The Prince of Mist, page 1
The Prince of Mist
Walter C. F. Perry
Originally Published in Heavy Metal, July 1977
I. Arrival
The voyage lately over
Ere go the mates of yore
The dusk a velvet cover
The daybreak is night’s door
Twixt other in unnamed altars
from The Portable Space Pal—27078
The trip was indeed over, and the craft burned silver blue. There was a cacophony of whirring-cursing; rhythmic thuds, the booms of loading and unloading. They were all oddities, and He knew it. The culmination of the perils inherent in a megavoyage—merely to be regarded as annoying diversion for these cosmic cretins. “Look at the funny man, Mommy,” said some brat to her mother. “Hush!” came the response, followed by an awkward giggle. “Bloody colonial bastards,” He thought.
He felt much batter after sleeping on a real bed, eating fresh food the next morning, and stepping from the hostel with the delicious feeling of nothing to do for a whole millicune. Be it understood that the fastidious habits of a helmsman are soon broken by the prospect of blissful reverie. Or are they? He watched the giggling families through the plexiplates for what he knew to be too long a time. Old longings and insecurities began to nag vaguely at His psyche, and He moved on.
“Squire,” said the hoarse voice. He turned slowly to be confronted by a stump of a man in a smokey doorwell. “Squire, I take ye for a man being wots of exquisite breedin’ and all. I state me proposition frankly to yer refined ears. Be you, wot a gennelmin and all, in the mood for a little amusement?”
“Eh, see here, sir. Go!” A pity that one reads like a book to others in direct proportion to self-professed enigmatic states, He thought. He was interested, and the mind’s eye conjured up images of dusky, bawdy wenches. Why not take the time?
“This way, Squire.” The little man smiled secretly to the wind. Organic nature is relative, emotional suggestion ephemeral. Had his galvanized sensory conjecture pattern not been formulated, influence over the subject would have been completely lost. Yes, it was the secret smile of acquired wisdom. Was it one thousand generations of careful observation that attuned these powers so completely? A million? No justification for the galactic ethos was quite as sublime as the knowledge that the ethos survived intact even now. And it would continue to survive!
Through the silent streets they walked. The gentle hum of the town and bright colors of Suns-set metled to become the vision of an old Terrahyde dome. “Taint like nuttin’ yeve ever beholden to before,” hissed the old man. “Certified unique in all the Universe. ’Tis no lie. There be not another such establishment within five lightstars of where we now talk.” He knew this was all too true, for the chaste medallion of the Helmsmen Brotherhood hung around his neck like a stinking albatross. Beloved leaders spent their time promoting antiseptic purity with a good deal of success. “Why shouldn’t the robots trouble their pretty little heads with something original now and again?” He thought. He felt markedly superior to the clones. “Watson’s botched science project” was His private name for them. It was a class prejudice, really. He had true parents at one time. Still, to be found with a wench carried the promise of instant liquidation. The clones had mandated that legislation into the Civil Scriptures eons ago.
He stopped before the dome. The choice had been made by an unseen force far more seminal than the Law, or even the clones themselves. What did they understand about the difference, anyway? It was unlike Him to be introspective, and this pejorative chain of thought was abruptly shattered by the pointed questions of the dome’s lockman.
“What brings you here, Laddie?”
“I’ve heard and I know,” He replied.
“And just what is it you know, my Young Friend?”
“I know enough, is what.”
“Just what does that mean, Sonny?”
The beads of sweat began to gather on His forehead, and He felt like vomiting. Suppose it was all a mistake, or a trap? Were these men in the pay of the Officials, forcing him to call his hand? True, they could not legally kill him yet, but he would be stripped of his rank and career and pension. The damned clones don’t even have to worry about growing old. Just zap a new part on from the factory.
In a hoarse voice, He cried, “I was born of no laboratory. I am one of you. There is a reason for my being brought here, and we shall all be caught if you do not let us in soon. And I…”
He swallowed hard, trying to find a drop of saliva in his parched throat. He drew in a deep breath. “I have heard stories of the woman,” He said at long last. Moving on invisible tracked hinges, the massive titanium door swung silently inward. As they stepped through, it closed again.
II. Discovery
A ripple of light
Is like the sacred fire
Of the mind’s hidden
Magic
from The Book Universal Elders of Carbonidum
There were eight of them in the room. He noticed seven doors leading out of the chamber, each evenly spaced in a circle. The hydraulic life had deposited the three of them in the exact center spot and gently stopped. Silence. An unspoken shared knowledge was etched into each of the seven old faces. It was Quorb, the Timless, who spoke for all in a Voice of One: “We bid ye fair welcome, young Helmsman. Born of man and woman, ye come seeking revelation.”
The flame contained within the sacred urn changed color with his words, and the edifice was at once drenched with the scent of heavy incense. “My lad, we were once as You.”
The flame now burned pure white, as Quorb paused.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“We are men—biological accidents such as yourself, who have assumed this form in order to continue our work. We are mere instruments who preserve the triumphs and failures of an era long gone when creatures such as ourselves ruled the stars.”
