Steffon of Starbonn a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel written by Bender2 AKA Danny Clay Lee

[Bender2]

Welcome to
Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

EDITORS' NOTE
from the 18th Edition
2,913 A.K.
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.
But 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.

Author's Note:
I am offering my sci-fi novel to be read, hopefully enjoyed and commented on by the readers.

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 Ambas-
sador 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.

It was suggested that I did not post enough of a teaser, therefore Chapters 2, 3 & 4 are posted below.

Thanks for browsing by, your comments and criticisms are welcome.
Danny Clay

© 1992, 1997 Danny Clay Lee

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Two

     The   Hall  of  Peers  was  both  the  center   of
government on Starbonn and its oldest known  structure,
beside  being  the source of the  Crystal  Sword.   The
building  blocks  of Olite were the  stuff  of  legends
themselves, so strong, so dense that no mere technology
of any known civilization could mark or penetrate them.
These cubes appeared not to be native to Starbonn.   At
least  there had never been any similar cubes or  rocks
found on the planet, nor on any known planet or system.
     As far as the written history of Starbonn, the
Hall had always been there.   Sages passed tales down
through the ages of the Hall going back to the mystical
times of the Gods of Ol, beings who came from across
the voids of time and space to give intelligence and
wisdom to the creatures that evolved into the humanoids
on Starbonn and the other populated systems of the
galaxy.  In other systems and civilizations, such myths
of godlike beings brought forth many different names.
On Starbonn they were christened the Gods of Ol.
     Hence, the huge blocks of the Hall of Peers were
called Olite.  And nowhere else in the galaxy known to
Starbonn was there a structure to rank with the Hall of
Peers.  It was a holy temple to many of the Realm, but
as intellect and technology had increased with the
evolution of humanoids, there were few who truly
believed in the Gods of Ol.  Sarkon did not, nor did
many of the Starbonnian nobility.  As modern men of a
highly educated civilization, they were above religion
and mysticism.  Still, the blocks of Olite were
unmarred by age and the cool grey stones did not emit
any radiation with which to date them.
     As the Hirooian Ambassador stated, legend told of
the first Lord Protector finding the Crystal Sword
inside the Hall of Peers so long ago there was not a
written record of his name or rule.  The tale goes, the
Gods of Ol left the Crystal Sword in the Hall to
protect Starbonn from "The Final Fall."  It was to give
the powers of the Gods to the Lord Protector at the
needed time, yet, so far as those who believed in the
weapon's defending the realm against this "Final Fall,"
no one seemed to know exactly what such catastrophe
this was to be, because it had evidently never
happened.
     Several pentons ago, a brief, but bloody feud had
broken out among the clergy of Starbonn over whether
the "Final Fall" was to be into ice or fire.  The
arguments ceased when the greater part of those
expressing their views were taken to a higher court by
their untimely deaths at the hands of those with
opposing opinions.
     Of the present faithful, some said "the Final
Fall" would never come, not matter what form such a
catastrophe took.  Still, others claimed when it did
come, the Crystal Sword would serve as a beacon to
guide the Gods of Ol back to Starbonn to provide
salvation.  There were many other prophecies and
related tales about the Hall of Peers and the Crystal
Sword, but as all legends are only that until their
truths are revealed, these were all simple fables to be
spun for children waiting for sleep.
     The sword itself was a beautiful weapon of a pure
crystal as equally mysterious as the blocks of Olite.
As durable as the stones that made up the Hall, the
Crystal Sword was sharper than any razor and never
needed to be honed.  It could block the blade of the
most powerful laser saber and with the wielder's will
and strength, cut through the power beam of a laser
saber when necessary to kill an opponent.
     Sarkon had experienced this feat once when a
worthy challenger had tested his rule in the early days
of his reign.  The match had been long and vicious.
Sarkon had managed to knock his adversary to the ground
and swung the Crystal Sword down with both hands to
slay his opponent.  He, in turn, had brought up his
laser saber in a parry that should have deflected the
blow.  Yet to Sarkon's amazement, the crystal blade had
passed unscathed through the offender's laser saber and
cleaved the man in two.
     In time Sarkon came to reason, then believe, the
sword was simply a creation of an ancient, but
technologically superior civilization, not of gods or
legends.  The Crystal Sword had passed through his
opponent's laser saber because Sarkon's blood was up
and he used his hidden reserve of strength to swing so
hard.
     The weapon's extraordinary stamina was one reason,
he knew, why past Lord Protectors had rarely been
victims of duels unless they were poor in
swordsmanship.  Sarkon was a Master of the Blade and
had been so since his youth.  The Crystal Sword's power
lay in the strength and stealth of the wielder.
     Presently it was Sarkon's rock hard right arm.
That he regarded as the reality and fact of the Crystal
Sword, not some tale from the dim past.  The
crystalline blade on his hip was just an implement and
symbol of his rule to be passed on to his son.  And
even then it would only be as powerful as Steffon's
right arm.
     Having just observed Steffon's increasing prowess
with a blade, Sarkon felt his son would do well and
live long as a Lord Protector.  Very well, indeed.
     The Lord Protector had finished his short
conversation with Omsk and had moved back to the
refreshment table for another tankard of wine when
Vidor approached him.  "It grows late, Sire.  Shall we
proceed without the Prince Protector?"
     "No," answered Sarkon.  He turned to his right.
"Commander?"
     The Commander of the Royal Guards stepped quickly
to Sarkon's side.  "Yes, my Liege?"
     "Send someone to fetch my son."
     "Aye, my Liege."  The Commander marched across the
room to Sub-lieutenant Helm.  Helm snapped to attention
as the Commander barked an order for him to find and
escort the Prince Protector to the Hall of Peers.
     "Aye, aye, Sir," Helm answered and hurriedly
exited the antechamber to comply with the Lord
Protector's wish.

     Inside the Hall of Peers another was noting the
time.  He was a slim man whose slight build had misled
many to judge him not able to withstand a duel.  Those
who had made that mistake were long dead and those
deaths had kept many others from offering challenge.
     The man wore a jet black cape of richly sought
after festron fur.  A bejeweled ceremonial, yet still
deadly sharp, sword of imported tantianite hung on his
hip, the dazzling hilt protruding from the cape to
offer support to the man's left hand.  He was dressed
in a finely cut tunic of black silk with matching
riding breeches that fit down into knee length boots of
the softest leather.  Silver piping accented his kit
and a woven silver belt held up the tantianite saber.
Several ornate rings were on his fingers, but the most
impressive one was a huge crystal ring on his left
forefinger.  It carried the inlaid crest of his
kinsline and matched the clasp that held the cape about
his shoulders.  The crest was of the Terrics, a clan
that was once of the bloodline of the Lord Protectors,
but had lost out long ago to a Challenger.  The wearer
of the crest was the head of the clan, Baron Graft Mon
Terric, and his thoughts were on the Terrics regaining
the Throne of Starbonn.
     "Baron?"
     Mon Terric turned an ear toward a man at his side.
"Yes, Rolf?"
     "Sire, it is all arranged."
     "Excellent.  Have Dax alert his men."
     "It shall be done, my Baron," answered Rolf as he
turned and disappeared into the crowd of nobles.
     The Baron moved his eyes about the Hall until he
found another pair of eyes.  Both held contact for a
brief moment, then the Baron barely nodded his head in
approval.  The other did not gesture in return, he
simply turned away.
     The Baron allowed himself a small smile.
     Mon Terric turned to look out upon those waiting
around him in the vast Hall of Peers.  He was standing
in the section where the Peers of Starbonn lingered for
the arrival of their monarch.  They were milling about
several tables piled high with snacks and spirits, all
anticipating Sarkon to enter and call them to the
circular area where the actual Meeting would take
place.
     That area was located in the very front of the
Hall.  There were comfortable chairs and couches for
the Peers to sit before the Lord Protector's Throne and
offer their desires, wishes and advice to him.  Behind
the Peers and their many aides and camp followers were
the Ladies and Families of the Peers, the nobility of
the star systems that owed their allegiance to the
Master of the Crystal Sword.  Further back were areas
for the gentry of Starbonn, and high above all was the
gallery for the Freemen of Starbonn and their kin.
     Each twelfth fortnight, this gathering of
Starbonnians sat before the Lord Protector to hear his
command and do his pleasure.  It had been so for the
past one thousand two hundred forty-three hectons since
the Peers of that time forced Lord Protector Austeria
to hear and agree to their advice and consent.
     Custom allowed any male Peer to make a plea for
himself, or another not of noble birth, for the Lord
Protector's ear.  Generally, there were few pleas and
much heated debate that led to decisions by the Lord
Protector that gathered the consent of the Peers.
     Little had changed in the way Starbonn was ruled
since Lord Protector Stantis shook things up six
generations before.  This day, little was expected to
change, but the man in black silk knew differently, and
it gave him pleasure.
     "What is keeping him?" asked another voice beside
the Baron.  It was his nephew, Garth, a nervous,
impatient little man with a bulging stomach too large
for his size or age.
     Mon Terric looked at his timepiece, thinking it
was fitting Sarkon would be late this day.
     "Are we Peers not worthy of Sarkon's punctuality?"
Garth muttered between sips from a tankard of wine.
     Mon Terric continued to look about the Hall as he
answered, "All in good time, Garth.  All in good time."

    "You are not coming to the Meeting?  Why?"
     "Why should I?"
     "It is expected of you, Shera," Steffon replied to
his younger sister.  He and Elbe had come upon her as
they were walking along the Palace corridors to the
Meeting.  The Prince was amazed to find her informally
attired in a robe, heading for the courtyard pool
instead of taking her place beside the Throne for the
Meeting.
     "I find it all very boring, Steffon," she answered
with a wave of her hand.  "Old Count Fussbottom will
make his usual plea.  There will be lots of needless
shouting and arguing, and in the end, nothing will come
of it all."
     She smiled at Steffon with huge dimples forming in
her rosy cheeks.  "Admit it, Steffon, even you are
bored with it."
     "I must be there, Shera!"
     "Custom does require his presence, my Lady," added
Elbe, standing at Steffon's side, only entering the
conversation as he felt it was his duty to clear up a
point of protocol concerning his charge.
     "Curse custom!" Shera laughed and took her
brother's hand.  "Come with me for a swim and I will
tell you the most juicy tale about Dame Estellia and
Baron Janis."
     Steffon pulled his sister close and kissed her on
the forehead.  "I really must attend Father," he said,
releasing her and adding, "And you should be, too."
     "No," she answered.
     Steffon smiled, "Karn will be there."  He taunted
her in a brotherly manner.  "What shall I tell him when
he sees you are not there?"
     "Just because Karn and I are to be joined is not a
reason for me to attend the Meeting.  Beside, if I do
go, custom requires I sit at Father's side, not
Karn's."  She turned to the droid, "Is that not so,
Elbe?"
     "It is, my Lady."
     "Prince Steffon!" came a shout from down the
corridor.  Guardsman Helm came up and stood at
attention before Steffon.  "My Prince, the Lord
Protector requests you attend him."
     "I must go, Shera.  Give us another hug."
     As she embraced him, Shera whispered into his ear,
"After the Meeting, come to the pool with Karn."
     "I shall.  Then you can tell me about Estellia's
indiscretion."
     Shera broke away from him and playfully said, "No,
you had your chance!"
     "Very well," answered Steffon with a wink.  "Come,
Elbe."  He and the droid started walking down the
corridor,
     Sub-lieutenant Helm's attention was on Shera, and
being as beautiful as she was unattainable to him, he
did not notice Steffon and Elbe walking away from him.
     A few steps away, the droid turned back to the
guardsman.  "Sub-lieutenant Helm, will you attend the
Prince Protector?" asked Elbe, noting the young man's
loss of attention.
     "Aye, my Lord," snapped Helm, mistaking the
droid's voice for the Prince Protector's.  He quickly
turned to follow Steffon and Elbe, but not before he
had been rewarded for his breech of duty by a smile
from Shera.
     The Princess knew she had great beauty, but it
meant nothing to her.  It was a fact, like the sun
rising every dawn, so that was all it was to her:
nothing more, nothing less.
     Still, it pleased her greatly to have the eyes of
a young and handsome man look admiringly toward her.
Sub-lieutenant Helm was and did, so she had given him a
smile to let him know she enjoyed his attention.
     Shera made her way to the Palace Courtyard and up
to the bank of the huge pool below the fountains.  She
untied the belt of her robe and dropped it away from
her slim, lithe body.  Standing up on her toes, she
coiled and dove into the warm, inviting water.  Shera
kicked her shapely legs and propelled herself down to
the bottom of the pool, touched it and gently rose back
to the surface.  Breaking the water with a shake of her
head to throw back her wet locks, she began to swim
with a firm stroke toward the far end of the pool.
     Though her graceful, well proportioned body did
not show it, underneath her skin were strong, firm
muscles that came from her heritage as Sarkon's
offspring.  She reached the far end of the pool and
pulled herself out of the water just as one of the
household servants approached.
     "My Lady, would you care for some refreshments?"
     "Not at the moment," Shera replied.  She would
wait for Steffon and Karn to join her.  Then she would
have a drink with them, forgive her brother and tell
him and her betrothed the gossip she had heard.
     Karn did not care for such silly nonsense, but he
understood she did, so he listened just to please her.
Steffon, on the other hand, did enjoy the rumors and
such about the Royal Court and its intrigues.  He was a
great mimic and used his dry sense of humor to poke fun
at the nobles caught up in palace gossip.
     Shera remembered how he had laughed when she had
told him of fat old Lady Yovania's getting stuck in a
sauna tube with a young lover.  She slipped back into
the pool and swam for the far end.  Reaching it, she
flipped over and began to swim back to where the
servant girl patiently waited to do her bidding.
Halfway across the pool, Shera turned over and began a
backstroke.  She could see huge, puffy clouds riding
majestically through a pale blue sky.  A flash of light
twinkled in the distance, catching Shera's eye as she
reached the bank of the pool.
     "Look, my Lady," said the servant girl, pointing
at the point of fire in the sky.
     "That would be the Starwind," said Shera, "making
passage to Toulabonn."
     The point of light accelerated and vanished from
sight.
     "That is where you and Master Karn are going for
your blisstime, is it not, my Lady?"
     "Yes," answered Shera.  "Before the seasons come
again, Karn and I will be joined and on that very liner
heading for Toulabonn."
     "I wish you every happiness, my Lady," offered the
servant girl.
     "Thank you, Trinia, I believe that is your name,
is it not?"
     "Yes, my Lady," answered the girl with a bob of
her head.
     "You may go, Trinia.  Come back when my brother
and Karn come here after the Meeting.  You had better
bring some strong spirits as they will be thirsty from
so much man talk."  Shera made a face upon saying "man
talk."
     Trinia laughed.  "Yes, my Lady."  She curtsied and
left.
     Shera languished in the water, thinking of her and
Karn's joining and their blisstime to follow.  It was a
pleasing thought on a beautiful day as the Princess of
Starbonn began to slowly swim about the pool and
daydreamed of things to come in her life.

Chapter Three
follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Three

     Viscount Karg was standing beside his son, Karn,
and the old man was in a stance quiet familiar to his
colleagues: left hand and arm folded across his chest,
right hand to his face, gently stroking his beard.  He
was deep in thought, oblivious to the quiet murmurings
of the surrounding Peers.
     Karg was dressed formally, as the other nobility
were for this occasion, but the Viscount's pale blue
tunic over white breeches was not adorned with precious
piping and jewels as the finery of his fellow noblemen.
It was not that Viscount Karg's kinsline or position
lacked wealth or power, but rather the belief of the
old patrician that the ruling class should not hold
itself too ornate for the masses.
     During his youth, the Viscount had traveled
extensively about the quadrant of the galaxy around the
Starbonnian Systems, observing and studying the various
forms of governments on the populated worlds and
systems.  His conclusion was the particular form of
monarchy that ruled Starbonn held many advantages over
the various forms of rule that governed the
civilizations he had observed in his journeys.
Starbonn's system of rule had many superiorities, yet
still, it tolerated two of the worst evils Karg could
imagine.  One was the nobility flaunting their wealth
and station before the less fortunate, and the other
was about to have the full attention of the Lord
Protector.
     Karg was more than determined to see to that.
     "Father?"  Karn touched his father's arm and
brought Karg out of his deep thoughts.
     "Yes, Son?"
     "Are you sure Sarkon suspects nothing of your
ploy?"
     "Karn, the Lord Protector is not a fool.  He will
gauge the situation when it comes upon him, but he
lacks reason to suspect my plan."
     "I am not confident your plan will succeed,
Father."
     "That is not the issue."
     "You plan will fail!"
     "It will this day, but you must realize, Karn, in
politics a defeat is often measured as a victory."
     "Defeat is not a pleasing pastime, Father," Karn
replied with a scowl on his face.  "And calling it a
victory does not take the foul taste from your mouth."
     "Have patience.  This will be a day long remem-
bered as the beginning of a journey to final justice,
my Son."
     "We shall see soon, Father."  Karn folded his arms
across his chest and nodded his head toward the front
of the Hall.  "Sarkon attends us."
     The lights in the Hall of Peers grew brighter as
the Royal Guard Commander entered through a huge
doorway behind the Throne.  He was followed by Sub-
lieutenant Helm and the other guardsmen who were
honored with the personal protection of the Lord
Protector.  The guardsmen took positions around the
Throne area as the Commander walked to the Throne and
hesitated a moment to allow the video technicians to
cut into all the video channels across the planet and
the hyper channels to the rest of the Realm.
     The Commander announced, "My Lords, the Lord
Protector!"
     The Royal Trumpeters flourished a fanfare salute,
then the Starbonnian Anthem as all stood while Sarkon
entered the Hall of Peers.  The Lord Protector was
followed by Steffon, Elbe, Vidor and the Royal
Ministers.  Sarkon stepped to the Throne.  Steffon, the
droid and Vidor stood beside the Throne while the
Ministers took positions to the monarch's right.  When
all were in place, the anthem ended.
     "Will the Peers attend me?" asked Sarkon.
     With this customary question, the Peers moved down
and took their places in the circular area around and
below the Throne.  When all were at their seats, the
Lord Protector sat down upon the Throne.  The Peers and
Royal Ministers took their seats except for the Prime
Minister.
     Vidor began the Meeting.  "The Lord Protector will
now hear the wishes of the Peers."  Vidor nodded toward
a squat noble to his left.  "Count Zemil?"  Vidor took
his seat as the rotund Count stood up.
     "My Liege," Zemil began, "my fellow Peers, I would
like to begin with a plea on behalf of the star system
of Hiroo.  The past three Meetings they have, in good
and honest faith, petitioned the Lord Protector for a
trade agreement between our two great systems.  Three
times the Lord Protector, with the consent of the
Peers, has failed to approve such a treaty.
     "I have just returned from Hiroo, and after
extensive discussions with their Minister of Commerce,
I am pleased to announce the Hirooians have conceded
the Qartian Asteroids to Starbonnian jurisdiction.  The
Hirooians have also honored us by sending a Special
Mediator in the person of High Commissioner Ku'Sary."
Zemil gestured toward the Diplomatic Gallery.
     The Special Mediator nodded his head in recog-
nition.
     The Count turned back to the Throne and continued,
"I also understand our Minister of Trade has received
the official concession from Hiroo.  Minister Omsk, is
this correct?"
     The tall Minister rose from his seat.  "It is,
Count Zemil."
     "Do you believe the concession to be properly
executed?"
     "I do," answered the Minister who then retook his
seat.
     "Then, my Lord Protector," concluded Count Zemil,
"I plead you command the Minister of Trade to conclude
an agreement of commerce between Starbonn and the
Empire of Hiroo."  The Count sat down.
     "I am favorable to your plea, Count Zemil,"
answered Sarkon.
     He looked out at the nobles of Starbonn.  "Does
any Peer wish to offer his advice?"
     Vidor rose from his seat and recognized Duke
Athofen.
     The Duke got to his feet.  "My Liege, the
Hirooians give us crumbs in return for a lucrative
outlet for their goods.  We face the added expense of
having the Royal Navy extend its protection to the
Qartian Asteroids.  They, themselves of little worth,
are on the distant reaches of the Realm, hardly a pearl
for--"
     Sarkon, reaching for a goblet of wine, leaned over
to his son and softly said, "And of course Athofen
fails to mention Royal Jurisdiction also means Royal
Tithes on the mining venture he has most secretly undertaken."
     "In the Qartian Asteroids?" whispered back
Steffon.
     Sarkon nodded affirmatively, still pretending to
give his full attention to the Duke.
     "Then why not announce this to the Peers," Steffon
offered forcefully, "instead of letting him rant on
with his rubbish?"
     "Then he would know the extent of my ears," Sarkon
answered.  "In politics, my son, it is often better to
use a feather than a broom to swat a gnat."
     "Therefore, my Liege," concluded the Duke, "I plea
the Lord Protector keep the status quo and reject the
Hirooian offer."
     The Prime Minister rose to recognize Baron Hom.
The Baron spoke briefly, giving his opinion for a trade
agreement.  Six more times Vidor rose and recognized
other nobles who offered their views.  All but one
concurred the agreement would be beneficial to the
Realm.  Finally, Marquis p'Tal called for Question.
Several other Peers rose and joined the call for
Question.
     "Question is accepted," announced Vidor.  He
turned to Sarkon.  "My Lord Protector, what is your
command?"
     "I decree," Sarkon began, "the Hirooians be
accommodated.  Over my Seal, I command the Minister of
Trade to conclude a Treaty of Commerce between Starbonn
and the Empire of Hiroo.  I command the Minister of the
Royal Navy to initiate regular naval patrols to protect
the Qartian Asteroids as Starbonnian Territory.  The
Minister of Sovereignty shall announce to the Quadrant
Commission our acquisition of the Qartian Asteroids.  I
decree this in my name.  Have I the consent of the
Peers?"
     The Prime Minister turned back to the assemblage.
There were a few murmurs, but no objections.  After a
sufficient time, Vidor pivoted back to Sarkon.  "There
is no Challenge, my Liege."
     "Then continue," the Lord Protector commanded.
     Vidor turned back to the Peers.  "Lord Vincent,
Earl of Rufah?"
     The Earl rose from his seat and cleared his
throat.  "My Lord Protector, Royal Ministers and my
fellow Peers," he began, "my plea is on behalf of Dame
Darva."  He stopped as a tinkle of amusement ran about
the Hall.
     Sarkon leaned forward and looked out into the
great Hall at Dame Darva.  She was an ageless, obese
busybody, but nevertheless, she was the self-appointed
Court Champion of Creature's Rights and one of Sarkon's
favorite party guests.
     "It has been too long since the name of Dame Darva
has asked for the Lord Protector's favor."  Sarkon gave
her a smile that she returned, beaming proudly at the
other Ladies around her.  Sarkon sat back.  "Continue,
Lord Vincent."
     "Thank you, my Liege.  Dame Darva wishes me to
bring before the Lord Protector and the Peers the
plight of the beautiful and friendless festron.  The
rarity of its gentle fur and the high price it commands
have caused the poor creature to be hunted to almost
extinction.  Dame Darva wishes I ask the Lord Protector
to take the festron under Royal Protection.  This is my
plea, my Liege."
     Guardsman Helm stood at attention just to the
right of the Throne.  Throughout his life, women had
always considered Helm most handsome, though he had
never chased them as they did him.  His hazel eyes,
lantern jaw and quick smile had always been beguiling
to females.  Yet he had never used these charms in the
manner suggested by his mates in barracks humor.
     Helm was somewhat standoffish and slow to make
friends, yet his brother officers and the enlistedmen
under his charge found him dependable and a levelheaded
leader.  Many of his comrades believed he would go far
in Royal Service.  His military prowess had been noted
in his official file.  Though he stood there in
perfect, textbook military posture, to every eye the
impeccable personification of the elite men chosen to
be the personal guardians of the Lord Protector's life
and welfare, Sub-lieutenant Marrick Helm's mind was not
on protecting his monarch, nor on the Peers debating
the furry festron.  His mind was on the love of his
life.
     Helm was thinking of Princess Shera and the smile
she had given him.  She was to his mind the most
beautiful female he had ever seen.  And he was
hopelessly in love with her, but it was a love without
hope for she could only take a spouse from the nobility
of the Realm.
     Helm had come far in his short life, but Shera's
status was still parsecs above him.
     From humble beginnings as the only son of a
swordsmith, Helm had joined the Royal Navy upon
reaching his majority.  He had studied hard and applied
himself handily.  He was rewarded with an appointment
to the Royal Naval Academy and graduated tenth in his
class of six hundred.  He had reached the position of
Sub-lieutenant in the Royal Guards.
     Any day he expected his commission to full
Lieutenant and assignment to deep space aboard one of
the Royal Navy's Outer Patrol corvettes.  That would
lead, he hoped, to a steady rise through the ranks.
His only regret was his promotion would take him away
from any chance of seeing Princess Shera.
     Perhaps it was for the best, he mused.  It was
painful to be so close, yet so far from her.
     The laughter of the Peers at a remark from one of
the speakers brought Helm back to the present.  He
moved his eyes around the Peers, stopping on Viscount
Karg and his son, Karn.
     If only I were he, Helm mused.
     Clearing the wish from his mind, the guardsman
studied Karn.  He was an attractive man of sorts, but
he had heard that Karn was also a hothead.  It was
public knowledge Karn had fought many duels, but Helm
decided Karn must not be a bad sort.  After all,
Princess Shera was going to join with him.
     She must find goodness in him to join her life
with his, Helm though.
     Still, he wished he had a chance to show Shera
what love he carried for her, but, alas, it was a
useless quest to even ponder.  She was of noble blood.
He was not.
     Resigned to his fate, Sub-lieutenant Helm turned
his attention to the debate over the festron's hide.
     Upon the call for Question, Sarkon decreed, to
Dame Darva's delight, the festron would be placed under
Royal Protection until a sufficient population of the
little creatures would allow their skins to again be
taken for furs to adorn the rich.
     Steffon was pleased his father had taken such a
humane action, but Sarkon's reasoning was also duly
predicated to cause the present stocks of festron fur
to dramatically rise in price.  This would mean a
larger tithe bite that would put more credits into the
Royal Coffers for running Starbonn without taking it
from the masses.
     The Lord Protector was not above taking from the
rich to help the poor.
     The Meeting continued with Count Narl, the one
referred to as "Old Fussbottom" by Princess Shera,
rising to make the same plea he made every Meeting.  He
wished the Lord Protector to command the ruins of the
ancient fortress of Masulla be moved so he could build
a dam in his province.  As always, the Count's plea was
long winded, the debate short and the decision against
the old Count.
     Baron Volsk was recognized next.  He stood and
said, "My Liege, my plea shall be short.  I ask the
Lord Protector to annul the ban on importation of
slaves into the Starbonn System!"  He sat down to a
loud clatter among the Peers.
     Sarkon cast an eye toward Vidor.  The Prime
Minister's surprise showed in his face.  He was
embarrassed a matter not to his foreknowledge had come
up before the Lord Protector.
     Sarkon turned his attention to Baron Volsk.  The
Baron was nodding toward Viscount Karg.  It took little
deduction to realize this was Karg's brainchild.
Sarkon and Karg had been friends since childhood, but
that never came between them in matters of politics.
     Leaning forward, Sarkon spoke to the Peers.  "I
shall refrain from making any decision until the Peers
have given their views on this matter."  He sat back as
most of the nobles tried to catch Vidor's ear.
     Sarkon caught Karg's eye and nodded to him,
conveying he understood and would play out the game.
     Vidor recognized Lord Makkin, Earl of Quweti.  The
grizzled old Earl, both a powerful orator and owner of
the most slaves within the Starbonnian Systems, began
to assert the advantages of again importing slaves into
the Realm.
     Steffon leaned to his father's side.  "Did you
know Volsk was going do this?"
     "No," answered the Lord Protector, "but it is
Karg's hand in the matter, not Volsk."
     "I do not understand--"
     "The ban is not Karg's play.  He is after bigger
game," explained Sarkon.  "Can you guess his ploy?"
     Steffon thought for a beat, "Surely not freedom
for the slaves?"
     "Exactly."
     "But that is impossible, Father!"
     Sarkon turned his head and smiled at his son.
"Not if Karg splits my gizzard."
     "He would not challenge you--"
     "No, he will not.  This is just the beginning of a
campaign to free the slaves.  Once, before you were
born, Karg tried a similar action.  It failed then,"
Sarkon added a sigh, "and it will fail again."
     Thinking to himself, Sarkon wished his old friend
had discussed this matter with him before hand.  It
would have saved a long and needless debate.
     Still, the Lord Protector admired his friend's
tactics.  He would so compliment Karg over a drink this
night when events had run their course.  Sarkon turned
his scrutiny to the elegant words Lord Makkin spoke for
doing away with the ban.
     Makkin spoke at length, citing figures and
projections as if his remarks were prepared instead of
being off the cuff.  As Makkin plowed on, Sarkon
glanced at Baron Mon Terric, thinking back to Vidor's
foreboding.
     The Baron appeared to follow Makkin's every word,
but it crossed Sarkon's mind that this may be the day
he and Mon Terric would finally cross swords.  He
neither feared nor looked forward to fighting the
Baron.  Sarkon was convinced there would be but one
conclusion, and the instrument of that hung on his left
hip-- the Crystal Sword.
     The Earl finished his remarks and surrendered the
floor to the next speaker.  In all, there were nineteen
of the present seventy Peers to speak, and none of the
speakers was either Viscount Karg or Baron Mon Terric.
Only four noblemen rose to plea for keeping the ban.
It was unpopular with the majority of the Peers, and
their discord was just the frothing on the top.  The
politics of slavery always took emotions to a fever
pitch.  At last, Question was called.
     "I have heard the views of the Peers who have
spoken this day.  The silent Peers have opinions that
do not need airing," Sarkon began, "but I shall uphold
the ban.  Have I the consent of the Peers?"
     Sarkon tightened his grip on the hilt of the
Crystal Sword.  It was time to see if the Baron would
act.
     The Prime Minister turned to the Peers.  It was
deathly silent.  Vidor also feared this was Mon
Terric's move, but the moment passed and there was no
objection.  With relief, he turned to Sarkon.  "There
is no Challenge, my Liege."
     "Continue, Prime Minister," commanded Sarkon.
     Vidor looked about the Peers and noticed Karg's
motion to be recognized.  "Viscount Karg?"
     Karg began, "My Lord Protector, may I first
address my pleasure that you have upheld the Royal ban
on importation of slaves into the Starbonnian System."
Karg bowed deeply to the Lord Protector.
     Sarkon nodded back at Karg, thinking, first the
sweet, then the salt.
     "However," Karg continued, "I wish to now plead
that the Lord Protector complete the process begun by
the first of his kinsline, the great and honored
Stantis.  Lord Protector Stantis, the very one who
decreed no more humanoids were to be brought into our
system to be sold as drafts of burden.  Over a centon
has passed since the great Stantis foresaw we were not
to be the enslavers of our brother beings.
     "Lord Protector Sarkon, complete your ancestor's
quest, I plea you to emancipate the untold millions in
bondage through out the Realm.  My plea is for you to
free the slaves of Starbonn!"
     There was a stunned silence, then the entire
assemblage exploded into chatter.  Many Peers jumped to
their feet, shouting and calling for recognition.
     "Order!  Order, my Lords!" demanded Vidor.  Unable
to gain control over the clamor, he was about to motion
to the Commander of the Guards to restore order when
the commotion suddenly began to subside.  The Prime
Minister turned to see what was quelling the outburst.
     To Vidor's surprise, the Lord Protector was
standing, holding the Crystal Sword above his head.
Everyone in the great Hall held their voice.
     "Viscount Karg," asked Sarkon, "do you wish to
surrender the floor?"
     "No, my Lord Sarkon.  I am not finished," answered
Karg.
     "Then we shall proceed without further outburst,"
the Lord Protector said with the full force of his more
than ample voice.  Satisfied he had pressed the point
home, Sarkon sheathed the Crystal Sword and retook his
seat.
     "Thank you, my Liege."  The Viscount turned to the
Peers.  "I know all the arguments that will be offered
against my plea.  Opponents will say the economy will
suffer.  The only economy that will suffer is the
pocketbooks of the slave holders!
     "We live in a marvelous age.  Any Freeman of
Starbonn can board a starliner and travel across the
universe.  This very moment, every humanoid on Starbonn
may watch the proceedings in this very chamber.  Before
this Meeting is finished, thanks to the advent of
hyperspace communications, what I am saying this very
moment may be heard by every person in the Realm and
beyond.  Our sister systems who are free and without
slavery watch our proceedings and sadly shake their
heads at the folly of our ways.  The marvel of our
technology allows us to see the wickedness of this
curse we propagate!
     "Why do we keep these millions in bondage?
     "The great Stantis decreed the ban on importing
any more slaves.  In the times since then, decrees have
been handed down to see that the enslaved ones are well
fed, properly clothed, humanely treated and given the
right to not be sold away from their families.  We have
tried to make slavery humane.  And that is the very
reason it still exists!
     "We accept the black lie that if we treat enslaved
peoples with humanity, the greater sin of holding title
over them can be overlooked.  I say we are perpetuators
of a fraud!  Of a hoax! Slaves, no matter how well
treated, are still slaves.  Slavery is the ultimate act
of inhumanity!
     "Therefore, my Liege, my fellow Peers," Karg
concluded, "I plead that from this very day, let the
slaves of Starbonn be given their right: their complete
and unlimited freedom!"
     Karg set down as several Peers began to applaud.
They were joined by many of the Peer's family members
and those sitting in the area reserved for the gentry.
But the most and loudest acclaim came from high above
in the Freeman's gallery.
     Vidor started to rise and call for order, but a
glance from Sarkon bid that he let the outburst of
applause run its course.
     Karn put his hand on his father's shoulder.  "Well
said, Father."
     Viscount Karg patted his son's hand.  "Thank you,
Karn.  At least we know," he gestured toward the
applause, "we are not alone."  He bowed to the
assemblage and the acclaim rose.  Karg turned to the
Lord Protector and bowed deeply.  He knew it was
Sarkon's way of complimenting him by allowing this
outburst to continue.  The Viscount took his seat and
the applause slowly faded away.
     Sarkon allowed a brief moment of silence, then
said, "Again, I shall defer my decision until the Peers
have given their views."  The Lord Protector sat back
to watch events run their course.

Chapter 4
will follow below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Four

     Mon Terric took a small jeweled box from his
pocket and opened it.  Using his forefinger and thumb,
he took a pinch of navaweed and sniffed a nip into each
nostril.  The tart sensation of the navaweed matched
Mon Terric's mood.  He was very pleased at the course
of events.  He closed the box and returned it to his
pocket.  The Baron looked about at the mass of Peers
striving to gain the Prime Minister's attention.  It
was almost pandemonium, just as Mon Terric had hoped.
     This was to be a great day, he thought to himself.
     At long last, Vidor recognized Baron Janis.
     "My Liege, my fellow Peers, Viscount Karg has
spoken eloquently and covered some truths about
slavery, but I am in complete disagreement with him,"
offered Janis.
     Sarkon spoke softly to Steffon, "Karg speaks with
a great deal of truth, my son."
     "Even so, Father, it would wreck our economy to
free the slaves with a wave of a wand as Karg wants,"
countered Steffon in an off hand manner.  He was still
somewhat stunned at the course of events in general and
in particular at Sarkon's sentiments toward Viscount
Karg.  "Father, how can you and Viscount Karg hold such
different points of view and remain such close
friends?"
     "That, Steffon," Sarkon smiled, "is the mark of
true friendship.  Always be wary of someone who offers
friendship and expects you to always agree with their
point of view."  Sarkon gathered up another tankard of
spirits and sat back, returning his attention to Baron
Janis.
     "If we were to free these ignorant peoples," Janis
droned on, "who would feed them?  Who would cloth them?
Where would they find employment?  They would have to
be fed, clothed and housed by the Royal Treasury!  And
where, pray tell, will the Royal Treasury obtain the
untold trillions of credits needed for such a task?
     "From increased tithes, that where!
     "From every Freeman!  From every merchant!  From
every Peer! From every industry!  From every single
thing sold or of value in the Realm!  Such a tremendous
expense would break one and all of us!"  Janis halted
as a burst of applause began by those who supported his
position.
     The Prime Minister took Sarkon's lead and let it
run its course.  As it died, Janis finished, "So, My
Lord Protector, shall we waste time with such
impossible arguments?  I say waste no more discussion
on this issue.  I call for Question!"
     Many other Peers also rose and shouted for
"Question."
     Vidor glanced to Sarkon who nodded approval.  The
Prime Minister stood.  "Question is accepted," he
announced and turned to the Lord Protector.
     "Though I see the great concern Viscount Karg
holds in this matter, I must agree with Baron Janis.  I
will not decree the freedom of the slaves.  Have I the
consent of the Peers?"
     Vidor looked out over the Peers.  It seemed no one
dare take a breath.  Relieved there was not any
objection, the Prime Minister was about to turn to
Sarkon when a gauntlet came from the Peers and fell at
the feet of the Lord Protector.
     Everyone within the great hall was shocked as a
great gasp sounded from a thousand lips, but the most
surprised person in the Hall of Peers was Viscount
Karg.  Beside him stood his son, Karn, and it was his
gauntlet that offered challenge to the decision of
Sarkon.
     Karg leaped to his feet and faced his son.  "Karn,
this is madness!  Do not throw your life away!"
     "You take too much for granted, Father," replied
Karn as he gently pushed Karg from his way and stepped
into the circular area before the Throne.  He drew his
laser saber, activating it, and walked before Sarkon.
"I offer challenge, My Liege."
     "My Liege," asked Karg as he rushed to his son's
side, "I beg your forgiveness at my son's rashness."
     "There is no rashness, Father," corrected Karn.
"I am of majority and I offer challenge to the Lord
Protector.  It is my right."
     Another buzz ran around the Hall, everyone intent
on speaking their view of this highly unusual event to
their neighbor, but Baron Mon Terric did not join the
gossip or offer his view.  He had known the challenge
would come and he now icily watched the proceedings.
     With an inner sigh, Sarkon started to rise when
Steffon said, "Father, please let me try to reason with
Karn?"
     "Very well."
     Steffon went to the challenger.  "Karn, can you
not see the folly of this?  My Father will kill you!"
     "I do not wish Sarkon's life, Steffon.  He is free
to change his decision."
     "You know he cannot do that!  Think of Shera,"
added Steffon, trying a different tack.  "If you go
through with this--  Think Karn, THINK!  There is no
way you can win.  Renounce the challenge.  Father will
accept it!"
     Karg had joined his son and Steffon.  "Steffon is
right, Karn.  Renounce your challenge," he pleaded.
     "My Lord Protector," Karn called to Sarkon, "I
offer challenge!  Will you accept or retire?"
     Sarkon slowly stood and dropped his cape from his
shoulders.  "I accept."
     Steffon returned to his father's side and noticed
Sarkon was removing the Crystal Sword.  Sarkon turned
to the Commander of the Royal Guards and motioned for
the man's laser saber.  The Commander quickly handed it
over.
     As Sarkon quickly examined the weapon, Steffon
moved to him.  "You are not going to use the Crystal
Sword?
     "If I do, son, I must strike to kill.  There is
precedent for what I do," said Sarkon.  He stepped from
the Throne toward Karn.  Sarkon activated the laser
saber, its blade shaft humming into action.
     Seeing the laser saber, Karn protested, "I offer
challenge to both the Lord Protector and the Crystal
Sword!"
     Prime Minister Vidor, the one custom called for to
supervise the challenge, spoke, "The Lord Protector may
use another weapon.  There is precedent."
     "So be it," answered Karn.
     Sarkon looked at Vidor.  "Begin."
     "Royal Guardsmen!" Vidor commanded, "Take
positions around the Throne Circle.  Custom demands a
fair and honorable contest.  Guardsmen, if either of
the duelists acts with dishonor, he shall forfeit his
life."  The Guardsmen had reached their positions.
"Guardsmen, arm your weapons to kill!"
     The Guardsmen looked to their Commander at Vidor's
last order.  There was no expression on the Commander's
face, so they followed the Prime Minister's command and
armed their pulsar rifles to kill.
     Sub-lieutenant Helm swallowed hard and offered a
prayer to the Gods of Ol for the first time since
childhood.  He did not wish to slay the father of the
woman he loved nor the man she loved.  He prayed fate
would keep him from either grizzly task.
     Both duelists took positions facing each other.
Vidor announced, "Challenge has been offered and
accepted.  May the Gods of Ol guide this match.  Let it
begin."
     Sarkon and Karn circled, both looking for an
opening in which to strike.  Karn made the first move
in a quick thrust Sarkon deftly parried.  The young
noble lunged to the right, but the Lord Protector's
blade blocked the blow.  Karn countered with a series
of slashes and jabs the monarch parried with apparent
ease.  Karn backed off and they began to circle one
another again.
     Sarkon attacked and began to drive Karn back with
the skill of a master swordsman.  Young Karn was an
excellent duelist, but he was outmatched by Sarkon's
experience and prowess.  Several times Sarkon found
openings to strike a killing blow, but he passed them
by.  The bout was not one Sarkon wished to lose, for as
Lord Protector, death was all he could expect from a
challenger.  Yet he hoped the son of his old friend
would make a small mistake that would allow him a
chance to save the young noble's life.
     Finally, it came as Karn feinted, allowing an
opening to his sword hand.  Sarkon struck with
lightning speed, brushing the blade tip to the inside
of Karn's wrist.  The young man dropped his saber.  It
clattered to the floor as Karn recovered and reached
out with his left hand for the fallen weapon, but
Sarkon kicked it away and pointed his blade at Karn's
face.  Karn straightened up and Sarkon's blade point
was but a hair from his chest.
     It was deathly quiet in the Hall as a thin smile
creased Mon Terric's lips.  It was as he had planned!
     "Strike! Strike," shouted Karn.
     "I cite the precedent of Yaron," answered Sarkon.
     "Strike!"  Karn glared into Sarkon's face.
     "Plead for mercy and I will spare your life,"
Sarkon quietly offered.
     Without hesitation, Karn answered with one word,
"Strike!"
     The Prime Minister spoke.  "Master Karn, the Lord
Protector cites the precedent of Lord Protector Yaron
the Third.  Since the Crystal Sword was not used and
the challenge was fought honorably, you may plead for
mercy and be granted your life.  The Lord Protector
honors you with this precedent."
     "Strike!" cried Karn.
     Sarkon had no other choice.  He struck the blade
into Karn's chest, a quick clean kill, but before the
young man's body had collapsed to the floor, the Lord
Protector had thrown down his blade and turned to leave
the Hall.
     Steffon watched his father pass by him without
taking the Crystal Sword.  He quickly gathered up the
sword and took out after his father.  He caught up with
Sarkon walking down the corridor to Shera's chambers.
     Elbe had followed, but as they neared Sarkon, the
droid held back.
     "Father!  Father!"
     Sarkon finally came to a halt and turned to his son.
Steffon reached him and offered the Crystal Sword.  For a
moment, Steffon thought his father was going to refuse
the symbol of his authority.  Finally, Sarkon took the
sword.
     While buckling it about his waist, Sarkon cursed,
adding, "The young fool!"
     "You did not have a choice, Father," Steffon
consoled.
     "I know," Sarkon said quietly.
     Steffon, for the first time in his life, saw his
father in a different light.  Here was not the proud,
boisterous man who had molded his life, but rather a
man with great grief.  A great sorrow covered his face,
something Steffon had never seen before in Sarkon.
     Steffon had an urge to reach out and take his
father into his arms, but such an act was so out of
character in their relationship, he could not do it.
Instead, he said, "Father, I shall tell Shera."
     Steffon experienced another surprise as he noticed
a quick flicker of fear passed over Sarkon's face.
     "No, Steffon," Sarkon answered, "I have to be the
one to tell her.
     There was an uneasy silence between them.  Sarkon
seemed hesitant to move toward Shera's chambers.
     "I believe Shera is at the courtyard pool.  I was
to meet her there after the Meeting with--"
     Sarkon took a quiet breath and began to walk
toward the courtyard.  Steffon walked beside him.
Neither talked as they journeyed down the corridors
followed discretely by the black droid.
     They reached the balcony over the courtyard.  Down
below them were the fountains spraying their waters
into a catch basin that emptied into the huge pool.  At
the far end of the pool, Shera's tiny figure could be
seen.  She was reclining on a lounge, appearing asleep
in the afternoon sunlight.  Her father and brother
looked out at her in the distance, both knowing the
calm around her would soon be shattered with unbearable
grief.
     "Father, let me see her for you?" Steffon pleaded.
     "No, my son."  He was silent for awhile, then
spoke quietly.  "When you take the Throne, Steffon, you
will find there will be many times you will have to do
things you find distasteful, repulsive, but you do them
because you are the Lord Protector and custom demands
your action.  This moment, there is something I must do
that custom does not require.  I would give anything in
the Realm not to be the one to tell Shera-- but I have
to be the one."
     Steffon looked into his father's eyes and saw the
man was fighting to hold back tears.  Again the urge to
embrace his father swept over him, but before he could
move, Sarkon said, "I do not have the courage not to
tell her."
     And Sarkon was gone, down the stairs into the
courtyard.
     Elbe moved to Steffon's side and both watched in
silence as Sarkon walked the distance to the pool and
his daughter.  She sat up and greeted him, but Sarkon
must have not wasted any words for Shera let out a
scream and ran from the courtyard.
     Steffon knew his father had masked his grief and
bluntly told Shera he had killed Karn.  He realized
this was the only way Sarkon could keep his composure.
It made Steffon all the sadder for that lone figure
still standing at poolside.  Sarkon had not moved from
the side of the lounge Shera had fled.  Finally, Sarkon
moved away from the pool into the far side of the
Palace.
     Steffon felt Elbe's hand on his shoulder.  "He
will recover, my Prince," said the droid.
     "I have never seen him so-- in pain."
     "He was so pained when your mother died," added
Elbe.
     Steffon turned to the robot.  "Be thankful you are
a droid, Elbe, and do not have to know grief."
     "But I do, my Prince, I do."
     Steffon looked at the droid.  "I never realized
that, Elbe." Feeling emotion well up inside him,
Steffon turned away.  "Come, I must go to Shera."  The
droid followed the Prince Protector back into the
palace.

