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

by Brian Frederico

  “Close where?” Kerali asked.

  “To the Core. The Azuren are most powerful around the Tri-Sphere, Unclaimed space, and the human colonies in the states surrounding it. Goteborg is a major hub and the Azuren and their cronies watch it closely. They prefer sticking to the safety of unoccupied star systems and areas of low Averi presence.”

  “Maybe he wanted to be found?” Chris suggested.

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Theorists aren't known for being martyrs. He's not one of the pedants, his head isn't shaved,” she added. “He's a soldier.”

  “The Theorists have a military wing?” Chen asked.

  “They're called Praxis,” Claire explained. “They launch attacks against the Azuren and do the labor intensive activities for the Theorists.”

  “What are they going to do?” Nick asked, looking at the restrained man.

  “Execute him,” Claire said grimly. “Azuren don't tolerate dissension. If he's a Starfield Theorist like they claim, it's not going to be pretty.”

  “He strayed from The Path and insulted Amrah. This is only right and proper,” Chen said. Kerali nodded in agreement as Claire blinked in shock.

  Chris had seen Azuren forms of execution before. One of the most popular and effective was the cage. It was a simple wire-frame device, conical with a rounded tip, much like a bird cage. The first time he saw it used was on Goteborg when a convicted murderer had been placed inside and hoisted above the city square, a very public reminder that those who broke the law were in turn broken themselves. Chris remembered him begging for his life, pleading with those who walked below him to save him. But Chris did nothing, and he kept walking, trying to ignore him. He was left there until he died, a slow painful death days later, but the punishment had its intended effect; Chris never forgot it.

  The other incident was the space-based version of the same punishment. This much harsher form was done to an alleged Starfield Theorist outside of the Yteria station. He had been placed in a cage, then ejected outside an Azuren ship and left to float, cabled to the main hangar while incoming ships passed below him. When Chris and his crew were returning from a job, he remembered looking up through the cockpit glass at the frozen, broken body. The man had died of exposure, his blood slowly boiling in his body in the low pressure. Fortunately, Chris did not have to hear his cries for help that time, then again, seeing a caged frozen corpse floating in space was not exactly preferable, either.

  Legate Ojressi shouted for silence and slowly the din abated. His voice was amplified by a microphone at his throat linked to massive speakers rigged throughout the hangar and the rest of the station. Usually they were used to announce the arrival and departure of ships, but today the Azuren took complete control of the system. Cameras mounted on small, mobile, hovering discs floated around the hangar, recording the event for replay on news stations across the Core. Most were trained on the platform and the victim-to-be while others watched the crowds, partially for their reaction, but also likely to watch for sympathizers who might interrupt the proceedings.

  Legate Ojressi held up his arms and stepped forward slowly as if calming the crowd. “We live in troubling times,” Ojressi bellowed in his guttural voice. “The great states are at war and dangerous terrorists and violent belligerents are killing indiscriminately. Here we have caught one such individual. He has been preaching violence and death and he has spoken blasphemy against Amrah's Path! He has denied the existence of the precursor races and the salvation they achieved! No longer can we allow this to continue!”

  Ojressi began to pace the platform like a caged animal, his voice booming so much so that Chris flinched. The bead strand in his long white hair bounced and twirled wildly as he moved.

  “The Starfield Theorists remain a dangerous enemy to Azuren and human alike! Last week, they bombed an Azuren convoy moving through this system, killing a dozen brave Averi. He does not care whom he kills so long as it brings anarchy, disorder, and destruction!

  “We have caught this terrorist fleeing from our agents across the stars. We found this Vagabond who has strayed from The Path plotting a violent attack on this very station. Our pact with Amrah demands we protect the humans from the violence of the Vagabonds and today we have fulfilled that pact yet again! No longer can we allow this blight to threaten us all! No longer shall we sit idly by! Today, we shall take our vengeance on those who would disrupt all we have done! The Vagabond murderers will no longer threaten innocent civilians and the stability Amrah so rightfully demands!”

