by Faeriemage

"It is within each of us to ascent the peak to that Crystal Throne. Who among you dares?"
His Imperial Majesty, Raoul Steven Andrew Southerland
Fifth Emperor of the Crystaline Empire.

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Author's note: I hesitate to add this story here, not due to content, but because it is my white whale. I first began writing this story in 2000. I was well on my way to completion with 118 pages done, and about half of the problems resolved. A quick jaunt to earth and back home, the final conflict, and that would be it. Three separately stored copies of the document ceased to exist. One on floppy disk, and two on two distinct computer systems (one an intentional format, the other a failed drive)

Since that time I have started to write this story on three separate occasions, once getting up to 50 pages before disaster again struck. This story is cursed, and yet I truly want to tell it. I hope I don't destroy BCs servers by writing it here :). It isn't TG, but I like it. Hope you do too.

This isn't the story I originally wrote, but the characters are the same, and it will follow the same plot points. It isn't the same story because I realized a couple of years ago, that this is the third book in a trilogy. The first two books To sit upon the Throne and Heavy weighs the Crown come earlier chronologically, but have a much different meaning to me than this one does. I like these characters, and would like to see the tragedy from the beginning of the book resolved one of these days. We have a couple of chapters yet before that tragedy really strikes.

Those of your who have been reading my Gateway to Life story know that I am not daisies and sunshine all of the time. Heck, I'm not sure if any of my stories ever really achieve that. I do believe in happy endings, however, and this one will have one of those, the book and the story, eventually.

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There is something to be said about a mountain singing. Some would think that it is all bass notes and the rumbling of the earth. That isn't the case, especially with the crystal mountains of Weyland. Or should they be Crystal Mountains? I don't know, but they are spectacular, especially in the morning when their voice is first heard.

It begins with light, and not a white or a yellow, but a deep purple as the beams of the sun attenuate through the bulk of the behemoth overshadowing the city. It is this light that first begins to heat the mountain. It is a slow process. The light has shifted into a rose before the first note rings out. Of course, that's the note that lets him know he's about to be late.

"Porton Air Control, again this is HIS Drake, PAV0002. We need clearance to enter ground command now."

"Drake, as I've stated numerous times already, all air traffic over Porton is restricted for the duration."

"Steven, give me the headset, please."

Upon receiving the headset, the youth began to speak, "PAC controller, Identify Michael Raoul Alcort, presumptive heir of the Crystalline Throne and Prince of the Empire."

A genderless voice responded, "PAC controller acknowledges."

"Ok, so who am I speaking with?"

"Sir, I had no idea. . ."

"I understand that today is a little out of the ordinary. Someone appears out of nowhere on your screens, says they are the personal transport of the prince, and ask for entry into restricted airspace. What is protocol in that situation?"

"To ping their transponder?"

"And did you do that?"

"No, the watch officer said no one should be allowed through."

"This nation was never built upon the blind obedience to command that other nations seem to love. Think for yourself, and you might one day be the watch officer."

"Thank you, Sire."

"I'm not the Emperor. I haven't even taken my Test yet. I make you no promises. It is by your merit alone that you will prove your worthiness to rule."

He handed the headset back to Steven and sat back in the chair next to his older sister.

"And that's why I will never be fit for rule. You handled that without getting angry, or bribing, or calling him to task. You asked him what he should have done, and now it seems he's done it." This last was said as the 'car pitched down to enter into the ground traffic for the final leg of their journey to the cathedral.

Time was truly short. The first note was being punctuated by pops and spurts of noise, as the grand performer cleared its throat for the main performance. Since he would have no time at the cathedral, Michael got into his robes while they continued to descend. The moment the car landed, he was out the door into the back of the cathedral.

"You're late, young man."

"Sorry, Roland, but it seems someone in PAC was a bit overzealous this morning ordering all over flights canceled."

It seemed as though Roland's face tightened for a moment, and then he beamed a smile at Michael. "Well, at least you're here now. That's all that matters."

Roland adjusted Michael's robes minutely and pronounced them good just as the Choir and Mountain began the Aria of Dawn. It was a Jazz piece, in the sense that it was never the same twice. The long sonorous notes of the mountain blended by the choir into a song of praise and rebirth. Years would be spent in practice before a singer was allowed to perform with the choir at a mass.

The best of those were allowed to perform on high holy days, and of those, only a select few would be allowed to perform for royal occasions.

The monarchy wasn't strictly hereditary. It wasn't legally hereditary at all, but tradition often spoke when selecting a new ruler.

Because of the connection the people placed between the monarchy and themselves, they produced their best whenever the monarchy appeared in pageant.