     Sarkon walked over to the hoverport and got into
one of the ground skimmers.  He engaged the ignition as
the Commander of the Royal Guards came running up to
him.
     "My Liege!  My Liege," hailed the Commander.
     "What?" Sarkon growled as the Commander reached
the vehicle.
     "My Liege, will you be wanting an escort?"
     "No!"  Sarkon started to roar away, but he
realized his foul mood was not the Commander's fault.
"Commander, I shall not need an escort.  I am going up
to the mountain retreat.  I shall return in the
morning."
     "I shall send a detachment of Guardsmen with--"
     "Send only two, Commander," interrupted Sarkon.
"Only two men-- and," he added in a softer voice,
"instruct them I do not wished to be disturbed."
     "Yes, My Lord Protector," answered the Commander
and snapped a salute as Sarkon sped away.

     Steffon and Elbe reached Shera's suite.  Finding
her door still open from where she had dashed through
it, they could hear her sobs coming from the bedchamber
across her receiving parlor.  Elbe stopped at the
doorway as Steffon went into his sister's bedchamber.
She was lying across her bed, weeping heavily.  As he
sat on the corner of the bed, she turned and looked up
at him.  "Oh, Steffon!" she sobbed.
     He opened his arms to her and she moved to him.
He held her close as her cries throbbed through her
body.  He wanted to say something, anything to halt her
tears, but he could think of nothing to offer.
     Finally, her tears subsided a little.  Steffon
reached to a small table and took a handkerchief from
it.  He pulled her back from his chest and wiped her
eyes with the cloth.  She took it from him and blew her
nose.
     "How could he do it, Steffon?  How could he?"
     "His honor, I believe, Shera.  You know how Karn
was about honor."
     "Not Karn, Steffon," she cried, "Father!"  She
burst into hysterical tears again, throwing herself
back onto the bed, burying her face into a pillow.
     Somewhat taken back, Steffon reached over and
gently stroked her hair with his hand.  "Father tried
every way he could to keep from--  He did everything
possible, Shera, but Karn gave him no choice."
     Shera sat up, tears streaming down her face.  "He
could have freed the slaves!"
     Shocked, Steffon stammered, "But that was
impossible!"
     "Why, tell me why?  Karn did not believe it was
impossible.  Neither does his father.  Others do not!
Why, Steffon, why?"
     "It is a matter of economics--"
     "Economics?  Gods, Steffon, they are humanoids
like you and I."
     Steffon started to speak, but he could not.
     "If Father had just freed them, Karn would be
alive!  Steffon, I do not know how I can ever face
Father again."
     "Shera, he did everything he could to keep from
taking Karn's life.  You must believe that above all
else.  Father was duty bound when Karn would not plead
for mercy.  Custom dictates death.  You know that as
well as I.  It was Karn's honor that killed him, not
our father."
     "Honor, duty, custom!  What a fraud!" she cried.
"If there is one thing the men in our family know and
obey, it is honor, duty, custom.  What about
compassion, Steffon?  Is there any compassion in the
Lord Protector's heart?  Tell me?"
     Again, Steffon was speechless.
     Shera added, "If there were any compassion in our
family, the slaves would be free now and Karn would be
alive!"
     "Shera, Father would free the slaves if he could.
You know he would."
     "No, I do not!  Father is just as bad as all the
slave owners!"
     "There are no slaves in the Royal Household, or
any of the Royal Holdings.  You know that as well as I
do!"
     "That is not Father's doing!  That was Stantis,
not Sarkon! The great Sarkon, Lord Protector of
Starbonn, his word is law!  All he had to do was decree
the slaves free!"
     "You know that is not true--"
     "I know what is true, Steffon.  There is not any
compassion in the males of this family.  Only honor,
duty, custom-- and death!"  She burst into a new flurry
of tears.
     Steffon tried to reach out to her, but she pushed
him away.  He rose from the bed and walked toward the
door.  He turned and said, "Shera, in time you will
see.  You are upset now.  Karn's death overshadows
everything.  After some time you will see the issue of
freeing the slaves is not a matter of compassion, but
of economics."
     Shera whipped around to face Steffon with burning
eyes.  "Tell that to a slave!  See what he has to say
about it!"
     The venomous tone of Shera's voice shocked
Steffon.  He began to speak, but his sister cut him
off.
     "Karn understood," Shera continued harshly, "and
he and I had hoped you possibly would also understand
someday.  Just the other day, Karn said you had the
makings of a great leader, but he was wrong."  The
Princess of Starbonn shook her head.  "You are just
like Father.  Just as unfeeling!  Just as heartless!"
     Steffon took a step toward her, but Shera recoiled
as if a serpent was slithering her way.  "Get away from
me!  Leave!"  She flung herself back onto the bed,
sobbing heavily.
     Steffon, defeated at his sister's remarks, walked
quietly from the room, through the parlor and out into
the corridor where Elbe waited.  Both started to walk
down the long passageway.  Neither spoke.

CHAPTER FIVE
WILL BE POSTED
SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 2017

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Five

     "'Tis a pity young Karn did not split Sarkon's
gullet," offered Garth, plucking a grape from a tray
before him.  He popped it into his mouth, adding
between smacks, "Still, it did have its rewards.
Sarkon certainly found it distasteful, did he not?"
Garth issued a harsh laugh.
     "It never was my plan to have Karn kill Sarkon.
Two of the Royal Guardsmen are ours.  They were
instructed to slay Karn if he had appeared to win the
match.  It will be better the way I have designed."
     "A toast," Garth raised his glass.  "To Lord
Protector Mon Terric!  Long may he reign!"
     Both drank.  An aide entered their chamber and
brought a message to the Baron.  Mon Terric read the
message, then dismissed the aide.  Mon Terric refilled
both glasses with wine.
     Waiting until the aide had left the room, Garth
inquired, "Well?"
     "It is better than I hoped, Garth.  Sarkon has
taken off to his mountain retreat."
     "Excellent!"
     "Better still, he has only two Guardsmen pro-
tecting him."  The Baron smiled.
     "And they are our two?"
     The Baron nodded as the aide returned.
     "Baron?"
     "Yes?"
     "Sire, Dax has just returned and says to tell you
he has a prisoner for you."

     Vidor came across the Prince Protector and Elbe at
a corridor junction just outside Sarkon's chambers.
     "Where is my Father?" asked Steffon.
     "The Lord Protector has gone to the mountain
retreat, Prince Steffon."
     "I see," remarked Steffon.
     "How is Princess Shera?"
     "Not well--  She will be better tomorrow, Vidor."
     The Prime Minister sensed Steffon's mood.  "Go to
Sarkon.  He needs you, Steffon.  You understand he did
not have a choice.  He needs your support and comfort."
     "I shall, Vidor.  Thank you."
     Vidor watched the Prince Protector and the
cyberdroid walk away.  He felt the young man's pain and
wished there was more he could do to ease it.  Perhaps,
he thought, he could help comfort Princess Shera.  He
walked to her suite, but she would not answer her door.
Feeling helpless, the old politician went to his
chambers to comfort himself.
     Reaching the hoverport, Elbe offered to pilot the
Prince's hovercraft, but Steffon climbed into the
pilot's seat.  He wanted something to occupy his mind
and push out the troubled thoughts his talk with Shera
had raised.  Steffon contacted Surface Control,
received clearance, and took off into the Starbonnian
evening for the Royal Retreat in the nearby mountains.
     Halfway there, the hovercraft passed over Baron
Janis' stately manor house.  Just behind the huge
household was a larger, high walled compound: the slave
quarters.  It did not help Steffon's state of mind when
he look down into the walled area to see slave children
pointing up at the passing hovership.  He returned his
attention to the controls to concentrate on flying the
ship and blot out his troubled thoughts.
     Finally, they reached the retreat.  Steffon's
hovercraft came in for a landing just below the huge
stone main house of the retreat.  One of the Guardsmen
came running out to meet the ship.  He recognized the
Prince Protector and snapped to attention as Steffon
and Elbe disembarked.
     "Where is my Father?"
     "The Lord Protector is in the main house, Sire.
He ordered us to stay out here and keep everyone else
out, my Prince," answered the Guardsman.  He had not
expected the Prince and Elbe.  The cyberdroid, he
feared, could reek havoc with the Baron's plans.
     Steffon noticed the perplexed look on the
Guardsman's face, but he took it to be the man's fear
of breaking Sarkon's orders.
     "Guardsman," said Elbe, "surely the Lord Pro-
tector's order does not extend to the Prince
Protector."
     "Of course not," snapped the Guardsman.  He bowed
to Steffon.  "I never intended that it did, Prince
Steffon."
     "Very well, you may return to your duties,"
offered Steffon as he walked toward the house.  Elbe
followed and the Guardsman swallowed hard.
     The second Guardsman walked up.  "The Baron may
double our rewards if he can bag both the Lord
Protector and Prince Steffon in one swoop."
     "Quiet!," the first Guardsman half-screamed, half-
whispered, "The droid may overhear us."
     "You worry too much."
     "Yes, I worry I may not live long enough to spend
the Baron's credits," replied the first Guardsman.  "We
both know the power of the droid."
     The second Guardsman snorted.  "I think the Baron
will know how to handle the droid."
     "I hope you are right."

     Steffon and Elbe found the Lord Protector in the
study, standing before a huge window.  The monarch was
staring out at the distant mountain peaks.  He did not
seem to notice their entrance.  The Prince motioned for
the droid to leave him alone with his father.  Elbe
quietly left and closed the door behind him.  "Father?"
     Sarkon slowly turned to Steffon.  "Thank you for
coming, my son, but I really had rather be alone."
     "I spoke with Shera."
     "I can imagine what she had to say."
     "In time she will understand, Father."
     "No," Sarkon slowly shook his head "I think not."
     "Of course she will," consoled the Prince.
     Sarkon did not reply for a long time.  He seemed
struck deaf and dumb, but finally, he walked over to
Steffon and put both his hands on his son's shoulders.
"Tell me, what would you have done this day?"
     "The same as you.  You did not have any choice."
     Sarkon dropped his hands and walked back to the
window and looked back out at the mountains.  After a
long pause, he solemnly said, "I could have freed the
slaves."
     "You cannot be serious, Father.  You did the right
thing, it was the only way--"
     "If I had freed them," Sarkon interrupted, "Karn
would be alive, and my daughter would not hate me."
The Lord Protector's voice was deep with sorrow.
     "Shera does not hate you," the Prince countered.
"She is very upset just now.  It is understandable, but
in time she will see there was nothing else you could
do."
     "I wonder?"
     The Prince Protector could not help but be
overwhelmed at his father's attitude.  This grief
stricken man before him, so doubtful of his actions,
was completely foreign from the father he had known all
his life.  "Father," he asked, trying a different
approach, "tell me, what would have happened had you
freed the slaves?"
     "Karn would not have challenged me."
     "No, he would not have, but we both know there
would have been other challengers."
     "Yes," Sarkon resigned with a shrug.  "I supposed
there may have been."
     "By the Gods, Father!  You know there would have
been half the Peers for you to fight!"  Steffon's
outburst and tone of voice shocked himself.  He had
never spoken as such to his father, but after
overcoming the realization of his action, Steffon saw
his words did not have any effect on the Lord
Protector.  Sarkon continued to stare out the window as
if his son were not even there.
     Admitting defeat, Steffon asked, "Will you be
coming back to the Palace tonight?"
     "I think not," answered Sarkon.
     "I will leave you now, Father."  Steffon turned to
go.
     "A moment, my son," called out Sarkon.  He
unbuckled the Crystal Sword from his waist and held it
out to Steffon.  "Return this to my chambers.  I do not
wish to be reminded of my authority."
     Steffon took the sword from his father's hand.
"As you wish." He turned to leave, but stopped and
faced his father.  "Shera still loves you, Father.  She
may be overcome with grief over Karn right now, but her
love for you is just as strong as it has ever been."
     Sarkon did not reply.  He was back to looking out
the window.
     Steffon opened the door to leave.
     "Steffon, I appreciate your coming here more than
you will ever know," said Sarkon in a strange voice.
He still had his back to his son, staring out the
window at the distant craggy peaks.  "I feel my age
this day.  I feel as old as the stone of those
mountains."
     Steffon lingered for a moment, looking at his
father, then left the room and closed the door.
Outside the study, Steffon walked by Elbe and out of
the retreat to his hovercraft.  The droid followed him
in silence.
     The first Guardsman started to rush to Steffon's
side, but a glance from Elbe halted him in his tracks.
     "Take the controls, Elbe," Steffon commanded
absentmindedly as he climbed into the co-pilot's
position.
     Elbe took the pilot's seat and quickly ignited the
engines.  He contacted Surface Control and gained
clearance for their return.  With a burst of power, the
hovercraft rose vertically, pivoted and shot away from
the retreat.
     Watching the hovercraft from a distance, a man
took his eyes from some microscanners.  He looked to
his right at ten men dressed in camouflage uniforms.
Each man held an assault weapon.
     Two of the men were in prone shooting positions
with their pulsar rifles aimed toward the retreat.  One
pointed up with his thumb as the hovercraft zoomed by
on its course back to the palace.  "I could pick him
off with ease," he offered in a whisper.
     The man with the scanners turned sinister eyes at
the man whispering.  He was a huge individual, as if
the Gods had upscaled him from the average male
humanoid.  His craggy face carried scars, badges of
distinction from his vocation as a professional
mercenary.  He was not just a soldier of fortune who
fought for the highest bidder, he was a Zaian
Legionnaire who's creed was loyalty unto death for
those who paid for their allegiance.  Dax Praggar and
his brethren were the most sought after warriors in the
galaxy.
     For almost a millennium, the galaxy had feared the
Zaian Empire's armed forces.  The "Zaian Terror" had
marched across the known universe.  They only lost to
vastly superior forces.  This had caused some strange
coalitions within the galaxy.  Numerous times, warring
systems paused their conflicts to ally themselves to
repel the Zaians, then resumed their wars with the same
ferocity they had fought the Zaians with together.
     Eventually, some wise leader had decided the most
economical way to fight Zai was with Zaians.  Thus, the
Warrior Empire found itself losing its military
manpower, yet gaining more profit from selling its
fighting men than from their conquest.  Therefore, the
"Zaian Terror" became the "Zaian Peace" as the systems
of the galaxy employed these mercenaries in their
military forces.
     There were still conflicts and wars, but no one
system could afford enough Zaians to defeat the Zaian
augmented forces of the rest of the galaxy.  Certain
exceedingly wealthy individuals employed Zaians.  Dax
Praggar was Baron Mon Terric's Zaian.
     "That is why you are a fool with a short lifespan,"
Dax Praggar scolded the pointing marksman.  "The
Baron would have all our heads if we acted outside his
plans."
     The shooter reddened and turned his attention back
to the retreat.  He had no wish to cross the Baron's
hatchet man.
     The snap of a twig came from behind the shooter.
He twirled about as the others in his group to find the
Baron leading another squad of men through the forest.
Two of the new troopers escorted a prisoner who was
bound tightly with a hood over his head.
     Dax picked his large frame up out of the bushes
and greeted the Baron.  "Sire, the Prince Protector and
his droid were just here.  They have just left in a
hovercraft back toward the palace."
     "Right where they should be, Dax," Mon Terric
answered with a sardonic smile.  "Begin," he commanded
with a quick flick of his hand.  "Our two Guardsmen
await their rewards."
     Dax turned to the two shooters and nodded his
head.  Both men took careful aim.
     "Fire," ordered Dax in a low voice.
     Two thin bolts of energy flashed out and struck
the two Guardsmen.  Both fell dead with thumb sized
tunnels bored through their brains by the pulsar
rifles.
     Dax turned to Mon Terric.  "The sentries are dead,
sire."
     "Paid in full.  Secure the retreat, Dax," ordered
the Baron.
     Dax led his squad toward the retreat at a trot.
Mon Terric followed at a slower pace with his men and
their prisoner.  He was not in any hurry.

     On their return flight to the palace, Steffon did
not speak at all.  Elbe's brief communications with the
controllers was the only conversation.  Landing at the
hoverport, Steffon bounced from the craft and walked
directly to his father's chambers.  Elbe had followed,
but he stopped outside Sarkon's quarters as Steffon
entered.
     The Prince took the Crystal Sword to its resting
place, a nook carved out of the stone wall beside his
father's bed.  Holding it in outstretched hands,
Steffon looked at the weapon for the first time with
regret.
     Would there come a day when he would have to slay
a friend or loved one to defend the right to wear the
Crystal Sword?
     Would it someday bring grief to him as it now did
his father?
     Was he worthy to wield it?  These were questions
that had never entered his mind before.
     Only the future will tell, he thought as he placed
the sword into its notch in the wall.  Steffon knelt
and put his hand to his face and offered an uncommon
prayer to the Gods of Ol.
     At the moment Steffon prayed, Baron Mon Terric
quietly opened the door to the study at the Royal
Retreat.  Sarkon was deep in thought, his hand over his
brow, still facing the mountains out the window.  His
thoughts were of the sorrow his decision had brought
not only to his daughter and son, but to his oldest and
dearest friend.  These were his last thoughts as the
Lord Protector of Starbonn died as his two traitorous
sentries had, quickly and from the back.
     Steffon was still in prayer with his hand over his
face.  Otherwise, he would have seen a cherry red point
of light blaze for a brief moment within the hilt of
the Crystal Sword, and then disappear just as quickly.
     Finished with his prayer, the Prince stood and
looked at the Crystal Sword for a moment before
leaving.  Elbe accompanied him to his quarters.
Steffon went into his bedchamber and began to remove
his formal kit.  The droid was putting up the garments
as Steffon stripped them off.
     "Elbe," Steffon broke the silence, "what are your
thoughts on today?"
     "It is very sad the Lord Protector was required to
take Master Karn's life."
     "True," Steffon offered as he sat on the bed.
"What do you think of slavery?"
     "My Prince, I really do not have an opinion,"
replied the droid.
     "Today, you said you felt grief.  How does that
feel to you?"
     "I cannot express it actually.  I was not
originally programmed for emotion, but perhaps my
company with humanoids all these ages has fostered my
logic circuits to approximate the sensation."
     "What exactly is the sensation you experience?"
     "It is a peculiar fluctuation of my circuits.  I
have tried often to trace these fluctuations, but they
defy my internal sensors."
     Steffon pulled the covers back and got into the
bed.  "Elbe, do you feel like a slave?"
     "I do not see the point to your question, Sire."
     "As a droid, you are subservient to humanoids.  I
am your master."
     "It is my function to see to your care and your
protection until you assume the throne."
     "You do not have any free choice."
     "But I do, my Lord," retorted Elbe.
     "Yes, you may choose which of two assassins to
dispense with first, but you are bound by your
programming to be a mother hen to the Prince
Protector."
     "It is my function."
     "Like a slave, correct?"
     "Perhaps there are similarities, my Prince,"
answered the droid, "but I still do not have an opinion
on such matters."
     "If you were free to choose another function, what
would it be?"
     Elbe hesitated, an unusual occurrence for the
droid, then said, "I have been programmed for other
functions, and to seem somewhat humanoid-like, I do
prefer my present programming."
     "Very well, Elbe.  I will see you in the morning."
     "Fair night, my Lord," said Elbe.  The droid went
to the door, dimmed the lights and left the room.
     Steffon turned over and tried to sleep, but it
seemed to escape him.  Shera's sobs and sharp words
came back, over and over, into his mind.  The dramatic
change in his father's attitude, the events of the day
whirled through Steffon's mind.  A long, uneasy time
passed before he fell into a fitful slumber.

     Shera turned over in her bed.  She was exhausted
but sleep would not come to her.  She got out of her
bed and went into her fresher.  Its reflectors offered
her a ghastly sight.  Her eyes were red and puffy from
the tears.  Strands of hair clung to her face.  She
pulled the still damp swimming suit from her body and
activated the fresher.  She climbed into the enclosure
through clouds of steam and lowered herself to the
ledge along the far wall.  Trying to relax in the
warmth, she stretched aching muscles.
     Presently, the physical ache began to subside, but
the mental pain lingered.  She stepped out of the
fresher, dried herself and slipped a fresh gown over
her body.  She returned to her bed to find it damp from
the swimming suit and her tears.  Shera pulled off the
top cover and went to a day lounge by the doorway to
the terrace.  She lay there for awhile, then got up and
paced.
     Why had her whole world collapsed about her, she
wondered?
     Do I owe the Gods a death for having had such a
wonderful life?
     Could this be their revenge for her mother having
died giving her birth?
     Why?  Why?  WHY KARN?
     She could not stand to think another moment, so
she went back into the fresher and found a sleeping
compound.  The directions called for two tablets, so
she took four and laid back on the day lounge.  Slowly,
the medication took her into a dreamless stupor.

     Steffon was dreaming.  He was in the hovercraft
over the slave compound.  Karn was below, looking
directly up at Steffon.  He was holding a slave child
at arms length, offering it to the Prince Protector.
Suddenly, a sword appeared and lunged into Karn's back.
As he collapsed to the ground, he threw the slave child
toward Steffon.  The child rose and the Prince leaned
from his hovercraft to grab it, but he missed and fell
out of the airship.  Steffon watched the slave child
ascend while he fell toward the compound.  He watched
the ground rising to meet him.  Karn's lifeless body
lay on the ground, surrounded by thousands of slaves.
They looked up and saw Steffon fall toward them.  They
all turned their backs to him as the ground swelled up
to hit him.
     Steffon awoke with a start and it took him a
moment to realize he had been dreaming.  He put a hand
to his forehead and wiped moisture from his brow.  He
felt disoriented and still seemed to hear the wind
whipping past him as he fell in the dream.  Slowly, he
realized the sound was a low pitched hum, not the roar
of wind.  As Steffon turned to the source of the hum,
the lights in his room erupted with a brightness that
hurt his eyes.  He blinked and three men appeared
standing by his bed.
     All three were dressed in black with matching
hoods covering their heads with slits for their eyes.
They each carried weapons, all pointed at him.  Two had
pulsar rifles, poised and ready, and the other, the
tallest of the trio, had a pulsar hand blaster.  He
dwarfed the other two men.  His sheer size gave his
identity away, thought Steffon.
     The Prince knew these were desperate men, capable
killers ready to use their arms, but how had they got
past Elbe?
     Steffon did not move, he would let them make the
first move, even if it was to take his life.  He had no
option other than a rash move to be met with the blast
of a pulsar charge.  One of the riflemen took a black
garment from a pouch at his side.  He tossed it to
Steffon.  It was an outfit like the trio was wearing.
     "Get dressed," ordered the man with the blaster.
     "Dax, you and the Baron are fools for trying
this," Steffon began.
     The man with the blaster fired a charge into the
bed beside Steffon.  A black, ragged hole appeared.  He
added, "Now!"
     Steffon got out of the bed and put on the one
piece outfit.
     The two riflemen put down their weapons, and
covered by the man with the blaster, they bound his
wrists behind him with a rough, but efficient manner.
They then tied a gag over his mouth.  One slipped a
hood over his face, blinding him.  Each took a side of
him and guided him out of the bedchamber.
     Steffon's main thought was where was Elbe?  Where
was he?
     Though he could not see it, the answer to his
question and the source of the hum were one in the
same.  Steffon was led into his living chamber where
three men dressed in black were focusing gravity
projectors at the black droid, their hazy beams
immobilizing Elbe.  A fourth man was using a pressor
shaft to insert a control circuit into the robot's
chestplate.
     "Quickly," commanded the man with the blaster.
     With a slight push and twist, the deed was done.
The man retracted the pressor shaft and handed a small
device to the man who commanded him.
     The commander holstered his blaster and switched
on the device.  He nodded to the three to disengage
their gravity projectors.  They did so and the humming
stopped.  Elbe was as still as if carved out of stone.
     Steffon, blinded by the hood, felt the foot of one
of his attackers beside his.  Judging the man's knee to
be just about so, he kicked out and lunged from his
grasp.  His foot had hit home with the snap of bone,
but before he could kick out at anyone else, the
commander drew his blaster, hurriedly changed the
weapon's setting and fired at Steffon.  A burst of
energy enveloped the Prince Protector and he collapsed
into a heap.
     The commander looked at his injured colleague.
Dax Praggar changed the blaster back to full charge and
fired it into the man's face.  There was not any time
for the wounded.
     Dax turned to his other men.  "Gather up the
Prince," he ordered.
     They did so while Praggar changed the setting on
his blaster and meticulously reduced to atoms the body
of his dead companion.  Satisfied the remains would be
unidentifiable, Dax led his men and their two captives
out of the room.  Their task was almost completed.

CHAPTER SIX FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Six

     "My Lady, my Lady!"  The voice called through a
vast fog.  "My Lady!  Princess Shera, you must awaken!"
     Shera heard the words, but she could not, and did
not want to respond.  To awaken was to relive the day's
event.
     "She has taken a sleeping compound," she heard the
voice comment.
     "Quick, fetch a healer," another voice said.
     The Princess lay there fighting the voices calling
to her.  A new voice arrived and she soon felt a slight
pressure on her arm, then consciousness slowly
returned.  She opened her eyes and found Vidor hovering
over her.
     "Yes, Vidor," she answered through a dry mouth and
slurred lips.  "What is it?"
     Vidor pulled her to a sitting position.  The
healer gave her a glass of liquid to drink.  "Drink
this, Princess Shera.  It will help clear your mind,"
he said.
     Shera drank the bitter potion and looked at
Vidor's lined face.  The medication began to lift the
fog from her mind and she realized Vidor had sorrow on
his face.  She handed the glass back to the healer.
"Vidor, why have you awakened me?"
     "My Lady, I have distressing news."
     Shera felt a tremor of anguish pass through her
body.  What possibly could be more distressing that the
events of the past day?
     "Princess Shera, the Lord Protector is dead," said
Vidor in a hushed tone.
     The idea of her father committing suicide entered
her mind, and with it, the fearful pain she may have
been the cause of such a deed.
     "How?"  That was the most she could get out of her
mouth.
     "Baron Janis came to the Palace late this evening.
He had information Viscount Karg was to attempt an
assassination of the Lord Protector.  I felt it was
foolishness, but I detached Guardsmen to the Royal
Retreat when I could not raise the Lord Protector or
his Guardsmen.  I have just returned from there.  It
appears Viscount Karg killed the Lord Protector with a
pulsar blaster."
     "By the Gods, NO!" Shera exclaimed.
     "I am afraid so, my Lady.  The Lord Protector did
not suffer any pain, his death was instantaneous."
     Shera clutched her throat.  She could not seem to
catch her breath.  "Not again, not again!"  She felt
tears come rushing into her eyes.  Vidor put his arm
about her.  "Steffon, where is Steffon?"
     "I do not know, Princess.  It appears Viscount
Karg's men also abducted the Prince Protector."
     "But Elbe-- how could they get past Elbe?"
     "He is missing also.  I have ordered a search
throughout the Realm.  We will find them, I promise."
     "I cannot believe Karg would do such a thing,"
cried Shera.
     "I know, my Lady.  We found his body with the
blaster in his hand.  It appears he took his life
afterward."
     "Then why abduct Steffon?"
     "A deranged man makes little sense in his actions,
Princess, but we shall find the Prince Protector at all
costs."
     Shera fell back onto the lounge.  What more could
happen, she thought.
     What more?

     Guardsman Kainn could not get the closet door to
open, so he stepped back and shot the lock with his
pulsar rifle.  The metal of the lock superheated in a
milisec and disintegrated with a bang.  Kainn flung the
door open to find brooms and assorted cleaning tools.
They were all singed by the pulsar blast, but he poked
through them anyway.
     "Lance-Corporal Kainn," asked Captain Presary as
he entered the room, "do you think they would stash the
Prince Protector in a broom closet?"
     Kainn snapped to attention and answered, "Sir, the
orders were to search every nook and cranny of Viscount
Karg's manor."
     "Well, use your brain, Lance-Corporal.  Not your
weapon."
     "Aye aye, sir."
     "Where is Sub-lieutenant Helm?"
     "He is with the First Squad, sir," answered Kainn.
"There were entering the bistro across the alley when I
came in here, Captain."
     "Very well, carry on.  But be more careful with
that weapon."
     "Aye aye, sir."
     Captain Presary went across the dark alley and
entered the eatery.  Sub-lieutenant Helm was helping
his men in a careful search of the premise without
breaking it into pieces.
     I wish I had more men like Helm, the Captain
thought, I shall miss him.
     "Lieutenant Helm?"
     Helm turned and saw the Captain.  "Continue on,"
he ordered his men and walked over to the Captain.  He
saluted, "Yes, sir."
     "You are to come with me, Lieutenant," the Captain
offered in a friendly manner, casually returning the
salute.
     "But Captain, the search for the Prince Protector
will go on here for the rest of the night unless you
brought another troop with you, sir."
     The Captain smiled at Helm.
     Has he taken leave of his senses, thought Helm as
he stared at the Captain's toothy grin, but said, "Sir,
have I said something humorous?"
     "No, Lieutenant," answered Presary, grinning even
wider.  He let Helm stew for another moment, then
added, "You are not very observant, are you,
Lieutenant?"
     "Lieutenant?  Sir-- did my promotion came
through?"
     "Aye, it did.  And I have orders to get you packed
off to South Port for direct transport to the Outer
Realm.  You have a billet in His Majesty's Corvette
Masulla."
     "That is wonderful, Captain, but I need to stay
here and help with the search for Prince Steffon."
     "Negative, Helm.  Your transport leaves on the
dawn," replied Presary.  "Turn your squad over to your
First Sergeant.  I have a hovercraft waiting to take
you back to the Palace.  I have a trooper packing your
kit this very moment."
     "But the Prince--"
     "We'll find the Prince Protector if he is not dead
all ready."
     "Aye aye, sir."  Helm walked over and spoke to
First Sergeant Plike, then left with Captain Presary.
     The ride back to the Palace was filled with
conflicting emotions for Helm.  His happiness at his
promotion and billet were tainted by his hopeless
feelings for the Princess, and now, this terrible
business.  Perhaps it was for the best he would leave
without a look back.
     That was his attitude until the hovercraft drew up
to the Royal Household.  He looked out and noticed
lights burning within Princess Shera's chambers.  He
sensed the pain she must be suffering and he felt grief
at not being able to do a thing to comfort her.  In the
brief time it took for him to gather his kit and board
a waiting transport at the military barracks, he looked
back at Shera's windows time after time.  Even after
the airship departed and was out of view of the Palace,
Helm was still looking back.

     Consciousness slowly flowed back into Steffon's
brain.  He tried to move his arms, but they were firmly
secured.  He found his legs were also bound.  He was on
a flat surface and as his eyes came into focus, some
type of machinery was above and about him.  Just above
his face was a disc made of bright metal.  He turned
his head to the left and found the surface he was bound
to was attached to a stone wall.  Turning to his right,
he discovered he was in a musky, darkened room.  The
air he breathed seemed damp and smelled oily.
     Steffon strained his ears, but the only sounds he
heard were the mute high pitched noises from equipment
about him.  His full consciousness back, the Prince
began to systematically attempt to test the bonds that
held him.  It proved useless, the bonds were too well
secured.
     Suddenly, an unseen door opened.
     "He is awake, sire," Steffon heard a voice
announce.
     Steffon strained his neck to turn to the voice as
footsteps came toward him.  Finally, two men came into
Steffon's view.
     "Ah, Steffon," began the cold voice of Baron Mon
Terric as he stepped into the Prince's view.  Just
behind the Baron stood the hulking form of Dax Praggar.
"Are you comfortable?" the Baron asked with mocking
charm.
     "My Father will tear your limbs from their sockets
when he--"
     "He will do nothing, my Prince Protector,"
interrupted Mon Terric, "for the Lord Protector is with
the Gods."
     "No!"
     "Yes, he is quite dead, and by my hand if I may be
truthful."
     Steffon struggled against his bonds.  If he could
only free himself he would choke the life out of Mon
Terric.
     "Calm yourself, my Prince.  You can only do
yourself harm."
     Steffon stopped struggling.  The Baron was right,
he was helpless.  "Why am I alive?"
     "An excellent question.  I will answer it
presently.  I feel I do owe you an explanation.
Agreed?"
     "I will have your head for this," Steffon snapped
out in cold anger.
     Mon Terric threw back his head and laughed.
"Admirable spirit, Steffon, but it is your head I
hold."
     Steffon fumed, but he had to admit the Baron held
all the advantages.
     "So make yourself comfortable, Prince Protector,
and I shall spin a yarn for you."
     Steffon did not reply, he just glared back at Mon
Terric with eyes filled with hatred.
     "I see you are ready to listen.  Very well, what
has happened this day has been my goal for life.  I am
within a grasp of being the next Lord Protector."
     "You are mad!" shouted Steffon.
     "Listen, my young friend, and you will decide for
yourself.  Sarkon is dead.  You are my prisoner and--"
     "The Peers will never accept you!"
     "Presently, I must concede that point to you.
Momentarily, I do not have the power to have myself
crowned, but I do have the backing to be made Regent."
     Steffon feared the Baron was right.  Mon Terric
had planned well.
     "I see your mind is working.  I used young Karn.
He was a bleeding heart fool, like his father, but I
was able to play on his ideals and mold him to do my
bidding.  His death allowed me to picture the death of
the Lord Protector as the work of a deranged father."
     "Karg?"
     "Aye, but it appears he unfortunately could not
cope with his dastardly deed, so he committed suicide."
     "You killed him."
     "True, but only those within this household know
that.  The others involved are with the Gods also."
Mon Terric looked down at Steffon in triumph.
     Steffon could not bear the Baron's look, so he
turned his head away.
     "Now, as to you, my lad.  I could easily kill you,
but as you said, I do not have the backing to be
crowned.  With your disappearance, custom requires a
Regent be proclaimed until the Royal Bloodline can be
reestablished.  In the customary hecton, it shall be
reestablished with me as the Lord Protector."
     Steffon turned back to the Baron.  "Shera would
never join with one of your lackies.  Not in a hecton
or a hundred hectons!"
     "I believe differently.  I feel in a hecton Shera
will have found me to be a charming suitor.  With you
in my hands, she will make an excellent spouse,"
     "Never!  By the Gods, never!"  Steffon struggled
again without hope of freeing himself.  "Then kill me
and be done with it!"
     "There is no escape for Prince Steffon of
Starbonn, but there is hope for your next consciousness."
     Steffon did not reply.
     "Look at the device around you.  Does it look
familiar?"
     Again, Steffon did not answer.
     "I did not think so, but I believe you have heard
of the Mind Shielder."
     "They were all destroyed eons ago.  They no longer
exist."
     "This one does," commented Mon Terric.
     "The knowledge of them was destroyed long--"
     "Wrong again, my Prince.  You see, a certain
cyberdroid was once Master of the Mind Shielder and its
uses.  When the shielders were decreed destroyed by
Lord Protector Orex, he found he could not stand to
destroy such a fine cyberdroid.  Therefore, he had new
programming given to it.  It was to be the guardian of
Orex's son and heir.  The droid did so well, it has had
that function since then.  That is until the night of
your capture."
     The Baron looked toward the machinery at Steffon's
feet.  "Come to my side," he commanded.
     A tall, black droid walked out from behind the
equipment into Steffon's view and stood beside Mon
Terric and Dax.
     "Elbe!" Steffon cried, but the cyberdroid did not
seem to know him.
     "I will not bore you with the technical details,
but my resources found a way to render your nanny
helpless."  Mon Terric pulled a device from his tunic.
He held it up where Steffon could see it.  "A neat
little item, Steffon.  It controls your companion now.
Here, he will tell you so himself."  Mon Terric pressed
a button on the controller.
     Though Elbe stood perfectly still, he spoke with a
voice filled with emotion, "Prince Steffon, forgive me
for failing you, but I do not have any control over my
actions.  I--"
     Mon Terric pressed another button, halting the
droid's voice.  The Baron smiled at Steffon.  "See, it
is quite handy."  Mon Terric pocketed the device.  He
turned to the droid.  "Excellent work, Elbe.  Is the
Mind Shielder ready to use?"
     "Yes, Baron," Elbe answered with a machine-like
voice.  It was not the voice Steffon had heard since
childhood, it was cold and without any personality.
     "Elbe?" Steffon called.
     "He hears you, Steffon, but you are not his master
anymore.  He does my bidding.  I control him now.  In
just a moment, he will erase Prince Steffon, and what
is left will be sold into slavery."
     "By the Gods, I will kill you for this, Mon
Terric!"
     The Baron turned his head to Dax.  "Get his crest
ring." Dax stepped over to Steffon and leaned across to
take the ring.  Steffon called on his inner reserve of
stamina to keep his left fist clinched, but the Zaian's
brute strength wrenched the ring from his finger.  Dax
went back to the Baron's side and dropped the ring into
Mon Terric's open palm.
     "Hear me, there will be an accounting for your
treachery!  I shall have revenge on you both!  By the
Gods of Ol, I swear this on my father's grave!"
     Mon Terric chuckled, adding "I do not believe they
have dug it yet."  He looked to the droid.  "Begin the
process, Elbe."
     The droid took a position at the controls of the
Mind Shielder.  A humming began and grew louder and
louder.
     "Elbe, no!  Elbe!  Elbe, override and return to
your prime programming!" Steffon commanded.
     "This is his prime programming, my Prince.  Good
Bye, Steffon," Mon Terric said with a smile.
     "Elbe, override!  Override!" shouted Steffon to no
avail.  The noises of the device became higher pitched,
and the commands of the Prince Protector died away as
the machine increased in intensity.  The disc over
Steffon's face began to pulsate with multihued colors.
The lights whirled across his face as he lost
consciousness.
     Mon Terric looked to Dax and motioned for him to
follow the Baron from the room.
     In the hallway Dax asked, "What shall be done with
the droid, my Lord?"
     "It would not be wise to keep him about.  Have him
program one of my security droids in the use of the
Mind Shielder.  He is too valuable to destroy, so sell
him off system.  The price you receive for the droid
and Steffon shall be yours."  Mon Terric pulled the
controller from his pocket and handed it Dax.
     "Thank you, Baron."
     "Have a pleasant trip, Dax," Mon Terric said with
a smile.  He pocketed Steffon's crest ring and walked
away.
     Dax looked back into the room.  Under the whirling
lights, Steffon of Starbonn ceased to exist.


CHAPTER 7 FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

EPISODE TWO:
Chapter 7

     There was soreness and aching pain as he tried to
move, and as his wits came back to him, there was
confusion.  The blur in his vision began to clear as
did his hearing.  He heard low voices speaking in
muffled tones.  Some he understood; others he did not.
There was the odor of unwashed beings close by.  His
mouth was dry, and there was a terrible taste in his
mouth.  There was a dark form hovering over him.  He
focused his eyes to find a face.  It was the creased
face of an old man.  The beard and hair of the old man
were a grayish-white, yet his face was black.
     It was the face of-- Of?  Of?
     He could not remember.
     "You've come back to us, lad," the old man said in
Unilic with thick lips parting over yellowish teeth.
     "Water?" he asked through a parched throat.
     The old man reached for a water jug.  He poured
full a cup and held it to the young man's lips while he
drank.
     The water quenched his thirst, but the foul taste
in his mouth persisted.  "Thank you."
     The old man helped him sit up and again, he felt
pain and soreness in his body.  He looked into the dark
face of the old man.  There was both kindness and great
sorrow there.  For some strange reason, the young man
felt he knew this person, but he could not remember.
He felt he could trust the black man with his life if
necessary.
     Rubbing his stiff arms, he looked about and saw he
was in a metal room.  There were hatches in the far
wall.  No, not a wall-- a bulkhead.
     He was on a ship.  A spaceship.  Why?
     They were perhaps two hundred humanoids within the
hold.  It seemed as if every race and creed in the
universe was represented.  All were dressed in tattered
clothing.  He looked down at his own garments: rough
plastic sandals and a brief, poorly cut sleeveless
toga.  Around his wrists and waist were slim rings of
gleaming metal, one on each wrist and one
circumferencing his midriff.
     Why was he in this ship?
     Who were all these beings?
     There were so many questions popping into his
mind-- and no answers.
     "Where am I?" he asked the Black.
     The old man looked at him and cocked his head
before he replied, "Don't you know?"
     The lad tried to remember.  There were dim, ghost-
like swirls of memories, of pain, but there was not a
reference point in his mind to indicate where he was or
who he was.  He shook his head.
     The old man placed rough hands on the young man's
head, but their touch was gentle.  "You have several
bruises and cuts on your head.  The keepers have beaten
you severely."
     "Keepers?"  Why keepers, he thought?
     The Black man looked on him in sadness.
     "Who are you?" asked the lad.
     "I am O'Rion, just another old slave.  I've been
taking care of you since they brought you into the
galley."
     "When was that?"
     "Just after the middle meal.  Who are you?"
     The lad looked around the galley, then back to the
old Black.  "I do not know.  I cannot remember."  He
looked down at the rings on his wrists and waist.  He
noticed a series of strange ciphers imprinted on his
left upper arm.
     "What is this?" he asked, offering the arm for the
old man to view.
     "Your chop."
     "My chop?"
     "Yes, that is your slave chop. A tattoo." answered O'Rion.
     The young man raised his hands, "And these rings?"
     Before O'Rion could answer, the clank of a hatch
being opened caught both their attentions.  They joined
others in turning to the far wall.
     Entering the room were two heavily built men
pulling a young female.  One stopped at the hatchway
and allowed the other to drag the girl on into the
galley.  Both men wore body armor on their upper
torsos, but the girl was dressed as the others.  She
struggled as the keeper pulled her into an embrace, but
the man's grip was too strong for her to break.
Finally, she found his bare forearm near her face.  She
grabbed it and bit him hard.
     "You little tardess!"  He threw her to the deck
and looked at her teeth marks in his forearm.
     The keeper at the hatch laughed, and this seemed
to anger the injured man more than the bite.  He pulled
a short whip from his belt.  Seeing it, the girl began
to scramble away from him.
     "I'll teach you some manners, wench!"  He started
after her, the whip raised to strike.
     "STOP THAT!"  The young man's commanding voice
boomed off the metal bulkheads.
     Both of the men in armor were taken back, looking
about for a superior who would order them about in such
a tone.  The slaves all looked to the young man in
surprise.
     O'Rion was as shocked as any.  He watched the lad
quickly rise to his feet and cross the hold toward the
keeper.  In a flash, the youngster had disarmed the
keeper and slapped the man across the face with the
whip.
     "No! The rings!" shouted O'Rion, "THE RINGS!"
     The keeper at the hatch touched a control device
strapped to his wrist.  In a heartbeat, all the rings
about the slaves' wrists were magnetically charged and
drawn to the ring around their waists.  Every slave had
his hands pinned to his sides.  The young man was also
bound, but when the keeper he had attacked regained his
composure and struck out at him, the lad swiftly dodged
the blow.  With a whirl, the youngster struck back with
a whirling, flying kick of his foot to the keeper's face,
knocking the man to the deck.  The downed keeper put
his hand to his face and wiped blood from a split lip.
With a bellow of anger, he jumped up and charged the
young man.  The slaves parted away from the two men.
     Even with his hands frozen to his sides, the lad's
swift kicks were besting the keeper.  The keeper at the
hatch joined the fray.  Even bound by the rings, it
took both keepers several moments to subdue the young
man.  Once they had the upper hand, they beat and
kicked him into unconsciousness.  Finished, they left
the galley.
     O'Rion rushed to the lad's side, but the slave
girl was already kneeling beside his unconscious body.
Presently, the rings were released.  Their hands free,
both were able to tend to the young man's new wounds.
     The girl asked, "Who is he, O'Rion?"
     "I don't know, child," the old man replied.  He
checked over the lad.  "And it appears he doesn't know
who he is either.  This beating won't help matters."
     "Will he live?"  Before O'Rion could answer, she
added, "He must!  He must live!"
     "I believe he will, Ginia, but he must learn the
slave way or he will surely be killed by the keepers."
     Ginia took a wet rag offered by another slave and
began to clean the blood from the new cuts on the young
man's head and shoulders.  In her short life, men had
fought over her, but no man had ever fought for her,
she thought.  No slave, until now.  "No matter who he
is, I will care for him 'till I die!"
     O'Rion could tell by the look in the girl's eyes,
she took the pledge as a lifetime obligation.