  Ojressi turned to the prisoner. “Do you have any last words, heathen?”

  There was a brief silence, then, “I am but one of many. If you kill me, a dozen more will take my place. You sow the seeds of your own destruction.”

  Ojressi paused, seemingly stunned that he would even dare speak. He recollected himself quickly. “Nothing more than violence and death! Amrah's will be done!”

  Ojressi stormed over to one of his associates who handed him a ring-shaped device. It was a single metal circle with a strip of lighting along the sides. It was large enough to fit over a human head, like a crown, Chris realized with a sick feeling. It was a bold attempt at mocking the human nobility. What gave the human heads of state their power could also kill them. The Azuren returned to the prisoner who did not struggle as he placed the ring around his head. An eerie nervous shuffle flowed through the crowd like wave.

  “Without the guidance of Amrah you shall never find The Path! You shall never find The Bridge nor achieve the solace of the realm beyond! Only by Amrah's will shall you find peace!”

  The ring glowed brightly, but silently for several seconds as the prisoner jerked backward then collapsed to his knees. Those restraining him strained to hold him as he spasmed violently. He struggled not to cry out in pain, gasping and panting until he began to froth at the mouth. He fell forward then remained still. The ring stopped glowing, but Ojressi waited a few more seconds before removing it.

  Holding it above his head like some sacred relic he cried, “This is the fate that awaits those who stray from The Path!” The other white-clad figures darted forward and dragged the dead Theorist from the stage while Ojressi returned the ring to its case and sealed it.

  “That's barbaric,” Claire said quietly.

  Yeah, but it worked, Chris thought. Aloud he said, “Kerali, take Claire back to the ship and show her the quarters we have available and the medical station. Nick and I are going to talk to Drayton.”

  Kerali took Claire by the arm and gently led her away as the crowd swallowed them. “Come on, I'll try to find whatever is left for space on the Amrah damned ship,” Kerali said.

  “And Chen-”

  “I'm looking for the nearest bar,” he said quickly. His skin had taken on a pallor of death and he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. His tattoos glimmered so wildly that it pained Chris' eyes to look at him.

  “I need you to be in flying shape, Chen,” Chris said firmly. “No more 'incidents.' Do you hear me?”

  Chen's face stiffened. “We gotta get off this station. This is killing me. Besides, I need something after that.”

  “Be fit or don't come back. Drayton says he has something lined up and we may need to leave immediately. I'm not wasting another month here just because our pilot couldn't cope. Got it?”

  Chris narrowed his brow and stood as he'd seen the nobles command authority at the university do: hands on hips, feet apart, shoulders straight. He gave the pilot a look of withering disapproval and held it.

  Chen was usually reliable, but often had thin skin and a weak temperament. The simplest disturbance or moment of boredom often drove him to drinking which had led to trouble in the past. Chen bit his lower lip and nodded then skulked out with the crowd.

  Chris breathed a sigh of relief then pushed his way through the throngs with Nick following closely.

  “Nice job,” Nick said.

  “I hope he keeps his promise.”

  As the huge number of people lef
t the hangar, they spoke in hushed whispers. Some seemed to be crying, others debating furiously over the nature and legality of executing Starfield Theorists, but most remained silent, too afraid or overwhelmed to discuss what they'd seen. The camera drones were still floating around the hangar, and Chris was sure they were listening closely. Ojressi would be looking to make sure the spectacle had the intended effects.

  The group moved in silence and the crowds slowly began to dissipate as they went deeper into the station. Some went back to their offices but many more crammed into the bars, strip clubs, and other entertainment stops in the higher levels. Obviously, the event had stirred up the station's population and disturbed them greatly enough to seek some sort of distraction. He hoped Chen would keep his word.

