Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) (10 page)

“And your propensity to speaking about the human race as if you weren't a member of it,” she huffed.

“Maybe I'm not human at all. Maybe I am one of those failed Azuren experiments who hide amongst the human population. Or maybe I'm something else entirely.”

“Feeling a bit dramatic today?”

“Perhaps just whimsical.”

“Good, so am I,” Salena said. Quick, even for her age, she grabbed Filipov's arm and drew it towards her as her other hand reached for a blade hidden in her robe. With great precision, she cut a neat line just a a few centimeters in length up his forearm.

Filipov neither flinched nor reacted in any noticeable manner even as the wound began to ooze blood. Salena frowned slightly that she didn't elicit the reaction she was hoping for. Then again, Filipov could have killed her before she'd even reached halfway for his arm if he'd cared to.

“There, see. It's red, not blue! Just like the rest of us. Looks like you're not an Azuren,” she said.

Filipov regarded the wound like it was nothing more than an annoying itch. The blood began to flow down his arm, but he was quiet until the trickle reached his wrist. “It seems you have shown me to be a liar once again. I guess I am merely human after all,” he said, feigning dejection.

“Indeed,” Salena responded matter of factly as she returned the hidden blade. “I want you on the surface of Magdeborg and transmitting to us the disposition of House Sørensen and the Sten House Guard as soon as possible. We may come under fire from Magdeborg's defense fleet and be delayed.”

Dmitri lowered his arm, but did nothing to staunch the blood flow. Salena found his nonchalance about the wound to be disturbing. It was not serious, but it was not something to be ignored either. All intelligence agents were required to have anti-interrogation training which included torture sessions to find an agent's breaking points. He claimed he could feel no pain, and attempts to torture him in the past did not reveal any pain threshold for him. In fact, Salena thought he might have seemed to enjoy it. She rather admired his power over pain, but wondered privately if he had lost a bit of his humanity in the process. If one felt no pain one could not recognize the pain in others. He did not have empathy because he could not physically understand suffering.

Sounds like an Azuren,
she thought.

“If that's the case, Houses Sten and Sørensen will likely have time to rally their forces to repel your invasion,” Dmitri said in his flat gravelly voice. “There will be nothing I can do to help you. Perhaps it would be wise to look for allies.”

“Magnus will marry Kendra on Magdeborg soon after we arrive. House Mason must be tied to us by blood, but I don't want to call upon them just yet. I've made some promises to them, but I want to hold on to what they owe me a little longer. We must minimize the number of actors.”

“Magnus will have a fight on his hands then.”

“We will
all
have a fight on our hands, Dmitri. Your job is to limit the scale of that conflict if we get to that point.”

Dmitri glanced in her direction. “Of course, my Lady. And your son?”

“What of him?”

“You have always hesitated to give Magnus the battles he wants. You have always feared for him. Coddled him. It's started to damage his reputation among his soldiers. Who respects a general who has never fought?”

“Be careful, Dmitri,” she warned, feeling her neck and face warm with embarrassment. She'd been accused of coddling him before, but only by her family, never by Dmitri.

“You think he can break House Sørensen? Destroy Conrad's knights?” Dmitri pressed.

Salena looked away. She watched the other naval personnel scurrying around the deck below.
Can Magnus and House Teton beat the Sørensens in battle? Magnus has never been in combat against a major house before. He could be killed. Or worse, he could be a coward.

She felt her heart leap into her throat and she coughed to cover her sudden shiver.
Cassandra would inherit the throne, the sly, diplomatic one, rather than the general. I love my daughter, but she is not a leader. Magnus must destroy the Sørensens and live.

“He'll do his job,” she said finally with more confidence than she felt.
He's never been tested like this before though,
she thought.

“And the children Dietrich Sørensen mentioned. What of them?”

Salena had debated with herself whether to reveal the nature of Dietrich's conversation to Dmitri. Ultimately, she had believing his assistance in determining the veracity of Dietrich's claims would be useful.

“I've already sent several agents to look for them,” she said finally. Assassination was not a tool she had used before, but this was not a time for mistakes. “No lose ends,” she added.

“Of course, Duchess. I'll send my best men,” he smiled as if the coming deaths would give him pleasure.

“Now get out of here, cretin,” she snapped.

Dmitri showed no sign of being annoyed at the sudden dismissal and left the bridge. She noticed a small stain and trail on the white floor where he allowed the blood to drip from his fingers.

What a bizarre little man.

Salena watched the magnificent images of the Teton ships, took comfort in the power and strength they represented, float slowly in space around the massive star. They had a certain beauty she found appealing, beautiful in their own right like a face only a mother could love. She started to understand how warriors claimed to love their machines of war.

But I see them as means to an end. And that end lies just a few light years from here. One quick jump then a battle that will put the Commonwealth in my hands, protected from the tyranny of the Sørensens.