     The slave ship plowed through the darkness of
space, another glint of light passing through the
starfield.  Its sublight engines pounding, reaching the
limits of their power, building up the vessel's
velocity until the prime navigational computer would
decide the time was right for the leap into the voids
of hyperspace.  It did equation after equation, taking
data from the ships sensors to add to its findings.
After comparing its conclusions with the secondary
navigational computers, the prime computer came to a
decision.  It notified the central operational computer
of its determination.  They agreed and ordered an
electronic switch to close and the spaceship vanished
from the normal universe, blinking for a billion-
billionth of a milisec into the opposite universe where
nothing could exist below the speed of light, then re-
entered the present time-space continuum many thousands
of parsecs from its position a heartbeat in the past.
     He felt the internal jar of the hyperjump and woke
up.
     Opening his eyes, the young man found the hold was
dark.  The distant glow of a single light shadowed the
galley from the far bulkhead.  It was very quiet with
only the sleepy breathing of the slaves occasionally
punctuated by someone snoring.
     Feeling a warmth at his back, he turned over to
find the slave girl he had defended fast asleep.  She
had been snuggling to his back.  He looked down at her
in the dimness.
     The girl was of Caucasoid stock.  She had thick,
matted black hair and a deep olive complexion.  With
her eyes closed, a hand tucked under her chin, she
looked more child than girl, but her simple beauty and
ample figure showed she was more woman than girl.
     "She is called Ginia," came a whisper from behind.
     The lad turned and found the old man watching him
in the dark.  "O'Rion?"
     "I see the jump woke you.  It does the same for me
every time."
     Sitting up, the lad took care not to disturb the
sleeping girl.  She just moved closer to him, sliding
her arm over his leg, and continued to sleep.
     "O'Rion.  That is a strange name.  And you speak
Unilic with a strange accent."
     "So do you, my young friend.  Do you remember your
native tongue?"
     He thought, but nothing came to mind.  "I cannot
remember.  When I came to, you spoke to me in Unilic.
I understand it, yet I find I can understand some of
the languages the others speak."
     "I see," commented the old man.  He thought for a
moment, then spoke.  "Zakkia 'li brrian."
     "Ki," answered the lad.
     O'Rion tested the young man's knowledge of the
twenty languages the old slave had learned during his
captivity.  The lad knew nine of them.
     O'Rion returned to Unilic.  "Remarkable that one
so young would know so many tongues.  How old are you?"
There was no answer.  "You appear about twenty solars."
     "All of you," the young man gestured with his
hand, "are slaves?"
     "Aye, the same as you."
     "But I am not a slave!  I am--  I am--"
     "In the memory you can not recall, you probably
were not a slave," offered O'Rion.  "But you are one
now."
     "How did I get here?"
     "Your chop is fresh.  Perhaps you were on a ship
that was recently captured by slavers."
     "Has this ship recently been in a battle?"
     "Not that I know of," answered O'Rion.  "This ship
has made four jumps since we left Cetti III."
     "Cetti III?"
     "Yes, that is where we were sold."
     "Cetti III is half way across the quadrant from--"
The young man stopped as he found a blank wall in his
memory.  "By the Gods, this is madness!"
     "You remember nothing of your past?"
     The lad sighed, "No.  Nothing at all."
     O'Rion started to say something when a fit of
coughing over came him.  After a moment, he regained
his breath.
     "Try to breath slowly, not too deeply now,"
offered the lad as he held the old man by the
shoulders.
     "The spasms come and go.  This was not a bad one."
O'Rion's breathing became regular.  "Perhaps the
beating you've been through have temporarily blocked
your memory.  If so, your past will return to you, but
in the meantime, we must call you something.  I will
call you Lincoln."
     "Lincoln?"
     "Yes, because of the way you fought the keepers."
     "Lincoln," said the lad to himself.  "What tongue
is this Lincoln?  What does it mean?"
     "It is an English word.  Lincoln is a name in the
history of Terra.  A great and honored name."
     "Terra?  Where is this Terra?  I've never heard of
it."
     "It is my home planet, Lincoln."
     "Tell me about Terra?  And this Lincoln you name
me after?"
     "It is a grand world where all humanoids are
created equal and there is no slavery.  There has not
been any for over a thousand solars."  O'Rion paused
for a moment.  "Lincoln was the name of one of Terra's
greatest leaders.  He freed the slaves of his country."
     "What is country?"
     "Well," O'Rion said, "to answer your question,
country is the word in my native tongue for an area of
land under one government."
     The lad looked puzzled.  "An area of land on this
Terra?"
     "Yes."
     "This Terra has more than one government?"
     "Not now.  When I was last on Terra, there was one
government, the Confederation.  Terra was the capitol
planet, but the Confederation ruled many, many systems.
At the time Lincoln lived, there were many governments
on the planet."
     "It sounds barbaric."
     "It was, lad," O'Rion continued.  "Brother fought
brother to free the slaves of Lincoln's time.  He was
known as the Great Emancipator."
     "He was a great man to have freed all the slaves
on Terra."
     "No, he did not free all the slaves, just the ones
in his country."
     "Then who freed all the other slaves?"
     "It was a long time after Lincoln before slavery
was completely abolished on Terra.  There was not just
one man.  It was many, different men and women, and
governments, who did away with human bondage."
     "Then why was this Lincoln so great?"
     It was a moment before O'Rion replied.  "You see,
the only slaves in Lincoln's country were Negroids.
Black men and women like me.  So if I feel Lincoln was
The Great Emancipator, I am not alone.  My whole race
feels the same."
     The lad asked, "Just Negroids were slaves?  What
other races are on Terra?"
     "Three major races originated on Terra: Caucasoid,
Mongoloid and Negroid."
     "Then why were just Negroids slaves?"
     "In Lincoln's country at that time, a Black man
was considered inferior just because his skin was
dark."
     "That is zanda dung!"
     "Yes, but it is no more barbaric than the slavery
that surrounds us."  O'Rion looked about the galley.
"We are in the mist of truly democratic slavery.  There
must be a score of races and creeds represented here in
this galley.  The only apparent difference between us
and our enslavers are these."  He slapped his wrist
together, causing a clang from the metal rings.  O'Rion
did not speak for a while.
     "O'Rion?"
     "Yes," the old man replied after a long silence.
     "I shall be proud to have you call me Lincoln.  I
shall bring honor to my new name, honor as great as
your Lincoln.  I pledge this on my life."
     O'Rion put a hand on Lincoln's shoulder.  "I did
not mean to put a challenge to you with a mere name--"
     A fleeing phantom passed through Lincoln's mind as
the old man said the word challenge, but he could not
hold the thought. It fled as quick as it came.
     "Take the name, but do not put more into it than
it is.  Lincoln is but a word to call you.  Besides, in
time your memory will return and we will call you by
your given name.  All right?" Lincoln nodded and looked
down at the girl, still fast asleep at his side.
     "She is just past her majority," commented O'Rion.
"I knew her father and mother.  Both are dead."
     "She is beautiful."
     "Yes, and it will be her curse."
     Lincoln looked back at O'Rion.  "Why?"
     "The beauty of a slave girl is used for only one
thing: the pleasure of the Masters and the keepers."
     This dawned inside Lincoln.  "Not while I live!"
     "Down, young Lincoln," offered O'Rion.  "You need
to go to sleep," he added to change the subject.
     "Do you think I could--"
     O'Rion interrupted, "Sleep.  We will have plenty
of time to talk about this.  For now, you need sleep to
heal your wounds.  You must get well, mustn't you?"
     Lincoln reluctantly agreed.  Presently, he
reclined back onto the deck beside Ginia.  She moved
closer to him, putting her arm around his waist.  Her
warm cheek touched his chest.  He vowed to keep her
from harm.  He did not know why he was so strong to do
this, but it just seemed the right thing to do.
     The only thing to do, he reflected.
     After a period of anger, uncertainty and frusration,
Lincoln slowly found sleep overtaking him.
     O'Rion did not sleep for a long time.  He watched
young Lincoln and Ginia lie on that cold steel deck,
arm in arm, with only a future of pain and misery ahead
of them.  It was a scene he had witnessed too many
times.


CHAPTER 8 FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 8

     A loud buzzing finally broke through the sleepy
fog in Lincoln's mind.  He woke with a start and began
to sit up, but Ginia was at his side, gently pressing
him back onto the deck with her hands upon his chest.
     "It is only the wake alarm, Lincoln," she said
with a smile.  "O'Rion," she continued, nodding toward
the old man at her side, "has told me of the name he
has given you.  I like it."
     O'Rion asked, "How do you feel?"
     "I am still sore, but better," answered Lincoln.
He heard the hatch being opened and turned his head
toward the sound.
     Ginia turned also.  She was afraid the same
keepers would be back to beat Lincoln again.  She was
relieved to see three different keepers come in with
two huge pots.  She turned back to Lincoln.  "It is the
first meal." She got to her feet.  "I'll get food for
us," she said to Lincoln with another smile.  "You,
too, O'Rion," she offered as she walked away from them.
     Lincoln watched Ginia walk over to a queue being
formed by slaves near the two pots brought in by the
keepers.  He looked back at O'Rion.  The old man seemed
to be studying him.
     "She has chosen you, you know," O'Rion offered
with a smile.
     "Why?"
     "You fought for her."
     "I would have protected anyone from that keeper."
     "She doesn't know that."
     "I will tell her so," said Lincoln.
     O'Rion shook his head.  "You are strange, lad.
Perhaps it is your wounds and memory loss that has
affected you so, but you must realize nothing you do
will change the fact you are now a slave.  There will
be few pleasures for you in this new life.  Accept that
and take Ginia if she wishes you.  It will be little
comfort for both of you, but it will be for the best."
The old man sat there for a moment, watching the effect
of his words on the young human.  Lincoln looked down
at the deck, his eyes searching into nowhere.
     O'Rion asked, "Are you trying to remember?"
     "Yes, but I find nothing."
     "When I was first captured, I was younger than
you.  I expected to escape, but as time passed, I
realized there was it was dream that will never be
fulfilled.  For a long time, I wished I could not
remember the past when I was free.  Yet now, I am an
old man and it is my memories that keep me alive."
     "How old were you when you were captured?"
     "Sixteen solars.  My parents and I were on a liner
bound for the Tri-Jakier system.  My father was an
engineer.  He had taken a position with a firm on
Jakier IV.  We were two jumps out from Terra when we
were attacked.  They destroyed the liner's hyperdrive,
holed the hull and took those who survived for slaves."
     "You been a slave all this time?"
     "Yes, I reckon I am seventy or more, but it is
difficult to know when you do not have any way to tell
time."
     "Your mother and father?"
     O'Rion took a moment to answer.  "Dead I am sure.
My father was sold at the first stop after our capture.
My mother was sold a stop later.  I haven't seen them
since."
     "You have never tried to escape?"
     "No, Lincoln.  I used to dream up elaborate plans
to free myself and others.  I dreamed of returning to
Terra, a free man again, but there was never a chance."
     "O'Rion, I feel as if I have known you.  You seem
familiar, very familiar."
     "Perhaps I have a twin in your past."
     "I wish I could remember."
     Ginia came back to them with three small bowls of
thin soup and some slices of brown bread.  Lincoln
found the soup hot, but not filling.  The bread was
coarse.
     This is not right, he thought.  This food is not
fit for jackals!
     Lincoln looked about the galley and saw all the
slaves were hungrily downing their meager portions
without any complaints of the food's quality, so he
said nothing.  Finished with the meal, Ginia took their
bowls and crude spoons back to the keepers.  O'Rion had
another coughing spasm and Lincoln held him in his arms
until the spell went away.  "There, there.  Are you
better?"
     "Yes, Lincoln, I have my breath back."
     Ginia returned as Lincoln asked, "Have you seen a
healer?"
     "A healer?" Ginia asked with round eyes.  "Slaves
are not treated by healers.  At least, I have never
seen a healer treat one of us.  Have you?"
     Lincoln began to speak, but did not.
     "I'm sorry, Lincoln.  I didn't think about your
memory.  I didn't mean--"
     Lincoln gave Ginia a smile.  "It is all right."
     A different buzzer sounded.
     "The keepers are coming for a work detail," O'Rion
announced as a hatch opened and four keepers entered.
     One of the keepers was the one Ginia had bitten.
He began to fling his finger at different slaves.  Once
chosen, they moved out of the hatch.  Both O'Rion and
Ginia feared another beating for Lincoln.  Lincoln felt
a flush in his face as his anger rose.
     The keeper moved toward the new slave.  He pulled
a long whip from his belt and let it play out from his
hand.  "You!"
     Lincoln rose with Ginia clinging to his arm.  He
patted her hand and walked toward the hatch, but as he
passed by the keeper, the whip lashed out.  The force
of the blow knocked Lincoln forward onto his face.  He
jumped to his feet and whirled about to face the keeper
as the guard rings came on, pinning his wrists to his
waist.  With a wicked smile, the man flicked the whip
around Lincoln's neck and pulled him to his knees.  The
keeper grabbed Ginia by the hair.
     "Let her be!  I will go with you," Lincoln said.
     The keeper laughed.  He bent down and roughly
kissed Ginia.  He looked back at Lincoln.  He could see
the young slave was seething with rage, but he held
back.
     The pig is learning, the keeper thought.  He
released Ginia and flipped the whip loose from
Lincoln's neck.  "Go!" he commanded.
     Lincoln looked briefly at Ginia, then rose to do
the keeper's bidding.  Again he turned his back on the
man, and again he was struck.  The keeper used the
heavy hilt of the whip and struck Lincoln on the back
of his head.  The youngster fell to the deck.  The
keeper quickly and savagely kicked the young slave
twice in the head.  Satisfied his victim was
unconscious, he motioned for two of the other keepers
to come and pick up Lincoln.  They carried him from the
galley.  The hatch closed and soon the guard rings were
released.
     Ginia buried her head in O'Rion's shoulder and
began to sob.  "Go ahead, child.  Go ahead," O'Rion
comforted.
     "They will kill him, O'Rion!"
     "No.  They will beat him, but he is too valuable
to kill.  The Masters do not like the keepers to waste
their precious credits."  This seemed to calm Ginia,
but O'Rion feared the keepers would allow an "accident"
to happen.  The lad had attacked them and had caused
them to lose face.  He hoped one of the Masters would
intervene and allow Lincoln to live.
     Throughout the day, these thoughts ran round and
round O'Rion's mind, but the old Negroid did not let
Ginia see his fears.  Even when the work detail
returned without the lad, O'Rion kept Ginia's spirits
alive even when his were sinking.
     Finally, long after the last meal, the hatch
clanked open and two keepers pushed Lincoln into the
galley.  He stumbled toward Ginia.
     Ginia ran to him and helped him over to where
O'Rion sat.  They helped Lincoln down onto the deck.
She began to wipe off caked blood with the hem of her
shift.
     "Did they do nothing but beat you?" she said with
eyes filling with tears and a voice close to cracking.
     "No," Lincoln replied with a wink from his
unswollen eye, "they rested once in a while."
     "How can you jest about this?"  Ginia dabbed at
his fresh cuts.
     "Hunnn!  That hurts," he said with a wince.
     "I'm sorry, Lincoln."
     "It is all right, Ginia."
     O'Rion handed Lincoln a bowl of soup and a piece
of bread.  "Here, it is cold, but you need it, lad."
     The faint odor of the soup nauseated him.  "I
don't think I can eat it."
     Ginia took the bowl.  "You must!  Here, I'll feed
you."
     Before Lincoln could protest, O'Rion said, "She is
right.  You must eat what you can."
     Lincoln allowed the girl to feed him.  Surpris-
ingly, he was able to eat and keep it down.  He wished
to talk, hoping it would help him remember, but he was
so tired.  So tired.
     Ginia and the old man made him lie down.  He did
not want to sleep, but shortly, he was in a deep,
fitful slumber.  The lights dimmed and Ginia snuggled
close to him.  She softly cried to herself in fear this
young slave would die before she could come to love him
as much as she wanted.  Before long, she slept, too.
     Later in the night, Ginia woke up and found
Lincoln's arms about her.  For the first time in her
life, she felt protected.  She reached up and kissed
his lips, then settled back down with her cheek pressed
against Lincoln's chest.  She drifted back to sleep
with uncommon pleasure on her face.

     "But it's only been two fortnights!"
     "I realize that, Princess Shera," Vidor offered,
"and we will continue searching for Prince Steffon, but
we must also begin to make preparations for
reestablishing the Royal Bloodline if our efforts do
not produce the Prince."
     "Steffon is alive!  I would know if he were dead."
Shera exclaimed, "I WOULD KNOW IT!"
     "We all pray he is safe and alive, yet--"
     "No yets, Vidor.  Steffon lives!" she interrupted.
     "Still, Princess Shera, custom requires--"
     "Gods, Vidor!  Custom started all this!"
     "Perhaps so, my Lady, but the Peers will not wait.
Custom demands a Regent be named."
     "And I can guess who has the backing of the
Peers."
     "True, my Lady, Mon Terric has a majority of the
Peers in his corner.  He will be named Regent."
     "I have Sarkon's blood in me.  Why can I not
assume the Throne until we find Steffon?"
     "If it were only that simple, my Lady."  Vidor
paused, "Custom will not allow a female to take the
Throne."
     "I know, but it is time custom changed!"
     "My Lady, this is not the time--"
     "Go to the Peers.  Tell them I am assuming the
Throne."
     "Princess Shera, that is impossible," Vidor said.
     Shera stood up.  "Vidor, I have Sarkon's blood and
his heritage within me.  If I must pick up the Crystal
Sword, I shall!"
     "Princess Shera--"
     "I will not let Mon Terric steal the Throne!"
     "He will be Regent, not the Lord Protector."
     "What about a hecton from now?  What power will he
wield then, Vidor?"
     "Princess Shera, you and you alone will decide who
is to be the next Lord Protector.  Custom allows only
you to reestablish the bloodline.  On this, custom is
on our side."
     "Vidor, we both know Mon Terric is behind all
this.  We must find proof of his treachery and present
it to the Peers!"
     "Aye, we must," Vidor began.  "Yet, we both know
the Baron is a most thorough man.  I pray he is not
behind this."
     "Why?"
     "I feel the Baron would not spare Steffon's life."

     As time passed, the slave ship hurtled through the
galaxy toward its destination and young Lincoln came to
realize the tragedy of slavery, and his position as a
slave.  At every turn, he found himself compelled to
rebel toward the keepers.  It was almost second nature
for him to assert himself and this brought on many more
beatings.  The keepers took his every action as an
affront.  They answered with their whips, their fists,
their kicks.  His strong physique began to suffer from
both the beatings and the meager diet given the slaves.
     O'Rion counseled him to keep a lid on his anger
and "roll with the punches," as the old Negroid phrased
it.
     Through hard, painful experience, Lincoln found
himself doing so even though his brain burned with a
desire to rip the guard rings off and to then rip apart
the keepers.  Lincoln was learning to be a slave.
     Once again, the slave ship entered hyperspace.  It
reentered normal space near a system of ten planets
orbiting a huge red sun.  The jump woke both Lincoln
and O'Rion.
     "That makes seven jumps, perhaps we will soon know
our next fate," O'Rion offered, rising up on his elbow.
     Lincoln sat up.  He now looked a slave.  His beard
had grown out, covering his face with a thick thatch of
blonde hair.  It was dirty and matted, matching the
hair on his head.  Lincoln no longer noticed the odor
of unwashed bodies, his was just as dirty.  "It could
not be worse," he said, pulling his knees up and
wrapping his arms about them.
     O'Rion knew it could be, but he said nothing.  He
rolled back on the deck to go back to sleep.
     Lincoln looked about the galley.  The others were
still sleeping.  It was dark and quiet, strangely
peaceful.  He looked back to O'Rion.
     "Do you wish to talk, lad?"
     "It is odd we are the only two who are affected by
the hyperjump."
     "In my time, I have seen only a few who were like
us."
     "Why are we different?"
     "I don't know.  Perhaps we are not used to
constant space travel."
     "I have been in space before, I know it."
     "Lincoln, you remember something?"
     "No, not a memory, but there are things I know
about the operations of this ship.  I know how things
are done.  O'Rion, I could pilot this ship.  I have
been in space before.  I know it, yet I do not remember
ever doing so."  Lincoln did not speak for a moment.
"I wonder?  You are from Terra and the hyperjump
effects you.  Could I possibly be from Terra?"
     "I think not, lad.  You are a Caucasoid stock like
many native Terrains, but your great strength-- and
your reflexes are too quick.  I would venture you were
born on a planet with a stronger gravity that Terra."
     "I wish I was from Terra."  Lincoln looked across
the galley.  "I wish I could take us all to Terra and
freedom."
     "I have wished the same, Lincoln, but I have
accepted I will never see Terra again.  It could be
just outside the hull of this ship, or a trillion
trillion parsecs across the galaxy, but I shall never
see it."
     "Yes, you shall, O'Rion."
     "You dream the dreams I cannot, Lincoln.  Perhaps
some day fate will smile on you and Ginia.  Maybe you
will see the beauty of my Terra, but I must accept that
I never will."
     "If I go to Terra, you will go, O'Rion."
     The old man closed his eyes.  "I know you mean
that, lad.  And I feel better knowing it.  Now, go back
to sleep."
     Lincoln thought for a long time before making a
decision.  No matter what, he would be humble, a
perfect slave to the keepers and Masters.  He would bow
and scrape to them, but he would watch for the moment
when he would have an advantage.  Then he would strike
and strike hard to gain the two things his desire
burned for: freedom and revenge.
     "Lincoln?"  came Ginia's sleepy voice.  "Are you
awake?"
     "Only for a moment," he answered.  He snuggled
back down by Ginia.  She wrapped her arms around him
and was soon back asleep.  He kissed her forehead and
swore he would set her free.  All of them, he would set
free.  He would do it or die trying.
     By the Gods, I promise I will!

     The Hall of Peers became quiet as Vidor rose from
his seat.  "The sum is complete, my Lords."
     Shera shifted uncomfortably in her chair by the
empty Throne.
     Vidor turned to her.  "Princess Shera, the Peers
have decided Baron Mon Terric shall be Regent of the
Realm until the Royal Bloodline can be reestablished."
     "Very well," she answered dryly.  "Continue."
     Vidor turned back to the great Hall.  "Baron Mon
Terric, will you step forward to accept the Regency?"
     Every head in the Hall turned to Mon Terric.  He
rose and began a slow procession toward the throne.
Many Peers stopped him and shook his hand or offered
their congratulations.  Finally, the Baron entered the
Throne Circle and walked to Vidor.
     The Prime Minister turned to the Commander of the
Royal Guards.  He held a crimson pillow in his arms.
On the pillow was Sarkon's crest ring beside the
Crystal Sword.
     Vidor picked up the ring and offered it to Mon
Terric.  "My Lord Mon Terric, you have been selected by
the Peers of Starbonn to wear this ring of authority as
Regent until the Royal Bloodline can be reestablished.
Will you wear it in good faith and with honor to defend
the Realm from all who wish it ill?"
     "I shall," Mon Terric said.
     "Shall you place the welfare of Realm above all
other matters until the Royal Bloodline is reestablished?"
     "I shall."
     "Do you swear this by the Gods of Ol?"
     "I do," pledged the Baron.  He took the ring from
Vidor and slipped onto his forefinger where he had
previously worn the Mon Terric crest ring.  Then, Mon
Terric knelt before Vidor.
     Shera felt sick at her stomach as she watched the
Baron's performance.  By the Gods, I'll die before I
see him take the Throne, she pledged to herself.
     Vidor took the Crystal Sword from the pillow and
unsheathed it.  He held the hilt of the sword before
his face.  "Gods of Ol, we pray this choice meets with
your will."  Slowly Vidor brought the blade down and
tapped the Baron gently on each shoulder.  "Rise,
Regent Mon Terric, we await your bidding."
     Mon Terric rose and bowed to Shera, then to the
Hall of Peers.  He held his arms above his head in
triumph.
     Shera forced back tears with sheer anger at the
events of the moment.  I must stop this, she thought,
but she could do nothing, but pray Steffon would be
found.
     Mon Terric beamed out at the Peers.  He was but a
short step from his goal:  Lord Protector Mon Terric of
the Starbonn Realm. My quest is at hand, ancestors, he
proclaimed to himself.
     We shall return to where we belong!


CHAPTER 9 FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 9

     Dashtkahi was a red giant and cool as stars go,
yet even its stellarly gentle temperatures would roast
to a cinder any lifeform that got close enough to its
surface.  Of Dashtkahi's ten planets, four were huge
gaseous things in orbits distant from the six solid
surface worlds that circled closer to the crimson
giant.  Only two of the planets were comfortably within
the ecosphere hospitable enough for humanoid lifeforms
to exist without life support.  Toganno and Aleysk were
pleasant worlds.  They were the fourth and fifth
planets out from Dashtkahi.  Several times every
centon, their orbits were barely a decasec apart.  Life
had taken root on Toganno and Aleysk and prospered
while the third planet, Rovin was just at the inner
most edge of the system's ecosphere.  Its orbit was
almost circular, and with an axial inclination of only
2.6 degrees, Rovin was a world with only one season, a
hot and arid, never ending summer.
     Rovin's atmosphere was thin enough to kill most
humanoid lifeforms without life support.  Covered by
trackless, shifting deserts, deep empty canyons and
desolate stone mountains, Rovin was a storehouse of
minerals.  Yet there had never been any indigenous
humanoid lifeforms evolve upon it scorching surface.
Though Rovin had not produced any higher lifeforms, it
had fostered the deaths of them on a massive scale.
     Being a vast depot of the building blocks of
civilization, it had not taken long on the galactic
scale of time before colonies of Togannos and
Aleyskites were mining Rovin's riches.  Over the span
of three centons, the ores of Rovin had been the source
of six different and costly wars between the armies and
navies of Toganno and Aleysk.  Untold millions had died
in the quest for control of Rovin.  Bled drastically by
the conflicts, the governments of both planets had
eventually agreed to co-control of Rovin.
     Land grants were given to the rich and politically
powerful of each world and they mined the minerals of
Rovin in peace.  In order to assure neither planet
gained too much control, it was agreed both Toganno and
Aleysk would use only offsystem slaves to work the
mines.  Now, only slaves' deaths were offered to the
harshness of Rovin.
     This was the stage as a space ship landed and
belched forth its cargo of slaves and supplies onto the
red sands of Rovin's main Aleyskite mining colony.
     "Quickly, move out!  Move out!" shouted one of the
ship's keepers.  He used his whip to hurry along the
mob of slaves down the landing to the cargo hatch.
Seeing the young slave that had caused him much grief,
and a few bruises, the keeper moved through the crowd.
He raised his whip to strike the slave, when to his
surprise, the young slave lowered his eyes and bowed
his head.  The keeper laughed and slapped the top of
the slave's head with enough force to sting.
     The slave winced slightly, but he did not offer
any resistance.
     This one's broken, the keeper chuckled to himself.
He turned and walked away, not seeing the hatred in
Lincoln's eyes as the slave lifted them up and glared
at the keeper's back.
     "That was wise," offered O'Rion.
     Lincoln did not reply for he had looked into
Ginia's face and noticed a trace of displeasure.
     Ginia knew her position as a slave.  She had been
one since birth, but Lincoln had bucked and bled as no
slave had ever done before her eyes, and she was proud
of it.  Now, even though she could agree it was best he
be meek, it had been Lincoln's defiance that had first
touched her.  She loved him as no one before, but as
much as it hurt her to see him beaten, there was also a
pinch of pain at seeing him humble himself before the
keepers.
     All this was but a twinkle in the twitch of an
eye, but he saw it and he knew.  His knowledge of this
seemed to hurt her all the more.  Ginia took Lincoln's
arm and walked with him out the hatch.  Oppressive heat
met them as they went down a ramp onto the burning
sands of Rovin.
     She wondered, Will our pain ever end?
     Lincoln looked about as his lungs began to gasp
for air in the thin atmosphere.  Other slaves wearing
breathing masks were unloading huge containers from the
spaceship's other hatch.  New keepers dressed head to
toe in cooling suits began to herd the new arrivals
toward a tunnel entrance in the face of a nearby cliff.
     "Lincoln," Ginia called breathlessly, "O'Rion
needs you."
     Lincoln moved to O'Rion and put the old man's arm
over his shoulder.  O'Rion was straining for every bit
of air his lungs could provide.  "I am here, O'Rion.
Lean on me and I will get you to that tunnel entrance.
There must be oxygen in there."
     O'Rion tried to speak, but nothing came out of his
mouth but a rasping sound.
     Lincoln walked faster, carrying the old man as
quickly as he could to the tunnel.  Even in his haste,
the young slave took quick looks about the surface of
the planet.  In the distance, he saw cranes and mining
machinery as far as the eye could see.  Just past the
spaceship they had disembarked, there was a sprawling
loading port filled with many gigantic freighters.
     Lincoln knew they had been specially built for
hauling ores across the galaxy.  They dwarfed the new
arrival.  Each one was seated in a loading cradle, an
oval of gravity beams that kept the huge ships'
tremendous weight from crushing their hulls as they
were loaded.  Towering over the ships was the huge dome
of the fusion generator that supplied the massive power
needed by the gravity beams.  He noticed the nearest
ship almost floated above its cradle.  Somehow he knew
it was empty, waiting to be loaded.
     They reached the tunnel entrance and went inside
to find a strong draft of oxygen blowing up from the
interior.  All the slaves stopped to catch their
breath.  The new keepers seemed to realize this and
left them alone for the time being.
     "Better?" Lincoln asked O'Rion when he found the
old man less labored in his breathing.
     "Yes."
     "Ginia, are you all right?"
     "I'm fine, Lincoln."
     Lincoln turned to look back out the tunnel
entrance to see everything he could.  Something out
there may possibly trigger my memory, he hoped.  He
looked over to O'Rion and asked, "Any idea where we
are?"
     "No," O'Rion answered in a voice still labored.
"I would remember if I had ever been in this hellhole
before."
     "It's a mining operation on a vast scale.  See the
cranes on the horizon?  They look like the type that
were used for mining ores on--  On?  Gods, my mind is
doing it again!"  He slapped the butt of his palm to
his forehead in frustration.
     "Don't do that," pleaded Ginia.  "It doesn't
help."
     "I wish it would," he said.  "I wish something
would jar my mind so I could remember who I am!"
     O'Rion reached his hand over to Lincoln's
shoulder.  "Patience, lad.  The mind is a funny thing.
The hardness with which you try to remember may be the
reason your memory has not returned.  Don't try to
force your brain to do things it does not want to do,
Lincoln.  With time you will recall your past."
     "I wish that time would come soon."
     "No talking," commanded one of the new keepers as
he passed by them.
     Lincoln bowed his head as the man walked by.
"Some day, some day," he muttered to himself.
     The three keepers were soon joined by five others.
They began to move the new slaves down the tunnel to a
series of ramps that descended into the depths of
Rovin.  As the slaves marched down the ramps, the
temperature began to drop as the ground above them
provided a barrier against the hot surface.  They
continued down more and more ramps until it became
chilly to the lightly clad slaves.  Ginia moved close
to Lincoln and he wrapped an arm about her to give her
what warmth he could.
     Presently, they came to a set of massive doors.
The doors parted and the eight keepers herded the
slaves into a huge room.  The doors slid shut and with
a high pitched whine, the room began to drop into the
bowels of Rovin.
     "Lincoln!" Ginia screamed as the room began to
descend.  She clutched him tightly as other slaves
began to make sounds of fear.  "Freefall!"
     "No, Ginia," he comforted.  "This is a giant lift
taking us down into the planet."
     She looked as if she did not believe him.  "I feel
sick in my stomach like I do in freefall."
     "We are descending rapidly.  That is the cause of
your queasy stomach."
     "How far can we fall, Lincoln?"  Ginia pressed
closer to him.
     "We will come to a stop shortly," he assured her.
     As the lift dropped into Rovin's interior, the
temperature began to rise higher and higher.  The
slaves began to perspire heavily.
     After a time that seemed like an eternity to
Ginia, the lift began to slow and finally came to rest
with a slight jar.  The heat was almost as oppressive
as the planet's surface.  The doors parted again and
they were met by a new gang of keepers clothed in
shining silver cooling suits topped with close fitting
helmets with darkly tinted faceplates.
     The slaves were ordered out into a cavern so huge,
even with its bright lighting, the far reaches of it
appeared in darkness.  Drenched in sweat, Ginia looked
out into the vast openness and felt a sense of
breathlessness come over her.  Her whole life had been
spent in and out of cells, the galleys of slave ships
and other places of confinement, but never had she seen
such an expanse of openness.  Her breathing became
shallower and shallower.  Ginia wanted to slink back
into the lift.
     Lincoln realized her discomfort and put his arm
about her waist.
     Ginia started to clutch at her throat.  "I--  I
can't breathe--"
     Lincoln pulled her to him, turning her in to face
him.  He put his arms around her and pulled her close
to his chest.  He began to gently stroke her hair.
"Close your eyes, Ginia.  I am here and nothing will
harm you."
     O'Rion asked, "What's wrong?"
     "She has agoraphobia."
     "What?  What do I have?"  Ginia looked up at
Lincoln's face.
     "Agoraphobia.  A long word for fear of open
spaces," he replied kindly.  He leaned his face forward
and kissed Ginia's forehead.  He smiled at her and she
began to calm down.  "That is better."
     "Just don't let go of me, Lincoln.  Please, don't
let go."
     "I won't."
     The new keepers drove the slaves across the cavern
toward an opening bored into the far wall.  Though each
keeper had a blaster on his hip, each made use of his
whip.  Crossing the cavern floor, the keepers took
delight in using their whips to hurry the group along.
     Reaching the opening, one keeper fiddled with a
control box on his suit belt.  He then motioned for the
other keepers to funnel the slaves into the entrance.
As the slaves passed by the keeper with the controls,
he appeared to be looking them over one by one.
     Lincoln began to move himself, Ginia and O'Rion
into the center of the group.  He did not know what
this keeper was planning, but he hoped they could
escape notice within the mass of bodies.
     Inside the shaft, Lincoln looked up and noticed
many small devices embedded among the lights on the
walls and ceiling.  After they had passed through into
another massive cavern, the same keeper again touched
the controls on his belt.
     Near by him was an old female, bent with age.  The
keeper grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back to the
shaft they had just exited.
     "Listen up!" the keeper shouted.  "There is no
escape from these tunnels.  Try to escape and this will
happen."
     Standing in the middle of the group, Lincoln
realized what was about to take place.
     The keeper savagely pushed the old woman into the
tunnel.
     Lincoln knew he was too far away to act.
     The old woman stumbled and fell just inside the
shaft.  Before she hit the floor, three blue beams
burst from the devices on the wall and ceiling.  In a
flash, the beams converged on her.  She was vaporized
into a cloud of smoke.
     A cry of fear and shock came from the body of
slaves.
     "Vapor rays," Lincoln said in a barely audible
voice.  Ginia turned away from the scene and pushed her
face into his chest.
     "Now that the demonstration is over, move toward
the next opening," ordered the keeper.  He cracked his
whip.
     Again, the slaves crossed to another tunnel and
entered it.  It was twice as long as the last one.
Lincoln noticed this one also had vapor rays mounted in
the ceiling and walls.  He hoped there would not be
another demonstration when they exited this tunnel.
     If there was, what could he do except be another
example? They eventually came out into another cavern
smaller then the previous two.  As they passed out into
the new grotto, Lincoln noticed each keeper had a strip
of lettering on their left breast pockets.  The
language was not familiar.  Lincoln observed the keeper
with the controls had small rank emblems on the
shoulders of his cooling suit.  Other than this and the
controls at his belt, he looked no different than the
others.  In the cooling suits, they all appeared
identical.
     Outside the tunnel was a door built into the wall
of the cavern beside the tunnel entrance.  The control
keeper again activated the vapor beams.  He turned to
the slaves and fear ran among them another killing was
at hand.  As a group, the slaves backed away.
     The other keepers moved to the side of the man
with the controls.  He looked back at them, then out to
the slaves.  He jumped toward them and yelled, "BOO!"
     Many of the slaves flinched.  Several cried out.
The control keeper threw back his head and let loose
harsh laughter.  He was joined by the other keepers.
The control keeper opened the door and went through it,
still chuckling.  His men followed him, and even as the
door shut, Lincoln could still hear the control
keeper's harsh guffaws.
     If I could only get my hands around his neck,
Lincoln thought, I would choke off that cackle!
     For a moment, the slaves looked at the closed
door.  A murmur began among them as they looked to each
other.
     "What now?" asked Ginia.
     Lincoln shrugged back at her, forcing his anger
and frustration aside.
     "Here!" commanded a deep voice behind the slaves.
They all turned about to find a man walking toward them
from the depths of the cavern.  As he drew closer to
them, it was apparent he was Caucasoid and a big
individual.
     When he reached them, he was massive.
     The man was like a giant in children's tales.
Lincoln judged the newcomer to be more than a head
taller than himself and almost half again as wide at
the shoulders.  His arms and legs were thick and well
muscled.  He wore slave garments like those before him,
but it would have taken the material in any two of
their's to match his.  The man was light skinned, but
his hair was jet black.  He had a thick thatch of
coarse hair all over his body.
     As he reached them, Lincoln studied the man's
facial features.  His brow was craggy with thick
eyebrows that joined over his huge nose.  His jaw line
was massive and well defined even though covered by a
thick beard.  The eyes in that hairy face were cold and
black as space.
     "I am Vark," he said in Unilic.  The man's deep
bass voice came from between red gums and stained
teeth.  "Those who understand me, tell your neighbors
who do not what I am about to say.  I will not repeat
it."  He stopped for a moment to let his instructions
be carried out.
     Lincoln watched the man called Vark.  He sensed an
almost electric presence in this huge slave.  Though
the being looked like a creature out of the age before
evolution, his speech was refined, his articulation
crisp.
     "I am the overseer.  I am a slave like yourselves,
but I am the boss here.  The Aleyskites, the keepers in
the cooling suits and the Masters, did not place me in
authority.  I rule here because I am the strongest.  It
is the way things are done here on Rovin.
     "First, if there is one among you who believes he
is stronger, let him step forward now and challenge
me."  Vark folded his arms and looked over the new
slaves.
     Ginia's mind was struck with fear that Lincoln
would step out against this hulking slave, but much to
her relief, the moments ticked by and Lincoln did not
move.
     Lincoln felt he was almost having a memory.  This
moment of challenge, it appeared dream-like, then
vanished.
     "Good," Vark continued, "I see there are no fools
among you.  Now, understand this, there is no escape.
Forget about it.  We are slaves here and we shall die
here as slaves.  Some of us will die from the heat,
some will die from overwork, some will die from the
keepers or the Masters, some will die from childbirth,
and a few, only a few, will die of natural causes.
Here inside Rovin, life is harsh.  This is where you
and I will live out the rest of our lives, so accept
your fate.  It will be better and easier on all of
you."
     As Vark halted to let the translations take place,
O'Rion spoke in Lincoln's ear.  "He is a strange fish,
is he not?"
     Ginia looked to O'Rion.  "What is a fish?"
     "Sorry, child, an ajacopii."
     "He lives in the waters?"
     "No," O'Rion replied to the girl, "but he is no
ordinary slave."
     "He is as big a man as I've ever seen," she
offered.
     "It is not his size that surprises me, Ginia, but
his use of his tongue.  Only a person of education
could speak as he does."
     "Lincoln speaks as well."
     "Yes, child, he does."
     Vark began again.  "Those who are the strongest
will work at mining.  Those who are weaker will move
the ore.  Those who are weakest will do the cooking.
Any who do not work, do not eat.  I repeat this, no
work, no food.  It is a hard way, but a necessary way.
As you survive here inside Rovin, you will see it is
the only way."
     Once more, he waited for the translations.  "Look
above you."  His audience did.  "The lights never go
out, they never change.  So, to tell time, the keepers
have four alarms.  They are one to four gongs.  From
one gong to three gongs, we work.  From four gongs to
one gong, we rest.  It is now the middle of four gongs,
so follow me if you wish to rest before we start to
work again."
     Vark turned and walked away from the crowd of
slaves.  Slowly, they began to follow him in small
knots.  Lincoln, Ginia and O'Rion walked together with
two others.
     Garric, game in the leg and even older than
O'Rion, offered matter of factly, "I shall not last
long here, O'Rion."  He fingered a small bag hanging
from a string about his neck.  "When my time comes,
give my remainders to Ginia and the boy." Garric looked
at Lincoln and Ginia.  "They have the strength to
survive here."
     "No," Lincoln began, "I cannot--"
     Garric silenced him with his hand.  "It is my
wish."
     "Then it shall be," said O'Rion.
     Lincoln felt a lump come to his throat.  I must do
something to end this horror, he decided.
     Gods, it must end!