“You go by the name of the Elders of Carbonidum, n’est-ce pas?” He asked.
A loud gasp was uttered by each of the seven. Quorb spoke at last: “That is correct. Ye stand commended for astute powers of deduction. And who be ye, what matter of person?” The Youth smiled gently, as he remembered the other half of the ritual greeting. “I bid thee peace,” He said, and waited until he could control the tone of his voice to obtain the desired effect.
“I go by the name of Julian Daniels in the ancient tongue. My father was King Bernard, loved and served by each of you seven. I need not bring up memories painful to all of us. I have come to rule. Hear me now.”
The room now pulsated with electric tension, though not a sound was heard. “Prove thyself,” spoke Quorb.
Julian removed the coarse shirt of an ouvrier from his back. There, on his left arm just above the elbow, was a tattoo unique in all the five worlds. The colors within shifted with each muscle contraction, giving off incandescent hues. It showed a man and a woman engaged in the act of sexual intercourse. Above their heads stood the letters EOC and a crown. Beneath them were the words: RECTE AGENS CONFIDO—RECT AGENS VERITAS. In the proper light, one could almost think the drawings alive as they moved realistically upon the flesh.
“Prince Julian XVLII, we are They humblest servants. With Thy rod and They crown we implore Thee to rule as Thine ancestors, long departed from this form, and to bring forth a new ideal created in hope and dedicated to the proposition that all of Thy assembled subjects are deferential creatures.”
With the conclusion of the ancient ceremony, regal power effectively transferred. King Julian’s first official act was to snap his fingers. The lift hissed to a demure stop once more, and deposited eight more creatures into the middle of the floor. These were human in appearance save for one thing—the eyes were totally expressionless.
King Julian cleared his throat. “My loyal fellows, I present to thee the self-same crew of mine own ship Berkley. These are all clones which I destroyed. Thou shalt see that they have yet to serve their most glorious—and ironic—purpose.
III. Conception and Creation
Mind and Body, Spirit and Flesh,
Learn to unlearn and discover that fulcrum:
At which anything is possible….
Elder’s Law
“The point is that we shall not fail. I have seen my own family murdered by clones and run through life afraid of being discovered for being what I am. We have failed thus far, but I promise upon the soul of my ancestors that justice shall be done. The acculturation of the Elders of Corbonidum must cease, for there is little insight to be gained if we all become relics, as sterile as the clones themselves.”
The King paused. “We must share our ways and act with urgency. We must ally ourselves with other life forms and seek to produce young in our image. The question that is foremost in all our minds is: Can life survive? I tell you it must!” Silence. Julian smiled gently to himself.
As the King spoke, clone megasecurity forces smashed down the door in a transient hostel. They were acting on data which stated there was a human spy posing as a Helmsman. The Chief shot several heat probes into the figure identified by the Minicom as definitely having human tissue structure. “It’s done,” came the coded message to Data CentCore. A peach-colored mist hung above the spot where the body had been seconds before. This would soon dissipate, leaving but one charred cinder. Not nearly enough for CentCore to analyze and discover that the specimen in question had been in a frozen state for over thirty times its projected lifetime.
Sometime later, a battered Terrahyde dome in a rural corner of
The regional chief of clone megasecurity reported that humanoid muscle was found within the blast site. However, radioactivity present rendered positive identification impossible. A report issued by CentCore stated that the Elders of Carbonidum were victims of their own treachery, and existed no more. Clones by the megabillions rested secure in the knowledge that they were the dominant organic force in the cosmos.
Sometime later, the /Berkley/ cruised silently in orbit. The engines were silent and the instrument lights gently winked from within the chromium panels. Soft music and the smell of subtle cooking lingered in the air like fine perfume. There was great merriment as Julian called for order.
“Survivors of an extinct race,” he said to the general amusement of all. “We have not beaten them yet. Nor can we, without the use of precision and general…” He paused and noticed the Elders return to their normally subdued attitude—“luck. If we are to be successful, I require two things: complete knowledge of the Sacred Laws of the Elder’s Books, and a Queen. We must procreate if we are to do battle.
“There is a machine in the ancient Scriptures known as the Queanto-Nebulizer. I am well aware of the unique power of this device with regard to its ability to change the dimensions of time and space….” His voice trailed off to a pointed whisper.
Millions of miles away, the fluorescent blue sun rose gently above the horizon. A young girl lay amidst the soft velvet sheets, deliciously naked in the lace frame bed. She yawned sweetly and began to feel slightly dizzy.
Some unseen force yanked her across the room and through the door. It was all so odd, so eerie. She felt no pain at all, nor did she feel or sense her own form, as her essence traveled faster than light itself to some lonely spot of light. “I see that you have come to see me,” smiled Julian. “Know that you understand everything that I am saying to you now and what you are thinking. You will understand all in good time, but unfortunately, we do not have that kind of time right now. Trust me.” She pushed away from his touch.
The King looked suddenly wistful as his calloused palm slipped along the contour of her hard naked breast. The girl again pushed away, and the face of Julian Daniels grew hard and stern. She was like the others, was she not? All that bitterly lonely time there had been someone laughing at him, disdainful of his very existence. His left hand struck out at the girl’s face.
