Steffon of Starbonn - Chapter One

Steffon of Starbonn
from Plutar's
Tales of the Crystal Sword

a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Adventure
written by
Danny Clay Lee

Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

EDITORS' NOTE from the 18th Edition 2,913 AK

         Most of the galaxy has heard of Jakar Plutar's writings. His stories have been read for over twenty centrons. There are classes taught about his novels and plays. There are few languages that do not have a translation of his works.

         Yet, little is know about the man himself. His birth is listed in several respected journals, yet none of them can agree on a common date or birthplace. Nine systems claim to have been the site of his death, four have gravesites as monuments of great pride....

         However no matter where he was born, nor where nor when he died, Plutar chronicled the charms and terrors of many systems and worlds.

         One such was Starbonn, that mystical system that is no more. The home of the ancient Gods of Ole and the Crystal Sword.

         Was Starbonn a real place and time lost in antiquity or just a figment of Plutar's imagination?

         Whatever, this new translation hopes to give a glimpse of life as vivid as when Plutar penned his Tales of the Crystal Sword.

Chapter 1

         There shall be a time of Princes and Princesses, of goodness and evil...

         The cyberdroid attacked with a thrust of his laser foil toward the chest of the humanoid, but the young male employed a circular parry, moving his foil in a small arc to contact his opponent's laser shaft. This caused an outburst of sparks as the two powerful beams of energy converged, blocking each other.
         Having blunted the droid's charge, the humanoid feinted his blade directly at his adversary's head, then countered back with a slash at the lower torso of the mechanical swordsman. The droid's reflex was a blocking parry of such force, the humanoid was just barely able to keep his laser foil from being wrenched from his grasp.
         Both slowly backed away, machine and mortal facing each other just outside the range of foil tips that glowed pure white from their massive energy output. There was a low pitched hum caused by the laser shafts atomizing the atmosphere they displaced.
         The huge chamber they were dueling inside showed the wear of the match. Several pieces of furniture were overturned, marred by burns from foils missing their mark. Broken vases and glassware were scattered about and even the huge fireplace held damage where the droid's weapon bit into stone instead of flesh.
         The cyberdroid stood two meters tall, half a head above the young man who faced him. The droid's body was jet black, so black it seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it. His adversary wore pale green tights fitted into soft brown, knee high boots, yet the young man was naked from the waist up, gleaming with a thin sheen of perspiration from the effort of the bout.
         Where the black swordsman was synthetic fluids and cybernetic circuits, the humanoid was firm muscle and bone. Where the droid was dark, smooth cybertaintium, the man had golden tanned skin covered with fine blonde hairs that matched the thick thatch on the top of his head. Man and machine, they appeared complete opposites, but both possessed a common trait in the mastery of laser foils.
         Beginning another assault, the droid made a quick slash at his opponent, but the young man retreated with a quickness that was unusually fast even for a humanoid in the peak of physical excellence. The droid's blade bit into empty air, but he pressed the attack on, kicking forward, making fast ripostes left and right,
vertically, then horizontally, clockwise and
counterclockwise-- all parried or blunted by counter swings of the humanoid's foil. The young man retreated further and further until his back was pressed up against a massive table in the center of the room.
         Feinting one way, then another, the droid committed his foil into an arc that would slash clean through the humanoid's upper torso, but before the killing blow could land, the young humanoid, quick as a striking cat, sprang into a back flip. He completely cleared the table, landing on his feet in a swordsman's guard, positioned and ready for the droid's next action.
         It was fast in coming as the cyberdroid leaped over the table, landing on the attack with a fury of blows. Once again, lightning reflexes took the humanoid out of harm's way.
         Having moved to the droid's right, the young man smiled, beaming with almost smug confidence. He uttering a banshee's cry, pressing forward a counterattack with such ferocity, finesse and elan the robot's own quicksilver reactions were just sufficient to fend off the blows before they could strike home. Moving across the room, the swordsmen exchanged thrusts and parries until the humanoid's assault had run it course. Neither of their attacks had struck home, and again, humanoid and droid stood facing each other, the
match an apparent draw.
         The humanoid grinned at his adversary, but the face he looked into was inscrutable, enigmatic. The droid's face was humanoid-like with guarded receptacles where eyes would have been and a triangular indentation in place of mouth and nose, yet it showed no detectable change of features that could be recognized as emotion-- or the lack of it. No flicker of fear or of joy could come from that immobile, dark face, but it stared back into a face bristling with emotion: a confident smile, twinkling cool grey-blue eyes and the look of one who was thoroughly enjoying the encounter.
         The droid projected only action and reaction while the humanoid radiated the dash, the allure of a being completely at ease in brushing past blows that would certainly maim, if not kill or cripple him for life.
         They were alike in symmetry, both having the same number of arms, legs and appendages in humanoid form, but they were of two separate existences. The humanoid was a product of flesh and blood with an unlimited free will in his deeds and actions while the cyberdroid, a creation of special elements and chemicals possessing a superior intellectual capability through its unlimited data storage capacity, was limited in its frame of action by having been programmed by another.
         Any casual observer would have believed the droid's programmer was decidedly antihumanoid for the black figure flashed into an attack with all the zeal of a holy crusader intent on making all mankind extinct.