CHAPTER 10 FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 10

     Across the cavern was a short tunnel to another
subrovinean chamber where the slaves lived.  The new
group of slaves began to pass through the tunnel.  As
they entered the new cavern, Vark stood by and watched
them.  His eye caught Ginia whose beauty stood out
anywhere.
     Vark reached out a huge arm and grabbed her.  "You
will be my new mate," he said with a crooked smile.
     "No, she will not," said Lincoln, pulling Ginia
back from the overseer.
     Vark folded his arms.  "I guess you did not
understand me, lad.  She is mine."
     "No," answered Lincoln.  Ginia looked from Lincoln
to Vark in terror as she feared what was about to
happen.
     "You are a strong looking boy.  Do not be stupid
and force me to break bones that will not heal," Vark
offered, dropping his arms to his side.  "Remember, if
you do not work, you do not eat."
     "I understood you, Vark.  I have no wish to
dispute you, but this one is not your property."
     "Oh, she belongs to you?"
     Lincoln looked into Ginia's face, then turned back
to answer Vark when Ginia took a deep breath and said,
"No, I am not yours.  I will be his, Lincoln."  She
took a hesitant step toward the huge slave.
     Vark laughed, "See, even she knows what is best."
     "She is just trying to protect me."
     "Then she is not a fool.  Come girl."  Vark
reached out for Ginia.
     Lincoln stepped between Vark and Ginia.
     "I see you must learn the hard way, boy."
     "Lincoln, he will kill you!" exclaimed Ginia.
Lincoln pushed Ginia to O'Rion and faced Vark.
     The overseer stared at his quarry for a moment,
then lunged.
     The huge slave had fast moves for a man of his
stature, but Lincoln, even in his weakened condition,
kept out of the big man's grasp.  He twisted and dodged
Vark's swings and kicks as they both danced around the
cavern.
     Slaves, new and old, formed a ring to watch the
fight.
     "Stand still and fight, you kastard!" bellowed
Vark as he made another lunge and missed.
     As if on command, Lincoln stopped short, whirling
about to meet the giant rushing at him.  He twirled in
the air, kicking out a lightning foot into Vark's face.
The blow made a loud smack and stunned the overseer.
     Vark took a step back and put a hammy hand to his
face, pulling back a mass of bloody fingers.  The man's
nose was smashed over his face.  Vark's eyes came alive
with rage.  He charged after Lincoln with a fury.
     It was a short chase, his catch was a flurry of
feet, fist and blows that were never returned.  Vark
found the new slave was like a demon, spitting out
pain, disappearing from his grasp like a cloud.
     Lincoln was venting all his frustration and anger
on the big man.  Finally, one of Lincoln's kicks
knocked the overseer back onto a pile of rocks.  He
tried to rise, but Lincoln kicked him in the face
again.  This seem to take all the fight out of the big
slave.  He collapsed back onto the floor of the cavern.
The young slave jumped astride the big man's chest and
began to pound Vark's head with blow after blow.  He
seemed possessed with a rage to beat the big slave into
the rocks.
     "Stop it, Lincoln!  Stop it!" said O'Rion.
"Stop!"  He stepped to the men and put a hand on
Lincoln's arm.  "Stop.  You'll kill him.  He is a slave
like us, lad."
     That stopped Lincoln.  He rose from Vark's chest.
Ginia ran to him and fell into his arms.  She reached
up and kissed Lincoln on the cheek.  She was about to
explode with the love she held for him.
     Lincoln stirred slightly and pushed her away.
     Ginia turned and saw Vark beginning to rise.
     The overseer got unsteadily to his feet, then
stood as tall as he could and looked down on Lincoln.
"No man has ever beaten me.  NO MAN!" he said in a
voice that bounced off the cavern walls.  Vark then
knelt and bowed his head to Lincoln.  "Not until this
very day.  You are the new overseer and I will obey
your every command."
     Once more, a distant, fleeing cloud flashed passed
the blank wall in Lincoln's mind and was gone in a
flicker.  Lincoln stepped to Vark and put his hands on
the man's arms and pulled him up.  "No, I do not want
to be the overseer."
     "You must be, you are the strongest!"
     "No, you are vastly stronger than me.  I simply
have faster reflexes and a knowledge of fighting you
have never encountered.  I know nothing of this planet
or--"
     Vark interrupted, "You must be the overseer, you
have beaten me!"
     O'Rion moved over and joined the conversation,
"Lincoln, you must be the overseer, but perhaps Vark
would be your assistant and guide you in the ways of
Rovin."
     Lincoln thought for a brief instant.  "All right.
Vark, will you be my assistant?"
     "I shall do as you say--  Lincoln?"
     "That is his name," said O'Rion.  He waved Ginia
over to them.  "Find a wet cloth, child."  She went off
to do so, and the old man began to look over Vark's
wounds.  "We must attend to your injuries."
     "I will be all right," Vark answered.
     "No, Vark," Lincoln commanded, "you will do as
O'Rion says."
     "As you say, Lincoln."
     Ginia returned with a wet cloth.  As she and
O'Rion began to clean up Vark's cuts, Lincoln looked
about the cavern for the first time.
     Old and new slaves were gathered about, watching
and waiting for the results of the change of order the
fight had brought about.  There were males and females
of all races and ages scattered about and many pre-teen
children.  They showed the tragedy of inhumanity.  They
were dirty, ill clothed and all had that look of
constant hunger.  All of them were as lean in body as
humanoids could be in their predicament.
     It seemed everyone was looking at Lincoln,
wondering what he was going to do to their already
miserable lives.
     The new slaves had seen Lincoln's defiance, but
they had also seen his suffering for his actions.  The
old slaves looked on him as a question mark.  Some of
the young males gave Lincoln a look of respect, but the
main emotion of the moment was fear of the unknown.
     Lincoln made a decision and started to speak to
the slaves, but he thought better.  He walked back to
Vark and leaned close to the man's ear.  "Vark,"
Lincoln asked in a low voice, "do the keepers monitor
this cavern?"
     "No, I do not believe they do.  I have never
noticed any surveillance equipment here.  They have no
need of it.  Where could we go?"
     "Do they monitor the mines?"
     "No, the keepers are always about," answered Vark.
     "How many keepers?  How often do they change
shifts?"
     "There are twenty-four keepers in three groups of
eight.  The head keeper comes and goes as he pleases."
     "Do the keepers ever come in here?"
     "Very rarely, Lincoln.  Only when they wish a
woman."
     Lincoln looked to Ginia.  "That will change," he
said with determination.  He turned to the slaves and
motioned for them to come to him.  "Come here, all of
you.  Come down around us," Lincoln called out.
     Slowly, they came down and gathered around
Lincoln.
     "My name is Lincoln.  I did not wish to rule you,
but I am now your overseer.  Vark will carry out my
orders and see that you obey them.  There will be
changes in the way things are done.  First, the weak,
the sick and the old will be fed whether they work or
not."
     A murmur ran through the slaves.  "We'll all
starve!" cried one.
     "The Masters do not give us enough food for all of
us!" shouted another.
     "Quiet!  Quiet," ordered Lincoln, but the clamor
grew louder.
     "QUIET!" roared Vark.
     The slaves stopped talking among themselves.
     Lincoln said, "If we are to become Freemen, we
must first learn to act like Freemen."
     The slaves seemed more thunderstruck by this than
the food situation.
     Even the huge slave was shocked.  "But we could
never get by the vapor rays."
     "We will take the controls from the keepers,"
countered Lincoln.
     "How?"
     "We will find a way.  Or we will make a set of
controls ourselves," answered Lincoln.
     Vark thought for a moment, "If we could get the
materials, I could fashion one.  I was a weapons and
electronics officer in the Cassian Navy.  A damned good
one, too, before my ship was defeated by a slaver,"
Vark offered with a trace of pride in his past
profession.
     "Then you shall be one again, my large friend,"
Lincoln said.  He turned back to the slaves.  "We shall
all be Freemen in time.  For the time being, we will
not cause any trouble for the keepers.  Vark will
continue to act as overseer, giving my orders to you
while we plan our escape.  I promise you this and
pledge it with my life.  We will be free!  Now, go
rest.  We will speak of this the next rest period."
     The slaves looked numbed and uncertain of the new
twist to their lives.
     Vark touched Lincoln's shoulder.  "May I  speak to
them, Lincoln?"
     Lincoln nodded his approval.
     Vark turned to the slaves.  "Listen to me.
Lincoln is our new overseer and you will obey him as
you have obeyed me.  If you do not, you shall answer to
me!  No one is to speak of what has been said here.  Is
that understood?"  There was a bobbing of heads.  "Now,
do as Lincoln said, go rest."
     The slaves broke up and moved off into the cavern.
Lincoln had Vark sit down so O'Rion and Ginia could
finish caring for his wounds.
     "How many slaves were here before we came?"
Lincoln asked Vark?
     "Two hundred nine.  That includes sixty three
children." "There is about two hundred of us," Lincoln
commented.
     "The keepers told me one hundred ninety-three."
     "One hundred ninety-two," said O'Rion, remembering
the old female at the tunnel.
     "That is a total of four hundred one.  Do you know
if there are other slaves in caverns as this?"
     "There must be more, but I have never been outside
this section of Rovin since I was brought here."
     "How long has that been?" asked Ginia.
     "I believe ten solars, but I am not sure,"
answered Vark.
     Ginia had finished tending to Vark's nose.
"There, you have stopped bleeding."
     "Thank you," Vark said with some embarrassment.
He looked to Lincoln.  "It would be best if the keepers
did not see her.  They always take the real beauties to
the surface for the Masters."
     Lincoln looked at Vark.  "Where were you going to
hide her?"
     Vark looked sheepish and uncomfortable under
Ginia's presence.  Eventually, he said, "I was going to
put her with the children.  We have a small cave where
they are left during the work periods.  Usually, the
keepers do not bother them there."
     Lincoln spoke to O'Rion, "Find out where this cave
is and take Ginia there."
     "Very well, lad."
     Ginia began to protest, but Lincoln said, "Ginia,
it is for your own good.  Please do as I wish."  He
took her in his arms and kissed her forehead.  "I will
come see you in a little while, all right?"
     "I will go, Lincoln," she said and walked away
with O'Rion.
     "Vark, when we came through the tunnels with the
vapor rays, only one keeper had controls for them."
     "Yes, he is the head keeper.  He is called Keeng."
     "Do each of the other keepers have controls for
the guard rings?"
     "Yes, each one has a control on his arm," Vark
answered.
     "Lincoln, I will do as you say, even if it means
my life, but an escape is impossible."
     "Nothing is impossible, Vark.  Just because the
keepers tell you there is no escape does not make it
so.  There is a way and we will find it.  Agreed?"
Lincoln held out his hand to the huge slave.
     Vark took Lincoln's hand in his and grasped him by
the shoulder.  "Agreed!"

     "Your Excellency?"
     "Yes, Pol, what is it?" answered the Baron.
     "Dax has returned and seeks an audience, sire."
     "Send him in, Pol."
     Pol left.  "Yes, sire."
     Mon Terric rose from his desk and moved to two
large, comfortable chaise longues.  He sat down into
one as a servant came to his side.
     "Refreshments, sire?"
     "Yes, for two."
     The servant bowed and left the parlor as Dax
Praggar entered carrying a small portfolio under his
huge arm.
     "Ah, Dax, was your journey a success?"
     "Yes, Baron."
     "Sit, give me the particulars."  Mon Terric
motioned Dax to the empty chaise longue.
     "I will stand if you don't mind, sire."
     "Very well."  The servant returned with spirits
and began to fill two glasses.  "While you were gone,
Dax, the Peers honored me.  I have the Regency."
     "I noticed Sarkon's ring on your hand, sire.  I
offer my congratulations, your Excellency."
     "Thank you, Dax."  Mon Terric took a glass of wine
from the servant.  The servant offered one to Dax, but
he declined.  The Baron said, "You may go now."
     "Yes, sire," answered the servant.  He bowed and
left the parlor.
     "Now, where did you place our young friend?"
     Praggar took some papers from his portfolio and
handed them to the Baron.  "I sold him to a mining
combine on Dashtkahi III."
     Mon Terric took the papers.  "Dashtkahi, eh?  I am
not familiar with that system.  Where is it?"
     "It is not a system, sire.  Only two of its
planets are inhabited, Toganno and Aleysk.  Both are
independencies, but they have a loose alliance to mine
the third planet, Rovin.  Dashtkahi is out on the far
rim past the H'Warz Cluster, completely out of the
Quadrant."
     "My compliments, Dax.  Your choice is excellent,
distant and hard to find."
     "As you see," Dax indicated one of the papers in
the Baron's hand, "I had a blood chit placed on him.
He is not to be killed deliberately, yet--"
     The Baron was looking over the paper.  He looked
up, "Continue."
     "Rovin's conditions are harsh, sire.  The
Aleyskites consider slave lives cheap."
     "Well, Steffon will have to take his chances."
     "If he should die, the Aleyskites will notify us
through a channel of discreet friends of mine."
     "And the droid?"
     Dax handed Mon Terric another paper.  "To an
industrial consortium in the Vaga-Cajus Republic.  They
are the droid dumping grounds of the galaxy.  Elbe will
just be another labor droid among millions.  He'll
probably be hauling rocks or trash for all eternity."
     Mon Terric laughed and continued looking at the
papers.  "I see you only got ten thousand for him."
     "I gathered it was safer to sell him as a laborer.
That way there will be less chance of finding him."
     "Yes, by the Gods, who would search for an armed
analytical cyberdroid among laborers?"  Mon Terric
handed the papers back to his hulking mercenary.  "Dax,
I could not have done better myself."
     "That is what you pay me to do, sire."
     "And I shall reward you with more when I am
crowned, Dax."
     "Thank you, Baron."
     "You have served me well, Dax.  You shall continue
to in the future.  Have a drink with me?"
     "Of course, sire."  Dax picked up the remaining
glass of wine and proposed a toast.  "To Lord Protector
Mon Terric, a long and wise reign."  Both drank with
smiles on their lips.


CHAPTER 11 FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 11

     Lincoln was surprised to find the primitive
equipment the slaves used in the mines.  Picks and
shovels were used for the most part.
     Once again, he was unable to understand why he
expected different equipment, but he kept this to
himself as he followed Vark up and down the mine
shafts.  He played the part of Vark's water bearer,
trailing after the large slave.  He watched for each
and every means of escape, but there did not appear to
be any way to get around keepers armed with controls
for the rings and pulsar blasters on their hips.
     The keepers were free with their punishments.  The
very first work period, both Vark and Lincoln fell
under a keeper's wrath for no apparent reason.  Vark
showed surprise at Lincoln taking a whipping without a
sound, but he accepted it without comment.
     In their journey through the mine shafts, Lincoln
noticed only four keepers.  As they entered an empty
stretch of tunnel, Lincoln asked, "Where are the rest
of the keepers?"
     "They rotate around."
     They came to a junction and turned to reach a new
portion of shaft being cleared.  One keeper looked
after a group of sixty slaves working with picks and
shovels.
     Vark looked over his shoulder and whispered to
Lincoln, "One of the Masters is coming."
     Lincoln looked up to see two figures coming up the
tunnel in cooling suits.  One was Keeng, the keeper
with the vapor ray controls on his belt.  The figure
accompanying him was plump and his stomach stretched
the fabric of his suit.
     The Master and Keeng approached the keeper and
chatted for a moment.  The Master walked over by Vark
and Lincoln to watch the slaves' progress.  Keeng and
the other keeper joined him.  Keeng lashed his whip at
a slave he thought was slacking off.
     "Keep them at it, Keeng," said the Master.
     "Yes, sir."
     All three were standing right beside Lincoln and
Vark when a voice called out to them.  The Master and
keepers turned their backs and looked down the tunnel.
     Approaching them were two other keepers pulling
two slaves.  One had O'Rion and the other pulled Ginia
along by the arm.  When the new arrivals reached the
Master, both keepers threw their captives at the
Master's feet.
     Lincoln could see Ginia's face was filled with
terror and O'Rion face was bloodied from a beating.
     Vark put his hand on Lincoln's shoulder.  "You
have no chance," the big man said in a prison whisper.
     Keeng pointed at Ginia.  "See, I told you there
was a real beauty among the new arrivals."
     "Ha, she is a beauty," exclaimed the Master,
reaching down to hold Ginia's face in his hands.
"Where did you find her, Jamiel?"
     "She was hiding with the slave children, sir,"
answered one of the keepers.  "This old one," the
keeper kicked O'Rion, "tried to keep us from finding
her."
     "Keeng," asked the Master, "where is the overseer
for this group?"
     Pointing at Vark, Keeng said, "Just behind you,
sir."
     The Master turned to Vark and shook his head.  "I
don't blame you for hiding her, but she is too good for
you."  He waved a hand at Keeng.  "Do not kill him, but
make sure he knows his place."
     Keeng pulled his whip from his belt and moved to
Vark.  He pushed Lincoln off to the side and began to
lash out at Vark with savage blows.
     "What shall we do with the old man, sir?" asked
Jamiel.
     "Kill him," replied the Master.
     Lincoln looked to O'Rion's prostrate body, then to
the Master, and noticed the man had a laser saber
hanging from his belt.  Even before he realized what he
was doing, Lincoln snatched the saber with a lightning
reflex, activated it and plunged it into the back of
the Master.
     So fast was his action, Keeng was still lashing
Vark while Jamiel was reaching for his blaster to kill
O'Rion.
     Without a pause, Lincoln pivoted, slashing out in
an arc that beheaded both Jamiel and the other keeper
standing over Ginia and O'Rion.
     The third keeper stood dumbfounded, not believing
his eyes.  In the twitch of an eyebrow, a slave had
killed a Master and two keepers.  Recovering, he
reached in a panic for the ring controls, but Lincoln
slashed again.  The man's body fell in two pieces,
joining the carnage on the floor.
     Lincoln turned to take care of Keeng, but he found
Vark holding the man by the arm and neck.
     The big slave was squeezing Keeng's throat.  With
a loud pop, the keeper's neck snapped.  Vark released
his grip and Keeng's dead body dropped to the floor in
a heap.
     "Now, we have done it," Vark said with a sigh.
     Lincoln looked to Ginia.  She leaped to her feet
and rushed into his arms.  He held her and deactivated
the saber.
     Around them, slaves looked on in amazement.
     Lincoln broke his embrace from Ginia, and they
both moved over to where O'Rion lay face down on the
floor.  Lincoln knelt and Ginia sat down beside O'Rion.
They both carefully turned him over onto his back,
Ginia gently cradling the old man's head in her lap.
     "O'Rion, can you hear me?" asked Lincoln.
     "Yes, lad," answered the old man in a labored
voice.  He opened his eyes and look about at the bodies
of the keepers.
     Lincoln looked over O'Rion's battered face.  "They
did a good job on your face."
     "Not as good as you did on them, lad," replied
O'Rion.
     "Are you in great pain?" asked Ginia.
     "I've hurt worse, child," he answered, "but not
for a long time."  He turned his head to Lincoln.  "I
tried my best to keep them from finding her."
     "I know you did," Lincoln said.  From the corner
of his eye, he noticed Vark's inquiring look.  He
glanced up and nodded to the huge slave, then back down
at O'Rion.  "You rest now."
     "I will," the old man answered.
     Lincoln stood up and walked over to Vark.
     "What now, Lincoln?" asked Vark.
     Lincoln handed the saber to Vark.  "Use this to
cut off the guard rings."  He held out his left wrist.
     "I could cut your hand off."
     "Then be very, very careful, Vark," Lincoln said
with a smile.
     A huge laugh rumbled from Vark.  He activated the
saber and gently touched the laser shaft to the ring on
Lincoln's left wrist.  Sparks flew.  It took three
careful pecks with the shaft before the ring parted.
Lincoln held out his right wrist and Vark was able to
cut through its ring in two attempts.
     Lincoln tried to twist off the rings, but Vark
deactivated the saber, saying, "Here."  In two quick
twists, his powerful hands bent the rings off Lincoln's
wrist.  "What about the waist ring?"
     "That can wait."  Lincoln rubbed his wrist, then
took the saber from Vark and cut through the big
slave's rings.
     As Vark was wrenching off his rings, he looked at
Lincoln.  "The other keepers will be along soon.  What
do we do about them?"
     Before Lincoln could reply, two young males
stepped forward from the crowd.  Both had small, stout
statures and with their Occidental features, they
looked as if they had been cast from the same mold.
They went to the bodies of the keepers and took their
blasters.  "We will cover the shaft junction," said
one.
     "What is your name?" Lincoln asked.
     "Tonjon."  He nodded to slave beside him.  "He is
called Banda."
     "All right, Tonjon.  Do you and Banda know how to
use those blasters?"
     "Aye, Lincoln.  We were both in the Inja Marines
before we became slaves."
     "They are good men, Lincoln," Vark added.
     "Cut their rings off, Vark."  Tonjon and Banda
offered their wrists to Vark.  He quickly severed and
removed their rings.
     Lincoln told the two, "Take those blasters and
guard the next junction.  If any keepers come along,
hold your fire and hurry back here."
     Tonjon and Banda snapped to attention and bobbed
their heads.  "By your leave, sir," added Tonjon.  Both
turned and trotted off down the tunnel.
     Lincoln turned to the other slaves in the tunnel.
"Are there any others with military experience here?"
     "Yes, I believe so," said Vark.  He looked down
the tunnel, noting several individuals, then called
out, "Fruli!  Elkin! J'Tafil!  Oki!  You four come
here!"
     Four slaves came forward.  Three were males.  Two
of them were Caucasoids.  The other one had only four
digits on each hand, and his skin was a bright amber,
announcing him a member of the Hixxiznian Race.
     The female was a Lagellian and quite tall for her
race, almost two meters.  Being from Lagell, she was
devoid of body hair, except for the very back of her
head where she had a long, blonde braid trailing down
past her waist.  The pupils of her eyes were of such a
light green, they appeared almost clear, giving her a
disturbing, penetrating look.  Her appearance was
fitting as Lagellians were one of the few empathic
races in the galaxy.  They generally did not last long
as slaves.  They would eventually become totally
insane, because their empathic abilities could only
soak up so much of their companions' constant pain and
suffering.  Though she had evidently been subjected to
the same environment as the other slaves, she appeared
the strongest of the four.
     Vark pointed at her.  "This is Oki.  She was a
navigational officer on a Lagellian star cruiser.
Fruli and Elkin served in the Bir-Nusra Guards.
J'Tafil was an engineer in the Hixxiznian Navy."
     "Do you wish to be free again?"
     They all nodded yes.
     Lincoln announced, "Fine, we shall be free or
dead.  Agreed?"
     Oki looked to her three companions, then to
Lincoln.  "Agreed, Lincoln."
     "Remove their rings," Lincoln ordered Vark.  "Oki,
can you help O'Rion?"
     "I will do what I can."
     "Remove her rings first."  After Vark did so, Oki
went to O'Rion and knelt down by his side.  Lincoln
stood over her.  Oki took O'Rion's head from Ginia's
lap and carefully lowered it to the floor.  She put a
hand on the old man's chest.  She seemed to go into a
trance for a moment, then turned to Lincoln.  "He is
not badly hurt, I can easily withdraw his pain."
     "Thank you," said Lincoln.
     Lincoln turned around.  Vark had finished cutting
the rings off J'Tafil, Elkin and Fruli.  "You three,"
he said to them, "hide those bodies."  Lincoln pointed
at the dismembered keepers.  He dropped to one knee and
began to strip the cooling suit off the Master.  He
noted with grim irony that the Master was Negroid.
"Vark, get that suit off Keeng," he ordered.
     Ginia came over and squatted beside Lincoln.
"What will become of us?"
     "We are going to win our freedom, Ginia."
     "But, Lincoln," she offered quietly, "we are
trapped down here."
     Lincoln finished removing the cooling suit from
the Master.  He pitched it over to Elkin.  "Put that
on," he ordered.
     Lincoln stood up and pulled Ginia to her feet.  He
took her off to the side and said, "Ginia, things have
gone too far here.  I've taken a course without
retreat.  I cannot stand another day of seeing you
suffer, or seeing O'Rion, myself, or any of the others
suffer as we have.  I am going to ask those who wish
it, to come with me and win our freedom or die trying.
You've been a slave all your life, so I will understand
if you don't wish to do this, but you must decide right
now.  And once you decide, there is no turning back."
     Ginia was silent and bowed her head.  She looked
back up into Lincoln's face, tears were filling her
eyes, "I love you, Lincoln, and your fate is my fate."
     Lincoln took her into his arms and embraced her.
"Ginia, I promise you will never suffer again as long
as there is breath in my body."  He cupped her face in
his hand and kissed her on the lips.  "Now, we must
have courage.  Yes?"
     "Yes," she answered with a weak smile.
     Lincoln looked over where Elkin had finished
putting on the Master's cooling suit.  The suit hung
off his lean body.  "Vark, strip some of the clothes
off those bodies and stuff them inside that suit.
Elkin needs it to look like our fat Master."
     As Vark followed Lincoln's instruction, Oki called
to him.  "The old man's pain is gone."
     Lincoln walked over to her.  Her face was ashen
from her efforts.  "Are you all right?"
     "Yes," she answered.
     He squatted down by the old Negroid.  The old
man's eyes were clearer and his breathing was regular.
"Well, O'Rion, are you feeling better?
     "Yes, but I am tired, lad.  Very tired."
     "Can you find the strength to help us?"
     "How can I help you?"
     "When we get off this hellhole, we need you to
guide us to Terra."
     "We will probably never get out of the mines,
Lincoln.  You know that," said O'Rion.
     "True, but they will talk for a long time about
how hard we tried.  Come with us?"
     "I'll try, Lincoln, but I am old and if I cause
you any delay, leave me.  Will you promise me this?"
     "I promise I will not leave you to suffer."
     "I accept that, lad."  Lincoln and Oki helped
O'Rion to his feet.
     "How do I look?" asked Elkin, turning to model his
bulging cooling suit.
     "You look like a Master."  Lincoln took Keeng's
cooling suit and began to slip into it.
     "What is our plan?" Vark asked.
     Lincoln had the one piece suit on and was zipping
it up, the helmet hanging back off his head.  "Remove
the rings from Ginia and O'Rion.  Then gather all the
slaves over here."
     Vark severed O'Rion and Ginia's wrist rings and
twisted them off.  Then with Fruli and J'Tafil's help,
he assembled the slaves into a group facing Lincoln.
     "Listen to me," began Lincoln.  "I am going to
leave this place or die trying.  Those of you who want
to taste freedom, come with me.  I cannot promise
success, but those who choose to follow me will at
least have the honor of dying of their own choice as
Freemen.  Make your decision now, for there is no
turning back.  Those who follow me, stay where you are.
Those who choose not to, go back down into the tunnel."
     The slaves looked at each other and began to talk
in a low mutter.  After a few moments, several began to
walk back down the shaft.  Quickly, many more followed.
Before long, most of them had moved back down the
tunnel.
     Lincoln looked at those who had stayed.  Vark
stood by Elkin, Fruli, Oki and J'Tafil.  O'Rion and
Ginia stood at Lincoln's side.  Of the others, only
four had decided to slip their bonds.  They were all
Caucasoids.  Two were middle aged males.  The others
were a young couple holding hands.
     Lincoln stepped to them and asked the first older
male, "What are you called?"
     "Poe."
     "Your name?" Lincoln asked the next man.
     "Darc."
     Lincoln moved to the couple.  "And you two?"
     "She is Mallie," answered the young man.  "And I
am Sart-Ti."
     "Mallie, Sart-Ti, Poe, Darc, you realize we leave
Rovin or we die here."
     "I have always known I would die here," said Poe.
"Now, I have a chance to do it as a Freeman, not a
slave."
     Darc offered, "I came here as a boy.  I took a
woman here and she bore me three sons.  All of them
have died here.  I prefer death to staying here."
     "Lincoln," began Sart-Ti, "Mallie and I have
chosen each other.  She is with my child.  It has
pained us both to bring a child into this world of
misery.  But you have given us a reason to have hope
for our child's future.  I wish to see him born in
freedom."
     Mallie looked at Sart-Ti.  "I agree with my man."
She looked to Lincoln, "I do not wish to give the
Masters another slave."
     "Then we all agree," Lincoln said to everyone, "we
win our freedom or we die.  Will you pledge your lives
on this?"  He looked to each and they all either
answered with a yes or a nod of the head.
     "Fine, Vark cut off our new converts' guard
rings."  As Vark began, Lincoln offered, "This is what
we shall do."
     The slaves down the tunnel milled about, some
looking back at the ones plotting to escape.
Presently, the conspirators moved away down the shaft
and soon disappeared from view.
     In their regimented world, there was little these
slaves could comprehend of the events that had taken
place this day.  Most felt fear and confusion.  They
would be punished for what the others had done.  They
would be punished for the deaths of the keepers and the
Master.  There was nothing they could do.  So, slowly
they went back, one by one, to mining ore for the
Masters.

CHAPTER 12 FOLLOWS BELOW

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 12

     Koka walked down shaft number 1069.  He yawned and
looked at his timepiece.  His shift would be ending
shortly.
     He looked forward to an evening in the recreation
room topside.  A new supply of spice wine was due in
and even better, he thought, some new females may have
come with the supplies.  He was tired of the present
crop.
     Senator Molk was down in shaft 1073 with Keeng, he
remembered.  Keeng was one of Molk's favorites.  If
there were any new women, the Senator would know and he
would tell Keeng.  Koka decided to go down to 1073 and
ask Keeng.
     Just as he turned into the junction to 1073, Koka
saw Keeng coming toward him at a trot.  Following Keeng
was the big overseer and cradled in his arm was Master
Molk.  Koka sensed something had happened to Molk,
something bad.  He knew his shift would catch hades for
what ever happened, but at least he had been doing his
duty elsewhere.
     He shouted, "Keeng, what's wrong?"
     Just as Keeng drew up to him, Koka suddenly
realized the man in Keeng's suit was an impostor!
Before he could react, the bogus Keeng shot him with a
blaster.
     Doubly surprised, Koka felt the pulsar charge
envelope him.  His last conscious thought was relief
that the blaster was set on stun instead of kill.
     Lincoln looked back down the shaft and waved for
the rest of his band to follow.  "Well, we have a
keeper to interrogate."  As J'Tafil and Fruli came up,
Lincoln told them to pick up the keeper.
     Mallie, Sart-Ti, Oki and Ginia came down the
tunnel helping O'Rion.  They were followed by Tonjon
and Banda, making sure the rear of the group was
protected.
     Lincoln took the new keeper's blaster and handed
it to Oki.  "We have our prisoner.  The next keepers we
encounter, we must kill.  May the Gods allow our ruse
to work again.  Ready?"
     Lincoln led the group down the next tunnel.
Before long they encountered two keepers coming toward
them together, but once more, the sight of a Master
being carried by the big slave drew their attention
until it was too late.  They both died from Lincoln's
blaster as they realized their mistake and reached for
their weapons.
     Lincoln took the two new blasters and gave them to
Poe and J'Tafil.  "J'Tafil, show Poe how to use the
blaster."
     Poe raised the blaster.  He said, "Though this is
the first time I have ever held one of these, I have
seen them used enough to know what to do."
     "Very well," said Lincoln.  He turned to Vark.
"How much farther to the cavern?"
     "One more tunnel after the next junction," Vark
answered.
     They moved through the junction and down the shaft
to where it opened into the cavern by the slave's
quarters.  Lincoln halted them and carefully peered out
into the cavern.  He did not see anyone in sight.  He
looked across the expanse and found the entry tunnel
lined with vapor rays.  Beside it was the doorway the
keepers had entered earlier that day.  He scanned the
cavern once more to make sure it was empty.
     "It is too risky for all of us to cross at once,"
Lincoln began.  "Tonjon, see that crop of rocks just to
the right?"
     "Aye, I see them," answered Tonjon.
     "I want you to take a position there.  You should
be able to see what happens at the tunnel entrance.
When we have it secured, signal the rest to come out."
     "Aye, sir," offered Tonjon as he slipped out into
the cavern.  He squatted and ran quickly to the rocks.
He turned and waved.  He was in position and ready.
     Lincoln turned to Oki.  "I am going to leave you
in charge here.  As soon as you see Tonjon's signal,
quickly get everyone across the cavern.  If we do not
succeed, you know our pledge."
     "You may count on me, Lincoln," she answered.
     Turning to face the rest, Lincoln said, "Vark,
Elkin, J'Tafil, Fruli, we will try our ruse again.
Banda, Poe, go back to the last junction and guard our
rear.  There is still one more keeper.  He may be
behind us."
     "Done," said Banda as he left with Poe back down
the shaft.
     Lincoln stepped to Ginia and O'Rion.  He clasped a
hand on the old man's shoulder.
     O'Rion put his hand over Lincoln's.  "Take care,
lad."
     Lincoln turned to Ginia and she fell into his arms
and held him tightly.  "Please be careful, my love,"
she whispered into his ear.
     "I shall."  He kissed her.
     Releasing Ginia, Lincoln turned to Vark.  "Ready?"
     "Yes."
     Lincoln gave O'Rion and Ginia a wink, then trotted
out of the shaft into the expanse of the cavern.  Vark
followed carrying Elkin.  J'Tafil and Fruli struggled
along with the keeper's body carried between them.
They snaked along the cavern floor, passing by Tonjon's
position, then out into the center of the huge chamber.
Lincoln kept checking each crop of rocks for anything
unexpected, but his main attention was on the distant
doorway and tunnel entrance.  He did not want any
surprises before they reached their objective.
     Finally, the little band neared the tunnel
entrance.  He slowed his men as they came up to the
doorway.  Lincoln motioned for stillness as they
reached it.  He inched to the tunnel entrance and
looked down into it.  Satisfied no one was coming from
that direction, he moved back to the doorway.
     Lincoln looked back in the distance at the crop of
rocks where Tonjon was positioned.  Even his sharp
eyesight could not detect the little Occidental.  He
hoped Tonjon was able to see them clearly.  He pointed
a finger at Vark, motioning for him to put down Elkin.
     Lincoln put his hand on the door latch and pulled.
It gave without a sound as he opened the door.  He
quickly stepped inside, his blaster ready to shoot
anything that moved.  There were not any targets for
Lincoln's blaster, there were no keepers inside.
Lincoln eyed the room for cameras or monitoring
devices.   There did not appear to be any.  Vark and
Elkin followed Lincoln into the room.  He put his index
finger to his faceplate, telling them to keep quiet.
     Lincoln quickly glanced over the room.
     The entire right wall was a row of changing
compartments for the keepers.  Garments from the dead
keepers were hanging in individual stalls, each with
their names neatly imprinted on the stalljams.  The
left wall was an armory with numerous, precisely
stacked blasters, rifles and boxes of grenades, both
gas and explosive.  Beside the weapons was a computer
terminal.  There were two other openings in the back
wall of the room.  To the right was a doorway which
Lincoln mentally wagered to be a fresher, but the
double doors to the left, he reasoned, surely slid
apart to reveal a lift.
     Perhaps they would not have to take the tunnels
and ramps to the surface, Lincoln thought as he crept
to the doorway on the right.  He eased it open and
found his first hunch was correct.  It was a fresher
for the keepers.  There was not another exit, so after
making sure it was deserted, Lincoln returned to the
main room.
     "Vark, signal Tonjon to get everybody over here.
Send J'Tafil and Fruli in with our prisoner."
     Vark stepped outside.  "Bring in the keeper," he
said, then moved out where Tonjon could see him stick
his huge thumb into the air and shake it.
     Tonjon saw Vark's victory sign.  He motioned for
Oki to move forward.
     She saw his signal.  "They have taken the tunnel,"
she announced.
     Suddenly, several blaster reports rang out from
behind them.  Oki looked to her charges.  "Quickly, get
across the cavern," she ordered.  She watched Sart-Ti
and Ginia help O'Rion.  Mallie followed them.
     Oki, crouched and started back down the tunnel,
her weapon at the ready.  Several paces down it, she
stopped as a figure came running toward her.  She
raised her blaster, but lowered it when she saw it was
Banda.  She stood up as he came up to her.  He had a
blaster in one hand, two in the other.
     "Poe died a Freeman," he said.
     She did not ask about the keeper.  "Come.  They
have the tunnel entrance."  She led Banda out of the
tunnel and across the cavern.

     Shera reclined on a chaise longue, sipping wine.
She was on her terrace, looking out at the distant
mountain tops, the same mountains Sarkon had last
looked upon.  The sun was about to slip behind them,
ending another day of uneasiness for the Princess.
     Two questions monopolized her thoughts.  Where was
Steffon and how could she stop Mon Terric?
     She heard a distant knock at the entrance to her
suite.  She had told her servants she was not to be
disturbed, so she surmised it must be Vidor.  She rose
and went inside to answer the door.
     "May I enter, Princess?" asked Vidor as the
Princess opened the door.
     "News of Steffon?"  For the longest time, she had
began every conversation with Vidor just so.
     "No, my Lady."
     "Very well, what is it?"  She turned before he
answered, walking back out onto the terrace.
     Vidor followed, "Mon Terric has again requested an
audience with you."
     "I have nothing to say to him," she replied,
sitting back into the chaise longue.
     "Princess Shera, it is only a fortnight until the
next Meeting of the Peers.  Whatever our suspicions are
of Baron Mon Terric, he is the Regent.  Surprisingly,
he has changed very little.  It is custom he advise you
on his policies."
     "Custom!  I wish I would never hear that word
again.  It is the curse upon my life!"  She picked up
her glass and took a large swallow of wine.
     Vidor sat down in a chair beside the Princess.
"Yes, I imagine you would feel so, but my Lady, we must
face the reality of the situation.  If we are not able
to produce the Prince Protector over the next three
Meetings, you will have to reestablish the bloodline."
     An idea sprang into her brain.  "That is it,
Vidor!"  Shera sat up, almost spilling her wine.  "I
will not do it!  You said only I could reestablish the
Royal Bloodline, and if I do not chose a spouse, the
crown remains unclaimed."
     "That has all ready crossed my mind, Princess."
     "Then why in Gods' Lights haven't you mentioned it
to me?"
     "I have been searching the Royal Archives for a
precedent to base such a decision on, but I fear what I
have found is not helpful."  Vidor stopped and poured
himself a glass of wine.
     "Well?"
     "In the Reign of Pirra, the Lord Protector and his
three sons disappeared on a hunting expedition to
Xzlabonn.  Their vessel was never found.  Pirra's only
daughter choose not to take a spouse.  The Peers
eventually forced her to join with the Regent."
     "Gods!  You mean I could be forced to take Mon
Terric?"
     "I fear so, my Lady."
     "Never!"  Shera jumped up and stormed over to the
stone banister surrounding the terrace.  "Never!"  She
crossed her arms and gripped herself tightly.  "I would
rather leap off this terrace, right now, than ever
consent to joining with him!"
     Vidor rose, more than a little afraid the Princess
would carry through with her threat.
     He walked to her and gently turned her to face
him.  "My Lady, you have known me all your life.  I
have served your family for nearly a centon, and
believe me, I will not rest until we find a solution to
this problem.  Your death would only confirm Mon Terric
as Lord Protector."
     Shera studied the old minister's face for a
moment, then sighed.  "Well, we cannot have that, can
we?"
     "No, my Lady, we cannot."
     They returned to their seats, both gloomy.
Finally, Shera spoke.  "Vidor, there must be some
evidence to connect Mon Terric to father's death and
Steffon's abduction."
     "The Royal Commission was quite thorough--"
     "Ha!" interrupted Shera.  "You mean Mon Terric
was!"
     "Yes, it would appear so if our suspicions are
correct," he admitted.
     "What hold must he have over the people he
employed to do it.  Surely, we can offer something to
make one of them loosen their tongue?"
     "Princess Shera, I am positive the majority of the
Baron's conspirators in this plot are dead."  Vidor
took a sip of wine.  "Only those completely trusted by
the Baron or his kinsmen are still living, I am sure."
     "Perhaps we could offer Dax more credits than Mon
Terric pays him."
     "No, my Lady, Zaians stay bought.  Beside, Dax
Praggar could not find a better patron than the Baron.
They are both evil through and through."
     Shera sat very still for a moment, then her eyes
widened.  "Kinsmen!"  She sat up and looked to Vidor.
"Garth!"
     "Garth?"
     "Mon Terric's nephew, the little cocky one."
     "What of him, my Lady?"
     "Tell the Baron I do not wish to see him, but I
would accept Garth Terric as his representative."
     "I see your plan, but Garth may know nothing."
     Shera stood and stretched.  She turned to Vidor
and smiled.  "If he does, I will get it from him.
Arrange a supper audience for tomorrow night."  She
walked away from Vidor and into her suite.
     The Prime Minister followed her inside and found
the Princess going through her wardrobe.  She held up a
brief, revealing outfit to herself.  She turned to
Vidor, holding the gown to her breast.  "Do you not
think I can charm the Baron's secrets from Garth with
this?"
     Vidor was still enough of a man to appreciate that
her womanly assets were considerable, but he had a deep
foreboding over the sacrifice she may have to offer.

CHAPTER 13
WILL BE POSTED
FEBRUARY 4, 2017

[Gefn]

Bender, this is you?

Bookmarking for later.

Have you thought of selling it on Amazon?

[Bender2]

Bender, this is you?
Have you thought of selling it on Amazon?

Yes, it is me and back in 1997 I self-published and sold it by the disc on the internet.

This all began as one of four screenplays I wrote in 1970-71 and took to the looney left cost on my first trip to knock La La Land on its arse.

The pitch for it, then titled I Shall Be Free!, was a sci-fi take on slavery in a futuristic ultra-technological society but in truth I took a sword, sand and sandals plot of mine and retooled it into a laser sword, blaster and starship yarn.

The characters were nothing like those in the final version posted here.

So, I got it optioned for $2,500 for 6-months.  That was a nice piece of change back then but the independent producer couldn't get funding, so the option lapsed.  Then I got $5,000 for a 1-year option on it from a producer at 20th Century Fox but after a few months, it was released back to me with him saying, "Nice script, kid, but it would take a budget to rival Cleopatra to do it justice."

Getting no more nibbles, the script went back into the back file.

Five years later, Star Wars came out, produced by, yes, you guessed it, 20th Century Fox--  On a $8.7 million budget no where near the 1963 $40-$60 million cost of Cleopatra and, yes, also produced by 20th Century-Fox.

As Star Wars knocked Hollywood on its arse, I thought I now had it made but now all I got was, "Sorry, kid, this is a sword, sand and sandals plot retooled for the Star Wars market," with it very clear my script was written six years before.

Back into the file.

The along came "Battlestar Galactica" in 1978 and I had a drinking pard at Universal that said if I wrote some spec scripts, he might be able to get them read.  I went to work writing "Fit as a Festron" two-part "Battlestar Galactica" episode and created the oh-so-honorable character of Prince Steffon of Starbonn and his robot Elbe that rescues Apollo, Athena and Starbuck from a nasty race of space pirates.  When he returned them to the Galactica and is told the plight of Commander Adama's fleet, he pledged his sword to helping them find Earth and later helps them defeat a cunning ambush by the cursed Cylons and their Imperious Leader.

I hoped to get Steffon picked up as recurring character to be a straight laced pain in the free-wheeling ass of Starbuck's.

The script was well received and it looked likely to be bought for the second season but, alas, the series was cancelled.

A year so so later I decided to combine Steffon & Elbe with I Shall Be Free! and slowly over the years developed it into a mini-series for TV in 1992.  When I could not get any interest, I re-wrote it as a novel but could not get it sold to any of the sci-fi publishing houses.

So, it 1997 the internet was coming of age, so I tried self-publishing, created a web site and sold about 300 copies over 18-months.  Got a few nibbles for publishing it as a paperback, but they came to nothing.

So I put it away until I pulled it out to reread a month ago.  The I decided to post it here for y'all to read.

Hope you enjoy it.