Salena sighed as a warning klaxon blared, declaring an imminent jump. She braced herself against the strategic tank. The jump took only a few seconds as the ship slid through the gravity well as the station dragged the Danvers and Magdeborg stars together. Salena felt the sickening lurch and squeezing sensation as the ship cut a small hole in the fabric of space and slipped through.

Salena gripped the railing tightly as she experienced the free falling sensation. She likened it to the sensation of missing a step, that brief second of sheer terror as the brain misjudged the distance and, expecting solid ground, found only air. Except this sensation did not last a moment, but several very long ones. She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swept over her. The pit of her stomach whirled, but she held tight, waiting for space to reform itself around her.
I hate all this moving around. Once we establish ourselves on Magdeborg I can settle in. No more jumping for this Duchess.

Space finally returned to normal as the entire Teton fleet reemerged on the other side of the tunnel to the region just above Magdeborg's star, the view screens adjusting for the increased brightness. The crew below burst into frenzied activity, checking to make sure all the ships made it through. They were very aware that Salena had lost her own father to a misjump and so they took great care in making each jump as safe as possible.

Salena slowly loosened her grip on the railing and breathed deeply. Her stomach settled. Neither of her children ever seemed particularly troubled by the warping of space time. They didn't carry the weight of Haakon's loss and of the future of their house just yet. Today would change them both as they took a step into the huge world beyond Danvers and House Teton-Sten. They would be given real responsibility, real maturity and a place as a power player in Commonwealth politics.

Oh, to be young again
, Salena thought bitterly as she turned from the tank and the crew below. She had to make herself presentable to accept the Commonwealth crown after Magnus crushed the Sørensens and placed House Teton-Sten into its rightful seat of power.

Kristoffer

Captain of the
MacCleod

Garda Station, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth

______________

After Claire had settled in and begun to set up her quarters on the
MacCleod
, she insisted on being shown around the station. After a debate, he relented, but refused to take her to the seedier more dangerous areas in the station's belly. First, he showed her the public ship docks and watched the ships come and go, pointing out which ones belonged to the most powerful corporations and Commonwealth military. On the way back to the
Cleod's
berth they walked through one of the larger galleries lined with shops and restaurants for travelers and tourists. Most were empty as the public fled in anticipation of the Dominion assault. Many people evacuated after the execution of the Theorist feeling invasion imminent. The Dominion would never dare damage a station, but fear was a powerful weapon. Despite the emptiness, Claire seemed to want to poke her head into every nook and cranny.

She frowned when she emerged from a shop that bravely remained open to see his arms crossed and fingers drumming on his biceps. “What are you so nervous about?”

“We've got a deadline to make,” he said sharply.

“Tomorrow,” she reminded him. “Stop being so uptight.”

Chris was about to respond, but stopped when the tiny crowd suddenly murmured excitedly. Between the bodies he could see flashes of blue and white and as the crowd quieted the stomping of boots echoed through the chamber. When the marching party turned the crowds parted for them like a school of fish breaking apart to evade a predator. Suddenly Chris and Claire were on the front line and the reason for the crowd's trepidation became clear.

Three Commonwealth knights and their retinues were headed towards the private ship hangars from the direction of the Azuren Legate's suites at the peak of the station. They did not speak, nor even acknowledge the existence of the common class around them, although their bodyguards carried heavy weapons and pushed back anyone deemed too close. The knights, all male, wore their full formal dress in their respective house colors complete with a flowing cape and swords hanging from their hips. The largest knight was obviously a member of House Sten in his blue and white armor, though his hair was dyed black and red. The center smaller knight wore a combination of black and green and the third quartered mustard and burgundy armor

“Who is that?” Claire asked, raising her hand to point at the monstrous man. An obvious foreigner, the youngest of the knights was not as well known around Goteborg.

Chris grabbed her forearm roughly and shoved it back down. “That's Sir Aaron Mercer-Sten, the second in command of the Goteborg defense army. Don't point at them. Ever.”

Claire nodded and studied the nobles with an academic eye.
This is too new for her. She's spent too much time away from the real universe that she's forgotten the rules.

Suddenly Chris felt a brushing past his leg and a child darted out into the path of the warriors. He collided heavily with the leg of the large man with the black and red hair. The child rebounded in a heap to the floor. The Commonwealth knight, caught mid-stride, stumbled for a moment, appeared to be about to collapse, but recovered with a militant swiftness.

The crowd, already silent, caught its collective breath.

“Stupid, ignorant little bastard!” The Commonwealth knight raged, finding the child trying to scamper away through the capes and cloaks of the bodyguard. He caught the child by the shirt and dragged him out from behind Sir Aaron. He couldn't have have been more than eight, dressed as a spacer mechanic's apprentice and covered in the oil and grease that marked the profession. His slick apparel allowed him to slip through the big knight's fingers, drop to the floor and hurry into the crowd where he found refuge behind Chris' leg.