         Recoiling from the vicious assault, the humanoid was forced to use all his cunning, stealth and strength as the droid's slashing, powerful thrusts backed him toward a corner of the chamber. Realizing his quickly dwindling freedom of action, the humanoid's eyes darted
around the area to find something he could put to his advantage as the droid pressed the attack.
         An ornate tapestry hanging near the corner of the room offered itself, and with a lightning flash of his laser foil, the young man slashed up and through it, flicking the cut away section over the charging form of the droid. Then, leaping out of the way of the cloaked
droid's charge, the humanoid reached down with his free hand, grabbed a corner of the rug under the cyberdroid's feet and jerked with all his might.
         With a resounding crash, the droid toppled over onto the floor, yet in a flash, it tore the tapestry from about itself. It was for naught.
         The humanoid placed both hands onto the hilt of his foil and swung with all his strength, engaging and knocking the droid's sword out of his hand. There being no pressure on the foil's activation stud, the loose weapon lost its charge and twirled away, clanging to the floor, inert and no longer lethal, into a pile of broken glassware.
         The droid, still on its haunches before the
humanoid, did not make any attempt to move away or
defend itself. It was completely at the humanoid's mercy.
         The young man's face creased into a wicked smile and he pressed the point of his foil directly at the droid's chestplate, leaning forward to force it home. As the tip of thin, pure energy touched the droid's chest, a discharge of sparks announced a force field
surrounding the mechanical being. The foil could not penetrate the field to deliver a killing blow!
         "That was excellent, Lord Steffon!" The droid spoke with almost humanoid pride.
         The young man, Lord Steffon, Prince Protector of the Realm, heir to the Throne of Starbonn and the Crystal Sword, deftly brought the hilt of his foil to his face in a salute to the defeated droid on the floor before him.
         "Thank you, Elbe," added Steffon as he disengaged his foil.
         "Well done," came a shout from the doorway of the chamber. "Well done, indeed, my lad!"
         Steffon turned his head toward the direction of the familiar voice and smiled.
         The speaker stood in the doorway, almost filling it with his massive arms crossed and a similar wicked grin on his face. Dropping his arms, the speaker crossed the room in a few powerful steps and upon reaching Steffon, he clasped both hands to the young man's shoulders and shook him with manly affection.
         Steffon placed his left hand on his embracer's shoulder and replied in kind.
         Each wore a heavy ring on the forefinger of their left hand. Both carried the inlaid crest of their kinsline. The older man's ring marked him as the head of the clan, the other marked the heir apparent.
         As the two exchanged greetings, Elbe quickly and quietly rose from the floor. He began to effortlessly move about the room righting strewn furniture and picking up broken glassware.
         "Well done, my son," the newcomer said quietly.
         Steffon had been praised often by others in the Royal Palace of Starbonn, but these words always brought a lump to his throat: the emotion of pride he felt at having these words come from the lips of his father, Lord Protector Sarkon, Master of the Crystal Sword and the ruler of the thousands of parsecs surrounding the nine systems under Starbonnian rule.
         Sarkon's smile faded. "Though it pains me when I think of the pressure I shall have to apply to the Royal Tithe Collectors for them to appropriate enough to replace the breakage you and Elbe have caused from this little tussle."
         Sarkon turned from Steffon and looked upon the corner where the duel had ended. "My Kessian Tapestry!" The Lord Protector turned back toward his son. "Was that your only ploy to dash Elbe?"
         "I shall be able to mend it, my Lord Protector," chimed Elbe.
         "It was his only viable action," the droid added matter of factly.
         Sarkon gave Steffon a wink unseen by the droid who had moved to pick up the remains of the tapestry. "That cauldron of iron, does he defend one who has no tongue?"
         "My Lord Protector," Elbe countered as he turned back to face the two, "I defend him no more than I did you when you were my charge." There was almost a sly, mocking tone to the droid's voice.
         Sarkon stepped to the droid and put his hand on Elbe's shoulder. "I know, my old friend."
         Elbe moved his free hand up to Sarkon's shoulder. The two exchanged an unsaid affection that bridged the void between man and machine. After a moment, the droid broke away, as almost in embarrassment and moved off into an adjoining chamber.
         "Did he coddle you also, Father?"
         Sarkon turned back to his son. He looked upon a younger version of himself, perhaps a hair taller, but broader in the shoulders and stouter in the arms-- arms that would one day wield the Crystal Sword that now hung from Sarkon's left hip.
         The boy is certainly more handsome than me,
thought Sarkon, and it pleased him as it would have his long dead wife had she lived instead of dying giving birth to Steffon's sister.
         There were many reasons for Sarkon's vanity in his only son. The boy had just recently graduated first in his class at the Royal Naval Academy, and that was due to Steffon's abilities and talents, not pressure from the Crown. He was the best astropilot Sarkon had ever seen. The Prince could pilot anything from a common hovercraft to a Regent Class Dreadnought. And he was always calm in a crisis, completely devoid of fear.
         Yes, thought Sarkon, Starbonn will gain a better ruler when I relinquish the Throne.
         The pride Sarkon felt as he gazed on his son was almost sinful, but he answered with his usual, masked gruffness, "No more than he does you, my young pup. Now, if you are through breaking up the Royal Household, perhaps you will attend me for the Meeting of the Peers?"
         "Of course, Father, I shall change immediately."
         As if on cue, Elbe reappeared from the chamber beyond and announced, "Prince Steffon, I have prepared your fresher and laid out your formal kit."
         Sarkon boomed out a laugh. "Take heart, my son. He was just as much an old mother hen with me. I shall see you in the Hall of Peers." Sarkon thumped his son on the back and walked from the chamber.
         "You are an old mother hen, Elbe," said Steffon as he tossed his disengaged foil toward the robot and walked into his bedchamber.
         The droid deftly reached out and snared the foil in midair. He followed Steffon, saying, "It is my function, Sire."