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 13

     Lincoln looked to Oki.  "Bring him to consciousness."
     Oki placed her hands on the keeper's chest.  She
allowed her empathic abilities to flow into his body to
his mind and presently she found his sleeping thoughts.
Slowly, she drew away the numbing effects of the
blaster.
     Koka found himself coming to with the strangest
feeling he was not alone in his own body.  Realizing he
was naked, he opened his eyes and found himself staring
up into the face of a female slave.  Behind her stood a
male slave in Keeng's cooling suit, the helmet pushed
back over his head.  Koka found himself on the floor of
the changing room.  He was bound tightly, his arms to
his sides.  He moved his eyes about and saw he was
circled by other slaves.  Each one he could see was
armed with blasters or rifles.
     With one exception, all had on cooling suits with
their helmets undone.  The big overseer was still in
slave garb, there were not any suits big enough for
him.
     Koka looked back to the woman leaning over him.
She had her hands on his bare chest and it tingled
where she touched him.  He realized with a start she
was a Lagellian.  She was in his mind!
     "He is alert, Lincoln."
     "Listen to me," Lincoln said, pointing his blaster
directly at the keeper's face.  "You are alive for only
one reason: to answer my questions quickly and
honestly."
     Lincoln nodded toward Oki.  "You know she is
Lagellian and can tell if your are lying."  The keeper
nodded his head.  "So, realize this, if you tell the
truth, you will live.  Do not and you die.  You know
what we face, right?"
     Koka offered a weak, "Yes."
     "Now, where does the lift go?"
     "Topside."
     "Where in topside does the lift come out nearest
the surface?"
     "There are six levels to topside.  The lift comes
out on the main tunnel floor at the highest level,"
answered Koka, looking behind Lincoln at the clock on
the wall.
     "He is truthful, but he is hiding something," said
Oki.
     "What are you hiding?" asked Lincoln, pressing the
blaster barrel between Koka's eyes.
     "Nothing!  Nothing!  I'm just scared!"
     Lincoln looked to Oki.  "Is it just his fear?"
     "No," she answered and closed her eyes.  Behind
his fear was a feeling of salvation.  She pushed
herself down into his mind and came forth with his
vision of the clock.  It read 15:58.  She pulled
herself from the keeper's body and looked back at the
clock.  It changed to 15:59.  "He sees salvation
through the time."
     Lincoln grabbed the keeper's neck with one hand,
his blaster barrel pointed directly at the man's mouth.
"Lie and you will never speak again.  Is it time for a
change of guard shifts?"
     Koka weakly nodded his head.
     Suddenly, a distant, high pitched whine came from
the double doors.  The lift was lowering toward them.
     Lincoln stood up and waved in the direction of the
lift doors.  "Set your weapons for stun.  We cannot
afford to damage the lift."
     Vark, Elkin, Darc and Fruli formed a semi-circle
with their pulsar rifles aimed at the lift doors.
Lincoln quickly moved to gather Ginia, O'Rion, Mallie
and Sart-Ti and herd them into the fresher.
     "Sart-Ti, guard this door," Lincoln said when they
were inside, "and kill anyone who comes through.  I
will knock three times to let you know we have captured
the keepers."
     "Three knocks?" asked Sart-Ti.
     "Yes," answered Lincoln.  He put his hand to
Ginia's cheek, then left the fresher, closing the door
behind him.
     Lincoln hurried over to the doorway of the cavern.
Outside, Tonjon and Banda were also in cooling suits,
keeping a watch against anyone coming from the tunnel.
He stuck his head out the door, calling them inside.
He had them take positions to cover the lift.
     "What about him?" asked Oki, pointing her blaster
at Koka.
     "Gag his mouth.  We will ask him some more
questions later," answered Lincoln.
     The whine from the lift continued to grow louder.
Oki quickly finished with Koka and joined the others
facing the lift.
     "Vark," Lincoln commanded, "you and Oki take each
side of the doors.  After we stun the keepers, the
doors may close.  Keep them open."  He looked to the
others.  "Put your helmets on and get ready," he
ordered.  Everyone buttoned up and was set as the whine
stopped and the lift doors opened with a swish.
     "Hello, Keeng," said the first man off the lift.
He took one step from the lift before he realized
something was wrong.  Lincoln shot him.
     The seven keepers behind him did not have a chance
to know anything was amiss before they were all stunned
by pulsar blasts.  The lead keeper and two others fell
to the floor outside the lift.  The remaining five all
collapsed inside.
     The lift doors started to close.  Vark and Oki
reached out and pulled back on the doors.
     Quickly, Lincoln stepped over the downed keepers
and went into the lift.  He found the controls and
after several tries deciphered the button that kept the
door from closing.  He stepped back out into the
changing room.  "Get those bodies out and tie them up,"
he ordered, opening his helmet and pushing it back over
his head.  "Oki, get our friend ready to talk."
     He crossed to the door to the fresher and knocked
three times.  After waiting for a moment, he gently
opened the door and poked his head inside.  The first
thing Lincoln saw was Ginia's relief filled face.  He
gave her a smile, saying, "Come on out."
     Turning back to the others, Lincoln looked over at
Vark.  He realized the big man was going to stand out
when they got topside.  Even if there was a cooling
suit big enough to fit him, his sheer size would give
him away.  Lincoln looked about the room and finally
spotted some thin metal conduit running along a wall.
He went to it and took out his blaster.  He carefully
used the pulsar beam to cut two sections out of the
conduit.
     "Vark," Lincoln said, handing the two sections to
the big slave, "Bend these so they will fit around your
wrists."
     Vark looked at the pieces.  "They will pass as
guard rings," he said as he bent them about his thick
wrist.  Finished, he held them down to the ring about
his waist.  At a glance, they were almost a perfect
match.
     "Keep you arms down as if the rings are acti-
vated," said Lincoln.
     "I will."
     Oki was kneeling beside Koka.  Lincoln joined her.
He nodded and she removed the gag from Koka's mouth.
She gently placed her hands back onto the man's chest.
     "Are you ready to talk some more?" Lincoln asked.
Koka nodded his head.  "Good, how far is it from where
the lift comes out in the tunnel to the exit by the
loading port?"
     "Not far, perhaps a hundred paces."
     "How would I get a breathing mask for my large
friend?"
     "There is a bin of them to the right of the lift,"
Koka answered.  "You can just take one.  No one checks
them."
     Lincoln looked to Oki.  She nodded her head, the
keeper was telling the truth.  Lincoln asked, "Are
there any security checks on leaving the exit?"
     Koka answered after a moment, "There are supposed
to be, but they are not enforced anymore."
     Lincoln looked to Oki.  "He is truthful."
     "Why?" Lincoln asked.
     "It has been forever since any slaves tried to
escape," Koka said, adding, "No one expects them to
anymore."
     "Well," Lincoln replied, looking about at smiling
faces, "we have certainly changed that."  Lincoln
motioned Oki away from the keeper.  "I thank you for
you answers.  Now, the next time you look at a slave,
remember the fear you feel right now."  Lincoln pointed
his blaster at Koka and stunned him.
     Lincoln looked at the twelve souls around him.
"We are going up in the lift to the surface.  When we
get out into the tunnel, we are going to walk out the
exit and to the first ship we can enter.  We are going
to take it and leave this planet.  Oki, do you know the
location of Rovin?"
     "No, I never heard of it until I was brought
here."
     "Anyone else know?"
     Nobody spoke, but Vark offered, "I believe we are
near the rim of the galaxy.  I have heard the keepers
mention it from time to time."
     "Oki, you are our navigator.  If--"  Lincoln
stopped and smiled.   "No, when we get the ship off
planet, what course would you suggest?"
     She did some quick mental calculations, then said,
"It would stand to reason all the ships topside all
ready have courses plotted away from Rovin.  When we
get clear of the planet, I can change the course to
whatever you desire."
     "How quickly could you calculate us a hyperjump to
clear this system?"
     "Very quickly, Lincoln," she answered.  "Once we
are out of the system, I can search the navicomputers,
find where we are and plot a course anywhere you wish."
     Lincoln glanced over to O'Rion and smiled.  "I
have a destination in mind."  He looked at each person
in the group.  "We have been very lucky, you all know
that, but I believe we are going to succeed.  We have
the element of surprise, and our enemy does not believe
slaves can do what we are going to do.  How can we
fail, we have right on our sides!  Agreed?

     "You wish to see me, Baron?"
     "Garth," Mon Terric answered, "it appears some
wonderful luck has come your way."
     "Really?"
     "Have a seat, Garth."  Mon Terric pointed at a
chaise longue.  The Baron turned to Dax.  "Some
refreshments for us, Dax, if you please.  Bring a glass
for yourself."
     "Yes, Baron."  The big Zaian left the study.
     "Well, what is it?"
     "I have been trying to gain an audience with
Shera, yet it seems she wants you."
     "What?"
     Mon Terric waved an engraved note in the air.
"This is a Royal Invitation for you to sup with
Princess Shera at dusk tomorrow as my representative."
He handed the paper to Garth.
     The little man read over it, then looked to his
uncle.  "Graft, I do not understand this.  I thought
you were going to join with Shera?"
     "Plans sometimes do not go as you wish."  Mon
Terric chuckled, "If she joins with you, I will still
become the Lord Protector as I am head of the Mon
Terric Clan."
     "But I understood you wanted her."
     "Females are all basically alike, Garth.  One is
really no different from another, if you understand my
meaning."
     They both chuckled as Dax entered with a tray
bearing a decanter of spirits and three glasses.  The
Zaian poured a measure of liquor into each glass, then
served Garth and the Baron.  He took a glass for
himself.
     Mon Terric raised his glass and toasted, "To your
success, Garth, in dining and other pleasures with
Princess Shera."  All three drank.
     The Baron turned toward the massive fireplace in
the center of the room.  He threw his glass into the
roaring fire.  Garth and Dax followed suit.
     "Now, Garth," Mon Terric said, placing a hand his
nephew's shoulder, "Enjoy yourself, but remember to
keep your tongue."
     Garth's face blanched, "But you know I would never
reveal anything!"
     The Baron patted him on the back, leading him out
of the study.  "I know, but a little reminder always
helps.  Is that not so?"
     "Yes."
     "Then run along.  Whensoever you return, tomorrow
night or the morning after, we will chat about your
supper with Shera."  He stopped at the door to the
study.  "Good night, Garth."
     The Baron closed the doors to his study.  He
pulled out a timepiece and looked at it while walking
back over to Dax.  "The timing should be just about
right."
     "I will stake my life on it, Baron."
     "Both of us are, Dax."

     First Officer Rorrupt, stood on the bridge of the
ore ship Colossus.  He was checking the manifest tapes
to double check that everything listed was on board.
He was a prim, meticulous sort.
     The Captain and crew of the Colossus did not like
Rorrupt, but they appreciated his thoroughness as it
always fattened their shares at journey's end.  It
seemed he never left the ship unless it was receiving a
periodic refit.
     Even now, the Captain and crew were in that
fleshpot of a recreation room, saying farewell to those
Sirreanian solicitors they had hauled from Dettitus IV,
Rorrupt thought while making a final tally.  He did not
care for the humor in transporting whores in an ore
ship.
     He did not care for any humor.
     Nor did Rorrupt care for sex.  He saw little value
in it for anyone else, but he would one day change
that.
     Now, he was only a First Officer.  Some day, he
would have his own ship.
     Then.
     Then, Rorrupt would build a crew that would put
aside humanoid failings and be the most efficient, most
profitable crew in the galaxy.  After a moment of
pleasurable thought, Rorrupt sensed something was not
right.
     His eye glanced at one of the security monitors.
He turned from his computer and looked at the video
tube.  A mob of Aleyskites were bring a huge slave
through the entry hatch.  They should know the ship was
off limits to them after loading.  He put down his
manifest tapes and strolled off to set things right.
     Lincoln glanced about.  Things had gone too easy,
he knew.  They had come up the lift, found a breathing
mask for Vark and walked free as fowls right out the
main tunnel without anyone giving them any notice.  He
knew it would look strange for twelve keepers to be
herding one slave, even one as monstrous as Vark, yet
no one had challenged them.
     They had gone past a work crew loading one giant
freighter.  The only reaction from the keepers on that
detail was one of them waving at him.  Lincoln had
waved back.
     Now, they had found an ore ship fully loaded,
hunkered down as far as it could in its loading cradle.
There were no sentries and an open hatch.  Yes, it had
been too easy, he thought.
     Lincoln led them up the ramp into the belly of the
massive ore ship.  Once they cleared the air lock, they
were in a corridor running bow to stern.  Lincoln
turned and began snapping out orders.  "Tonjon, Banda,
stay here and be ready to seal the hatch."
     "Aye, Lincoln," snapped Banda.
     "J'Tafil, take Darc with you and find engineer-
ing."
     "Sir," saluted J'Tafil as he and Darc trotted off
toward the stern of the ship.
     "Elkin, take Sart-Ti, Mallie, Ginia and O'Rion.
Scout the ship for anyone on board.  Stun them if you
can, but kill if you must."
     "I will," answered Elkin.
     Ginia looked at Lincoln.  He knew she wanted to be
at his side, but this was not the time.  They had to
move and move quickly, but before anyone could move,
they all turned to footsteps coming down the corridor
from the bow.
     "It is forbidden for you to be on this ship!"
Rorrupt was seething with indignation.  He walked up to
the group, adding, "It is bad enough that I am alone
here, but you added to my misery by taking me away from
my duties as First Officer, and causing me to be a
security guard.  Now, off this vessel!"
     Lincoln looked at the others.  Vark reached up and
pulled off his breathing mask.
     The enraged First Officer did not notice the non-
working guard rings.
     Vark just smiled at the prim, little officer.
     Lincoln looked at him and thought it was a shame
the First Officer could not see the smiles behind their
faceplates.
     Rorrupt looked up at Vark.  The big, dirty slave
was smiling at him.  "Get this huge piece of zanda dung
off this ship this moment!"
     Vark deftly gathered Rorrupt's neck in one huge
hand and brought it up just enough to cause Rorrupt's
eyes to bulge.  "What should we do with this?"
     "Stun him and throw him out the hatch.  Then seal
it," said Lincoln.  "Meet us on the bridge."  Lincoln
led the rest down the corridor toward the bow of the
freighter.
     Vark used his other hand to smack the First
Officer's face, knocking him out.  He went to the hatch
and tossed the man to the ground just inside the
barrier of the gravity beams.  No one would notice his
body until the ship was gone.
     Reaching the bridge, Oki went directly to the
navigational console and began to key up the computers
with nimble fingers.  She put an ear plug into one ear
and turned to Lincoln.  "A standard launch is all ready
programmed.  All we need is to release the gravity
beams."
     Lincoln was looking over the pilot's console when
Vark came onto the bridge.  "Vark, where would be the
control for releasing the gravity beams?"
     The big slave walked to another console and opened
a compartment.  "Here," he motioned, "but they are
keyed switches."
     Lincoln joined him and looked at the twin key
ports.  He thought for a moment, then moved to the
weapons console.  Vark followed him.  "What if we
engaged primary ignition and the artgrav just as power
was cut to the gravity beams?"
     Oki answered, "That should work, but how are we
going to cut the power?"
     Vark activated a tracking sensor and focused a
viewing monitor with an aiming reticle superimposed on
it.  He sat down at the controls.  "This way," he said
as he moved the aiming reticle dead center on the dome
of the fusion generator.  He engaged the weapons
computer and punched in a command.  "A sixty milisec
ion hit should do the trick."
     Lincoln turned to Ginia, O'Rion, Elkin, Sart-Ti
and Mallie.  He pointed at several consoles.  "Get into
those seats and strap yourselves down."  As they did
so, he found the intercom and set it for an all-ships
broadcast.  "This is Lincoln.  We will be launching in
a few moments, find a seat or brace yourselves."  He
moved to the pilot's console and strapped himself down.
He looked over to Oki, "Ready?"
     "Affirmative, Captain."
     Ginia, not understanding anything happening on the
bridge, nearly burst with pride at Oki's remark.  She
was going to be a free woman, a Captain's free woman!
     "Vark?"
     "On your mark, Captain Lincoln," he answered,
echoing Oki.
     "All right,"  Lincoln said, punching up the
primaries, "on my mark!  Now!"  He activated the
ignition sequence and artificial gravity together.
     Oki simultaneously engaged the launch computer.
     Vark fired a thick beam of ions at the fusion
generators, sheering a huge gap out of the center of
the dome.
     Instantaneously, the gravity beams ceased to
support the huge ships on the loading port.  Every one
thunderously crashed in a cloud of dust as their hulls
buckled and ground into the surface of Rovin.
     Every one, save one.
     The Colossus rose like a shot and was a flickering
point of light in the sky by the time anyone noticed
she was not among the hulks littering the landing port.
And that was only First Officer Rorrupt when he came to
in the swirling dust.

Chapter 14 follows below.

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

EPISODE THREE
Chapter Fourteen

     The Commander rolled over in his bunk, the
intercom from the bridge was ringing.  He cleared his
mind of sleep and picked up the handset.  "Yes?"
     "Commander Hoak, this is Degdner.  We have an
unauthorized flight coming up from Topside.  It will
intersect us quite close."
     "Any ID?"
     "Yes, sir.  It is the Colossus, Vadourean
registry, posted for Eutha V.  She was not programmed
for liftoff until 0630 tomorrow.
     "Have you contacted her?"
     "I have tried, but I cannot raise her, sir."
     "Any reason she would be launching early?" Hoak
asked.
     "No, sir.  Everything appears normal at Topside."
An alarm chimed on Degdner's board.  "One moment,
Commander.  I have a Priority One from Topside."
     "Very well, ring me when you finish.  Hoak out."
The Commander replaced his handset and sat up on his
bunk.  He could just imagine what the Priority One was
from Topside:  Look out, we screwed up on a launch
time.  Please duck!
     Commander Hoak had been in space all his life and
he had seen it all, but it never ceased to amazed him
how often the humanoid element always managed to mess
things up.  He punched in an order for breakfast on his
food console and headed for his fresher.  He had just
set the water temperature when the intercom rang again.
"Hoak here," he answered.
     "Degdner again, sir.  There has been a serious
accident at Topside.  Their fusion generator has
malfunctioned and exploded.  There was a total power
loss on all loading cradles, sir."
     "Total power loss?"
     "Affirmative, sir."
     "How many ships were berthed?"
     "I show twenty-six freighters, six miscellaneous
vessels and three naval patrol ships are on their logs,
Commander.  That is not counting the Colossus."
     "That's a lot of tonnage that's nothing but scrap
now.  Does Topside Control have any information on the
Colossus?"
     "No, sir.  They had assumed she was wrecked with
the others until I queried them about her early
launch."
     "What's her current position?"
     "She will be clearing the atmosphere momentarily,
sir.  She is still on a near collision course with us."
     "How near?"
     "At present course and speed, fifty kilcs, sir."
     "ETA?"
     "1631.34, Commander."
     The Commander was looking at a timepiece set into
the bulkhead by his bunk.  It read 1627.46.  "I will be
right up to the bridge.  Power up the shields.  Have
Maneuvering go to Alert Three.  Sound Collision
Stations and notify LOP Control to dispatch a patrol
ship over to assist if we need them.  Hoak out."
     Yes, sir."


     "Is that Traffic Station still hailing us?" asked
Lincoln.
     "Yes, on all traffic channels," answered Oki.  "I
apologize, Lincoln.  I should have noticed the time
differential on the launch tapes and plotted us away
from them."
     "There was not any time for that.  Beside, it may
be for the best, Oki.  They do not know who we are,
what or why?  Keeping out of our way will keep them
occupied.  How close will we intersect?"
     "About fifty kilcs, Captain," she answered.
     Lincoln smiled at being called 'Captain.'  Perhaps
he was one once, he mused.  I do not know how, but I
seem to know what I am doing.  Lincoln swiveled his
seat to face Vark.  "Any indications of targeting
sensors on that Traffic Station?"
     Vark was scanning several monitors at the weapons
console.  It was intended for a crew of three, but Vark
was bouncing from position to position.  "Negative,
Lincoln.  I would not think they would need anything
larger than a few pulsar beams for intercepting
meteors.  They are not a naval unit."
     Lincoln looked at the time.  1630.15.  "Well, we
shall know shortly."
     Colossus cleared Rovin's atmosphere and broke free
from the planet's gravity.  The ship continued to
accelerate as it zipped by Rovin's Central Traffic
Control Station, missing the orbiting structure by less
than fifty kilcs.
     "Lincoln, I have a ship bearing in on us, port
side," announced Oki.
     "Vark, check him for weaponry," ordered Lincoln.
     "Affirmative."  The big Cassian began to key in
commands to his console.
     "He is hailing us," said Oki.  "It is a naval
vessel, an Aleyskite patrol ship."
     "He ranging for us with his sensors," Vark added.
     "Head us down in toward the star, Oki.  I doubt
this freighter has any speed advantage over that patrol
ship.  Perhaps the star's heat can give us a hand."
     "It is called Dashtkahi, if anybody cares," said
Oki.
     Lincoln keyed the intercom to Engineering.
"J'Tafil?"
     "This is Darc, Lincoln.  I will get J'Tafil."
     After a moment, the intercom keyed up, "This is
J'Tafil."
     "What shape are the thrusters in?"
     "Excellent.  They must have just had a complete
refit.  One could eat off the stress plates."
     "We have a naval visitor, J'Tafil.  I am going to
try and keep our distance from him.  Oki is plotting us
down toward the star.  Is there anything you can do
down there to increase our boost?"
     "I might have a trick or two, Lincoln.  I will
buzz you back after I have a look at the fusion
converters," the Hixxiznian said as he keyed off.
     "Speaking of eating," Lincoln said, turning to
O'Rion and the others, "is anybody hungry?"
     "I've been too afraid to even think of food,"
answered Ginia.
     "May we unbuckle?" asked O'Rion.
     "Yes.  Ginia, you take Mallie and Sart-Ti, find
the ships' mess and fix us something to eat."
     Ginia walked over to Lincoln.  She bent down and
kissed his brow.  "Where is it?"
     Lincoln leaned back to his console, studied it for
a moment, then keyed up a outline of the ship.  "There
it is," he said, pointing at the monitor, "just go aft,
compartment six.  It is on the starboard side.  That is
the right side, Ginia."
     She laughed.  "Captain Lincoln," she offered with
a bow, "I may not know how to run this ship as you do,
but I have been on ships before.  I know port from
starboard."  She gave him another peck on his brow and
left the bridge followed by Mallie and Sart-Ti.
     "It is good to see her so happy, lad," said
O'Rion.
     "I hope it lasts, O'Rion."
     "Are you concerned with the patrol ship?"
     "He could give us problems.  Oki, can you plot us
a hyperjump?"
     "Yes, I have enough data, but to where?"
     "What is the nearest system?"
     The Lagellian glanced at her console.  "The H'Warz
Cluster."
     "That's a slave system," said Vark.  "If we are on
the rim near H'Warz, every system in that direction has
slaves.  If we are caught, they will turn us back to
the Aleyskites."
     The intercom keyed up from Engineering.  "Bridge,"
answered Lincoln.
     "I can get four extra points from the converters,"
said J'Tafil.  "Nine if we cut the artgrav."
     "We will need the artgrav if we have to take
evasive maneuvers.  Give us the four for now, J'Tafil."
     "Four it is.  Engineering out."
     "Oki, what systems are in the opposite direction
from H'Warz?"
     Oki studied her console.  "Captain, there is
Berli, Pytho and Lovoii."
     "Berli is free," offered Vark.  "I have been to
Berli III."
     "Berli it is," ordered Lincoln.
     "The angle is critical in our present position,"
Oki interjected.  "We would have to intraphase on a
close tangent with Dashtkahi."
     "The Aleyskite is closing," interrupted Vark.  "He
has activated his targeting sensors."
     "Can you plot the jump, Oki?"
     "I have not done one in a long time, but I will
try."
     "Do it."
     "Lincoln, if I am off less than a milisec, we will
all burn up inside Dashtkahi."
     "They are trying a ranging shot, Lincoln," offered
Vark.
     "Plot the jump, Oki."
     "Yes, Captain."  She began to key instructions
into the navigational terminal.
     "Well, O'Rion, you have been very quiet since this
began," Lincoln said to the old man.
     "It still seems like a dream to me, lad."
     "It is a dream, O'Rion.  The dream you have wanted
far too long.  We are going to Terra!"
     O'Rion suddenly seemed unsteady.  Lincoln jumped
up from his seat and helped the Negroid sit down in the
co-pilot's position.  "What is wrong?"
     O'Rion turned watery eyes to Lincoln.  "Lad, I am
just overcome with the realization I may be finally
going home."
     "We have come this far, O'Rion, and nothing will
keep you from going home."
     "Aye, it is like you promised me, but I did not
believe.  I did not believe, but I do now, lad."
     "Believe it."  Lincoln patted the old man on the
shoulder and walked over to Vark's console.
     "Their shooting is sloppy, Lincoln."  Vark was
hopping from seat to seat at the weapons console.
     "Not like the Cassian Navy, eh, Vark?"
     Vark looked up and grinned.  "No, not at all,
thank the Gods!"

     The Aleyskite Local Orbit Patrol vessel Runnion
appeared a taunt ship by Aleyskite standards, even
though she had never fired a weapon in anger during her
short commissioned life.  Her commander, Line Officer,
Junior Grade, Helnig was only four solars out of the
Aleyskite Naval College.  He had graduated in the lower
half of his class, but being the oldest son of a
influential Patroon, his quick rise through the ranks
was not completely based on his military know how.
     At the Naval College, Helnig had been drilled that
the essentials to ship command were "Polish & Drill,
Polish & Drill!" He had, through recent experience,
discovered that the inspecting brass preferred polish,
so he had run his vessel accordingly.  Now, he was
discovering the folly of his ways.
     "Another miss, sir," piped the Second Officer.
     Helnig slapped the armrests of his command seat
with both palms.  "Are our Targeteers blind!  That's
six misses in a row!" he roared.
     "We are still at maximum range, sir," the Second
Officer replied.  "When we close in, it will be a
different story, I assure you."
     "Why aren't we closing, Number Two?  That ore
bucket shouldn't be able to out distance us?"
     "Evidently, sir, they are using every possible erg
of power for their thrusters.  When we close in, they
will have to cut their artgrav to gain more power.
Then, they will not be able to evade our firepower,"
answered the Second Officer.
     "From their track toward Dashtkahi, it had better
be soon, Number Two.  That ore bucket does have more
shielding than us.  We all may get rather warm,"
replied Helnig.
     "Sir?" called the Communications Mate.
     "Yes?" Helnig swiveled to the mate.
     "Commander Hoak of Traffic Central is hailing us."
     "Put him through," ordered Helnig.  It was bad
enough that his ship was performing poorly, but now, he
fumed, that old Merchant Fleet traffic commander was
going to tell him how to run his command.
     Helnig's communications monitor came to life.
"Line Officer Helnig, this is Commander Hoak."
     "Yes, Commander, what may I do for you?"
     "I have some information for you on the Colossus."
     Helnig waited for a moment, then tartly said,
"Very well, what is it, Commander?  Be quick and brief
about it!  I am in the middle of a combat pursuit, you
realize."
     "Topside reports the Colossus was abducted by ten
to fifteen slaves.  They launched the vessel after
crippling Topside's fusion generator."
     "What?  That's impossible!  Slaves can't pilot a
space ship!  They must be forcing the Colossus'
officers to pilot it for them."
     "Think what you wish, Line Officer, but that
vessel you keep missing is being piloted by slaves.
Hoak out."
     Helnig was enraged at Hoak's comment.  "Number
Two, have everyone strap in.  Cut the artgrav and put
all power to the thrusters."
     "Aye aye, sir."
     The Second Officer keyed his intercom.  "Now here
this, now here this!  All hands prepare for artgrav
deactivation.  We will go local at 17.14.  I repeat,
17.14.  That is all."

     "How is your plotting coming, Oki?"
     "I almost have it, Captain," she answered without
looking up from her console.
     Lincoln crossed his legs and began to munch on
some cold meats Ginia and Mallie had brought up from
the mess.  He reached for a drink of water as Ginia put
a hand on his shoulder.  He looked up at her, but her
attention was split between pensive looks at Oki's
intense concentration and Vark's frantic activities at
the weapons console.  He could tell she was becoming
unnerved as the Aleyskite patrol ship continued to
close and fire its weapons at them.
     He reached up and patted her hand on his shoulder.
"We will be all right, Ginia."
     She looked down at him, offering a nervous smile.
"How can you be so calm?"
     He felt at peace with the universe while he knew
they could all die from one precise hit from that
patrol ship.  Why he was so calm, he did not know.  And
he did not know how to answer Ginia, but he was saved
from it by Oki.
     "I have the hyperjump plotted," announced the
navigator.
     "They missed us again," Vark chimed.
     Lincoln turned toward Oki.  "Set up the navi-
computers," he ordered while picking up another piece
of meat.  He began to eat it casually.
     Oki began keying in her data, but the computer
bleeped, refusing her data.  She began again, but the
computer repeated its bleeping.  "I must have an error,
Lincoln."
     Lincoln washed down the piece of meat with some
water.  "Recheck your data, Oki."
     "I am," she replied testily, then turned to him.
"I am sorry, Captain, but my nerves are a little jagged
just now."
     "That is understandable.  Relax, and recheck your
data.  Vark will handle the patrol ship."  He looked to
the big slave.  "Right?"
     "I plan on it."  Vark noticed a fresh reading on
his console.  He smiled.  "Lincoln!  The patrol ship is
accelerating.  They have cut their artgrav!"  He looked
to Lincoln.  "We have them."

     The Runnion was quickly closing the distance to
the freighter.  Her Targeteers were uncomfortable,
hampered by the confines of their acceleration couches.
They strained to keep up their barrage, being careful
not to move any portion of their bodies outside the
local artificial gravity bubble surrounding their
seats.  Anything outside its protection would be
smashed to pulp by the tremendous gee-force from
boosting without ship-wide, global artificial gravity.
     Aided by the shorter range, their ion beams began
to inch closer and closer to their target.  The
Colossus had not fired back.  It had not spent an erg
on firing its weapons since the chase began.
     This had first puzzled Line Officer Helnig, yet
since finding out slaves had stolen the freighter, he
had not given it a second thought.  He assumed the
slaves were forcing some poor hostage to pilot the
craft.
     Slaves did not have the brains to use the
complicated weapons consoles, he thought.  Everyone
knew that!
     Even when six precisely aimed ion beams unex-
pectedly erupted from the Colossus, Helnig's mind would
not accept that slaves were firing sophisticated
armaments at him.  Even when his eyes saw his ship
bracketed by the ion beams and could not evade them
because their artgrav was deactivated, did he believe
slaves were firing at him.
     Even when his mind and vessel became a trail of
charred debris, he did not believe it.
     Perhaps in his next life, he would.

     "The patrol ship is destroyed," said Vark.
     "I have the navigational computer loaded and
locked in to the hyperdrive autopilot," said Oki.
     "Good, it is time we took leave of this system."
     "Captain?" added Oki.
     "Yes?"
     "I must warn you, this close to a star and being
below light speed, the jump is quite dangerous even if
my calculations are perfect," Oki said quietly.
     "I realize that, but we would have little chance
to boost out of the system without being detected,"
Lincoln replied.
     "True enough," added Vark.  "After what we have
done, every naval vessel in the system will be gunning
for us."
     Lincoln turned to O'Rion and Ginia.  "There is
danger in the hyperjump, but I believe the danger is
greater if we do not escape now."
     "You are our Captain, Lincoln," replied O'Rion.
"Your decisions have freed us from Rovin.  Our lives
are in your hands.  You decide what is best."
     "Call the others, Oki.  See what they want."
Lincoln looked about.  Ginia walked over to him and put
her arm about his shoulders.
     Sart-Ti put his arm about Mallie.  Both nodded
their approval.
     Vark gave a thumb up for the jump.
     Lincoln turned back to Oki's console.
     "They are with you, Captain," she answered.
     "And you?"
     "You are in command, Captain."
     "Good, let us go to Berli," ordered Lincoln.  He
leaned forward and engaged the hyperdrive autopilot.
He sat back and reached for another piece of meat.  He
was still hungry.
     The Colossus blinked out of normal space near
Dashtkahi, leaving only the pieces of the Runnion as
proof it had ever been near the giant red star.

     "Good evening, Garth."  Shera greeted Mon Terric's
nephew at the door to her suite.
     "Good evening to you, Princess," replied Garth,
trying to keep his composure.  He was taken breathless
by Shera's appearance.  She was dressed in a swirl of
creamy, almost transparent, white.  The clinging gown
accented her tanned body and her female charms were
cleverly emphasized in a revealing, non-revealing way.
Her long, shapely legs where visible through thigh
length slits in her gown as she escorted him to a
dining table set up in the middle of the parlor.  Her
hair was styled up on her head, revealing a regal,
sensuous neck.  Her eyes seemed to sparkle.
     Shera guided him to a huge, L-shaped divan beside
the supper ensemble.
     "My Lady, I must confess I was most surprised when
you asked for this audience with me.  Surprised, but I
assure you, most charmed that you should wish me to be
the Baron's representative." He halted to pull a
portfolio from under his arm.  "Here is a complete--"
     Shera took the portfolio from him and put it on an
end table, saying, "We will discuss matters of state
after supper, Garth.  Shall we just relax and get to
know one another?"
     "Of course, my Lady."
     She picked up a decanter full of dark red spirits.
"Would you care for some wine before supper?"
     "I would be pleased, my Lady," answered Garth.  He
took two wine glasses from the table and held them out
to the Princess.  "Garth, in public," she said while
filling the glasses, "custom calls for you to be
formal, but here, while we sup, you may call me Shera."
She placed the decanter on a low table and took a seat
on the couch.
     "As you wish, my La--  Shera."  He handed her one
of the glasses.
     She took it from him and pulled her legs up under
her.  "To your health," she toasted.
     "And to yours, Shera," he added.  They both took a
sip.
     "Sit."  She indicated the space near her on the
divan.
     "Of course," Garth answered, sitting down beside
the Princess.  He took another drink, emptying his
glass.
     "More wine?"  Shera reached out for the decanter.
     Garth noticed how her dress revealed her bosom
when she leaned over to get the wine.  His heartbeat
quickened.  "Please.  This is an excellent vintage."
     Shera leaned forward to refill his glass, again
the gown revealing her golden tanned skin.  Garth could
feel passion flowing through his body as his eyes
looked past his glass at her loveliness.  It was the
last sight his eyes ever held.  He suddenly sucked in a
quick breath and pitched headfirst into Shera's lap.
Garth's fall knocked their glasses and the wine
decanter askew, splattering himself, the couch and
Shera with the red liquid.
     "Gods!" exclaimed Shera, stunned and taken back at
Garth's lunge.  She leaped to her feet, causing Garth's
body to roll off the divan, landing with a thump on his
back between the couch and table.
     Shera looked down and saw his eyes were wide open
with a sightless stare.  She quickly kneeled and put
her ear to his chest.  There was not the hint of a
heartbeat.  She sat back on her hips and put a hand to
her cheek.  There was wine on her face.  She looked at
Garth, the couch and her dress.  All were splattered
with the dark red wine.
     It looked as if a bloody massacre had taken place.
     Later in the evening, Vidor knocked gently at her
bedchamber door.  "My Lady?"
     Shera opened the door dressed in a long robe, just
out of the fresher.  She had showered off the wine and
hopefully, the shock of Garth's sudden death.  "Yes?"
She looked past the Prime Minister and could see
Garth's body and the dining ensemble had all been
removed.
     "It appears Garth Terric died from a heart
seizure," Vidor offered.
     "He had just drank some wine.  It occurred to me
it may have been poisoned, but," she looked at Vidor,
"I am alive."
     "I did have the wine analyzed, my Lady, just to be
on the safe side.  There were no toxins in the
spirits."
     "He just keeled over, Vidor," she said.  "He was
dead before he hit the floor."  She looked out at the
couch.  "Have you notified Mon Terric?"
     "Yes," answered Vidor.  "His men just picked up
the remains.  The Baron sent word there would be a
memorial and cremation at dawn.  He has invited you to
attend.  I took the liberty of declining."
     "Why such a quick cremation?  Could he be hiding
something?  Would he poison his own nephew?"
     "With the Baron, anything is possible, my Lady."
     "Vidor, is there any way we could claim the body
for an examination before the cremation?"
     "For once, fortune has been with us.  The Royal
Physician has a house guest, a pathologist.  They
examined the body and took certain undetectable
samples."  Vidor gave the Princess a brief smile.
"They are doing the testing this moment."
     "Wonderful!  Vidor, send a message to Mon Terric.
Tell him I will come to the memorial.  It is time I
faced our protagonist."
     "Very well, but may I suggest you wear a body
monitor.  The Baron may reveal something we could use."
     "Yes, I will wear one," answered Shera.  "Now, go
see if the healers have any results."
     "I shall, Princess."  Vidor left Shera's suite.
     She walked out onto her terrace, again looking out
at the distant peaks.  In the night, their presence was
only visible as the distant darkness that blocked the
vast star field.  A strong nocturnal breeze blew across
the terrace.  It whipped back the Princess' hair and
caused the folds in her robe to flap in the wind.
Shera folded her arms across her breasts.  She looked
up into the starry empyreal.
     Father, I shall revenge your death.  I soon hope
to have a twist to add to the Baron's mourning.

Chapter 15 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 15

     Oki took star readings at her console.  She looked
back at Lincoln.  "My calculations were a bit off, but
thank the Gods, not enough to roast us inside
Dashtkahi."
     "What is our position?"
     "Surprisingly not too far off our plotted
trajectory.  We should be able to reach Berli in two
jumps."
     "Very good, Oki.  Plot our next jump and set the
course." Lincoln stood up.  "Vark, we need to check
over the ship and see what we have stolen."
     "Aye," answered the big slave.
     "Oki, you have the con."
     "Yes, sir."
     Shortly, only Oki was left on the bridge.  She
worked on the hyperjump for awhile, then stopped to
reflect on her recent fortune.  Putting her hands to
her face, Oki began gently letting out the penned up
emotion.  Presently, she began to cry softly
     Ginia came onto the bridge to remove the food
trays.  She saw Oki and her heart went out to the
Lagellian.  She went over and put her arms around the
navigator.
     Oki held her back, then pushed Ginia to arms
length.  "You are with child."
     "I suspected, but I did not know," said Ginia.
     "It is Lincoln's child.  I can feel his presence
in the child."
     "How far along am I?"
     Oki let her mind flow into Ginia's body.  After a
few moments, she withdrew.  "You are in the beginning
of your second trimester."
     "But that cannot be!" exclaimed Ginia.  "Are you
sure?"
     "Yes, I am sure.  Ginia you--" Oki began.
     "But if I am that far along, the child cannot be
Lincoln's."
     Oki took the girl's hand into her's and calmed
her.  "Listen to me, Ginia.  It is Lincoln's child.
You are of mutant stock."
     Ginia cringed at Oki's remark.  "Mutant?"
     "Yes, over time, through the constant space travel
of your slave ancestors, radiation mutated them and
through them, you.  This has caused your genes and
gestation process to speed up."  Oki smiled at Ginia.
"It only means you will have your baby in one third the
time of a normal humanoid."
     "That is all it means?  You are sure?"
     "I am sure, Ginia."
     After a quick sigh of relief, Ginia looked over
her shoulder, then back to Oki.  "I have not told
Lincoln.  Please keep this between us."
     "It will not be long before one will not need to
be a Lagellian to see that you are with child."
     "I know, but I want to tell Lincoln when I am sure
he wants a child."
     "I think it is past that now, Ginia."
     "No.  If Lincoln does not want it, I do not want
it."
     Oki patted Ginia's hand.  "That is not true."
     Ginia bowed her head.  "I want the child and I
want Lincoln."
     "You appear to have both."
     "Do you know about his memory loss?" Ginia asked.
     "Aye, I know of it."
     "I fear his memory will return-- and he will be
someone else.  Someone who will not want a slave girl
and her baby."  Ginia's eyes filled with tears.
     Oki wiped away tears from the girl's cheeks.
"Now, now.  His memory will not change his feelings for
you."
     "I hope not."
     "Or his feelings for his child."
     "I wish I knew that."
     "I think you do, but your fears are guiding you.
Go with your feelings for him.  They are the true
ones."
     "I will try," Ginia answered.  She dried her eyes
and started to pick up the food trays.  "Thank you,
Oki."
     "If you need to talk, just come to me."
     "I will," Ginia answered as she started out.  She
stopped.  "Is the baby healthy?"
     "He is very healthy," Oki smiled.
     "He?"
     Oki's smile widened.
     Ginia beamed back, "A boy?"
     Oki nodded yes.
     "Thank the Gods!" smiled Ginia.
     Ginia left the bridge as Oki returned to her
plotting.  Just as she had finished keying the data
into her console, Lincoln and Vark came back onto the
bridge.
     "It is a fortune, Lincoln!  A fortune!"
     Oki turned to them.  Lincoln said, "Oki, it
appears we have been very fortunate in our theft."
     "Fortunate?  By the Gods, we are all rich!"
exclaimed Vark.
     "How?" asked the navigator.
     "Vark and I have just examined the cargo.  Every
hold is full of treasures."
     Vark added, "Titianium!  Palladium, gold, cyber-
taintium, xzcorium, and a hold filled to the top with
diamonds!"
     "An entire hold full of diamonds?" she asked wide-
eyed.
     "I would guess at least fifty tons," Lincoln added
with a smile.
     "Gods!"
     "The diamonds alone must be worth ten billion
credits," Vark said.  "We are all as rich as kings!"
     Lincoln looked at Vark.  He was still in his slave
garb.  No one had changed their clothes.  "Well, then
if we are all billionaires, I suggest we start to dress
to our new standards.  Vark, go down to ships' stores
and see if there is anything to fit you."
     "Aye, Captain," answered Vark.  He left the bridge
as Ginia entered.  She carried something behind her.
     "Captain, I have the next jump plotted.  It is
keyed into the autopilot."
     "Fine.  Oki, I have the con.  You go down with
Ginia to ships' stores and see what there is for you
ladies and the others to wear."
     "Shall I look for something for you?" Oki asked.
     "Yes."
     Ginia giggled.  "I have already found you
something, Lincoln."  He turned to find her holding out
a hanger with a biliously colored, hooded cape covering
some other garments.  "I found the old Captain's cabin.
This looks like it would fit our new Captain."
     Lincoln rose and took the hanger from her.  He
pulled off the cape.  Under it was a gaudy, full dress
Vadourean uniform.  It was resplendent with medals and
decorations covering the breast of the tunic.  Huge
fringed epaulets topped each shoulder.  The sleeves
were encrusted from the cuffs to elbows with thick gold
braid.  The medals jangled as he held it up to his
chest.  It was so fully cut about the waist, it fell in
folds from the hanger.  He looked to Oki.
     "It is you, Captain," she said, just barely
keeping from laughing.
     "Well, this certainly is my color," Lincoln wryly
said.
     Ginia and Oki broke out in laughter.  Lincoln
joined them, holding the bright pink garments at arms
length.