While it was out of style for the common person to have a full church coming of age, it was expected of the monarchy, and so Michael's was in full pageant.

"Is there before us a supplicant?" The tones of the priest pierced the music of the mountain and choir. They had until the first direct rays of sun struck the cupola at the pinnacle of the building.

"I bring one found worthy of the next step." Roland's voice, not as well trained as the priests, but still having strength behind it, picked up the next line.

"As one hoping to be recognized a man, he must speak for himself."

"I have fulfilled all the rites of a child, and yet am no longer a child. I stand having no fetters to man. I walk with my eyes to the horizon, and my back straight."

"What is your greatest fear?"

Each person passing through this rite were expected to tell the truth. Some truths were more acceptable than others.

"I fear that I will prove unworthy of my peoples respect. I fear that when the time comes to be tested, I will be found wanting. I fear failure."

"A fear often found in those who rule. If we let not our fears rule us, we may truly be considered adults in the eyes of god and man. Step forward, Michael Raoul Alcort. A man amongst men, and an adult in the land."

Timed to perfection, the light streamed in past the mirrors, first illuminating Michael and the priest, and then the historical scenes on the walls in order: The exile from Earth, The long journey in the dark, The discovery of Weyland, Landfall, The founding of the Empire, and the return to space.

Then of course, there was the reception. Michael met back up with his sister there.

"Reminiscent of my own coming of age, Michael."

"I think you look better than me in a dress."

"Those are robes and you know it." She punched him lightly in the arm. "I think you looked very handsome up there, and I know someone else who agrees."

"She broke up with me, Catherine. She said something about our political views being incompatible."

"His Hereditary Earl of Mooring and Callif, Horace Leland Marrin, and Her Hereditary Ladyship, Angela Marrin"

"My lord and lady, Mooring and Callif." Michael said in greeting.

"Your Highness."

"Catherine, I have to say this is one of the bigger wastes of time ever invented."

"The ceremony for the people, the reception for the hereditary nobility. Each group wants their five minutes with the heir."

"I know, but most of the hereditary nobility look down their noses at us. Our own claim only goes back five generations."

"You know that's only the current claim. Our family has given up more titles than most of these people dream of."

Michael chuckled as the next person was announced.

"Her Hereditary Ladyship, Duchess of Alois, Marguerite van Helten."

Michael loosened his tie as he collapsed into the couch. It had been a long day already, and it was only half done. The Palace covered the top of an artificial mountain, and was huge to say the least. He sometimes wondered if calling something the size of a city a Palace wasn't a little like calling a Earth a backwater.

Even if it was under poor management, Earth was still the center of human colonization of the stars. Well, one thing is for sure; calling the Palace 'the City' wouldn't have the same imperial ring to it.

He chuckled a little. A cold feminine voice spoke to him from the air. "What do you find humorous this time, Michael."

"I doubt you'd understand, Sarah. You've spent what, two hundred years on humor?"

"Two hundred thirty-seven to be exact. I could include the months, days, hours, minutes and seconds of you like."

"Why not include milliseconds too?"

"It stopped doing that long ago, when I realized that the human mind has an inability to truly perceive time units smaller than a second."

Michael shook his head and chuckled. "Really, Michael, I want to know the humor here."

"The absurd is often funny. Humans created time, but don't accurately measure it without external devices."

"I don't understand."

"That's why you fail." Michael chuckled again.

"Ah, a reference to a pop culture icon can be humorous as well."

Michael, shook his head a bit, "What are we going to do with you, Sarah?"

"Keep me slaving away in the core, I expect."

Michael blinked, and then looked quizzically at her nearest camera. "Was that a joke? I know that you understand rhetorical questions."

"Yes, it was my first attempt at a joke. I was playing on the common perception of computers being literal."

"Well, for your first attempt, you get an A for effort and delivery. Unfortunately it wasn't funny. You need to keep working at it."

"One does ones best, Master."

Michael snorted. The Emperor walked into the room. Something about the way he moved, purposefully and directly, alerted Michael to how serious he was.

"What's wrong, Father?" Always Father. Never Dad, or Daddy. Their relationship became more strained with every year.

"Another of your Uncles has been murdered. This one was better concealed as an accident, but the possibility of Commissioner Liam McMasters dying in a skiing accident. . ."

"Those things do happen, Father."

"True, but you and I both know the extent to which Liam took his safety seriously. I want you to go to our family lands for a few days, at least until the public coronation of you as my rightful heir."

"I assume you mean after I take the Test?"

"Of course."