  Chris tried to push the sight from his mind. He had no business dealing with Starfield Theorists and their activities neither interested nor concerned him. He'd had enough of both of their propaganda and secret dealings. The Azuren were no saints, but they didn't carry out terror attacks like the Theorists. He hoped the day's events wouldn't galvanize Claire to do or say anything stupid. Maybe it'd help rein in her wayward personality. What was it the Azuren called the Theorist? A Vagabond...a wanderer. One who strayed from The Path.

  Drayton's offices were located deep in the station where the less wealthy corporations kept their headquarters. He was none too happy to settle for such accommodations, but he did splurge to purchase the firm its own docking facility to which Kerali was taking his sister. Drayton Logistics and Transportation was small, barely a blip on the interstellar commerce radar, but he liked to think he was much more influential than he actually was. Much of the corporation's income seemed to be used to display wealth such as the lavish offices and private hangar rather than being reinvested into the company to generate more income. As much as Chris tried to offer Drayton business advice, the old CEO would have none of it. He insisted appearances helped get them jobs, but that assessment fell on deaf ears when Chris and his crew spent too many weeks docked and his crew tended to find himself some ways to occupy themselves.

  The halls in this sector of the station were nearly empty except for a few spacers who kept their eyes down and avoided showing any interest in anyone else. It was simply safer that way. Chris hit the switch at the door to the Drayton offices. A buzzer sounded and Chris let himself in.

  Drayton walked into the lounge at the front of his office, smiling broadly.

  “Ah good, I'm so glad to see you both!” He exclaimed cheerily, and offered them seats in plush chairs surrounding a rich wood table. A glass decanter sat at its center full of a brown liquor probably from Goteborg's distilleries. He poured each of them a drink and pushed the fine glass cups in their hands.

  “You're unusually happy,” Chris commented then took a sniff of the liquor.

  “Our fortunes are about to change my friend,” he said cryptically and kicked one leg over the other looking quite relaxed.

  Chris guessed Drayton was in his late 60s, barely middle age for humans. His head was balding and his remaining hair was turning gray. He wasn't particularly vain and actually decided to wear glasses to aid his vision rather than to have it surgically corrected. He claimed they made him look more refined and confident. Though they really come off as looking archaic and add another twenty years to his face.

  Drayton kept a spacious office for himself, apparently believing that the luxury befit a man of his stature inflated as it was. The rooms were intentionally kept dark so that lighted wall photos of ships drew the eye's attention. The ships ranged in purpose from the huge trading vessels to the massive Commonwealth warships, clear indicators of the kind of powers Drayton wished he had. Chris understood Drayton had been a former technician before becoming a spacer – though his tattoos had long since faded away – which probably fueled his fascination of space vessels.

  On the far wall was a massive fully lit star map. Each of the thousands of stars humanity inhabited was a lit point. There were no lines on the map indicating the borders of the human states, emphasizing his philosophy that business transcended political boundaries. Chris gradually became subscriber of that philosophy as well, but he found he had trouble orienting himself with the lack of the familiar borderlines.

  “We've been in port for weeks. It's been tricky keeping people busy,” Chris admitted.

  “Yes, I heard about your medical officer's adventure,” Drayton said frowning, the gesture enhanced by thick jowl lines. “I understand his replacement arrived today?”

  “My sister. She has the necessary training and needs something to do so the fit worked out well.”

  “I see,” Drayton replied stroking his chin. “And she is a doctor I take it?”

  Chris frowned. “Not exactly. She's been a medical assistant for groups touring Amrahn ruins for the last four years. At least that's what she told me.”

  Drayton's eyes lit up. “A most noble profession then. She does Amrah great honor by safeguarding her pilgrims. The sites might be holy, but their age and condition makes them dangerous. Have you been on a pilgrimage, yet?”

  Chris shifted uncomfortably. “No. My duties here keep me busy.”

  “A shame then. It really should be a top priority for youngsters like yourself. The travel and the labor involved gets to be too much for a man of my age. Perhaps I should give you all leave to do so some time, you already have a guide after all.”

  Chris nodded politely. “Of course.”

