at least a 10,000-year-old history, we came upon the first of the lookouts that Mestacian had posted.“Everything’s fairly quiet, Your Highness,” he said in low tones. “There are 50 men besides myself stationed in the area. In case of emergency we have three air-cars available at various locations. One of them is equipped with a small matter transmitter. If you are forced to use it, the last of your companions going through must activate its built-in detonator. The timer will run for 2 minutes after it’s set. We don’t want the machine to fall into the hands of the ISP.

  Armed with this information, in addition to our heavy repeater Luccots, we proceeded onward. Tirako and Arctamon were on either side of me and slightly behind. The inside of the ancient battle arena was as deserted looking as a graveyard. Here we were supposed to meet with some of the news representatives. Mestacian had assured us they were reliable.

  I slipped on my infrared goggles and looked around. Night had suddenly been turned into day. A few minutes later I became aware of 8 or 10 people who had concealed themselves under a semi-collapsed spectator gallery. I was informed that they had brought with them a robot camera equipped with a direct broadcast transmitter. If the video pickup of our interview could be transmitted into the Largamenia distribution networks and then onto the space beams over hypercom to the Empire communications systems, it would mean a tremendous victory for me.

  Fratulon went ahead to meet them. I heard a low mutter of voices. Then he beckoned to me. Moments later I was standing in front of the reporters and network correspondents. They had taken a great risk in coming here. Fratulon had already issued the necessary introductory information and now one of the newsmen was excitedly talking into his microphone. I was “on the air”.

  “You are risking your heads, gentlemen,” was my opening statement. “The despotic dictatorship of my uncle, Orbanashol III, does not permit such liberties. Of course your announcer’s face will not be seen on the viewscreens but the ISP will have no trouble identifying his voice. If you wish I can offer you asylum with me.”

  These words were heard by billions of Arkonides. Somebody had whispered to me that the present direct broadcast was being relayed from Faehrl but that it was being systematically interrupted by the technicians at the hypercom station. But some of it was getting through and I was making a surprise appearance to the viewers—which must have also been a surprise for the ISP.

  “That won’t be necessary, Atlan,” said the announcer. “I am relying on my immunity. No one can take the risk of arresting or convicting me for straight, objective reporting. Atlan, I have to question you on a number of different items.”

  “10 minutes, no longer,” I answered. “By that time the ISP will be onto us. They’ll be able to trace this pickup point very easily. Please get to safety with the documentary proofs that my father’s physician has given you. He is my guardian and the one who has preserved me.”“We’ve already taken care of that but you must understand that some of these explanations are still in doubt. Of course it’s common knowledge that the Crystal Prince disappeared as a child, without a trace…”

  Thus he continued. I became impatient. Fratulon had already put out a signal to call in the air-car that our contact man had told us about. When it landed, Tirako acted on his own but judiciously. He turned on the built-in transmitter so that it would be ready for instant Use.

  Before the camera I introduced myself and answered all questions truthfully. Fratulon fortified my declarations with 3-D colour photos from my childhood. This was when I was still in the Crystal Palace, and later on Gortavor.

  The professionally sceptical mood of the newscasters gradually changed. They were nonplussed. The announcer’s voice began to shrill with a new excitement. But when he began to address me again we heard the distant sound of a raygun shot. It was our prearranged warning signal.

  I broke off the interview quickly and sprang into the air glider. Moments later I had already been transported and was back in the hidden stronghold. Fratulon, Tirako and Arctamon followed me. Shortly after its takeoff, the glider and transmitter exploded.

  Then we were standing before the big viewscreen, watching the ensuing broadcasts. We saw ISP troops and even their chief, Offantur, made an appearance, during which he was also interviewed. He disputed my claims, saying that they were lies. He said that the proofs presented were falsified.

  Much to my relief, however, he did not dare to take the courageous newsmen into custody. All he was able to do was give them a sharp warning. However, this wasn’t a smart move on his part. The representatives of the Arkonide public communications service protested in still sharper terms, boldly rejecting any restriction of their legally established freedoms.

  I began to smile.

  The situation wasn’t quite as simple a thing to handle as Offantur had imagined—not any more! Now maybe I wouldn’t have to remain in concealment all the time. I’d soon be able to present myself to the public and pursue my course.

  The telecast went on for hours. The commentators and news analysts appeared in endless succession.

  “The wheel of destiny rolls on!” said Fratulon suddenly. “Friends, the real battle is beginning. For Atlan and Arkon. From here on, it’s life or death!

  THE END

  戀礀...........