* * *

         Sarkon walked with authority, a forceful gait that fit the ruler of a star system. Besides the Crystal Sword on his hip, symbol of supreme authority on Starbonn, Sarkon was outfitted in Royal Full Dress: form cut uniform of forest green, incrusted with ornate
gold trimming and Royal Orders, highly polished black boots and a floor length cape draped over his shoulders. Sarkon preferred sandals and a kaftan that suited his personal taste, yet custom dictated formal kit for Meetings of the Peers, so the Lord Protector grumbled loudly and dressed accordingly.
         Moving through the corridors toward the Hall of Peers, Sarkon was joined at a junction by an older man, Count Vidor, Prime Minister of the Realm.
         Vidor was thin and willowy, like the reed that bent, but never broke. His face was a mass of lines and wrinkles, yet in a sense, he was ageless. Even Sarkon remembered Vidor as looking ancient when he was a child and Vidor was his father's Prime Minister. The old man had been his mentor and trusted confident since
he succeeded his father, Lord Protector Sarrias.
         Yet, the past few hectons, Sarkon had begun to doubt Vidor's uncanny ability to foresee events and trends. There had been too many times, the Prime Minister had cried "Jackal!" when there was no jackal. It seemed to Sarkon he had begun to harp on one
subject, and that one alone.
         Vidor did not believe he had lost his analytical powers of political observation, he just believed he had lost Sarkon's confidence.
         "What shall I expect this day, Vidor?"
         The old man answered with the refined voice of a career politician. "The usual, Sire. I foresee nothing of consequence in today's Meeting, but I am fearful it is only a matter of time before the Baron shall show his hand."
         Sarkon pulled up short. "Really, Vidor?"
         "Sire, I--"
         "Are you becoming senile?"
         "No, my Liege. I only--"
         "Then stop speaking of the Baron and his phantom schemes," Sarkon said forcefully, cutting off his Prime Minister. "The days of Palace cabals ended long ago! The Royal Bloodline has not been altered since my greatkinsman Stantis was taken by Princess Anthra. There has not been a Lord Protector to die from a Challenge in over a centon.
         "This day and age, the Lord Protector rules with the Crystal Sword and the consent of the Peers. The Baron will not challenge either the Peers or my strong right arm! He knows he would lose!" With a Royal snort, Sarkon turned from Vidor and started down the hallway.
         "I pray you are right, Sire," Vidor said under his breath as he trailed after his monarch down the corridor. He caught up with Sarkon as they entered the antechamber to the Hall of Peers.
         The Commander of the Royal Guards barked an order, and the green uniformed Guardsmen stationed about the chamber snapped to attention as Sarkon swept into the room. The Royal Cabinet members turned to their ruler and bowed as one. They all served him at his pleasure, but they gave him their allegiance freely-- formally now, as custom dictated, and informally as good friends when they joked or drank at his many gatherings on Royal Hunts or in parties in the Royal Chambers. They had been enjoying drinks and refreshments before his entrance, so Sarkon joined them.
         Before a Meeting of the Peers, it was custom to have the Ministers advise the Lord Protector of their views on pressing matters and politics of the times, but since Sarkon knew most of their views and thinking, and himself being a connoisseur of the grape, these advisory conferences had evolved into a time of drinking and palace gossip. It was assumed it would be
such this day as they awaited the arrival of the Prince Protector. Then, at Sarkon's command, the doors to the great Hall would open, trumpets would sound and the Peers of Starbonn would greet their ruler for the 4,973rd Meeting of the Peers.
         Minister Omsk, a tall, spindly figure, approached Sarkon at the refreshment table. "A moment of your time, my Liege?"
         "Of course, Omsk," answered Sarkon. He took a tankard of wine from the table and moved away with his Minister of Trade.
         A short, ruddy faced man came to Vidor's side. He whispered, "Did you speak of the Baron with the Lord Protector?"
         "I tried."
         "Tried?" The man looked around the room, then back to Vidor. "You must try again. The Baron is plotting treason, I know it!"
         "Give me evidence other than your knowledge that I may present to Sarkon, then I will try again," answered Vidor.
         "The Baron does not leave evidence!" The man
looked into Vidor's eyes. "You know that!"
         "Without proof--" Vidor held up empty palms in a gesture. "What did the Lord Protector say when you brought up the Baron?"
         "The same. He is quiet certain there nothing to fear from the Baron."
         The small man's eyes widened, "If only that were true."
         Vidor's expression became old beyond his advanced age. "May we hope it is, L'Chuga."