     "My condolences to you, Baron," offered Shera.
     "Thank you, Princess.  May I also offer you my
regrets that you were present at such tragic
circumstances."  The Baron looked over at the fiercely
burning funeral pile.  "May Garth find a better world
where he is going."
     "I am sure he will," said Shera.
     Mon Terric looked back to Shera.  "In any event,
it is time we got together for a chat."
     "Yes, it is time, Baron."
     "Shall we speak in private?"
     "Yes."
     Mon Terric led the Princess to his study.  Vidor
and Dax followed, but at the door, the Baron turned to
them.  "The Princess and I will speak privately."
     Vidor looked to Shera.  She nodded her head.  "I
shall be just outside the door, my Lady."
     Mon Terric closed the doors.  He escorted Shera to
a set of chaise longues.  She took a seat as he poured
two wines and offered her one.
     "Not now, Baron."
     "As you wish, my Lady.  Perhaps later."  He set
her wine before her on a low table between the lounges.
He took a drink of his wine, then sat down.  "Princess,
there is much to do.  The Realm must have direction.  I
have several plans--"
     "Would murder be one of them?"
     "Whose murder, my Lady?"
     "Garth's, to begin with.  Then there is my father,
Viscount Karg and possibly my brother!"
     "Garth died of a heart seizure.  Your own healer
pronounced the cause of death."
     "Yes, Baron, there were all the appearances of a
heart seizure, but there were samples taken of Garth's
remains.  They have been analyzed.  Garth's blood had a
trace of Terizereen.  I assume you know of it?"
     "No," the Baron answered as he sat back, "but I
would be charmed to know more."
     Gods, he is cold hearted, Shera thought.
"Terizereen is a time released poison.  Approximately
one solar after ingesting it, the drug induces a heart
seizure.  Of course, cremation of the body will destroy
any trace of the drug."
     "And you believe I poisoned my only nephew?"
     "I do!"
     "Why?"
     "You were afraid he would reveal how you killed my
father and your plot to steal the Throne!"
     "I suppose he was to reveal all this in a sexual
tangle with you last evening, is that right?"
     Shera stood.  "That is a crude remark, Baron.  I
am the Princess of Starbonn!"
     "True, but you were going to seduce him, were you
not?"
     "I will not stand here listening to this!"
     "I quite agree, it is a messy thing.  Something
the Peers would chuckle about in private, but their
public views would be much more harsh."  The Baron took
a casual drink of his wine.
     "So, it is blackmail, eh?"
     "No, simple fact, my Lady.  Beside, you make too
much of this poisoning.  Garth had many enemies.  I do
also."
     "Me among multitudes!"
     "That shall change, Shera."
     "How dare you address me so--"
     "Now, if we are to be joined, we must have better
relations."
     "Join with you?  I am going to the Peers to have
you executed for high treason!"
     "The Peers will demand proof.  What proof do you
have?"
     "You poisoned Garth."
     "Poisoning a relative is not treason, Princess."
     "There is evidence of your crimes!"
     "No, there is not."
     "I will find--  Oh, Gods!"
     Mon Terric had reached into his pocket and
produced a crest ring.  He held it up to her eyes.
     "It is Steffon's ring!  You did kill him!"
     "No, he is alive, Shera."
     She grabbed for the ring, but Mon Terric pulled it
back.  "Now, now."
     She turned and walked toward the door.  "I will
have Vidor get the Royal Guards to retrieve it."  She
turned to him.  "That will be the proof I need."
     "No, it is not," he replied.  Mon Terric dropped
the ring into her glass of wine.  The liquid began to
bubble and foam.  The ring quickly disintegrated.
     "It is not Steffon's ring.  It is-- was only a
soluble copy to show you that I hold Steffon's life in
my hands.  The real ring is in a safe hiding place."
Mon Terric pulled out a small electronic device from
his tunic.  He held it up where she could see it.  "I
must also tell you that your body monitor will find a
blank space where it was going to record this
conversation."
     Shera felt cornered.  After a moment, she asked,
"Where is he?"
     "Safe, but he will not continue in good health if
anything happens to me, Shera."
     "Gods, you are not fit for--"
     "Is that any way to speak to the next Lord
Protector?"
     "Never!  Never!"
     "Shera," said the Baron, walking over to her by
the door.  "I will give you a fortnight to make your
decision.  Join with me and Steffon will live.  Reject
me, and he shall die.  In any event, I will be the next
Lord Protector whether you or he is alive or not.
There is no need to throw away your life or that of
your brother's life.  After a period of time, you may
leave Starbonn and have your brother back.  You two
will be exiled, but the Royal Treasury will afford both
of you a comfortable life.  Tell no one, or Steffon
dies.
     "Remember," Mon Terric concluded, "I have ears
even in the Royal Palace.  There, that is my offer to
you.  You have a fortnight, Shera.  Make a wise
decision."
     Before Shera could reply, the Baron opened the
double doors.  The Prime Minister and Dax were still
standing in the corridor.  "Vidor, the Princess and I
have had an enlightening talk," the Baron said with a
pearly smile.
     Vidor could see Shera was upset.  "My Lady?"
     Shera walked past him.  "Take me to the Palace,
Vidor."  Vidor turned and followed after her.
     "The Princess seems disturbed, Baron."
     "She will get over it, Dax."

     As the Colossus built up velocity for the next
hyperjump, its crew became set into a chain of command.
Lincoln was the Captain and pilot.  Oki was the First
Officer, navigator and co-pilot.  Vark was Second
Officer and Weaponry Officer.  Engineering became
J'Tafil's domain as Third Officer with Darc at his
side, learning to be an Engineering Chief.  Tonjon
became adept as a Communications Officer while Elkin,
Fruli and Banda became jack-of-all-trades mates.
O'Rion remained Lincoln's mentor.
     With joy, Ginia took the position of head cook and
seamstress.  Her helper was Mallie.  Sart-Ti simply
looked after Mallie and her growing stomach.  A steady
diet of nutritious foods soon began to rebuild their
lean bodies.  Ginia found herself letting out or
redoing uniforms and garments on a daily basis.  Vark
seemed to burst with even bigger, more massive muscles.
     Ginia joked that if he did not stop eating, he
would just explode.
     Oki also became the Ship's Physician and Gyne-
cologist, examining Mallie to every one's knowledge,
and Ginia in private.  Both her patients were doing
fine.  She had just returned to the bridge after giving
Ginia and Mallie examinations when O'Rion offered,
"Lincoln, have you ever thought that Oki's powers may
help unblock your memory?"
     "No, I have not."  He looked to the navigator.
"Oki, do you think you could help me regain my memory
of my past?"
     Oki gave Ginia a glance.  She could both see and
feel the fear in the girl's mind.  She looked back at
her Captain.  "Lincoln, I will do what I can."
     They went to Lincoln's cabin leaving Vark and
Tonjon on the bridge.  Lincoln stripped to the waist
and reclined on his bunk.  Oki sat at his side, placing
her hands on his chest.  Ginia and O'Rion stood by
watching.
     "Relax, Captain," said Oki as she began to let her
powers flow into Lincoln's body.  Presently, she was
within his mind.
     Ginia and O'Rion noticed the Lagellian became more
intense, sweat popping out on her brow, then running
down her face.  Suddenly, she jerked back from Lincoln
as if shocked by an electrical charge.
     "What is it?" he asked, sitting up.
     "A moment, please," Oki said.
     O'Rion said, "Ginia, fetch her some water."  She
did and gave it to the Lagellian.
     Oki took a long drink, then set the glass down.
"Captain, you realize amnesia is not a disease, but a
symptom caused by an organic or mental disorder.  It
can also be caused by a great trauma."
     "Yes, I know that.  What did you find?"
     "Inside your mind is something I have never
encountered before, a total, impenetrable mind block.
A complete section of your brain is closed off, like a
force field has been built around it.  I tried to
pierce it, but it repelled me.  It forced me out of
your mind!"
     "What could it be?" asked Lincoln.
     "Something beyond my powers, something super-
natural."
     "You surely do not mean a spell from some warlock
or sorcerer's magic?"
     "I mean what I say, Captain.  Something super-
natural to my powers is blocking off a section of your
mind."
     "But magic?"
     O'Rion said, "Lad, a superior science seems magic
to a layman.  I still find electricity an ungodly wonder
rather
than a physical force."
     Ginia added, "Lincoln, what Oki just did seems
magic to me."
     "Oki, have you any idea what could have caused
this?"
     "No, Captain, it is totally alien to me."
     "Well, thank you for trying anyway."
     "I wish I could have helped you, Lincoln.  You
have done so much for me and the others."
     "You better get back to the bridge," Lincoln said.
     "Yes, Captain."  Oki left the cabin.
     O'Rion watched Lincoln's face.  What the lad had
learned obviously bothered him greatly.  The old
Negroid nodded for Ginia to go to him.  When she did,
he quietly left and closed the door.
     Ginia sat down by Lincoln's side.  He seemed a
million parsecs away.  She reached out and touched his
brow.
     He turned to her.  "Yes, my sweet?"
     "Does it hurt?"
     "Not physical pain, Ginia.  Yet, I wish to know
who I was, what I was."
     She put her arms around him.  "I know you do."
She gently kissed his cheek.
     He turned to her.  "Ginia, it may be that I will
never recall my past life.  Perhaps something I did in
it has brought this curse upon me.  If that be so, I
can truthfully say, my present life with you will more
than fill the void of my past.  I love you.  Will you
spend your life with me?"
     Ginia's mouth fell open.  She could not speak.
Tears of joy welled in her eyes.  Finally, she got out,
"Yes!"
     Then we will be joined this very day, and we will
have many, many children to take care of us in our old
age."
     "How will we have a ceremony?  We do not have--"
     "I am the Captain of this ship.  I hereby
pronounce you and myself joined for now and ever, until
death do we part."  He kissed her.  She kissed him
back.

     "Lincoln?" she asked later, "Do you want a child
with me?"
     "Yes."
     "Really?  Your are not lying to me, are you?"
     "Have you ever known me to lie?"
     "No," she said, rising up on an elbow.  "I have
our child within me."
     "What?"
     "You are to be the father of a boy."
     He took her into his arms.  "How do you know?"
     "Oki has examined me.  He is healthy, very
healthy."
     Lincoln let out a scream of joy.  Ginia jumped a
bit, but he held her tightly, showering her with
kisses.  He moved his ear down to her stomach.  "Speak
to me, son.  Let your father hear you."
     Ginia laughed.  "Lincoln, do not be silly.  He
cannot hear you."
     "He will, my love, he will."

Chapter 16 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 16

     "Princess Shera, you must talk with me."  She did
not answer.
     The Princess was sitting in her darkened parlor.
She appeared gaunt and, even in the dimness, Vidor
could see dark circles under her eyes.  Ever since her
private talk with Mon Terric, Shera had kept to her
suite.
     Her servants said she would not eat and it was
plain she was not sleeping.  It was morning and already
there was a half empty glass of wine on the table
beside her chair.
     "Princess, drink is not the solution."
     She did not reply.
     Each morning, Vidor had come to her and played the
same scene with the same conclusion.  She would not
open up to him.  The next day was the Meeting of the
Peers.  Something must be done to bring her out of
this, Vidor realized.  He had to discover what the
Baron had done to her.
     "My Lady, if I am to help you, I must know what
the Baron said to affect you so."
     Again, she was silent.
     "It has been almost a fortnight since Garth's
memorial." Vidor noticed a slight cringe in her body at
his mentioning that day.  "All you have done since then
is keep to yourself, to not eat, not sleep.  You cannot
find the answer in the bottom of a wine decanter,
Princess."
     Again, she was silent, unmoved.
     "I have tried to get you to talk with me about
what is wrong, but you act as if there is nothing to be
done.  Have you no hope for Steffon?"
     She put a hand to her brow, but still she did not
speak.  Vidor stood there for a little while, then
sighing defeat, he turned to leave.
     "Vidor?"
     He pivoted to her, "Yes, my Lady?"
     "There is nothing to do," she said quietly,
without any hope in her voice.
     "Shera, there are always options.  Please confide
in me."
     She rose and walked to him.  "Vidor, I know you
only wish to help, but you cannot."
     "I cannot if I do not know the facts," he argued.
     Shera put her arms about him and held the old
minister tightly.  He held her back.  "Princess, there
is always hope that we will find Steffon."
     At this, she broke away and turned her back to
him.  "Yes, there is always hope."  She took a deep
breath.
     Vidor believed she was going to finally open up to
him.
     "Vidor, I  have made a decision.  For the sake of
the Realm, I will join with Baron Mon Terric."
     Vidor was almost speechless in surprise.  "You
cannot mean that, Princess!"
     "I am afraid I do, Vidor."
     He walked to her, swinging her about to face him.
"Tell me, what is his hold on you?  Steffon's life?"
     She tried to not react, but there was a hint in
her manner.  "No.  I just realize things must go on."
     "Listen to me, girl," Vidor spat out, almost
enraged, "your brother would gladly forfeit his life
before dishonoring himself or the Throne!  Even you
once threatened to take your life before joining with
Mon Terric!"
     Shera closed her eyes and put her hands to her
ears.
     "If Mon Terric confided he has Steffon, tell me.
I will personally lead the Royal Guards to his manor
and force the truth out of him."
     Shera did not reply.
     "Tell me!"
     The Princess turned away from Vidor, wrapping
herself in her arms.  "There is nothing to tell, Vidor.
I shall join with the Baron.  That is my decision."
     "My Lady, please reconsider your--"
     Shera exploded, "Stop it! STOP IT, VIDOR!"  She
whirled about looking directly into the Prime
Minister's eyes.  "Your custom gives me the right to
reestablish the Bloodline with whomever I choose.
Well, by the Gods, it is Mon Terric!  That is my
choice!  Now do as I command or resign!"  She was
visibly shaking with anger.
     Vidor looked back at her.  There was no swaying
her.  He admitted defeat.
     The Baron has won, he regretted.
     "Aye, Princess.  I shall do as you command."
     Shera turned and walked away saying, "Ask the
Baron to attend me in the morning before the Meeting so
that we may plan our announcement."  She hoped she
could keep her voice from cracking with emotion.
     "Yes, my Lady," answered Vidor, also trying to
control his voice.

     Baron Mon Terric was entertaining Baron Janis,
Duke Athofen, and Lord Makkin, the Earl of Quweti in
his study.  The four were all seated in a semi-circle
of comfortable chairs.  Spirits, smokes and snacks were
on tables by their seats.  A huge, crackling fire
nearby accented their conversations.  Pol hovered in
the background, ready to meet their every need.  The
Duke was arguing about the mining tithes.
     "Athofen, we all know you have profited handsomely
from your covert activities in the Qartian Asteroids."
The Baron leaned forward and picked up a decanter.  Pol
quickly stepped forward to serve for the Baron but was
waved back.
     Mon Terric refilled Athofen's wine glass as he
continued, "Now, it is time to share your good fortune
with the Realm."
     "Really, Excellency, I thought you would be more
accommodating."
     "I am being accommodating, Athofen.  There will
not be any investigation of the many new slaves you
have purchased off system and moved to the Qartians for
you mining ventures."  Mon Terric cut his eyes to the
Duke.  "Now that they are within the Realm, they do
fall under the ban on importing slaves."
     The Baron reached over and put his hand on the
Duke's shoulder.  He squeezed slightly, but with enough
pressure to accent his message.  He released his grip.
"Take heart, the tithes will not be the standard
eighth.  The Royal Treasury can get along on a tenth."
     Mon Terric sat back, sniffing a pinch of navaweed
into each nostril.  "Of course, there has been talk of
placing the Qartians under Royal Preservation until a
consortium could be formed to mine them."
     Athofen knew he had been completely out
maneuvered.  "Your Excellency, I appreciate your gener-
osity in reducing the mining tithes.  I shall be
satisfied."
     "I accept your appreciation."
     The Earl of Quweti put a gnarled hand to his
grizzled old head and scratched.  He had always
considered Athofen a fool.  Now, he has proven it,
Makkin concluded.  In the new order under Mon Terric,
the Duke would be eliminated eventually and his riches
divided among those who knew how to deal with the
Baron.
     Makkin leaned forward.  "Excellency, when can we
expect the slave ban to be annulled?"
     "I feel soon, but not tomorrow's Meeting.
Perhaps the one after."
     "Why wait?" pointed out Janis.  He agreed with
Makkin that those who knew how to parley with the Baron
would reap the greatest rewards.  "We all know who
holds the power in Starbonn."  He raised his glass to
Mon Terric.  "I say annul the ban by executive decree
the moment tomorrow's Meeting is over.  By the next
Meeting, we will have a majority of the Peers in our
pockets.  Those who are not--"  Janis drew his thumb
across his throat.
     Mon Terric replied, "I have considered it, but for
now I prefer to be subtle.  I feel it would be best to
wait until my power is formalized."
     There was a stunned silence.  The three Peers
looked to each other, then to the Baron.  Makkin spoke.
"Excellency, do you mean--"
     Mon Terric held up a hand.  "I must say I do await
a female's decision.  And we all know how fickle they
and fate are."  The Baron stood, holding his glass out
in a toast.  "And in this case, both are beautiful and
well worth the wait."
     "Here, here!" added Janis.
     They toasted as the doors to the study opened and
Dax Praggar entered.  He walked to the Baron's side.
     Mon Terric looked up into Dax's face.  Most
considered Zaians to be beings of little emotion.  It
was said one could not generally look into a Zaian's
face and tell if he was exulted or morose, but the
Baron could read Dax.  And the message was bad.
"Excuse me for a moment, a small matter has escaped my
attention.  I shall attend to it and return posthaste."
     Mon Terric looked over to his aide.  "Pol," he
ordered, "have the ladies I selected entertain my
companions while I am away."
     Pol bowed.  "Yes, Excellency."
     The Baron walked out of the study with the Zaian.
They crossed the hallway and went into the library.
     Dax closed the door and turned to the Baron.
"Steffon has escaped."
     "What!"
     "A fortnight ago, the Prince and a dozen slaves
overpowered their guards.  They killed the owner of the
mining operation, destroyed a ship-filled loading port
and fled Rovin in an ore freighter."
     "Gods, was there no security?"
     "Aye, Baron, there was.  An Aleyskite patrol ship
gave chase.  Steffon's ship destroyed it and escaped
with a hyperjump."
     Mon Terric sat down in a chair.  "It was a mistake
to have let him live."
     The Baron looked up at Dax and could read the
Zaian's thoughts.  "Yes, Dax, I was a fool to play my
little game with him."
     Praggar did not comment.
     "Could he have regained his memory?"
     Again, Dax did not comment.
     "Come, Dax, speak your mind.  I want your
thoughts."
     "Baron, it was foolish to let the Prince live, but
that is done.  From what I understand about this Mind
Shielder, Steffon's memory could not have returned, yet
by any name or memory, he is still the same being with
all the talents and abilities he possessed as Steffon.
His recent actions prove that.  He is a dangerous
enemy, sire, and he must be eliminated."
     "You are right, but can he be traced?"
     Dax answered, "Aye, he can.  My information says
his ship jumped in the direction of three systems.
Only one of them does not have slavery.  It is my guess
Steffon is headed for Berli.  When they arrive there,
they will be well received and their escape will be
publicized.  Such doings are always touted by the
abolitionist systems."
     Mon Terric thought for a moment.  He rose and went
to a writing desk.  He took out parchment and a pen and
he began to write.  "You are right, Dax.  Even if he
does not know who he is, Steffon can still come back to
haunt us.  His image is something we cannot allow to be
seen around the Quadrant."
     The Baron finished writing.  Opening the secretary
above the desk, the Baron reached for the Seal of his
Regency.  He impressed the parchment with the seal,
folded it and put it into an envelope.  He walked to
Dax as there was a knock at the door.
     "Enter," ordered Mon Terric.
     It was Pol.  He handed a message to Mon Terric.
"This just came by Royal Messenger, Excellency."  He
bowed and left.
     Mon Terric ripped open the note and read it.
"Well, this night's news is not all bad.  Shera has
accepted me."
     "Congratulations, Excellency."
     "We shall see, Dax."  He handed the envelope to
the Zaian.  "Here.  You have just been appointed a
Fleet Captain in the Royal Navy.  Inside is a Royal
Authorization for you.  Do what ever you need, Dax.
Use what ever you need.  You have the power of the
Crown behind you with this, so use it well and quickly,
but find Steffon and kill him!"
     "I shall, Baron."

     "Captain Lincoln, this High Court of Inquiry for
the Greater Republic of Berli has examined the claims
of your crew and yourself," began the High Chairperson.
She looked left and right to her two colleagues.
     All three judges were identical in their dark,
hooded robes of office.  The only way one could
decipher the High Chairperson to be female was by her
voice.  It was light and melodious, yet could become
hard and harsh when necessary.
     She continued, "We have also considered the claims
of the Vadourean Ambassador and his government's
charges of piracy against you and your crew.  We are
now ready to render a decision.  Do you hereby bind
yourself and your followers to the findings of this
Court?"
     Lincoln sat at a table before the Court.  He no
longer looked a slave.  His hair was trimmed neatly,
his beard cut down to a mustache and goatee.  He was
dressed in a well cut, high collar tunic of gray-green
with matching riding breeches fitted down into high
boots.
     At his side sat Ginia, coiffured and dressed
stylishly for the first time in her brief life.  Though
she was covered neck to toe and her stomach protruded,
the outfit accented her beauty.  On Lincoln's other
side was O'Rion, who wore a kaftan.  Behind them sat
Vark, Oki and the others now known throughout the
Berlian System as the crew of the Colossus.  Each one
was turned out in fine clothes that seemed only a dream
in their recent past.
     Lincoln stood.  Ginia held his hand as he spoke to
the Court.  "Madam Chairperson, other members of the
Court, my friends and I came to this system as escaped
slaves.  The only thing of value we owned was our
lives.  Now, thanks to the generosity of the people of
Berli, we are not forced to appear before you, unkempt,
in slave's garb.  Instead," Lincoln waved a hand at his
companions, "we are clothed in finery slaves only see
in visions."
     O'Rion watched Lincoln speak.  The lad continued
to amaze him with his talents and abilities.
     In Lincoln's past life, the old man reasoned, he
must have learned the art of public persuasion well.
True, the garments they wore this day were of excellent
cut and cloth.  And they were the gifts of Berlian
citizens, but where Lincoln thanked all of Berli's
peoples, he did not say the gifts were from wealthy
Berlians vying to purchase the Colossus and her
cargoes.
     Yes, O'Rion thought, the lad does well!
     "We give our heart felt appreciation," Lincoln
continued, "to the great, caring people of Berli.  We
chose to come to Berli because we expected Berlian
justice to prevail.  We still believe that, and we one
and all will abide by the decision of this Court."  He
sat down to a thunderous round of applause from the
packed gallery.
     The Chairperson called for and restored order,
then looked to the Vadourean Ambassador.  "Your
Excellency Lourrok, is your government ready to bind
itself to the findings of this Court?"
     The Vadourean Ambassador stood and placed his
hands on his huge stomach.  The man was in a bright
pink, full dress Vadourean diplomatic uniform.  "Madam
Chairperson, the Vadourean Rectory also believes in the
justice of Berli."
     Lincoln leaned close to Ginia's ear.  "I knew," he
whispered, "I should have worn the uniform you found
for me on the ship."
     Ginia put a hand to her mouth to keep from
laughing out loud.
     The Vadourean plowed on, his voice rising in tone
and anger.  "Even though my government feels the
speediness of this hearing is unwarranted, we believe
your enlightened judgment will deal justice to these
pirates who have stolen valuable property from
Vadourean citizens, wantonly destroyed an Aleyskite
naval vessel and cold bloodily murdered an Aleyskite
Senator and numerous other Aleyskites!.  Their
barbarous acts border on--"
     "Your Excellency Lourrok, I must interrupt you,"
interjected the High Chairperson.  "You must realize
the Republic of Berli and the Independency of Aleysk do
not have diplomatic relations, so any matter pertaining
to the alleged crimes committed against Aleyskites are
not privy in this Court."
     The Vadourean Ambassador bowed, almost touching
his forehead to the floor.  His bulging stomach
appeared to fold back into itself in a violation of
physical law.  He then rose up as ramrod straight as
his pudgy body would allow and said, "I must stand by
my remarks, Madam Chairperson, murder is murder in any
system!"
     "You are out of order, Ambassador Lourrok!  We
will continue without further outburst from you," the
Chairperson ordered with a firm edge to her voice.  "Is
that understood?"
     Again, the Vadourean performed his amazing
contortion, adding, "Yes, Madam Chairperson."
     The Chairperson picked up a sheath of documents
and set them down in front of her.  She began, "My two
colleagues and I are in unanimous agreement in this
matter.  Captain Lincoln, this Court finds you and your
crew were proper in fleeing the tyrannies of slavery.
Every being deserves his freedom.  This is a natural
law of the Galaxy, though not practiced in every region
of humanoid civilization.  We also find no criminal
intent in your ship entering Berli jurisdiction.
Therefore, you and you crew are not guilty of illegal
entry."  The Chairperson set aside the set of charges.
She picked up another rift of papers.
     "Now, as to the disposition of the ore ship
Colossus, we find there was no criminal intent in your
using this vessel to escape your bondage.  Furthermore,
this Court hereby disputes and will not recognize the
Vadourean claims and charges against you and your crew
for piracy.  In conclusion, we find the vessel Colossus
and its entire cargo should be just compensation for
the indignities you and your crew have suffered by
being enslaved.  Therefore, this Court will recommend
to the Prize Committee of the Berlian Navy that
complete and free title of said vessel and its contents
be bound over to you and your crew to do with as you
please."  She looked to the judges at each side.
     They both nodded to her.
     "So say us each, so say us all," the Chairperson
concluded as she tapped a small bell with a small
gavel.
     Ginia had been listening to the verdict, almost
bursting with happiness as the Court's findings kept
going their way.  Now, it was over and they had won.
She grabbed Lincoln around the neck and showered his
face with kisses.
     The huge courtroom exploded with applause as Vark
and the others rushed to the table.  Everyone was
hugging each other for joy.  A throng of scribes and
their videoites crowded about the Colossus' jubilant
Captain and crew.
     "Captain Lincoln?  Captain Lincoln," asked one
scribe, pressing a recorder into Lincoln's face, "are
you satisfied with the verdict?"
     "Yes, I--" he looked at his companions, "we are
all pleased, more than pleased.  It is only the justice
we expected of a free system."
     "What are you plans?" shouted another.
     "I cannot speak for my entire crew, but my spouse,
O'Rion and I are going to the planet Terra."
     "Where is Terra?" asked the scribe with the
recorder.
     "What system?" asked another scribe.
     "We are not completely sure of its location within
the Galaxy, but we will find it."
     "Why this Terra?"
     Lincoln nodded toward O'Rion.
     The scribe stuck his recorder under the old man's
nose.  O'Rion pushed the recorder away and answered,
"It is a world as great as Berli, a free world."
     Lincoln held up his hands, saying, "Now, if you
will excuse us, we wish to retire and celebrate our
good fortune."
     The scribes continued to crowd about Lincoln,
Ginia and O'Rion until Vark parted them with his huge
bulk.  They then trailed along behind the Captain of
the Colossus as he led his crew out of the courtroom.
     One of the scribes stopped and looked into the
imager held by his videoite.  "Another blow for freedom
has been delivered in the Courts of Berli.  As you have
just witnessed, the High Court of Inquiry has found in
the ex-slaves' favor.  The ore ship in question and its
contents have been estimated at over twenty-nine
billion credits.  Divided by the thirteen ex-slaves, it
comes to over two billion, three hundred million
credits each!  Talk about a flight to fortune, the
amazing story of Captain Lincoln and his crew of
battling ex-slaves continues and you will see it all,
right here on Berli's Number One Media, the Event Medi-
um, the most important media in Berli and across the
enlightened systems of the Galaxy.  This has been
Yulof, live, at the Berli High Court of Republican
Justice."
     The videoite stopped his imager.  He looked on as
the crowd moved off down the passageway following the
ex-slaves.  "Yulof, you think you could live on two
billion, three hundred million credits?"
     "I don't know," answered Yulof, striking up a
smoke, "but I sure as perdition would like to try for a
centon or two!"
     The Vadourean Ambassador walked up to the scribe.
"I would like to make a statement to your media."
     "Why?" asked Yulof.
     "Why, to refute the decision of your Court!"  The
Vadourean was indignant, his puffed cheeks crimson with
anger.
     Yulof blew smoke in the Ambassador's face.  "I
don't interview slavers or losers, and you, my fat,
pink friend, are both."

Chapter 17 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 17

     Executive Officer Helm was surprised and puzzled
at two recent turns of events.
     The first came in the latest issue of the All-Nav
Bulletin.  Transmitted daily via hyperspace
communications, the gazette kept the servicemen of the
Outer Patrol updated on the news and events of the
Starbonnian System.
     To Helm's heartache and wonder was the an-
nouncement, made at the 4,974th Meeting of the Peers,
of the forthcoming joining of Regent Mon Terric to
Princess Shera.  They were to be joined at the 4,976th
Meeting of the Peers, twenty-four fortnights hence.
     The chatty columnist who reported this event
hinted the delay was due to the customary period of
mourning necessitated by Lord Protector Sarkon's death.
     Helm had cherished his tender memories of the
Princess, but the thought of her and the Baron clouded
his still smoldering emotions for her.  It seemed she
was just another cold creature of politics.
     Down deep inside, it crushed him that the woman he
loved above anything, the woman he would die for, was
not the person he pictured in the depths of his heart.
     Such were the feelings of many in the galaxy, and
like them, Helm struggled to deal with his heartbreak.
Fortunately, the second turn of events provided a
diversion.
     Toward the end of the second watch, Helm was
called to the communications station.  The HMC Masulla
had received an "eyes only" cipher.  Lieutenant Helm
had many duties in addition to being Executive Officer.
     The corvette, as all small naval vessels of its
class, carried the minimum in crew as to allow for the
maximum amount of armaments and thrusters to be mounted
in the ship's hull.  This gave the patrolcraft the
firepower and speed of a warship several times its
size.  The Masulla was ready for any and all who would
tread on Starbonnian territory or honor.
     Thus, both the vessel's twenty-one enlisted
personnel and four officers alike performed many
different duties in addition to their primary ones.
One of Helm's secondary posts was Cipher Officer.  He
took the communication and went to his cabin.  There,
he unlocked and opened his small security safe.  He
removed his compact cipher terminal, locked the safe
and went to the Captain's quarters.
     Oberlieutenant Wik Keipher was asleep, but he
quickly awoke at Helm's hailing.  He sat up on his bunk
to receive his visitor.  "Enter."
     Helm entered.  "Skipper, here is a coded hyper
from RoNavCom.   Commander's Eyes Only."
     Keipher rubbed his jaw.  "Well, let me have your
cipher." Helm handed the terminal over to his Captain,
then started to leave.  "I will be just outside."
     "No need for that, Marrick.  Sit."  Keipher
pointed at a chair.  Helm sat down as Keipher moved to
his desk.  He set up the terminal and inserted the
communication.  The coded message passed through the
small device, coming out the other side with the
message deciphered.  He began to read over it.
     Helm looked up at the bulkhead over his Captain's
bunk.  A framed stereo hung there from Keipher's
academy days.  It showed the seven teammates who had
beaten the Royal Marine Academy for the spiking
championship that season.  A broadly smiling Keipher,
then a Fourth Termer, had his arm about a Third Termer
who was also grinning wildly.
     Marrick Helm had been that Third Termer.
     Helm warmly remembered the day that stereo was
taken.  He had found Keipher to be a good friend at the
Naval Academy, and a good one now as his commander.
His warm feeling was dashed as he noticed a copy of the
All-Nav on the deck by Keipher's bunk.  On its cover
was the tale of Princess Shera's upcoming joining.
     Helm felt another gloom coming over him.
     "Marrick?" called Keipher, bringing Helm out of
his fog.  The Captain handed the dispatch out toward
Helm.  "What do you make of this?"
     Helm started to take the message, but stopped his
hand in mid-air.  "That is an 'eyes only', Skipper."
     "Zanda dung, Marrick!  Read it under my approval."
     Taking the communications and quickly scanning it,
Helm tried to read between the lines of the official
jargon of the Royal Navy's orders.  Finally, he said,
"It looks as if we are going off on some type of covert
mission."
     "And did you read this?"  Keipher pointed at a
line in the orders.  "Boost Three!  Gods, the crew will
spit rivets over this!"
     Helm did some quick mental calculations.  "At
Boost Three that will be four jumps to Outpost Ten,
about seven watches on local."
     "Yes, seven watches at triple gee!  Gods, you
would think we had declared war for RoNavCom to want us
to bust our tails getting to Outpost Ten at Boost
Three," said Keipher, reaching into his desk for a
Velacian panatela.  Unsealing and striking up the
cigar, he rose and began to pace about the small cabin.
     As his commander smoked and paced, Helm was
rereading their orders.
     The last lines read:  UPON ARRIVAL AT OP/10, YOU
WILL BE DIRECTED BY A FLEET CAPTAIN WHO SHALL MAKE HIMSELF
KNOWN TO YOU WITH ORAL ORDERS FOR YOUR MISSION. HE WILL
ASSUME COMPLETE COMMAND WITH THE AUTHORITY OF THE CROWN.
     "I wonder why they do not identify the Fleet
Captain?" Helm asked Keipher.
     The corvette's commander pointed his smoke at the
computer terminal on his desk.  "Punch up the C-in-C
TO.  Let us see who is who and where."
     Helm keyed up the computer and quickly obtained
the Royal Navy's Commander-in-Chief Table of
Organization.  Chart-like, it listed all the Line Grade
Officers on the current active roster and their present
duty stations.  Keipher and Helm skimmed the TO.  There
were only six active Fleet Captains in the entire
service and four were of advanced age.
     "Raimer!  It has to be Raimer," concluded Keipher.
"He is the only one stationed near enough to OP/10 to
link up with us in the allowed time frame."
     "It would appear so, Skipper," said Helm.
     "Fleet Captain Raimer!  There must be glory in
this, Marrick.  Raimer's exploits are legendary,"
Keipher said with a blood thirsty grin on his face.
     "It will be a great honor to serve under him,"
replied Helm.
     Keipher looked at his timepiece.  "Very well, we
must get hopping.  Inform the crew we will go local at
1600.  The sooner we get to Boost Three, the sooner we
can move about like the Gods and Admirals intended."
     "Aye aye, Captain."  Helm left and went to the
bridge.
     Helm made the announcement and true enough, the
crew grumbled.  Yet they climbed into their acceleration
couches for the grueling journey to Outpost Ten
at three times their normal gravity.  If such a
hardship was necessary, the crew realized it must be
for an urgent purpose.  They may have griped and
grumbled, but they were career sailors, men who did
their duty for Monarch and System.  They were the best
The Royal Starbonnian Navy had to offer, and Marrick
Helm was chest busting proud to be one of them.
     Eight watches later, Helm began to doubt the
purpose and urgency of their orders.
     The Masulla piped aboard Fleet Captain Dax
Praggar.

     Lincoln had called together his band of ex-slaves.
They met in his and Ginia's spacious suite in very
plush lodgings on Berli III.
     Lincoln stood before them with a rift of papers in
his hand.  "The Chief Steward of the Berli Usury Trust
delivered these to me this morning.  The Colossus and
her cargoes have been sold.  These letters of credit
are our shares.  It is time we decided what we wish to
do with the rest of our lives.  Ginia, O'Rion, Vark,
Oki and myself are going to find Terra.  As I give each
your shares, I want you to know all of you are welcome
to accompany us.  Yet, your lives are your own now, so
do as you please."  He took the first letter of credit
and held it out.  "J'Tafil?"
     The Hixxiznian took the paper in his four digits
of his right hand and looked at the huge figure posted
on account in his name.  He handed the paper back to
Lincoln.  "Use this to help us find Terra.  You will
need an Engineering Officer."
     "Fine, J'Tafil."  Lincoln took two letters and
handed them toward Mallie and Sart-Ti.
     "Lincoln," Sart-Ti said as he took the letters,
"Mallie and I wish to stay here and start a new life,
but this is too much riches for us to deal with.  We
have decided to take a small portion and give the rest
to you."
     "There is no need of that, Sart-Ti.  There is more
than enough credits among us going to Terra to fund a
ship," said Lincoln.
     "Perhaps so," spoke up Mallie, "but we wish you to
use these credits.  It is our gift to you for gaining
us our freedom."
     Sart-Ti put his arm about Mallie.  "And our
child's freedom."
     "I accept your gift."  Lincoln continued to offer
the letters of credits, but everyone else decided to
join the expedition to find Terra.
     "Well, Vark,, it appears we will need a vessel to
accommodate eleven," Lincoln said.
     "No," Ginia interjected, her hands on her stomach,
"twelve."
     "Twelve then, Vark."
     "I have seen the perfect ship, Lincoln," the
Cassian replied.  "I have been to the yards at the
spaceport.  There is for sale a converted frigate from
the old Taptist Imperial Navy.  It has accommodations
for a crew of thirty, and she has been well maintained.
Those Taptist build ships to last even if their empire
did not."
     "Aye, they did," said J'Tafil, "but their frigates
were slugs even in their day.  What of her power
plant?"
     "Replaced with seventy point converters in her
last refit," answered Vark.
     "I had better have a look at them."  The Hixx-
iznian turned to Lincoln, "I've heard these Berlians
have perfected a hundred point converter.  I would like
to see if one would fit in this frigate."
     "She is roomy for her class, J'Tafil," said Vark.
"Plenty of space for improvements and extra armaments."
     "Gods," Ginia exclaimed, "you all talk as if we
were going to war instead of Terra."
     "No, Ginia, we are not going to war, but our
search for Terra may cross the path of slavers or we
may have to travel through a slave system.  I wish to
be prepared for anything.  We will not ever be slaves
again."
     "I see," conceded Ginia.
     "Vark," asked Oki, "what of this frigate's
navigation and command computers?"
     "They need updating," the Cassian answered.
     "Let us all go see this frigate," Lincoln said.
"Then all our questions will be answered."

     The Navigational Officer, Sub-lieutenant Burrisk,
entered the corvette's enlisted mess compartment.  It
was the only space on the vessel large enough to hold
the assemblage Burrisk found there.
     Waiting there for him was the Masulla's Captain,
First Officer Helm, Weapons & Engineering Officer
Swkes, the Chief of the Ship, the ComChief and his
three Communications mates.  All were standing before
Fleet Captain Praggar.
     Burrisk went to the table where the Zaian was
seated and saluted.  He said, "We have left Starbonnian
jurisdiction, Fleet Captain Praggar."
     "You may stand easy, Sub-lieutenant," ordered
Praggar as he returned the salute.  Before him on the
table was a folded parchment and two electronic
devices.
     Praggar unfolded and held up the parchment so all
could see what was written on it.  "This is an
authorization for me to act for the Crown.  Do all of
you realize this means I have complete and absolute
power over this vessel, its officers and crew, and its
mission?"
     Everyone present nodded their heads.
     Helm found the signature of Baron Mon Terric on
the Royal Authorization disturbing.  During his tour of
duty with the Royal Guards he had heard many things
about the Baron.  Helm felt a dark evilness in this
unsavory business and especially in the persona of the
Zaian now commanding them.
     Praggar folded the parchment and placed it on the
table beside the devices.  "Fine.  My first order is to
the Communications Chief."
     "Yes, sir?"  The ComChief stepped forward.
     Praggar handed the two devices from the table to
the Chief.  He ordered, "These are to be installed on
the prime trunks of the hyper communications receiver
and transmitter immediately.  Do you recognize what
they are, Chief?"
     "Aye aye, sir.  They are security interrupters."
     "Yes, they are.  When you install them, connect
their feeds directly to my assigned acceleration couch.
Understood?"
     The ComChief nodded yes.
     Praggar looked at the others.  "From this moment
on, there will not be any communications accepted or
transmitted from this vessel without my personal
approval.  Is that understood?" Praggar slowly looked
each officer and rating in the eyes.  In turn, they all
nodded back to him.
     "I want it understood anyone who disobeys any
order from me will suffer a summary execution."
Praggar folded his huge hands on the table.  "I will
personally be the executioner in any such case.  Is
this order clear to all of you?"
     Helm could feel the heat of anger flushing his
face, but like the others, he nodded his approval.
     "Fine.  Navigator?"
     The short Sub-lieutenant stepped forward, "Yes,
sir?"
     "Lay in a course for Berli III.  I believe under
Boost Three we can be there in less than a fortnight.
Do the necessary calculations and see if they agree
with mine."
     Praggar looked to Keipher.  "Oberlieutenant, we
will go to Boost Three at the end of the present
watch."
     "Begging the Fleet Captain's pardon," Keipher
said, "but we have just come off seven watches at Boost
Three.  The crew will suffer greatly under a further
fortnight at Boost Three."
     "I realize that, Oberlieutenant."
     "Sir, you know the longer one goes in Boost Three,
the greater chance there is for an accident from
fatigue.  The crew, ourselves may die from such
strain," Keipher concluded.
     "That is our prime duty, Oberlieutenant, to die
for the Crown."
     "In battle, yes, but unless there is great
urgency, such a time in Boost Three is almost
suicidal," Keipher argued.
     "There is such urgency.  Now, no more argument
over my orders.  Must I remind you of my stated policy
on disobedience?"  Praggar's cold eyes grew colder.
     Keipher saluted, "Yes, sir.  I understand and will
obey."
     "Fine.  You are all dismissed," Praggar ordered.
     All came to attention, then filed out of the
compartment except Keipher.  Praggar gathered up the
parchment and stood.  He noticed the Masulla's
commander waiting for him.  "Is there anything else,
Oberlieutenant?"
     "Sir, I assumed you would want to brief me on our
mission."
     "I will tell you what you need to know, when you
need to know, Oberlieutenant," Dax Praggar said as he
walked out of the mess compartment, leaving Keipher to
stew in his own juices.

     The ex-Taptist frigate sat in a loading cradle,
all hatches open, cables and workmen streaming in and
out of the ship.  The ship looked a mess, but to the
eye trained in naval matters, there was organization in
its confusion.  Fresh blisters were spotted fore and
aft on her hull, sporting the latest in deadly
armaments and navigational aides.
     Where three huge nozzles had once pushed her
through the star field, six smaller ones now pointed
their flanges aft.  Her fusion converters now produced
two hundred points instead of seventy.  For her size
and class, she could out leg anything she could not out
gun.  The frigate had the potential to boost at fifty
gravities.  Her main batteries were charge six rated
ion beams with a secondary armament of both pulsar
cannons and homing missiles.  Within her main hold
there now rested four tiny, yet deadly, one-man strike-
fighters beside the lifepods.  If there was to be any
combat on its journey to Terra, the frigate was well
armed and well legged for any action.
     Ginia followed Lincoln on his inspections about
the craft.  Most of what was discussed, she did not
understand.  Still, Ginia wished to be at Lincoln's
side, so she trailed behind him from hot thruster
compartments to chilly weapons blisters where liquid
nitrogen cooled huge banks of ion charges.  They
finally went to the bridge and found Oki toying with
the new navigational computers.
     "Will those do?" asked Lincoln.
     "Will they ever," beamed Oki.  "So much has
progressed since my day, Lincoln.  These units can
perform miracles!"
     "I hope they can find Terra."
     "I have been waiting for you.  The Port Director
has told me about a chart shop that may help us."
     "Where is it?"
     "On Cajus IV, he says," answered Oki.
     "Then that shall be our first port of call.  See
how fast your new playthings can plot a course there."
     Oki pressed a single key on her console.  It
chimed.  "There, the autopilot is already loaded and
locked in for the Vaga-Cajus Republic," she smiled.
"When do we lift?"
     "The Yard Foreman tells me we should be buttoned
up and ready for launch at dawn tomorrow.  Vark and
J'Tafil want a shake down cruise in high orbit, so we
should be making our first jump before," he looked at
Ginia's stomach, "my spouse has to let out her
waistline again."
     Ginia was both happy and embarrassed that she had
begun to show her pregnancy.  "If you are to be that
way," she said, "then take me to eat right now.  Maybe
I can help the ship get ready quicker."
     Lincoln kissed her on the cheek.  "We shall."  He
turned back to Oki.  "I will return before dusk."  He
left the bridge with Ginia.  They made their way off
the frigate and to the main gate of the shipyard.
Lincoln showed his security pass and led Ginia out the
gate and off to find an eatery.
     Coming in the gate as they were leaving was a big,
dark individual.  He flipped up a pass at the security
sensor.  He was allowed to enter the yard.  He made his
way to the loading cradle where the Taptist frigate
sat.
     Mixing in with the many workers, the big man
shouldered a crate of electronic parts and made his way
to Engineering.  There he slipped behind the fusion
converters and hurriedly installed a small box in a
recess under the stress plates.  Satisfied his
handiwork would go unnoticed, he again shouldered the
crate of parts and made his way off the frigate.
     The big man's doings had gone unseen, but his huge
size had caught J'Tafil's attention and curiosity.
     Why, wondered the Hixxiznian, would a Zaian be
carrying a crate of new parts out of the converter
compartment?