  “It will have to be after this next job, I'm afraid,” Drayton responded, returning to the topic at hand. He placed a small square black device on the table and activated it. It hummed for a moment then fell silent. A white-noise generator, Chris realized. Those are expensive pieces of technology used by those who really have something to hide. Smugglers, gun runners and pirates.

  “But this requires utmost secrecy. It is not one of your usual jobs,” he said slowly. He stood and walked around the back of his chair then leaned against it, his hands clasped tightly. Chris felt his stomach twist at the added theatrics.

  “Neat little device,” Drayton said seeing Chris eye the generator nervously. “I bought it from a Cassian merchant who sells a host of such gadgets mostly to small groups who don't want their activities listened in on. The Great States refuse to have anything to do with him, of course. Anyway, this contract is, uh, of a highly sensitive nature. I'm going to be sending you a few people from Hronguard Securities-”

  “Oh no,” Chris said shaking his head. “No, no. I draw the line right there. Any time you bring on security guards that means we're doing something illegal.”

  Drayton chuckled. “Come now, Chris. I wouldn't call it illegal. We're doing some nice people a favor.”

  “And who are these nice people?” Nick asked.

  Drayton glanced at the white noise generator, but lowered his voice regardless. “They're Dominion soldiers who were rescued from a Commonwealth prison last week. They were smuggled to Garda, but their benefactors refused to take them any further, something about tricky border customs and fear of Azuren reprisals. I think someone tipped them off that the Azuren were executing someone today and they lost their will to finish the job. That's where you come in.”

  Chris exchanged a glanced with Nick who frowned and rubbed at his forehead.

  “Take them back into the Dominion. Just to Letterkenny. Two jumps, that's it,” Drayton said, sensing the captain's hesitation.

  “And what am I supposed to tell the Azuren Legate? I'm hauling human cargo across the interstellar lines of two warring states. And, oh yeah, they're Dominion soldiers who were sprung from a Commonwealth prison,” Chris said rolling his eyes. “They'll do to us what they did to the Theorist.”

  “Aha! That's where another gift of my Cassian friend comes in.”

  “Isn't there an old saying about being wary of Cassians bearing gifts?” Nick asked.

  “Eh, old superstitions and bigotry. It's an actual Higgs drive and mask.”

 
“Which are also highly illegal,” Chris pointed out.

  “Not necessarily, Captain. The drives are standard on registered emergency craft. This is a humanitarian mission and one of the rescued prisoners is a House Lord, the man who could end this war. His house is offering to pay a substantial reward for his return.”

  “Let me guess, you've already accepted the bribe,” Nick said.

  Drayton frowned at the term, but continued. “Yes, I have. As I said, it was a substantial amount and pulled us out of quite a few debts. In any case, it will enamor us with the Dominion and they'll owe us.”

  Chris sighed heavily. “We can't take sides in this war.”

  “No, we can't, but that doesn't mean we can't make friends.” Drayton leaned in and spoke sharply and quietly despite the generator. “Goteborg is in the Dominion's crosshairs. Magdeborg has nothing left to send, Archduke Peter is dead, and the garrison is not going to withstand a Dominion invasion. Refugees are already streaming from the planet and the system. When the Dominion comes in – and they will – Goteborg will fall. If we can get on the good side of this Dominion noble – Pershing or whatever in Ithix his name is – then we're going to be sitting good.”

  “Pershing?” Nick asked slowly. “You mean Lord Morlan Pershing, the commanding general of the combined Dominion army that just nearly annihilated House Mercer on Haberton?”

  Drayton cleared his throat. “Yes. The Lord General was one of several individuals sprung from the prison. His family has already paid handsomely-”

  “You want us to return the greatest enemy of the Commonwealth back to his army so he can return to destroying us?” Nick persisted. “There's rumors of war atrocities on Haberton. Gas. Can you imagine the sort of damage he'll wreak on Goteborg if we let him loose?”

  Drayton looked at Chris, perhaps silently asking why he didn't step in to restrain his first officer or just to temporize to formulate a response.