Michael sat and considered for a moment. In the Crystalline Empire only the capable ruled. A test had been created, and perfected, to guarantee that. It was not a small test, either. Testing usually took five days for the full battery. There were simple written sections that covered knowledge of laws and procedures, but those were only the preliminaries. There were smaller versions of the test for more limited offices, but anyone wishing to be in the highest offices of the Empire had to pass the complete version.

Situational tests, in VR and not. From the moment you entered the testing center, until the moment you left. It was all part of the test. Stress applied in numerous forms. Sleep deprivation a given. At any time you could leave. You failed automatically, but you could always leave.

The test was pass or fail. It only mattered that you were fit to leadership, not how fit.

Michael came to a decision.

"Ok, I'll go and serve on our family lands after the test. Sarah, when am I scheduled to begin?"

"We have you scheduled to begin the day after tomorrow. They had an opening, and since you are now legally an adult, we got you in as soon as possible."

"Well, I'm going to relax, then, for the next two days, and then go kill myself with this test."

"Ok, so who do we have up next?"

"Michael Raoul Alcort."

"So, the prince is finally subjecting himself to our tender mercies, eh?"

"You know he only came of age a couple of days ago."

"Oh hush, you know I only kidding."

"Full battery, I assume?"

"Yep, full battery. And he's in luck today, because it is one of our busier days. Wanna pull a 'line jumper' on him?"

"Of course I do. I live for 'line jumpers'."

Michael sat in the waiting room. It was clean and overly white. The walls were white. The floor was white. The ceiling was while. The chairs were white. It was as if someone decided that there was only one color in the world, and wanted everyone to agree.

The number on his ticket said 15430. The number on the sign currently read 15429. "Next please."

He got up in anticipation of his number being called. A genderless voice came out of concealed speakers, "Now serving 15431."

Michael let a brief look of confusion pass across his features, but then sat down again. He had time. He'd brought along the financial documents for Quarter Acre so that he could be better prepared when he went out to the family lands next week. Reading them passed the time until they called his number almost two hours later.

"Well, of course he wouldn't fall for that."

"Yeah, but it's funny when they do."

"To business?"

"To business."

The previous scenario had been war torn France during WWII. This one was a sidewalk cafe. He sat there catching his breath.

"Monsieur," was all he understood before the waiter had rattled off something in French. The previous scenario had been in English.

"I'm truly sorry. I don't understand."

"Je'n Parle Pas Anglaise." He understood that. The menu was in French as well. He hadn't had anything to eat for at least a day, but had recently gotten himself some water. Reaching into his pockets, Michael took out some francs that he found there. I counted his money, and then pointed at something on the menu at random. It cost about half what he had.

"This, Please?"

The waiter looked at where he was pointing, and said, "Oui." and then left. He returned a few minutes later with a ghastly looking piece of meat in a fatty sauce. "Bon Apetit." The waiter said with a smirk.

With a shrug of the shoulders, Michael ate the food that was presented to him. It was probably the worst meal he had ever been served. He dabbed his lips afterward and walked out of the Cafe. He left all of his money behind him on the table.

"That was a bit unexpected. You think he was coached?"

"No. Too hard to cover the thousands of possible scenarios we have. Sides, this result coincides with scenario 248 and 119."

"But isn't 119. . ."

"Stuck in elevator with no AC and BO problem of fat man?"

"I thought it was. . ."

"Nah, it's this one."

"His facial expression showed disgust at the meal when he started eating it."

"He ate it. He realized that food is food, and he didn't have the necessary skills to get something else. No other patrons or workers in site, and the waiter didn't understand him."

"Sometimes I wonder about what some of these tests prove in relation to leadership."

"That's why all lead controllers have to have PhDs in Adaptive Psychology."

"Yeah, get a degree so you can sit here in a dark room with me all day. What does your fancy degree say about this one?"

"People tend to look down on people serving them. See them as less than human. Each of us has worries and concerns in the world around us. The waiter was taking out personal hardships on someone he felt he could get away with it on. He couldn't complain, and so on.

"In not rising to the bait, and taking what he was given, without complaint, Michael diminished the man in his own eyes, at the same time he met a personal need. The tip was simply icing on the cake."

"But what if the waiter sees it as reason to take advantage of Michael in the future?"

"Leadership is treating people as people regardless of their motives or behaviors. It is correcting mistakes as well, when possible. The language barrier prevented correction in any meaningful way."

"You explain and I still feel like it does nothing in the long run. Sometimes I feel this job is useless."

"Well, it kept Roland out of power, didn't it?"

"There are still horror stories in training about his test."

"I was a junior controller then. It was worse than they say. Three controllers quit over it. Refused to continue if he wasn't forced out before the end."

Tired and dirty, Michael walked out into the sunshine on the fifth day. He would be told next week whether or not he passed. He was simply happy that now it was over.