Chapter 18 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 18

     The hypcom activated with a chime in the ear of
the Communications Chief.  He carefully moved a finger
and keyed a pressure sensitive switch."
     "Yes," came an immediate answer over his headset.
     "Fleet Captain Praggar, there is a hypcom coming
in," offered the ComChief in a labored voice.
     "Switch it to me," ordered Praggar.
     The ComChief did so and tried to relax as best he
could under three gravities.
     Keipher and Helm's acceleration couches were side
by side on the bridge.  Below and to the side was the
spare couch that held Dax Praggar.  Keipher could see
out of the corner of his eye that the Zaian had
activated his security net.  The usually clear gravity
bubble surrounding the Fleet Captain's acceleration
couch became clouded.
     Keipher keyed his intercom and called Helm.  The
security net did not allow any communications in or
out, so times such as this were the only ones when
Keipher could talk to his First Officer without the
possibility of Praggar over hearing them.
     "Yes?" answered Helm sleepily.
     "He is receiving another hypcom.  I wish to the
Gods I knew  what was going on," said Keipher.  "Have
you any fresh ideas?"
     "No, Skipper.  I wish I did, for I do not like
this," replied Helm.
     "Neither do I, but orders are orders."
     "Aye," answered Helm.
     Inside Praggar's gravity bubble, he was less
uncomfortable than his shipmates due to his Zaian
constitution.  He could and had functioned and fought
at Boost Five, yet even at three gravities it was still
a chore for him to move.  His huge hand was carefully
punching in a message for Baron Mon Terric.  He was
pleased to report that Steffon had indeed reached
Berli, and as foretold, Steffon and his conspirators
had been received as heroes for escaping their bonds.
     Praggar went on to inform Mon Terric he had
contacted a fellow Zaian serving in the Berlian Navy
and his brethren had managed to plant a hypertracer on
the Prince's new ship.  He reported that Steffon had
announced plans to go off on an expedition to find a
planet called Terra.  He had not been able to find
Steffon's immediate flight plan, but with the
hypertracer in place, he could track and follow them
wherever they traveled.
     He double-checked the message and its coding, then
sent it off into hyperspace.  Praggar switched off his
security net.  He keyed his intercom for Keipher.
     "Yes, sir," replied Keipher.
     "Oberlieutenant, you may reduce acceleration to
Boost One and go global."
     "Aye aye, sir," answered Keipher with relief in
his voice.  "Right away, sir?"
     "Affirmative," said Praggar as he switched off.
     Keipher happily ordered Engineering to reduce the
ship's boost.  Presently, the corvette went onto global
gravity.  Helm and Keipher rose from their couches,
rubbing sore arms and legs.
      "Navigator?" called out Praggar as he almost
bound from his couch.
     "Yes, sir?" piped Burrisk.
     "Keep course for Berli, but I want a microjump at
the beginning of every watch and at the midwatch."
     Praggar turned to the ComChief before Burrisk
could reply.  "Communications, I have deactivated the
interrupters.  You will scan for a level three
hypertracer signal during every microjump.  When you
receive the signal, notify me at once and relay its
coordinates to Navigation for immediate plotting.  Is
that understood?"
     Burrisk and the ComChief both answered affirma-
tively.
     Keipher asked, "Any instructions for me, Fleet
Captain?"
     "Yes, have the crew be on watch and watch.  We
must be ready to resume Boost Three without delay."
Praggar again did not wait for a reply.  He immediately
strolled off the bridge.
     By the Gods, wondered Helm, what are we chasing?
     It was not an idle thought, for it was on the mind
of every member of Masulla's crew, save one.  Dax
Praggar knew both what and who.

     Berli's sun was just peeking above the horizon,
causing long shadows from the cranes and towers of the
shipyard to fall across the berth of the Taptist
frigate.  All the cables, all the debris of the ship's
rapid refit had been removed.  Normally, the work
performed and equipment fitted to the frigate would
have taken several decatons, but this refit had lasted
nine busy Berlian days.  It was a prime example of the
rule that enough credits could buy anything, and buy it
quickly.
     The spaceship lay in a clean berth, riding low in
her gravity cradle.  She was ready and provisioned for
space.  At her main hatch, the eleven who made up her
crew stood.  Their Captain held a bottle of spice wine
in his hand.
     "Crewmates, we christen our vessel.  To the We
Dare!"  He smashed the bottle against the jet black
hull of the frigate.
     The crew cheered and one of the two females kissed
the Captain.  They then boarded the ship and prepared
to launch themselves on their initial voyage.
     From the shadows ran a cloaked figure.  He ran
almost bent over with a quickness for one so fat.  He
stopped and hid behind one of the gravity cradle's huge
girders.  Satisfied he had not been noticed, the figure
ran to the tail of the frigate.  He boosted himself up
and into the skirts surrounding the thrust nozzles.  He
pulled a small device from the folds of his cloak and
began to attach it to the inner plating of the skirts.
     Suddenly, there was a warning blast from the
loading cradle.  This spurred the individual to hurry
and he quickly finished his work.  He bounded from the
skirts just as the gravity cradle shut down and the
ship's drive ignited.
     He was caught in the blast, but was not killed
outright.  He had intended to jump from a height of two
meters or so, but the ship had risen so fast, he spun
away from the ship at a height of almost a kilometer.
     It was the fall that killed him.
     His splattered, partially charred remains were
examined the very day of his death.  The results were
transmitted to the We Dare.  They were told the remains
of a Vadourean were found on their loading cradle after
their liftoff.
     Forewarned, the Captain of the frigate was able to
find the device the Vadourean had planted.  It was an
explosive charge set to detonate on their first
hyperjump.  The Captain destroyed the device.
     The Vadourean had failed in his mission of revenge
for his government.  Ironically, the Vadourean's
failure would have cost him his life had he lived.
     "Captain," J'Tafil said as Lincoln came through
the air lock, "I have searched the converter
compartment again, and I be dunged if I can find
anything out of the ordinary."
     Lincoln began to strip off his pressure suit.
"Perhaps our Zaian friend just wanted a look inside."
     "He could have just as easily asked," replied the
Engineer.  "We have nothing to hide."
     "True, it is puzzling, but evidently it was not
part of the Vadourean plot."  Lincoln hung up his suit.
"Still, we should make doubly sure before we make our
first jump."
     The entire crew of the We Dare spent their first
watch in orbit crawling over, around and inside every
nook and cranny of the converter compartment.  Vark
came closest to finding the tracer.  He used a long
steel rod to poke into the recesses below the stress
plates.  One of his jabs had hit the device, but it was
too well anchored to be dislodged.
     Yet, Vark's steel rod had caused a microscopic
crack in the shielding of the box.  Satisfied there was
not anything alien in the compartment, Lincoln ordered
everyone to their posts for a shakedown jump.
     Lincoln sat at the command console.  Beside him in
the co-pilot's position was O'Rion.  Behind him and to
his right sat Ginia and Tonjon at the Communications
Console.  She had asked Tonjon to train her in its
uses, but his time had been spent on other pursuits.
     Vark sat to Lincoln's left at the Weapons Console.
To Lincoln's immediate right was the Navigational
Console with Oki manning its computers.  The ship had
been boosting at twenty gravities and was now
approaching light speed.
     "Contact Berlian Control and get clearance for us,
Tonjon," Lincoln ordered.
     "Aye aye, Captain," replied Tonjon.  He quickly
ran his fingers across the comboard.
     Ginia watched with fascination and tried to notice
everything the Occidental was doing.  She wanted to be
more than a cook or passenger on her spouse's ship.
     "We have clearance, Captain," announced Tonjon.
     "Navigation?" asked Lincoln.
     "Course loaded and locked in to the autopilot,
sir," answered Oki.
     Lincoln keyed up the intercom to the engine room.
"Engineering?  We are ready for hyperjump."
     "Everything is normal, Captain," said J'Tafil.
     Lincoln keyed a switch on his console, the
autopilot engaged and shortly afterward, the We Dare
leaped ten parsecs through hyperspace.
     In the brief instant the frigate was in hyper-
space, the tracer did its job and sent out a third
level signal into the voids of hyperspace.  The
microscopic crack in its shielding let a trickle of the
signal flow into the hull of the ship.  It reverberated
throughout the ship, but being at such an ultra-
frequency, no humanoid could hear it.  Tonjon's console
could have received it had he been monitoring the
proper channels, but they were not expecting any hyper
communication messages.  No one heard the signal on the
We Dare.
     Elsewhere in the galaxy, others did.

     "Another message from Dax Praggar for you, sire,"
announced Pol as he entered the library.
     Mon Terric took the communications and dismissed
his aide, adding, "Close the door behind you, Pol."
     The Baron went to his cipher and decoded the
message.  He read it and reflected on its contents.
So, Steffon was going to Cajus IV.
     Why Cajus IV? thought Mon Terric.
     He looked over Dax's words again.  The Zaian
believed Cajus IV was on the way to this Terra Steffon
was searching for, but Mon Terric was the suspicious
type.  His suspicions had kept him alive.  The Baron
stood and left his library.  He walked to his manor
house's galaxytarium.  He sat at the controls and
activated the computers that could display the known
galaxy upon the chamber's huge curved ceiling.  He
enter a query for the planet Terra, but the computer
replied it was not a planet within its data banks.
     Trying another track, the Baron highlighted the
Dashtkahi system.  He instructed the computer to show
the trek of Steffon's journey to Berli and then to
Cajus IV.  The electronic brain plotted the courses and
displayed them with bright blue lines between the three
systems.
     Mon Terric looked at the ceiling.  The lines went
from Dashtkahi to Berli, then made a acute angle to
Cajus IV.  The Baron paced, looking up at the display.
     Dashtkahi to Berli to Cajus IV, he thought.
     What am I missing here?
     After a long period of contemplation, he started
to switch off the computer.  The Baron's hand was on
the controls when a revelation struck him.  He quickly
looked up at the display.  Cajus IV was in the Vaga-
Cajus Republic.
     The very system where Dax had sold the droid!
     No, Mon Terric reasoned, it could not be.  Steffon
could not have regained his memory!
     Shutting off the galaxytarium, Mon Terric decided
to not take any chances.  He called Pol on the manor
house's comsystem, "Have my skimmer brought around.  I
am going to the Palace."
     Mon Terric walked hurriedly back to the library.
There he composed a communication to Dax outlining his
suspicions.  As he finished ciphering the message, Pol
knocked on the library door.
     "Enter," ordered Mon Terric in a harsh tone.
     "Your skimmer is ready, sire."
     The Baron gave the communication to Pol as he
swept by, saying, "Send this off to Dax immediately."
     "Yes, sire," answered Pol with a bow, but Mon
Terric had already disappeared down the hallway.

     "These control the standard hailing frequencies,
Ginia," said Tonjon, indicating a line of pressure
sensitive switches on the board of the communications
console.  "These here are the mode selectors for audio
or video."
     "What are these again?" she asked, pointing at a
bank of switches above the controls Tonjon had pointed
out.
     "Those are for hyper communications frequencies,
but the main ones we will be using are these."  Tonjon
again indicated the lower row.
     "I want to know what they are all for and how to
use them."
     "I know you do, Ginia, but if you try to remember
too much, too quick, it will just confuse you.  Right?"
     "Yes, you are right."
     "Now, let us see what you have learned.  Press up
the hailing frequency for Vaga-Cajus Central Control,"
Tonjon ordered.
     Ginia hesitated, then put her hands on the flat
surface of the console.  She made a few finger
movements, then looked to Tonjon.  She was hearing
static in the earpiece of her headset.  "I hear only
static."
     "Well, you were closer this time," he offered.
Tonjon reached over her and moved her fingers to the
correct positions.  "Now, key it up."  She did as he
said.
     "Vaga-Cajus Control," came a voice into her
headset.  "Please identify yourself and reason for
hailing."
     "I got them," she beamed with pleasure.
     "Answer them, Ginia."
     "Yes, Tonjon."  She moved her right index finger
and spoke into the microphone of her headset.  "This is
the freeship We Dare, kindly requesting a trajectory
and position check?"
     "Affirmative,We Dare," came back the monotone
voice of the controller.  "Give me a five milisec
directional signal on frequency six-niner-three-point-
one on my mark."
     "I would be pleased to do so, Control," sweetly
answered Ginia.
     "Three, two, one, mark,"  ordered the controller.
     Ginia quickly wiggled her digits, looking to
Tonjon to see if her actions were correct.
     "I have your signal, We Dare," replied the
controller.  "You are on trajectory and position for
orbit at 1737.15 Cajus Prime."
     Ginia was bursting with pleasure.  "Thank you,
Vaga-Cajus Control," she said in a pleasing voice.
     There was a momentary hesitation in the con-
troller's reply.  "Eh-- thank you, We Dare.  Vaga-Cajus
Control out."
     Ginia continued smiling at Tonjon until he
motioned for her to sign off.  "Oh," she said, then
added, "We Dare out."
     Tonjon laughed just as Lincoln came onto the
bridge.  "What is so funny?"
     "Captain, I do not believe the galaxy's controllers
are ready for such a polite comoperator," Tonjon said.
     Lincoln put his arm about Ginia and kissed her
forehead.  "Well, I like her."

     "But, Excellency," cried Shera's maid, "the
Princess instructed no one was to disturb her!"
     "Out of my way!"  Mon Terric pushed aside the
servant and went into Shera's suite.  It was dark
inside.  The Baron went straight across the parlor to
the bedchamber and entered it.  He found the Princess
face down, asleep on her bed.
     The room smelled stale and of spirits.  Beside the
bed lay two empty decanters.  Several others were
sprinkled about the room.  An empty glass was by the
Princess' right hand, laying in a still damp ring of
spilled wine.
     Mon Terric walked to the side of the bed and
looked down at Shera.  She wore a white gown and it had
a large, dark wine stain on the side.  Her face was
turned toward Mon Terric and he could see dark circles
under her eyes from her drinking binge.  Her hair was
mussed and matted to her forehead.
     My beauty looks a beast, he thought.
     Shera was breathing heavily, passed out in a
drunken stupor.
     Enough of this.  Mon Terric turned and went into
her fresher.  He set the shower's thermostat at twenty
degrees below body temperature.  The Baron turned on
the shower and returned to Shera's bed.  His hands
grabbed the folds of the gown at her back, and he
lifted her off the bed.
     "What!" Shera mumbled incoherently.  "What is
this?"
     "It is your wake up time, my dear," he replied as
he hefted her into the fresher.  He tossed her into the
shower.
     The cold water hit her system with a chilly
explosion.  Shera screamed, scrambling to her feet to
get out of the icy blast.  She stepped out of the
shower, but Mon Terric shoved her back into the cold
mist.  She fell backwards, screaming again as the water
splashed over her.
     Suddenly, the cascade stopped.  A large towel
flopped into her face.
     Shera quickly wrapped it about her chilled body
and got to her feet.  She recoiled at seeing Mon Terric
looking in at her.  She shrank back into the corner of
the shower.
     "Good day, my dear," said Mon Terric.
     "How dare you come into my chambers and do this to
me?" shouted Shera, regaining some of her wits.  She
pulled the towel tighter around her body.
     "I have come to save you from yourself, Shera.  I
will not join to the drawn, drunken wench you have
become."
     "That is fine with me!"
     "No, we shall join, but it will be the beautiful
Shera I take as my spouse, not the wretch I see before
my eyes."
     "I will do as I please," Shera spit back at him.
     Mon Terric smiled.  "Is that so?"  His hand moved
to the shower controls and once more, icy water sprayed
over the Princess.  Again, she tried to leave the
shower, but Mon Terric shoved her back into the cold
water.  She fell on her hips, then turned to huddle as
far away from the chilling blast as she could manage.
She began to cry.
     Mon Terric shut off the shower.  "Now you see what
will happen if you do not follow my instructions."
     Shera was crying and shivering in the corner of
the shower.  The Baron grabbed another towel and threw
it in to her.  "Come out, my dear.  We have an
announcement to offer the Realm."
     Shera took the fresh towel and tried to warm her
shaking body with it.  "What announcement?" she asked
through shivering teeth.
     "Oh, you are interested?"  Mon Terric tossed
another towel to her.  "We shall announce our love is
such that we cannot possibly wait so long to join.
Therefore, we shall be joined at the next Meeting of
the Peers."
     Shera's mind clicked at this final indignity and
she burst from the shower with the cry of a banshee.
"NO!!!!"
     Even the Baron was taken back at the unexpected
ferocity and speed of her charge.  She smashed into
him, knocking him reeling back into the bedchamber to
fall across the bed.  Before he could move, she was on
him with scratching fingernails and biting teeth.
     She was like a mad animal.  He grabbed the hair at
the back of her head and pulled her off him.  He hit
her face with his fist, knocking her off the bed.
     Shera rolled on the floor, landing by an empty
wine bottle.  She grabbed it in both hands and sprang
back at Mon Terric.  She raised the heavy bottle above
her head.  She was going to smash it across Mon
Terric's skull, but the Baron leaped to his feet,
drawing his laser saber from his belt.
     With lightning speed, Mon Terric activated it, and
slashed out, cleaving the bottle in two in Shera's
raised hands.  His action was so fast, it stunned her.
     "So, you wish to kill me, my dear," Mon Terric
said as he aimed the point of his saber at her breast.
"I expected passion eventually, but not like this."  He
lunged forward.
     Shera jumped back to keep the white hot laser tip
away from her bosom.  Mon Terric moved toward her,
keeping the blade tip directed at her.  She backed
away, the half bottle still in her hands above her
head.
     "Drop the bottle, my dear."
     Shera did as he forced her across the chamber and
into a corner.
     "Such a lovely breast line you have, Shera.  I
would not want to mar it, but I will!  And you know I
will!"
     She just stared at the blade tip.
     "Correct?" Mon Terric shouted.
     Shera nodded her head yes as tears began to fill
her eyes.
     "And you know if you kill me, Steffon dies?
Right?" the Baron asked.
     She nodded her head again.
     "Tell me!" he shouted, "TELL ME!"
     "You are right," she finally said in a whisper.
     Mon Terric deactivated the saber.  "Now, we
understand each other much better.  You will not drink
any more, understand?"
     The Princess nodded her head.
     "And we will be joined at the next Meeting?"
     Again, Shera nodded defeated approval.
     "Excellent, my dear," the Baron offered charmingly
as he put his saber back onto his belt.  "You and I
shall have supper tomorrow night, and I will expect the
Princess of Starbonn whose beauty is known throughout
the Realm."
     He waited for moment, then added, "Is that what I
will find?"
     "What is the meaning of this, Mon Terric?" came an
angry voice from the doorway to the parlor.
     The Baron turned to find Vidor standing there,
seething with anger.  "A lover's spat, Prime Minister,
if it were any of your affair."
     "While I am Prime Minister, it will be my affair."
     Mon Terric placed his arms akimbo and threw his
head back in laughter.  "That will be only long enough
to perform the nuptials for the Princess and I."
     Vidor was so angry, he could not speak.
     "Oh, I--"  Mon Terric looked back at Shera, "Oh,
we have not given you the good news.  We will be joined
at the next Meeting in two fortnights."
     "No!" shouted Vidor.
     "But yes, Vidor."  Mon Terric did not look at the
Princess, but he said, "Is that not right, my dear?"
     Vidor looked to Shera.  She put a hand to her face
and nodded.  "Princess, tell me it is not so?" Vidor
asked in a pleading voice.
     "Tell him, Shera!" said Mon Terric with an edge to
his voice.
     "It is so, Vidor," she finally answered.
     "Well, I am happy that is settled," chimed the
Baron.  He turned to Shera and bowed, "Until tomorrow
night's supper, fair night, my dear."  Mon Terric
started to leave the chamber, sweeping by Vidor to exit
the bedchamber.
     The old minister reached out and grabbed Mon
Terric's shoulder.  "I will stop your evilness!"
     The Baron reached up and flicked away Vidor's
hand.  He laughed in the old man's face and turned to
walk across the parlor and out of the suite.
     Vidor reached into the folds of his clothes and
produced a blaster.  He pointed it at Mon Terric's
back.  "I shall, Baron!"
     "No!" screamed Shera.
     Mon Terric turned and faced the weapon.  "No, old
man, you will not shoot me as you would a jackal.
There is too much honor in you to kill that way."
     "Your evilness has stripped away what honor I ever
had, Baron," said Vidor as he gripped the trigger.
     "Gods, no, Vidor!" Shera leaped from the corner
and ran to him, pushing his arm and the weapon away off
its aim.
     Vidor had fired, but Shera's lunge caused the
blast to go wide, shattering a vase by the door.
     "If he dies--"  Shera quickly put a hand to her
mouth and stifled her words.
     Vidor looked into Shera's eyes and saw the terror
of her secret.  He whipped his head back to Mon Terric.
"Steffon's life is your hold over her."
     Mon Terric cocked an eye at the Prime Minister.
"Nonsense," he answered and left the room.

Chapter 19 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

EPISODE FOUR
Chapter Nineteen

     Cjapio was the oldest city on Cajus IV, and in the
section called "The Old City," the streets were really
no more than narrow, stone alleyways winding around and
through four and five story tall canyons of seedy
shops, unkempt eateries, darkly lit drinking places and
dingy brothels.  Some buildings, it was said, were over
a thousand solars old.  They certainly looked it.
     In the matriarchal ways of Cjapio, the City
Mothers had decided to renovate "The Old City," and had
let contracts that set thousands of droids to work
demolishing many of the section's buildings.
     Some of the ancient structures needed only the
push of a mechanical hand to bring them tumbling down.
Others, built in the far distant times of imperial
wealth, required the strong backs and arms of hundreds
of droids.
     It was in such a demolition that a certain droid
looked through swirling dust to perceive a face well
worn into its memory banks.  The young male stood with
a group of five other humanoids before a rundown
starchart shop just across the alleyway.
     "Prince Steffon," the droid muttered.
     None of the other droids about him paid the least
attention to his words.  They were programmed to tear
down a building and that was the extent of their
curiosity.  They all had numbers painted across their
chest and back plates.  The tall, black droid's number
was D-1518.
     D-1518 dropped his load of stones and walked
toward the familiar face across the alleyway.  He tried
to raise the level of his voice, but he was unable to
override his control circuits.  The droids' foremen
allowed their workers a certain limit of freedom,
otherwise they would have to run the work parties like
a child's school.  Yet there was a limit to the dark
droid's freedom.  It ended at the perimeter of the
project at a waist high barricade.  D-1518 found he was
unable to use his powerful legs to leap the puny fence
and bound across the alleyway to catch the face he
recognized.  His orders were not to leave the
boundaries of the project.
     Thus, all D-1518 could do was stand there and
watch as the man he knew led two of his companions, a
female and a huge male, up a staircase into the chart
shop.  The three left in the alley were an old Negroid,
an Occidental and a obviously pregnant Caucasoid
female.
     "1518, what in Falla's name are you doing there?"
called the voice of a foreman as he walked to the
droid.
     "Foreman Til'Baugh, may I go across the way to
greet an old friend?" asked D-1518.
     The foreman was slightly taken back at the droid's
request.  Most of his workers never made requests that
were not job related.  He eyed the droid, then looked
across at the three humanoids milling in front of the
chart shop.
     "I will not be but a moment, sir," said the droid.
     Til'Baugh laughed.  "Is that old Black your
father?"
     "No, sir, but a companion of his just entered that
chartshop and he is a former master of mine.  Please
let me go greet him?" pleaded D-1518.
     Another foreman came up to them.  "What's the
problem with 1518?"
     "He wants to see his poppa," laughed Til'Baugh,
pointing at the old Negroid across the alleyway.
     "His what?" demanded the late comer.
     Figuring the other did not share his humor,
Til'Baugh answered, "Nothing is wrong."  He turned to
the droid.  "Get back to work, 1518.  Now!"
     Faced with a direct command, the droid had no
other choice but to return to his work party back in
the ruins of the building.  Though he returned to
hauling the stones broken from the wall, the droid kept
looking back across the way.
     Ginia looked over at the building being
demolished.  "I never saw so many droids before," she
said to O'Rion.
     "If there were more, there would not be any need
of slavery, would there?" commented O'Rion.
     "I want to see one up close," she said, starting
to walk across the alley.
     "Ginia," warned Banda, "Lincoln said to stay close
by."  Banda eyed their surroundings.  "It is not safe
in these parts."
     "I am just going across the way, Banda.  You can
come with me and guard me from the droids," she
replied, walking away toward the barricade.
     Banda started to follow her, but O'Rion put a hand
to his shoulder.  "She will be in no danger.  We can
watch her from here."
     "Very well," conceded Banda.
     D-1518 watched as the pregnant girl walked across
the way and stood at the barricade, watching the droids
tear down the building.  The droid quickly scanned the
ground before the girl.  He still had control over some
of his functions.  He was able to scan into the
subsurface of the area before the girl.  There was a
pipe running from the barricade near the girl to the
ruins.  It was just below the surface.  He searched his
logic circuits and found there was not any conflict to
his orders in removing that pipe.  It was considered
the 'work' he had been ordered to do.
     D-1518 walked to the area where the pipe ran under
the ruins.  With strong metal fingers, he pressed them
down into the ground and around the buried pipe.  He
began to pull and the pipe popped from the ground,
forming a shallow ditch over to where the girl stood
peeking over the barricade.  D-1518 quickly looked
about for one of the foremen.  There were not any in
sight, so he walked along the pipe, pulling it up out
of the ground.
     The girl saw the droid coming and moved back
slightly as he came up to where she stood.
     "I will not harm you, my Lady," the droid said.
     Ginia glanced back across the alleyway.  O'Rion
was looking over the wares in a dusty toy shop window,
while Banda was eying the comely wares inside a brothel
beside the toy shop.  She turned back to the droid,
somewhat excited to be addressed as "my Lady" by a
mechanical man.  "Of course, you will not.  I have
protectors across the way."
     "My Lady, there were three others with you, a
female and two males.  What is the young male called?"
     "Lincoln.  Why do you ask?"
     "His real name is Prince Steffon of Starbonn,"
said the droid.
     "A Prince?   Lincoln?" she exclaimed round eyed.
     "Yes, my Lady.  I was once his protector, but I
failed in my duty.  A powerful enemy of his forced me
to erase the Prince's memory.  He was sold off into
slavery."
     Ginia put a hand to her face in shock.  A Prince?
"Yes, we are all escaped slaves, but how--"
     "My Lady, I plead, I beg you to get Prince Steffon
and bring him to me.  I can restore his memory.  When
he remembers this treachery, he will return with me to
Starbonn to claim his Throne and save Princess Shera!"
offered the droid.
     Princess Shera? she thought.
     Gods, Lincoln has a spouse.
     Ginia could not believe her mind's ramblings,
Lincoln a Prince?
     Gods, he would leave me.
     Thoughts of panic exploded into her brain.
Reclaim his Throne with Princess Shera!  She began to
back away from the droid.
     "My Lady, please!  Tell him!  Tell him I am Elbe!
You must!" pleaded the droid.
     "Ginia?" called Banda.  "Lincoln comes!"
     Ginia gave the droid a terrified look, then turned
and ran back across the alleyway.
     Elbe looked up to see his Prince coming down the
stars.  He started to wave when Til'Baugh came running
over to him.
     "1518, get back to the ruins, now!  Keep away from
this barricade and keep your face away from that
alleyway and any old masters of yours!"
     Elbe had to turn away and walk back to the
demolition of the building.
     Lincoln noticed Ginia had a look of terror in her
face.  He put this arm around her.  "What is wrong?"
     "Nothing," she answered, not looking into his
face.
     Lincoln put his hand under her chin and pulled her
face up to his.  "Now, what is it?"
     "A droid scared me," popped out of her mouth.
     Lincoln looked over at the worksite.  "Which one?"
     Ginia looked at the building.  Another droid was
now by the barricade.  She pointed at it, saying, "The
big gray one."
     "How did he scare you?"
     She searched for an answer.  "He spoke to me."
     Lincoln suppressed a laugh.  "Ginia, most droids
can speak."
     "I know that, but it just surprised and scared
me."
     "Well, are you all right now?"
     She held him tightly, saying, "I will be if you
promise to never leave me."
     Lincoln did laugh at this.  He cupped her face
with his palm and kissed her on the lips.  "You know I
would never leave you or our son."
     She huddle her face to his chest.  "I know, but
sometimes I am scared things will change."
     "They will not, Ginia.  Right?"
     "Yes," she offered.
     "Did you get the charts?" asked O'Rion.
     "Three sets," answered Vark, "but I wager the old
demon in there drew these in a dream."
     "Why is this?" asked O'Rion.
     "These," Lincoln pointed at the three rolls under
Oki's arm, "are quite old and poorly drawn.  The newest
one is four hundred solars old."
     "Aye, and the old bugger says the oldest is over a
thousand!" commented Vark.  "He asked a fortune for the
charts, and our good Captain paid his price without any
haggle."
     "If the charts get us to Terra, they are worth
every credit," replied Lincoln.
     Ginia looked back across the alleyway and noticed
the black droid working in the ruins.  "Could we go
back to the ship?  I do not feel well."
     "Of course, Ginia."  Lincoln took her arm and they
all walked away down the alley.  "Oki, is there
anything else we need on Cajus IV?"
     "No, Captain."
     "Then at dawn we leave for Terra."
     Elbe was following his orders, but he found a
piece of flat metal in the debris.  He used his strong
fingers to rub its surface until it was brightly
reflective.  He held it up and looked behind himself to
find the alleyway empty.  Elbe felt grief descend upon
his circuits as painful as any such emotion any
humanoid could experience.

     He is worrying like an old woman, thought Dax.
     Mon Terric's message with his suspicions that
Steffon might be heading to Cajus IV to retrieve the
cyberdroid was ridiculous.  Steffon had not regained
his memory and his trip to a planet in the Vaga-Cajus
Republic was just a coincidence.  There were eight
livable planets in the systems and over twenty others
that used droid labor on their uninhabitable surfaces
or interiors.  Only the act of a deity could bring
Steffon and his droid together again.
     Beside, Praggar's sources on Berli had discovered
the Prince's reason for traveling to Cajus IV.  He was
going to get starcharts from a old chartmaker in
Cjapio.  That, not the droid, was the reason for Cajus
IV being the Prince's destination.
     Dax Praggar reflected on the ten hectons he had
served Mon Terric.  During that time, the Baron had
been a good patron, but there comes a time when
everything must change.  The Baron had made a mistake
in letting this Prince live.  A mistake that might
topple him.  Perhaps it was time Praggar looked for
another employer.  Or, he considered, become my own
patron.
     If he captured Steffon alive, Dax concluded, he
could use him to rule Mon Terric and through him, the
Crown of Starbonn.  That was not an unattractive
alternative.  It would be an option he would plan for,
but if necessary, he would kill the Prince.  Steffon
was going to be a dangerous adversary, but Dax had the
advantage of complete surprise, the Prince did not know
he even existed.
     The Zaian checked with the Masulla's navigator.
They were four watches from Cajus IV.  If Steffon were
still there, he would wait in deep orbit to ambush him.
     If he leaves before we arrive, Dax decided, I will
pay a visit to the chartmaker to find out what plot the
Prince was taking to this Terra.
     Still, Dax planned, no matter what trek he took,
he had learned one thing better than his patron:  Do
Not leave any witnesses alive.  He began to make
arrangements for that eventuality.

     Ginia sat at the communications console.  Tonjon
sat beside her.  It was his idea that she start being
the comoperator whenever they left a system.  Ginia did
not want to operate the comboard.  In Ginia's state of
mind, she was afraid if she did not act as if nothing
was wrong, Lincoln would worry about her.  She feared
he would ask her and ask her until he would finally get
the truth from her.  Then, she would lose him to
Princess Shera and the Crown of Starbonn.
     "Ginia?"
     "Yes, Tonjon?" she said, surfacing from her
terrible thoughts.  "Contact Central Control and get
our clearance for the hyperjump," ordered Tonjon.
     She opened the necessary channels and contacted
Vaga-Cajus Central Control.  "This is the We Dare
requesting clearance for hyperjump to Vermis?"
     "Clearance is granted, We Dare.  Vaga-Cajus
Control out," said the controller.
     "Acknowledged Control, We Dare out," she said into
her headset, then she turned to Lincoln.  "We have
clearance."
     "Navigation?" asked Lincoln.
     Oki answered, "Our course is loaded and locked in
to the autopilot, Captain."
     "Engineering?" Lincoln called on the intercom.
"We are ready for hyperjump."
     "Everything is fine, Captain," replied J'Tafil.
     Lincoln keyed the autopilot and it sent the ship
into hyperspace.
     The hypertracer shot out its signal, plus its
leakage through the crack in its shielding.  The excess
transmission rang soundless through the hull of the We
Dare, and due to Ginia's preoccupation and her
fidgeting fingers, it blasted throughout every headset
in the ship.
     "Gods!" shouted Vark as he tore the headset from
his ears.  Lincoln, along with everyone else on the
bridge, quickly pulled his headset off, but he held it
out so he could hear the long tone slowly fade away.
     Tonjon had looked over and pulled Ginia's hand
from the control board.
     "I am sorry!" pleaded Ginia.  "I did not mean to
hurt everybody's ears!"
     Lincoln rose and went to her side.  He put his
hand on her shoulder.  "We know that.  It is all
right."  He looked down at the board and asked Tonjon,
"Where did that signal come from?"
     Tonjon thought for a moment, "She had the hyper-
space frequencies open, level three I think.  Yet," he
scanned the board for a moment, "the signal appears to
have originated within the ship."
     "Can you pinpoint where in the ship?" asked
Lincoln.
     Tonjon ran his fingers across the board, then
looked up at his  monitors.  "It came from Engineering,
the convert compartment."
     "The Zaian!" announced Vark.
     "Yes, and he planted a hypertracer," Lincoln said.
"Come, Vark, let us go see what we have overlooked.
Oki, you have the con."  Lincoln left the bridge with
Vark.
     It did not take them long to find the small box in
the recess of the stress plates.  "Shall I tear it
out?" asked Vark.
     "No," said Lincoln, "now that we know someone is
tracking us, we will use that knowledge to ambush them."

Chapter 20 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 20

     "Captain, the Zaian has me feeding every control
in the ship to his acceleration position.  Engineering,
weapons, navigation, on top of him already controlling
all communications.  What do you make of it, sir?"
asked the ShipChief.
     "Well, you know Zaians, Chief, they like to run
the whole show," answered Keipher.
     "Aye, sir, but it is as if the Fleet Captain does
not want any of us doing anything.  The crew is
mumbling, sir.  Mumbling loud."
     "I know they are, but Praggar has an authorization
from the Crown."  Keipher struck up another panatela.
"We have to follow his orders."
     "Begging the Captain's pardon," said the Chief,
"but can you give the crew some idea what is the object
of our mission?"
     "I do not like to admit it, but the Fleet Captain
has me as much in the dark as you and the crew."
     "Skipper, you knew these men will follow you
inside a nova and back, but this Zaian is another
matter, Crown authority or not." The ShipChief was
treading on soft ground.  "The crew is thinking black
thoughts, sir."
     "I wish I could tell you more, Chief, but--"
Keipher took a deep drag on his cigar and slowly let it
out.  "Chief, is Praggar double-checking everything he
has ordered you to do?"
     "Aye, sir, he is."
     "Do you think you could find a way to install an
undetectable cut-off to his acceleration position?"
     The Chief thought for a moment.  "Perhaps I could,
but it would have to be completely untraceable.  The
Fleet Captain is very meticulous in checking my work."
     "See what you can do while he is off the ship.  If
possible, feed two cut-offs to my and Lieutenant Helm's
acceleration couches.  Key them to an inactive
comchannel."
     "I will see what I can do, sir."  The ShipChief
left Keipher's compartment.  The Oberlieutenant sat and
smoked for a long while.  He had always obeyed orders,
but the Zaian was pushing him and his crew to their
limits, both physically and mentally.  Something had to
snap.
     Well, he thought, at least I was able to get him
to take Helm dirtside.  Maybe Marrick will discover
what Praggar is up to.
     Down on Cajus IV, Lieutenant Helm trailed behind
the Zaian as they walked through "The Old City" of
Cjapio.  Since leaving the ship, Praggar had not
uttered a word.  They wondered through dark alleyways
until they came upon a rundown starchart shop.
     "Wait here for me, Lieutenant," ordered Praggar.
     "Yes, sir," answered Helm as he watched the big
Zaian mount the stairs to the chartmaker.  With nothing
to do, Helm began to mill about the windows of the next
shop.  It was filled with dusty wares and toys.  He
moved to the next establishment and looked in its
window.
     "Hello, sailor," cooed a scantily clad, Parvoid
female.  She batted four comely eyes at him.  "Is there
something you wish that I can provide?"
     "No, thank you," added Helm with a blush.  He
turned away from the bordello and looked across the
alleyway at a huge pile of rubble.  Hundreds of droids
were working like insects on the mound of stones and
debris.  He started to turn away when one droid caught
his attention.  Even covered with a thick coat of dust,
the tall droid was jet black.
     Surely not, Helm thought.
     He quickly looked back to the chart shop, then
made a decision.  He quickly crossed the alleyway and
walked to the barricade near the droid.
     Once more, Helm hurriedly glanced over his
shoulder, then said, "Elbe?"
     The droid turned his head as much as he could.  He
was still bound by his orders not to turn his face
toward the alleyway.  Fortunately, Helm was off to the
side of the area he was forbidden to look upon.
"Guardsman Helm!"  The droid moved as close as he could
to the Lieutenant.
     "How did you get here?" asked Helm.  "Where is
Prince Steffon?"
     "Baron Mon Terric is responsible, but Prince
Steffon was here yesterday," said the droid as he
continued to work in the rubble.
     "You saw Prince Steffon!"
     "Yes, Guardsman Helm, but I was unable to gain his
attention.  The Baron used a Mind Shielder on the
Prince.  He does not know who he is or what has
happened.  He calls himself Lincoln now."
     Helm put his thoughts together.  "So it is the
Prince Praggar is chasing."
     "Is Dax Praggar with you?"
     "Yes, he is in command of my ship," answered Helm.
     "Be wary of the Zaian, Guardsman Helm, he is in
league with the Baron."
     Helm looked back over his shoulder.  "Praggar will
be back in a moment, I must go back across the way."
     "Find the Prince and bring him to me.  I can
restore his memory."
     "I shall do what I can, Elbe.  I must go, but I
shall return with the Prince.  I swear this."
     "The Gods of Ol go with you, Guardsman Helm," said
Elbe as the Lieutenant walked away.
     Elbe's undroidly remark went unnoticed by Helm as
he retook his position by the chart shop.  His mind was
churning and searching for what he must do.
     Inside the shop, the wrinkled old chartmaker
produced three sets of starcharts.  "These are the ones
I sold to the Captain of the We Dare."
     "What would be their most likely plot?" asked
Praggar.
     The chartmaker unrolled one chart.  "These charts
all agree that Terra is on the far side of the galaxy."
The chartmaker placed a shaking finger on the chart and
traced a path.  "Their first jump would be to Vermis,
then to New Kargoon-- then each chart plots a different
course."
     "Vermis, eh?"
     "Yes," agreed the chartmaker as he rolled up the
chart and put it with the other two.  "Will you be
wanting these?"
     "Aye, they will do," said Praggar, gathering the
rolls up in his huge left hand.
     "That will be sixty thousand credits for the
three," said the chartmaker.  He put our his hand.
     Praggar's right hand shot out and grabbed the old
man about the throat.  "This should settle accounts."
     The Zaian's powerful hand quickly snapped the
chartmaker's neck.  He released the old man and the
body dropped to the floor.  Praggar went to the door,
set it to lock from the inside, flipped on the closed
indicator, then left the shop.  Back in the alleyway,
Praggar found Helm staring off into space in the
direction of a brothel.  "Come," he ordered, hopefully
snapping the Lieutenant out of his carnal thoughts.
     Helm trailed along behind the big Zaian as they
made their way back to the Masulla.  He knew his course
was clear, but how he was going to get around Praggar
and his Crown Authority was a question he had not yet
answered.  He had to act, but how and when?

     "Whoever is tracking us, will undoubtedly go to
the chartmaker on Cajus IV to obtain the same charts we
have here," said Lincoln.  The entire ship's crew was
gathered around him on the ship's bridge.  "Here is
what I propose.  Our pursuer will plot the same course
and in doing so, he will come out of hyperspace right
here at our present position.  When he does, we will
greet him.  We will take the strike-fighters and
challenge any ship that appears.  If they fire on us,
we destroy them and shift through their debris to find
out why someone is hunting us."
     "We could just jump in a different direction,"
offered Ginia.  "Then they would not be able to follow
us with the tracer deactivated."
     "No, Ginia, we must face our enemy," said Lincoln.
     "Aye, we must," added Vark.  "Otherwise, we will
spend our lives looking over our shoulders."
     "Lincoln and Vark are right, Ginia," offered
O'Rion.  "Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to trace
us.  If we do not face them with the advantage we now
hold, they may attack us when we least expect it.  They
could defeat us and we all be sold into slavery again."
     "And," Lincoln reminded them, "we all still have
our pledge to never let that happen."  Lincoln looked
to each of his companions.
     "If we plan well, we cannot be defeated.  Are you
all with me?"  All answered affirmatively but Ginia.
Lincoln put his arm around her.  "Do not fear, Ginia.
I will always protect you.  Right?"
     "Right," she answered.
     "Now, myself, Banda, Tonjon and Fruli will fly the
strike-fighters," Lincoln began.  "Oki, you will have
command of the ship while I am leading our fighters.
Vark, if our friend wishes to fight, you will use the
ship's weapons to keep our quarry busy while the
fighters destroy his drive.  Once he is powerless, we
can deal with him at our own leisure."
     "Your plan is sound," commented Vark.
     "Fine, now we need to pre-flight the fighters.
Oki, take Vark and Ginia to the bridge and keep all
sensors active.  The rest of you come with me to the
hold."  Lincoln gave Ginia a peck on the cheek, then
followed the others out of the mess compartment.
     The navigator looked at Ginia.  The girl's face
was filled with fear.  Oki came up to Ginia and put her
hand on the girl's shoulder.  "Now, now.."
     Ginia twisted away.  "I am sorry, but you startled
me."
     In her brief contact with Ginia, Oki had felt
massive panic.  "Ginia, let me calm your fears.  They
are overcoming you."  She held out her hands to the
girl.
     "No," snapped Ginia.  "I must deal with them
myself."  Ginia turned and ran out of the compartment.
     "It is her pregnancy," ventured Vark.  "It makes
all females a little crazy."
     "Huh hummm," answered Oki as she left the Cassian
and headed for the bridge.  Males? she thought.  They
should try having a child sometimes!
     Lieutenant Helm followed Dax Praggar through the
Masulla's entry hatch.  Helm had decided to first take
Keipher into his confidence.  Together, they could come
up with a plan to stop the Zaian and contact Prince
Steffon.
     Just inside the hatch, Praggar issued a command to
the OD.  "Seal the ship, we boost at once!"
     "Aye aye, sir," snapped the Officer of the Deck.
He quickly ordered his sentries to the task.
     Helm followed Praggar to the bridge where the
Zaian went directly to Keipher.  "Oberlieutenant, I
want this vessel launched right now."
     "But Fleet Captain, what if Central Control will
not give us immediate clearance?" asked Keipher.
     "Then we boost anyway.  Understood?"  The Zaian's
eyes were coldly looking into Keipher's.
     "Aye aye, sir.  Will you release communications so
I can obtain a clearance?"
     Praggar leaned to his acceleration couch and keyed
a switch.  "There, get the clearance," he snapped, then
turned to the Navigation Officer.  "Plot our course to
Vermis, Boost Three."  He tossed the charts to Burrisk.
     "Yes, sir," answered the navigator.
     Praggar turned to another, "ShipChief, did you
make the adjustments I ordered?"
     "Yes, sir," answered the Chief.
     Helm was hoping to get a moment with Keipher, but
his friend looked to the Fleet Captain.  "Central
Control has cleared us, sir."
     Praggar looked at the ship chronometer.  It read
0934.22.  He pressed the ship's alarm, announcing over
the intercom, "All hands, all hands!  We launch at
0936, Boost Three.  That is all!" Praggar spoke to the
men on the bridge.  "You heard me!
     Prepare for launch!"  He climbed into his
acceleration couch.  Helm tried to get Keipher's
attention, but the Captain was too busy with the launch
countdown.  Helm also had duties to attend to for the
launch, so he climbed into his acceleration couch and
prayed he would have a chance to speak to Keipher
before it was too late.
     Keipher was busy, but he did manage to catch a
wink from the ShipChief.
     Keipher nodded back.
     The Chief held up nine fingers out of the Zaian's
sight.
     Again, Keipher nodded understanding.
     Perhaps in the Zaian's haste, Keipher thought, he
may have given me an edge.