Lips to lips and stomach to stomach, they lay for a long while. The soft folds of flesh gently parted, and Julian found that he suddenly felt like laughing. Was this what it was all about? The girl placed her hands on his buttocks. He found that his hands were gently tracing the outlines of her thighs and ribs. Thus, it continued for a long while until that certain shiver shook them both, and everything was soft and quiet. Julian was happily unable to think of anything at all, and did not care. He looked down at his companion and gently straightened her tousled golden hair so that it fell evenly on either side of her face.
The girl intuitively felt there was another life within her body, and winced gently. She again tried to push Julian away and cursed him, fluently but silently. She did not believe her body would look the save ever again, but she was wise to keep her thoughts to herself. Julian took her hands and kissed them.
It was several ’cunes before their passion grew into anything that faintly resembled reciprocity, but Julian was an attentive mate and won her over with his devotion. He now called her Alys, after his great aunt who was fated to possess the prettiest face in the entire kingdom. Alys the First was as prolific as she was beautiful; she had produced dukes, princes, and earls enough for three royal families. Julian was amused with his choice of names, and with the more mundane aspects of space traveling, to the point that he almost forgot about the clones. One day, quite by accident, his plans began to fall into shape quite neatly. For her part, the second Alys was silent and observant.
It was Quorb who was the inspiration for the entire plan. The chieftain of the Elders was inclined to melancholia on the occasions that Julian would mention his parents, the King and Queen. “Yes, my boy, I remember them as well as if they be in the next room. The Old King, y’know, he was very fond of our Technical Indoctrination Centers, he was. Used to assist in the preparation of the R & D control tapes personally. Mind you, it was nothing like the perfected way it got to be. Machines are imperfect creatures, sire. All of them a temperament of their own….”
“I remember it all now,” said Julian. “The Box with a Million Eyes is what they used to call it, and father intended it as an extension of the Rhetoric and Techno-Didacta Operation Commands. But the Image Content was manipulated by the Overlords to provoke a confrontation with the clones. We were severely trounced, and may be yet again.”
Julian thought of the horrible pictures, mutilated living corpses, screaming and bleeding with the death rattle in their throats. He remembered the awful pointless rage that spread like a plague throughout the kingdom, until no one was safe from the foul bitterness that turned each against the other. Tears formed as he remembered fleeing the once-proud city under the cover of smoke, thick with the odor of burning flesh. The humans had done more damage to themselves than had the clones, by inventing the Box with a Mill. It was then that Julian was seized by an idea which struck him as simple and absolutely foolproof. “Quorb, you rascal,” He called.
“Your Highness?” said Quorb, with an air of uncertainty. He had never been addressed in such a manner.
“Quorb, you’re an absolute genius, man. You’ve just given us the plan to defeat the clones.”
“What, Sire?”
Julian was laughing now. “Remember what it was that destroyed our cities and empire? Oh, say you, do stout fellow.”
“Twas the clones, my lord,” said Quorb, in the manner of a hopeful schoolboy. “Twas those black-livered sons of Watson….”
“Quorb,” interjected Julian sharply. “Twas our own vanity, too. The Box with a Million Eyes turned us against each other. That blasted experiment in Electronic Baroque almost cost the entire race its life. We shall reinvent the machine for our clone friends, and sit back to pick up the pieces as they destroy themselves.”
Julian was true to his word. He wrote scenarios so pernicious that the clones were obliterated within several macrocunes. It happened with such speed and dread efficiency that the story can scarcely be told. Clone against clone battled until the street surfaces swam with surfeit steroids. The electric decadence spread throughout the entire clone empire until humans came from their hiding places to evolve once more. The few clones left in a recognizable state were preserved as curiosity pieces, or kept as servants by the ruling classes.
IV. Epilogue
And what, after all, is one human life
But a shrill cry of destiny echoing off the blood walls
of time?
Catechism of King Julian,
Opus #5, 7p.
Julian sauntered through the splendid new palace. There was a baby crying, and the promises of more children—a resurgence of the race. He was not at ease, nor was he content.
Alys regarded him with cold disdain, seeking satisfaction in the mechanical art of Quaento-Nebulization. Quorb had been only too happy to teach her the workings of the machine. He was interested in anyone who would take an interest in the Sacred Tradition of the Elders. Julian did not give a damn; now the battle was over.
The truth of the matter was that the King had alienated the affections of his Queen for some reason of which they both were unsure. The two did not talk, nor did they care about each other. “Screw her,” thought Julian. “I can have any woman I want within five planets of here.” In his more lachrymose moments, the King believed he must have tried most of those maidens.
Alys found that she was again pregnant. The child had been conceived in a loveless fit of royal rage when Julian had yelled, “Are you just going to lie there like a board, woman?” The silence between them hung heavy and melancholy in the royal chambers, and the Queen decided that she would take the Quaento-Nublizer and return to her own planet. Her mind was made up, and there was no remorse in her heart as the last dial was set. She left.