The knight followed, stomping like some terrible giant.

“Move peasant,” he hissed at Chris. The boy tightened his grip around Chris' legs and the crowd backed off, except for Claire who immediately closed ranks and stood shoulder to shoulder with her brother.

Maybe it was the sudden confidence of the backup or just a momentary lapse of common sense, but Chris didn't budge. “He's just a child, surely no threat to you, sir,” he said.

The huge knight's fist appeared for just a fraction of a second before it collided with Chris' face with a sickening crunch. The blow lifted the young spacer off the floor for a moment before he collapsed. Chris hit the deck hard and rolled slowly to a sitting position. His ears buzzed and his eyes completely lost their focus. His vision swam and he felt like he was going to be sick. Dimly he was aware of a huge shadow looming over him.

“Pitiful,” he heard. Claire was clinging to the knight's arm, preventing him from swinging again and he shrugged her off with a shake of his wrist. He reached for Chris when the big knight was suddenly jerked backwards.

“That's enough, Slader,” the knight in the blue and green said calmly. He grabbed him by the arm and tried to haul him away.

“Do not touch me, mix blood!” Slader sneered at him, catching his feet and reaching for his blade. The guards worked quickly to surround the knights, but hesitated in trying to break up the dispute.

“Go back to your ship,” Sir Aaron ordered.

“Why do you protect these pitiful underthings? They are not worth our blood.” Slader spat a huge globule on the floor then turned on his heel to storm out of the gallery his guard beating hastily at his heels.

“You really ought to be more careful,” Sir Aaron said flatly to Chris before following the route Sir Slader had taken from the gallery as the crowds slowly began to disperse. Some lingered to point Chris out to those who missed the spectacle and whispered intensely to each other.

“Chris?” A strangely familiar voice asked.

The third knight, the one in the Evers colors, halted and looked down at him.

“In the name of Amrah, it is you!” He reached out a hand and hauled Chris to his feet.

“Ian!”

Sir Ian Evers, the knight who'd bought him the
MacCleod
in thanks for his help at the university, hugged him tightly, somewhat mindful of his wounds. His sandy brown hair was brushed up perfectly groomed in the Evers' style, his face was still soft, despite his military upbringing. He hadn't seen real combat, yet.

“And Claire! I haven't seen you in years,” he said.

Claire smiled thinly. She offered him an awkward hug that seemed lacking in warmth. Claire looked away after stepping back. Ian cleared his throat.

Chris raised an eyebrow for a moment, watching their childish interaction.
I haven't seen blood that bad since the Manderheim Rebellion. It might even have resulted in fewer casualties.

“How's your head?” Ian asked Chris.

Chris tenderly touched his face and winced. “I got hit by an expanding cargo panel on the
Cleod
once that hurt less.”

Ian laughed. “How's she doing?”

“Well enough. We've been in station for a month, but we're taking off for a job tomorrow. What brings you here?” Chris asked, looking at the other knights' retreating forms. “With them?” He added.

Ian shrugged. “They wanted me to introduce them to Ojressi, the legate. I guess they're looking for someone, but wouldn't tell me who. Privileged information or something. That Slader fellow is a real piece of work.”

He turned again to Claire. “What about you? Been following him all over the Goteborg Duchy?”

Claire swallowed and considered her answer. “I've been away for a few years. Doing my own thing.”

Ian chuckled awkwardly. “You always did prefer doing your own thing.”

She nodded.

“When we get back you should join us sometime on the
Cleod
,” Chris said. “It's been too long.”

Ian tried to smile, but seemed weighed down. “Yeah. If I can get away. We've been on high alert for months. Ever since Haberton fell. Maybe things will calm down by then?”

“I hope so.”

“In a few weeks then?” Ian asked, holding out a hand.

Chris took it warmly. “We'll be here.”

“I hope you'll join us, Claire,” he said with a curt nod.

“Okay.”

Ian paused, clearly hoping for a better answer. When he got none he said, “I gotta go. Stay safe, guys. Walk with Amrah.”

Sir Ian hurried after the other knights, his bodyguard rattling in tow.

“You could be nicer to him,” Chris said.

Claire shrugged then inspected his wounds. “What happened is done with. Now let me see.”

He pushed her away in his embarrassment, but she held firm. “I'm a doctor, now stop it.”

“I don't need a doctor,” he whined ineffectively.

After a few moments she announced, “I don't see any missing teeth, but a few look like they're broken. We'll need to fix that when we get back to the ship.”

“Later. I need a drink,” Chris grunted, leading her away from the gallery and into the deeper sections of the station he refused to take her to earlier.