Chapter 21 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 21

     It had been four watches since the crew of the We
Dare had began the vigil for their pursuer.  The bridge
was manned at all times and two strike-fighters were
always on patrol.  The tension showed in different ways
on every one but Lincoln.  As usual, he was calm,
almost joyous as the time passed by.
     Ginia's panic had grown, but she had managed to
keep it from Lincoln and more importantly, the empathic
Lagellian.  Now, she lay next to her spouse in the
darkness, fearing she would lose him to a past life of
grandeur.
     "Ginia?" called Lincoln in a whisper.  "Still not
asleep?"
     "No," she answered.
     "I wish you would not worry so, my love."  He put
his face to her's and kissed her.
     "Lincoln, do you still wonder about your past
life?"
     He moved over onto his back, an arm up over his
brow.  "Yes, it still crosses my mind, but not with the
desire it once did."  He held her close with his free
arm.  "My life is with you, now.  And our son."
     She put her head to his side and began to softly
cry.  "I so want to believe that."
     "Believe it, Ginia.  I do."
     "But what-- what if you found out you had a grand
past life?  What.." she barely managed to say, "if you
had another spouse and family somewhere in the galaxy?"
     "That too has passed through my thoughts, Ginia,
but it is something beyond my control."  He turned over
to face her, pulling her close.  "Listen to me.  You
know what Oki said when she tried to help me.
Something very powerful has blocked out the memory of
what I was before I met you.  For better or worse,
there is nothing to restore that memory, or that life.
So, I have accepted it and will go on with the
wonderful life I have with you."
     He kissed the top of her head.  "Will that calm
your fears?"
     "I try.  Oh, Lincoln, I try so hard!"
     "I know you do, Ginia."  He patted her bulging
stomach.  "You must not be so upset.  You will frighten
our son."
     Ginia put her hands over his.  "He is moving.
Feel him?"
     "Yes, he is strong to kick like that.  Does that
hurt you?"
     "A little, but it is worth it to know he is alive
and well."
     Lincoln kissed her cheek.  "Try to sleep.  For me
and our son.  Please?"
     "I will," she conceded and closed her eyes.  Try
as she did, sleep would not come.
     The thoughts of Lincoln-- Prince Steffon!
     Princess Shera!
     The Crown of Starbonn!
     They all ran back and forth through her mind.
Finally, she realized what she must do.
     Summoning all her courage, Ginia raised her head.
"Steffon?" she said quietly.
     "Huh?" asked Lincoln, coming awake.  "What did you
say?"
     "I called you--"
     Ginia was interrupted by the intercom.  "Lincoln,"
called Vark, "a ship just came out of hyperspace!"
     "I am on the way to my fighter," answered Lincoln,
bounding from the bed.  He began to quickly slip into
his flightsuit.
     "Lincoln?"
     "Not now, Ginia.  Do not worry, I will be back to
spend the rest of my life with you and our little one,"
Lincoln said as he finished dressing.  He gave her a
huge smile as he leaned over the bed and kissed her.
He gave her a wink, then grabbed his flight helmet and
ran out of the room.
     The intercom spoke again.  "Ginia," hailed Oki,
"can you come to the bridge?"
     "I am on my way," Ginia answered, pulling herself
out of the bed.

     Helm's body ached under the strain of Boost Three.
For two watches they had sped toward a hyperjump, and
for those same two watches, he had not been able to say
anything to Keipher about his encounter with the droid.
He had hoped Praggar would receive or send a message.
When the Zaian's security net activated, it was the
only time he could speak to his Commander without the
possibility of being overheard by Praggar.  Helm racked
his brain for the means to stop the Zaian.
     Oberlieutenant Keipher was somewhat in the same
fix, for he wished to let his Executive Officer know of
the cut-off switch now wired into Comchannel Nine.  He
also wished Praggar would have some type of
communications, but neither he nor Helm were granted
their wish.
     "Ready for the jump, sir," announced the
Navigational Officer.
     "Get on with it," ordered Praggar.
     "Aye aye, sir," complied Burrisk, engaging the
autopilot.
     "Fleet Captain Praggar?" hailed Keipher.
     "Yes, Oberlieutenant?"
     "After the jump, can we have a short rest period
at Boost One?"
     "Affirmative," answered the Zaian.
     The Masulla blinked into hyperspace, then back to
the normal universe near the Vermis System.  As soon as
the jump was completed, Keipher barked out,
"Engineering, Boost One!"
     Engineering was quick in complying as the gravity
bubbles disappeared and one gee global gravity returned
to the ship.  Ship-wide, the crew climbed out of their
acceleration couches to take advantage of the brief
respite from the crush of three gravities.
     "Gods, that feels good," said Keipher as he swung
his legs out of his couch.  He looked back at Helm.
"Come to my cabin for a smoke."
     Helm was wondering what Keipher meant? Keipher knows
I did not smoke.  He looked at his board.  There
were a few things he needed to deal with, so he
replied, "In a moment, Skipper."
     "We are being tracked by weapons sensors!" shouted
the Weapons Chief.
     Just as Keipher started to swing back into his
acceleration couch, gravity bubbles appeared over the
empty acceleration couches and the ship burst into
Boost Two.  All over the ship, men were pinned, impaled
or slowly crushed by increasing gravity.
     No one had stayed in their protective couches
except Helm.  He suddenly realized the Zaian must be
controlling the ship's boost.  "Fleet Captain Praggar,
cut the boost!" he screamed, but there was not any
answer.
     "Marrick!" cried a voice.
     Helm had just noticed his console.  The ship was
at Boost Three and climbing.  Straining, he turned his
head to see Keipher caught half out of his acceleration
couch.
     "Marrick," screamed Keipher as the seat began to
cut into his legs, "Comchannel Nine!  Comchannel Nine!"
     Helm watched in horror as his Captain's legs were
cut off, the severed limbs flying back away from the
couch.  A stream of blood followed as the gee-force
drained the life out of his friend.
     "Marrick," said Keipher with his last breath,
"Comchannel ni--"
     Helm suddenly heard the power surge of the main
batteries being fired.  They were firing ion beams at
someone.  He began to become confused as the high
gravity forced the blood to the back of his head.
Where they attacking Prince Steffon?
     What did Keipher mean by Comchannel Nine?

     Lincoln's strike-fighter had just launched from
the We Dare when Vark called to him.  "Lincoln, the
vessel does not answer our challenge, shall I activate
my weapons scanners?"
     "Affirmative," answered Lincoln.  "Banda, Fruli?"
he called over the fighter comnet, "are you in position
to ID our friend?"
     "Aye," answered Banda.  "It a warship, corvette or
frigate class, but not of any navy I know."
     "Lincoln, he is boosting!" came Vark's voice.
"Gods!  He is at Boost Three and accelerating!"
     "Attack!" ordered Lincoln as he guided his fighter
toward the warship.  Lincoln looked to his right to
find Tonjon's strike-fighter tucked close in a
wingman's position.  Returning his attention to his
cockpit, Lincoln powered up his attack computers and
activated his sensors.  The monitor immediately
outlined the vessel in a three way view.
     Gods, thought Lincoln, I know this ship!
     Though his computer did not have an identification
on the warship, Lincoln knew it was a corvette, but he
could not think of its class.  He looked at the outline
of the ship, and his mind began to click off data.
     There is the bridge.
     Fire Control was just aft.
     Those forward and aft blisters were ion batteries.
     It was as if he had walked its very decks!
     "Lincoln," hailed Banda, "Fruli and I are starting
a pass on the corvette amidships."
     "No," commanded Lincoln.  He knew those ion
batteries were situated just to repel such an attack.
"Break off, Banda!  Break off and come in aft or dead a
head!"
     Lincoln's command was too late as Banda and
Fruli's strike-fighters were committed to a pass over
the corvette's midsection.
     "Break off," Lincoln commanded in vain.
     Banda and Fruli swept across the vessel, firing
their pulsar cannons, but their quarry was continuing
to quickly accelerate, causing their aim to be off
target.  A burst of ion beams blasted out from the
corvette and bracketed Fruli's fighter, exploding it
into atoms.  Banda used full banking thrusters to avoid
being hit, but his time on patrol had depleting his
fuel to almost the point of exhaustion.
     "Lincoln," came Banda's voice over the comnet, "I
am about spent on fuel."
     "Keep out of the way, Banda.  Tonjon and I will
get him."
     Lincoln called the We Dare.  "Vark, direct your
fire at his bow.  It is his weakest point.  Keep him
busy while we blast his drive."
     "I am trying, Lincoln, but the bastard is at Boost
Four and increasing!" answered Vark.  He fired the We
Dare's ion beams at the corvette's bow, but missed.
     "Tonjon," ordered Lincoln, "we will circle and
attack his stern.  Aim for the nozzles!"
     "Affirmative," answered Tonjon.
     Another blast of ion beams flashed out from the
corvette and bracketed the We Dare.  From Lincoln's
vantage point, he could see his ship visibly flinch.
     "Vark?" he called, "what is your damage?"
     Vark answered through a burst of static, "Two
compartments ruptured, but they are sealed.  I am
diverting power to the shields."
     "Tonjon and I will cover for you," Lincoln
ordered, changing his plans.  "Tonjon, we are changing
our attack to the corvette's bow.  Follow my lead."
     "Affirmative," replied the Occidental, keeping his
fighter in position.
     The hand at the controls and weapons of this
mystery ship was good.
     Perhaps too good, Lincoln thought.
     Lincoln led Tonjon at full power directly at the
warship.  If the corvette was at Boost Four, Lincoln
knew, its crew must be suffering terribly under the
gee-force.  At that acceleration, it could not afford
to change course as quickly as the strike-fighters.  So
far the corvette had not made any mistakes, perhaps two
diving fighters in an apparent suicidal attack would
cause the ship's commander to miscalculate.  "Tonjon,
we have to make him change course, so we bear in as
long as possible before we pull away."
     "Affirmative, Lincoln," answered Tonjon.
     The corvette fired another salvo of ion beams at
the We Dare.  Two managed to hit.  Ginia had been
working her way to the bridge, but the shaking of the
ship and Vark's course changes were throwing her about.
Suddenly, a massive crash of thunder erupted about her
as a shield near her buckled under the charge of an ion
beam.
     Ginia was thrown off her feet by the impact.  She
slid across the deck, her head smashing into a
bulkhead.  Luckily, the hull above her held, but a pool
of blood began to form on the deck where she lay.  It
came from the back of her skull.
     Lincoln and Tonjon bore down on the corvette,
opening fire with their pulsar cannons, scoring hits,
blasting chunks out of the corvette's shielding, but
the warship continued toward the We Dare.  Finally,
Lincoln and Tonjon were forced to veer away before they
impaled their fighters into the corvette's hull.  As
they zipped past the warship, it fired a barrage of ion
beams at them.
     Lincoln banked right, Tonjon left.  The ion beams
still struck both fighters, but where Lincoln's ship
only lost a thruster pod, Tonjon's erupted into a burst
of white hot flame that lasted only a brief moment.
     Lincoln saw Tonjon's death.  Fruli, now Tonjon,
had been exterminated by this ship that had hunted
them.  He would not let this ship kill another.
Lincoln coldly decided what he must do to save his
ship, his spouse and his unborn son.  He tried to bank
his fighter, but the rent in his fuselage from the lost
thruster pod was bleeding his fuel at an alarming rate.
     "Vark," he called to the ship, "Boost out of
range, now!"
     "I have him in my sights, Lincoln," shouted back
the Cassian.
     "Do as I ordered, Vark!  Now!"
     "As you order, Captain," answered Vark as he
looked at Oki and O'Rion on the bridge.  He looked to
the Navigator.  "Do as he says."
     Oki did so, saying, "Gods, why him?"
     O'Rion looked to her and Vark.  "He is not going
to--"
     "Yes," answered Vark, "it is his life for ours."
     "I must get to Ginia," said O'Rion.  "Where is
she?"
     "She was headed to the bridge when we were
attacked," said Oki.
     "I must find her," O'Rion exclaimed, running off
the bridge as fast as his old legs could manage.

     Through a fog, Helm heard a voice.  It said,
"Vark, boost out of range, now!"
     Then another voice came through heavy static, "I
have him in my sights, Lincoln!"
     The first voice spoke again, "Do as I ordered,
Vark!  Now!"
     The voice in the static replied, "As you order,
Captain."
     Helm forced himself to come to, to clear his mind.
Gods, that first voice?  It was Prince Steffon's voice!
     His mind cleared a bit.  Lincoln!  That was what
the droid said Steffon was called.  Helm blinked his
eyes and found his sight was terrifically blurred.  It
was like looking through a cloud.  At his side in the
adjoining acceleration couch was the ash white face of
his commander, his friend.  He strained to turn his
head.  He saw Dax Praggar's acceleration couch.  He
could hear voices.  The Zaian must be monitoring the
Prince's frequency.
     What was it Keipher said?
     Helm racked his confused brain.  Comchannel nine,
he said.  Comchannel nine.
     That switch was on the armrest of his couch.  He
looked down and saw it just a hair away from his right
index finger, but the gee-force made it seem like a
parsec.  He strained to move his finger, but he could
not.
     "Well, Steffon," he heard Dax Praggar's voice say.
"I see you are going to ram me.  Your choice is poor,
Prince.  I shall live while you will not!"
     Helm reached down into his reserve of strength and
tried to move his finger.  He prayed to the Gods of Ol
to give him strength.  Slowly, his finger moved and
pressed the switch for Comchannel Nine.
     Immediately, the ship's boost was cut.  The
gravity bubbles disappeared from the acceleration
couches.  The ship went into zero-gee.
     Helm was still in a swirling confusion, but he
could see the hulking form of Dax Praggar swim out of
his acceleration couch.  He began to move his floating
body toward Helm and Keipher's couches.  It dawned on
Helm that Praggar could continue the fight from either
of them.  He quickly made a decision on pure instinct.
He activated two of the Masulla's automatic modes.
     One was the Abandon Ship Mode.  Suddenly all the
acceleration couches dropped into the decks and were
slapped into waiting lifepods.  They were then ejected
away from the ship into the voids of space.
     The second mode Helm had activated took a little
longer to initiate.  It was procedure in this mode for
the lifepods to have enough time to clear the ship.
Once this was accomplished, the Automatic Destruct
Sequence took over.  In a heartbeat, the Masulla's and
Dax Praggar's atoms were exploding out into the
universe.
     Helm's last conscious thought was relief.  Thank
the Gods, I saved the Prince!

Chapter 22 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 22

     Lincoln had planned on ramming the section of the
corvette where he knew the bridge was located, but as
he bore in on his target, a strange, sinister voice
came over the comnet.
     "Well, Steffon," it said.  "I see you are going to
ram me.  Your choice is poor, Prince.  I shall live
while you will not!"
     Before Lincoln could make anything of the threat,
the warship suddenly lost its boost.  Lincoln was
readjusting his trajectory when lifepods begin to
blossom from the ship.  He knew the vessel was in an
Abandon Ship Mode.  A sixth sense told him to bank
away.  Lincoln did and was soon proved right.  For as
soon as he did, the warship exploded into a ball of
firey light.  Lincoln looked back as the fireball quickly
died
out.
     What had happened, Lincoln did not know, but if
any of those lifepods held living flesh, he planned on
questioning them.
     I want to know why someone would address me as
Prince Steffon?
     "Vark," he hailed the We Dare, "fortune has smiled
on us again."  He was banking around to take a closer
look at the lifepods.  He monitored his fuel reserve.
He had enough to check out a few of the pods before
returning to the We Dare.
     "Vark," he called on the comnet, "I am going to
see if any of these lifepods have survivors."
     Lincoln guided his fighter to the nearest pod.  He
scanned it for any lifesign, but there was none.
     Suddenly, it dawned on him that Vark had not
acknowledged any of his transmissions.  "Vark?
Acknowledge?" he called.
     After two more fruitless calls, Lincoln headed his
fighter back toward the We Dare.  Just as he was
approaching the frigate, Vark called him.
     "Lincoln?"
     "Yes, Vark, what is the problem?"  He could sense
tragedy in the Cassian's voice.
     "It is Ginia, she has been wounded."
     A stab of pain hit his chest.  "How serious?"
     "We found her on Deck Three.  A shield buckled
over her.  The hull held, but the blast threw her into
a bulkhead." answered Vark.  "Oki and O'Rion are with
her now in the infirmary."
     "How serious is she, Vark?"  The Cassian did not
immediately reply.  "Vark, how serious?"
     "It is bad, Lincoln, very bad."
     Lincoln was almost to the ship.  "Is Banda's
fighter refueled?"
     "Yes."
     "Have him launch and check out the lifepods from
that corvette.  I want a survivor to question."
     "Aye, Lincoln.  I will have Banda launch as soon
as you are aboard."
     Lincoln came up to the We Dare and gently docked
with the launch tube.  It cradled his strike-fighter
and drew it inside.  Once inside and settled to the
deck, Lincoln released his canopy and bounded from the
fighter before the air lock had completed its cycle.
He went directly to the entry lock and when the air
pressure equalized, he jerked the hatch open and
entered the ship.  Vark and Banda were waiting for him.
     "I am sorry for you, Lincoln," offered the
Occidental.
     "Is she dead?"
     "No, Lincoln, but she is very weak," said Vark.
     Lincoln looked to Banda.  "Check those lifepods.
I want a survivor!"
     "So do I!" echoed Banda.
     Lincoln quickly walked with Vark to the medical
compartment.  He went inside to find Ginia within a
life cocoon.  Oki was seated by her side.  O'Rion stood
behind the navigator.
     "Oh, Lincoln!" Oki said, looking up at him with
red, teary eyes.
     Lincoln went immediately to the side of the
cocoon.  He could see Ginia's body was almost
completely covered, only her face was visible.  Her
eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow.  It was
as if she were just asleep.
     "How bad is her injury?" he asked without taking
his eyes off his spouse.
     "The back of her skull was shattered.  She is in a
coma," answered Oki.
     Lincoln looked up at several monitors for Ginia's
life functions.  All read within normal limits except
for brain activity.  It barely registered any activity.
There was just a fluttering in the scanline every now
and then.  He looked back down at her.  "What can we do
for her?"
     "Nothing," answered O'Rion, "except pray she does
not suffer."
     "The child?"
     Oki pointed at another bank of monitors.  "He
appears not injured.  All his lifesigns are normal."
     "She is not brain dead," Lincoln said, pointing at
the monitor.  "There is activity."
     "Yes, but it is even lower now than it was when we
put her into the life cocoon," offered Oki.
     "I will not let her die!" Lincoln roared.
     O'Rion went to Lincoln's side.  "Lad, she lives or
dies from her own strength.  There is nothing we can
do."
     "There must be!"  Lincoln looked to the navigator.
"Oki, can you reach down inside her and help her?"
     Before she could answer, O'Rion said, "Lincoln,
that would be dangerous for Oki.  If she were inside
Ginia when she died, it could kill her also."
     "Forgive me, Oki.  I did not think."
     I will try if you want me to, Lincoln," she
offered.
     "No, that would be risking too much."
     "You were going to trade your life for ours, so I
am not afraid of the consequences," Oki said.
     "No."
     "Lad," O'Rion offered, "if it should be her time,
be thankful for the joys you shared.  Oki tells me even
if Ginia passes on, the life cocoon will keep her
bodily functions active until the child is born."
Lincoln did not comment.  O'Rion added, "Be thankful
you will always have a part of her in your son."
     "I would like to be alone with her," said Lincoln.
     "Very well," said O'Rion as he shepherded Oki out
of the compartment.
     Lincoln took the seat by the cocoon.  He reached
down and touched Ginia's cheek.  "You were always
afraid I would leave you, my love.  Now," he said in a
cracking voice, "I am afraid you are leaving me."

     Lieutenant Marrick Helm had believed he was dead,
but he believed he had died a hero's death, saving his
Prince.  Yet he began to slowly realize he was alive
and about to become conscious.  He had the strangest
sensation there was another being in his body, in his
consciousness.  His mind wondered if he was with the
Gods of Ol and they were examining his soul.  He opened
his eyes with a smile on his face, but it faded
quickly.
     Directly above his eyes was a face.  It was not
the face of a God.
     It was a female with the clearest, most
penetrating eyes he had ever looked upon.  She moved
her face back before he could study it and said
something to a figure standing at Helm's feet.  Helm
focused his eyes on the figure.  It was the figure of a
massive man.  Dax Praggar! his mind screamed, but no,
it was not the Zaian.  The man was as huge, but it was
not Praggar.  Helm wanted to feel relief at this, but
the scowl on the big man's face made him feel fear.
     "I will get Lincoln," said the scowling face.  The
big man left through a hatch behind him.
     Helm's sense of touch returned as he felt a
tingling on his skin.  He looked down to see the
female's hands on his bare chest.  He looked up into
her eyes again, realizing she was inside his mind.
     Vark went to the infirmary.  O'Rion was standing
outside the door.  The old man knocked gently on the
hatch.  Shortly, Lincoln appeared.
     "Vark needs you, Lincoln.  I will stay with
Ginia."  Lincoln nodded his head and O'Rion went into
the infirmary.  Lincoln looked to Vark.
     "We have a survivor."
     Coals of fire appeared in Lincoln's eyes.  Vark
was somewhat startled at the rage in Lincoln's face.
"Let us talk with our survivor," said Lincoln in a
voice as hard as the deck they stood upon.
     "He is in Crew Cabin Eight."
     Lincoln walked off toward the crew quarters with
Vark trailing behind him.  The big Cassian was fearful
Lincoln would tear their survivor limb from limb when
they reached the cabin.  They reached the hatch to
Cabin Eight.  Lincoln paused for a moment before he
entered and took several deep breaths.
     Vark was relieved to see his Captain calm himself
somewhat before going inside.  Lincoln opened the hatch
and went inside.
     "Prince Steffon!" cried Helm at the sight of
Lincoln.  "Thank the Gods you live!"
     Lincoln did not answer directly.  He looked to
Oki.  She nodded her head that Helm was being truthful.
Lincoln took a chair and set it beside Helm's bunk.  He
sat down in it and leaned over Helm.
     "Do you not recognize me, Prince Steffon?  I am
Lieutenant Marrick Helm, once one of your Guardsmen,
sire." asked Helm.
     "Why do you address me as Prince Steffon?"
     "Because that is who you are, sire!" snapped back
Helm, then added, "But, of course, you cannot remember
who you are, sire."
     "True, I do not remember my past life before I was
a slave, but what proof do you have I am this Prince
Steffon?  Might I not just resemble him?"
     "No, sire," Helm answered.  "You are Prince
Steffon.  I served in the Royal Guardsmen.  I served at
the Palace for two solars.  I saw you every day, sire.
I was there the day your father killed Karn.  That was
the very day you disappeared."  Helm was rushing to get
out all he could to satisfy his Prince.
     "Where did I disappear from?" asked Lincoln.
     "Your chambers in the Palace, sire."
     "What Palace?"
     "The Royal Palace of Starbonn, sire."
     Lincoln looked to Oki.  She nodded affirmatively.
Lincoln looked back down at Helm.  "If I am your
Prince, then why did your ship try to kill me and my
crew?"
     "That was Dax Praggar's doing, sire.  Mon Terric
made him a Fleet Captain and gave him a Crown
Authorization to command our ship.  He killed off the
entire crew before he--"
     Helm stopped and looked into the Prince's doubting
face.  "Sire, I swear by the Gods of Ol I am telling
the truth!"
     Lincoln looked again to Oki.  She looked back,
saying, "What he says is true in his mind, Lincoln.
Perhaps you are this Prince Steffon."
     "Prince Steffon, there is great danger for your
sister on Starbonn!"
     Lincoln turned back to Helm.  "What sister?"
     "Princess Shera.   Baron Mon Terric is surely
forcing her to join with him to steal your Crown."
Again, Lincoln looked disbelievingly at Helm.  "I speak
the truth, sire!"
     "I must have more proof than your truth," replied
Lincoln.
     "Elbe!" cried Helm.
     "What?" asked Lincoln.
     "Elbe, your droid, sire.  He told me he could
restore your memory!"
     "Tell me, Lieutenant Helm," queried Lincoln,
"where can we find this droid?"

     The voyage back to Cajus IV seemed an eternity to
Lincoln.  He tried to spend every moment at Ginia's
side, but the grief of it all was overpowering.  O'Rion
made him leave the infirmary many times, but Lincoln
found he did not seem to care about the running of the
ship.
     Or sleeping.
     Or eating.
     Or even the possibility of regaining his memory.
     He avoided Helm.  All he could think of was his
dying Ginia.  Then he would return to her side.  Oki
had uncovered Ginia's hand so he could hold it.  All he
could do was watch her angelic face and look up at the
minute flutters on her brain scan monitor.  They
appeared to grow weaker and weaker as he wished
stronger and stronger she would move her hand in his,
give him some sign she would live.  They were almost to
Cajus IV when he drifted off to sleep, still holding
Ginia's hand.
     Oki came by the infirmary and gently knocked on
the hatch.  When there was no answer, she looked inside
to find Lincoln sleeping at Ginia's side.  She went to
the side of the cocoon and glanced up at the brain
scan.  It was almost completely inactive.  She looked
down at her Captain and made a decision.  She gently
took his hand from Ginia's.
     Drawing all her strength, she took the girl's hand
and allowed her mind to flow into Ginia's body.  There
was not any pain, but she found such a terrible
loneliness.  Oki flowed into Ginia's mind.  She heard a
faint request and agreed.
     "Lincoln, my dearest Lincoln?"
     Lincoln came awake with a start as he heard
Ginia's voice.  He found Oki holding Ginia's hand, but
the Lagellian was looking at him.  Oki's face was
different, as if she had acquired Ginia's facial
features.
     "My dear, Oki is letting me speak to you one last
time," said the Lagellian, but the voice was Ginia's.
     Lincoln's eyes watered.  "Ginia, I love you."
     "I know you do, but I must tell you I know who you
were in your past life."
     "I do not care for my past life.  I want you to be
well!" he pleaded.
     "That is not possible, my love.  Listen to me,
please.  I do not have much time."
     Lincoln nodded his head.
     "Dearest, our son will live.  He is strong like
his father, but I fear he may have some of my
deceitfulness."
     "What deceitfulness?"
     "On Cajus IV, the droid that spoke to me knew you
in your past life.  It was not the gray droid I pointed
out.  It was a tall, black droid.  He had the number D-
1518 painted on his chest and back.  You are the Prince
of a great star system."
     "Ginia, there is another who has told me this,"
Lincoln said.
     "Then it is true!"
     "What is true is that you must live!" Lincoln
pleaded.  "Live and I will not need my past life!"
     "No, Lincoln.  You must return to this droid and
regain your memory.  Promise me you will."
     "I promise, Ginia."
     "I was afraid to tell you what I knew.  I was sure
you would leave me."
     "I would never leave you!"
     "I know my Lincoln never would, but you are a
Prince, Prince Steffon."
     "Ginia--"
     "Forgive me for deceiving you, my love.  Please
forgive me?"
     "There is nothing to forgive, Ginia.  Live and we
will go on as before--"
     "No, we cannot go back, Lincoln.  You must go back
to your past with our son.  I am sure your spouse,
Princess Shera, will come to love him as much as I do."
     "Ginia, this Princess Shera, I am told, is not my
spouse.  She is my sister."
     "Thank the Gods.  Then I am your only spouse.".
     "You will always be my only spouse, Ginia,"
promised Lincoln.
     "No, Lincoln.  After time passes, our son will
need a mother.  If you find one worthy of him and
yourself, do not spurn her because of me.  Please
promise me this?"
     "Ginia--  I promise."
     "Oh, Lincoln, I feel myself passing--"
     "Please live, Ginia!"
     "No, I cannot.  I love you, Lincoln."
     "I love you, Ginia."
     "Break the contact with Oki, Lincoln.  Quickly!"
     Lincoln could not move.
     "Quickly, my love.  I must go."
     Lincoln reached up and pulled Ginia's hand from
Oki.
     The Lagellian jerked back, putting her hands over
her face.  She removed them and looked to Lincoln.  She
had regained her facial features.  She said, "I am
fine, Lincoln."
     Lincoln looked down and saw a single tear flowing
out of Ginia's closed right eye.  The tear rolled down
her cheek.  He felt her hand close slightly on his,
then it was still.
     Lincoln looked up at the brain scan.  The monitor
showed a straight, unwavering line across the screen.
Lincoln reached over and touched Ginia on her right
cheek.  He wiped the tear away.  Her cheek was warm,
the same cheek he had kissed and caressed many times.
Though her body still continued the functions of life,
the essence of Ginia's lifesign was gone.  Lincoln bent
over and kissed Ginia on the lips.
     "Good bye, my love," he quietly said.

Chapter 23 follows below

[Bender2]

Steffon of Starbonn
a Sci-Fi/Fantasy Novel
written by
Danny Clay Lee
Copyrighted 1992, 1997 by Danny Clay Lee
All Rights Reserved

Chapter 23

     "1311," ordered Til'Baugh, "start loading those
girders on the tram."
     The droid numbered G-1311 was one of the Work
Captains.  It moved away from the foreman and joined
three other droids.  "Til'Baugh says we are to place
these girders on the tram."
     Without comment, the four robots immediately began
their task.  One of the droids was tall and black.  His
number was D-1518.
     He had been trying to keep his logic circuits from
dwelling on Prince Steffon.  He had found every time
the Prince's image had formed in his memory circuits,
almost unendurable fluctuations began throughout his
system.  It was as if his entire structure was immersed
under a great pressure.
     Therefore, he had tried to suppress his memory
banks by focusing all his logic circuits on working out
the entire numerical value of Pi.  Thus, the jet black
droid was loading the third girder onto a tracked tram
while calculating the one billionth, one hundred
twenty-three millionth, two hundred thirty-nine
thousandth, nine hundred seventeenth decimal place of
Pi when he heard a familiar voice in the distance.
     "That is him, sire!"  Helm pointed at the foursome
loading the tram.  "The tall, black one."
     Elbe could tell the voice came from behind him,
but it was from the direction he was still under orders
not to look upon.  He had no choice but to continue
with his loading.
     Helm, Lincoln, O'Rion and Vark stood at the
barricade surrounding the worksite.
     "Get the foreman," Lincoln said to Vark.
     Without a reply, the Cassian deftly leaped over
the barricade and walked directly to Til'Baugh.  "My
Captain wishes to speak with you."
     Til'Baugh turned expecting to find a droid
speaking to him.  It startled him slightly to find a
huge humanoid standing at his side.  "You are not
supposed to be in this area.  It is restricted."
     "My Captain," Vark said, pointing at Lincoln and
the others at the barricade, "wishes to speak with
you."  The Cassian saw the foreman start to object.
Vark set his face and added in a harsh voice, "And the
Prince does not like to be kept waiting!"
     "The Prince?"  Til'Baugh looked over to the three
men.  "Why didn't you tell me so."  He followed the big
man over to the barricade.  He seem to recognize the
old black man, but not the military officer.
     Evidently, Til'Baugh concluded, the Prince must be
the tall young man between the black and the officer.
He bobbed his head to the man and said, "You wish to
speak with me, Prince?"
     Lincoln was uncomfortable at being addressed so,
but he replied, "Yes, I wish to speak with that droid
over there."  He pointed at the foursome by the tram.
"The one numbered D-1518."
     D-1518?  So that is why the old black looks
familiar, reasoned Til'Baugh.  This Prince must have
been the droid's former master.  Til'Baugh turned and
shouted, "D-1518?  Come here?"
     Elbe heard Til'Baugh's command and turned
immediately to find the strangest sensation of
exhilaration at the image of Prince Steffon looking
toward him from the barricade.  In a flash, his strong
legs took him to the barricade.
     Til'Baugh jumped back a bit, surprised at the
droid's charge and somewhat fearful the robot would not
stop until it trampled all of them.
     Yet the droid came to a halt without harming
anyone.  Til'Baugh looked at the others, they had not
moved a muscle.  Uneasy at his show of fear before
strangers, he said, "1518, the Prince wishes to speak
to you."
     Elbe had been looking at his charge.  Physically,
he had not changed much.  The Prince's physique was
still impressive.  His hair and beard were styled
differently, yet his face seemed hardened by his
experiences.  Lines crossed his forehead and crow's-
feet showed in his squint.  There were dark circles
under Steffon's eyes and a great grief glowed from
them.
     "My Prince, allow me to restore you memory." said
Elbe.
     "You are called Elbe?" asked Lincoln.
     "I am, sire."
     "You are sure I am this Prince Steffon," Lincoln
nodded at Helm, "that Lieutenant Helm swears I am?"
     "You certainly are, my Lord."
     Lincoln turned to the foreman.  "I wish to
purchase this droid."
     "You will have to go to the consortium
headquarters to do that," answered Til'Baugh.
     "Tell me, foreman," Lincoln asked, "what do you
estimate the sales price of this droid?"
     "Headquarters would have to set a price.  I
couldn't do that without authorization."
     Vark produced a one thousand credit voucher and
pressed it into Til'Baugh's hand.  "Will this do?"
     "The droid is worth much more than this." answered
Til' Baugh.
     Vark opened his palm to reveal a thick wad of
credit vouchers.  "How much is he worth?"
     Til'Baugh eyed the wad of bills.  He could see a
ten thousand voucher around the rest.  He quickly
decided he could post the droid was destroyed in a
mishap.  It had happened before.  "I think twenty,
twenty-five thousand."
     "Give him thirty," ordered Lincoln.
     Vark peeled off three ten thousand credit vouchers
and handed them to the foreman.  "We will need the
droid's controller," he added.
     By Falla's shame! thought Til'Baugh, I forgot
about the control device.  He held the bills back out
to Vark.  "I am sorry, but you will have to go to
headquarters.  They have the controllers there for all
the droids."
     "Prince Steffon?" said Elbe.
     "Yes?"
     "Sire, I will be able to construct a controller,
if you wish.  Or I can instruct you how to remove the
control circuit from my chestplate.  But, If you wish
for me to leave with you now, all that will be required
is for the foreman to give me a direct command to go
and obey you."
     Lincoln looked to the foreman.  "Well?"
     Til'Baugh looked down at the credit vouchers still
in his hand.  He did not hesitate.  "1518, I release
you from your work orders.  You will go and obey the
Prince's every command.  And you will never, ever
return to this worksite."
     "I will do as you say, Til'Baugh," answered the
droid with joy in its voice.
     "Then come with us, Elbe," said Lincoln.
     Vark and Elbe leaped over the barricade and
followed Lincoln, O'Rion and Helm down the alleyway.
     "Elbe," Lincoln asked, "how will you restore my
memory?"
     "I will construct another Mind Shielder, my Lord."
     "A Mind Shielder?"
     "Yes, Sire.  It is the device that blocks your
memory, but the Mind Shielder can also remove the
block."
     "Do you believe this planet has the necessary
materials to build this device?"
     "I do, Sire.  It is not the rarity of the
materials, but the construction process that is
difficult," answered the droid.
     "How long will it take you to built this
contraption?" asked Lincoln.
     "When I have all the materials, I can construct a
Mind Shielder in a solar day."
     "Elbe," commanded Lincoln, "go with Vark and Helm.
Find the things you need.  O'Rion and I will be
returning to the ship."
     "I should stay at your side, my Prince.  It is my
prime function," answered Elbe.
     Lincoln stopped walking and swung about to face
the droid.  "I do not remember you, so forgive me if I
do not seem to understand what all you and Helm speak
of, but I order you to do as I say.  Will you do that,
or do I return you to that worksite?"
     "I will do as you say, my Lord," replied Elbe.
     Without further comment, Lincoln turned and walked
away with O'Rion at his side.
     "Once you restore his memory, Elbe," said Helm,
"the Prince will be his old self."
     "I hope you are right, Lieutenant Helm." said the
droid.

     O'Rion stepped out of the infirmary's hatch and
noticed Oki coming down the passageway.
     She stopped by him.  "The droid says he has the
device ready for Lincoln."
     "I pray this works, Oki."  He looked back at the
hatch.  "Perhaps his past memory will help relieve some
of the grief he cannot unburden."
     "Of course, from what Helm and droid have told me,
it may just add more.  Lincoln--  The Prince will have
to deal with the death of his father and his sister's
situation."
     O'Rion looked to the Lagellian.  "You have been
inside his mind, Oki.  Do you believe he is strong
enough to take the additional burden?"
     "I do not know, O'Rion.  Our Captain is a most
dynamic individual.  He has one of the strongest minds
I have ever encountered, but the humanoid brain is a
complicated thing.  Some minds can take the strain of
the universe and cope.  Most reach a breaking point and
recover.  Others reach that breaking point and snap.
You have seen how he has taken Ginia's death.  This
additional strain he will soon remember could drive him
insane."
     "He will not want Ginia's body left alone," said
the old Negroid.  "I will stay, but you go with him to
this encounter.  If you feel his mind reaching the
breaking point, can you do something for him?"
     "I will try, if he will let me."
     "That is all any of us can do, Oki."  O'Rion went
back into the infirmary.  He found Lincoln still
sitting by the life cocoon holding Ginia's hand.
Before long, the girl's body would birth the child.
Then, hoped O'Rion, he would let them dispose of
Ginia's remains.  It was killing Lincoln to see her day
after day.
     O'Rion walked to the cocoon and put his hand on
the young man's shoulder.  "The droid says all is
ready."
     Lincoln stood up, still looking into the cocoon.
"A part of me wishes to know my past, but I cannot help
but wish I could have gone on with my present life with
her."
     "That is normal," said O'Rion, "but that option is
over.  You must face your past and the dangers it will
offer."
     "I wish we were all on our way to Terra."
     "Lad--  No, you are no longer a lad.  You are a
man.  And you must face your destiny as a man."
     "I must," Lincoln said after a while.  He looked
back at the cocoon.  "I must for her sake and for the
sake of my son."
     "Admitting what you must do is half the battle."
     "Still, I wanted so to take you and her to Terra."
Lincoln still looked back at the cocoon.
     "We will go to Terra someday," replied O'Rion.
     "Yes, we will," said Lincoln, turning his face and
looking into O'Rion's eyes.
     "We will go after you deal with your past."
O'Rion placed his hands on the lad's shoulders and
guided him to the hatch.  "Go find yourself, son.  I
will stay with her."
     Lincoln wrapped his arms about the old Negroid and
held him for a moment.  He broke his embrace.  "In many
ways, you have been Lincoln's father.  Now, I must
become this Prince who has lost his father."
     "Lad, no matter what name or title you ever go by,
I will always be there if you need me."
     "Thank you, O'Rion."
     O'Rion patted the lad on the shoulder and opened
the hatch.  "Go, Lincoln.  Go find Prince Steffon."
     Lincoln gave a long look back to the life cocoon,
then walked out of the infirmary.  O'Rion closed the
door and went to sit beside Ginia's body.

     Steffon opened his eyes.  Directly over his face
was a disk.  He saw a droid's hand reach over and swing
the disk back from over his face.  He turned and saw
Elbe standing by him.  Steffon was lying on his back,
so he sat up and looked at the droid.  Behind Elbe
stood Helm, Vark and Oki.
     "How do you feel, my Lord?" the droid asked.
     Steffon started to reply when he realized he remembered. 
He remembered everything!
     His life on Starbonn.
     Father.  Oh, poor Father!
     Shera--  Karn--
     The Mind Shielder.
     Elbe's role in masking his memory.
     O'Rion.
     The slave depths of Rovin.
     Vark.
     Oki.
     Tonjon and Fruli's deaths.
     Ginia, my poor Ginia!
     My unborn son.
     But most of all, Steffon remembered Mon Terric's
hand in causing all his pain and suffering!
     Oki focused all her concentration into watching
the Prince.  She was trying to reach out to his mind
without the normal physical contact required.  She
could see he was remembering all the things they had
been through and the tragedy of his past.  The
Lagellian could feel his pain and rage, but she was
afraid it was overloading his mind.  She walked to his
side and put a hand on his shoulder.  She could feel
his rage, all the emotions he felt.  Suddenly, those
churning feelings were suppressed.  His mind became
very calm.
     Steffon put his hand over her's and looked into
her face.  "I am fine, Oki."
     She smiled back at him.  "I know you are now,
Prince Steffon."
     Steffon slid off the slab and began barking
orders.  "Vark, you and Lieutenant Helm are to go to
the surrounding shipyards.  I want you to find the
fastest ship available.  Spend whatever you must.  I
want a ship ready to boost as soon as possible."
     Helm snapped to attention.  Vark followed his
lead, saying, "At once, Prince Steffon."  They turned
and filed out of the compartment.
     "Oki, you are to plot me a course directly to
Starbonn at Boost Four."
     She started to object, but realized it would not
matter.  "I will, sire."
     "Elbe, come with me."
     "Yes, my Lord."
     The droid followed Steffon to the infirmary.  They
entered and O'Rion looked up at the lad.  He could tell
at a glance, a change had taken place.
     O'Rion stood and bowed, "Prince Steffon, I am at
your command."
     "I am still who I was, O'Rion, Prince or not."  He
put a hand to the Negroid shoulder and shook him
gently.
     Steffon turned to Elbe.  "Tell me, are you
familiar with these life cocoons?"
     "Somewhat, sire.  I would only require a few
moments in the central computer to know all there is to
its functions.  Do you wish me to modify it, my Lord?"
     "No, Elbe, but this woman was my spouse.  All her
brain activity has ceased, but I wish to know if there
is any possibility of using the technology of the Mind
Shielder to bring her brain back to life?"
     "No, my Lord.  Once the humanoid brain stops
functioning, death is irrevocable.  There is nothing
within my knowledge to restoring humanoid life."
     Steffon looked down at Ginia.  "I expected not,"
he said in an emotional tone, "but I had still hoped--"
     "I will still try, my Lord, if you wish," offered
the droid.
     "No, Elbe, I must accept that Ginia has passed
from my life."  Steffon did not speak for a few
moments.  He lowered his head as if he were offering a
prayer.
     O'Rion placed his arm about Steffon.  "It is good
that you accept that.  Now you must unburden your
grief."
     "I know that now, O'Rion," Steffon answered.
     "When will we be leaving for Starbonn, Sire?"
asked the droid.
     "You will not be going with me, Elbe," answered
the Prince in a firm tone, raising his head.  "Vark and
Lieutenant Helm will accompany me there."
     The droid objected.  "But, Prince Steffon, it is
my prime function to guard you!"
     "No, Elbe, it is not anymore.  With my father's
death, I am now the Lord Protector."
     Steffon looked down at the outline of Ginia's
swollen stomach.  "She carries my son in her womb,
Elbe.  He is now your charge."
     "I understand, my Lord."
     "You will stay here on Cajus IV until the child is
born.  O'Rion and Oki will stay and assist you.  After
the birth, you will bring the Prince Protector and this
ship to Starbonn."
     "I shall do as you say, my Lord," answered Elbe.
     O'Rion said, "Lad, surely you cannot just return
to Starbonn with only Vark and Helm to protect you.
There must be great danger from this man who usurped
your Crown?"
     "There is only a great danger for him," replied
Steffon with cold fury in his voice.  "Mon Terric owes
me for too many deaths!"

Chapter 24 follows below