* * *

         Two hooded figures came through the entrance to the Hall of Peers reserved for diplomatic personnel. Both were considerably over two meters tall and walked with the halting gait of creatures from a planet with a lower surface gravity. They were Hirooians.
         One was the current Ambassador to the Starbonnian Court. He walked slowly, his appearance wizened with lips pursed and a slight stoop in his posture, the obvious results of his two centons of existence. The other, a Special Mediator, stood as tall as his weary muscles could hold him and endeavored to walk with a
haughty majesty only the very young and foolish would attempt in this gravity.
         The Mediator's youth of only sixty odd hectons gave the Ambassador worry. The older being could only think of the youth as cocky, and in diplomatic missions, cockiness could spell disaster. The Mediator's haughty expression changed to a wide eyed stare as both entered the cavernous Hall of Peers. The Ambassador noticed the change and was amused.
         "Magnificent, simply magnificent," muttered the Mediator in a comment to no one in particular.
         "Your reaction is such of one who sees this for the first time," the Ambassador added.
         "I was well briefed, but I did not expect-- this-- this grandeur."
         "It is impressive."
         "These Starbonnians, they tell this hall was built in the Time of Creation?"
         "They insist every dating technique used will not reveal the structure's age."
         "Impossible!" said the Mediator.
         "Perhaps," offered the Ambassador, "but it is their claim." He slowly pointed a digit of his hand about the Hall. "See how the entire structure is built of huge stones set upon each other? They call these stones Olite, after their deities, the Gods of Ol. It is said these stones are composed of such a dense material that a laser or pulsar beam will not mar them."
         "I have heard the same of this Crystal Sword their ruler wears like a barbarian. Is that also true?" asked the Mediator.
         The Ambassador answered, "Their legend has it that the first Lord Protector found the Crystal Sword here in the Hall eons ago. It is said the sword is as ageless as the Hall and that it gives the Lord Protector special powers over his opponents. Of course, it is only a myth."
         The Mediator cocked an eye at the Ambassador. "I shall tell you what a myth is: it is this Count Zemil who takes our faith and wealth and does not produce results!"
         "I believe Count Zemil shall prove his worth this very day."
         "After having the Grand Vazeer agree to cede the Qartian Asteroids to Starbonn, he had better produce results, or you and I shall be called back to Hiroo to offer our heads to the spikes on the Grand Vazeer's gate."
         "I trust our heads are safe."
         The Mediator looked into the face of the Ambassador and gazed his three eyes directly into the older being's three eyes, "I pray your trust is justified."
         The Ambassador led the gloomy Mediator to a seat and told a young Starbonnian Page to fetch them refreshments. It was always so with the very young, he mused, they never have any patience. The Ambassador's eyes looked up and about the Hall of Peers.
         Here was age, here was faith and a permanence even to one from such a long lived race as the Hirooians. But the Ambassador, being well educated in the realms of science and technology, silently chuckled at the simple myths the Starbonnians told of their Hall of Peers and Crystal Sword.

* * *

If you wish to read more of my novel, please e-mail me... Thanks, Danny Clay