Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) by Brian Frederico Page A
Book: Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) by Brian Frederico
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Authors: Brian Frederico
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Damien Sten
Duke of Hidelborg, Defender of the Border, The Gray Knight
19 February, 23,423
Crimson Lady, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth
______________
Damien felt the familiar lurch and sudden vertigo of falling into space. For a moment he could feel the universe tugging at his mind, pushing him into the immense blackness between the stars. He felt weightless, a sort of weightlessness that only accompanied the loss of a great burden, but, as always, t he weight returned suddenly and violently as his flagship Crimson Lady reemerged in the Goteborg system, hovering above the star's zenith, just a few dozen klicks from the massive stargate. Damien could see the station from the window of his quarters, a huge, spoked testament of human engineering. Hundreds of ships waited in line to jump, forming a long snaking formation of vessels of every size and make.
The Crimson Lady powered up her engines and burned away from the stargate towards the system's capital world. The stargates linked the vast human empires together, manipulating the stars' massive gravity to pull space together like two edges of a piece of paper being drawn together. Rather than the ship traveling to its destination, the destination traveled to the ship, allowing vessels to jump a much shorter distance and travel through the depths quickly. Of course, the stargates were never exactly accurate. Forty years earlier, Damien's own father, Archduke Haakon, vanished during a misjump. After an extensive search, the ship and crew were considered lost and the Commonwealth crown went to Peter.
Damien chuckled as he considered the sad coincidence that he, too, might vanish during one of these jumps. He had endured most of the trip in the silence of his own quarters, refusing to speak with the rest of his staff. He had spent that time thinking, plotting and occasionally grumbling. He had been handed a most unfair situation. It seemed so ludicrously out of the ordinary that it was one of those things that actually made him consider the influence of fate and perhaps even the will of some deity like Amrah.
He rubbed his hands together angrily as he stared into the fire lit in his own personal quarters. Being the Archduke's brother and a Commonwealth lord allowed him certain privileges, like fire on board a ship, commonly denied to others. The pulsing warmth helped him relax and the jumping flames allowed his mind to focus better. His eyes followed the dancing flames and sudden cracking of wood. Fire was so much like life: hot, bright, persistent, unpredictable, but so worthy of study. He spent many hours watching the flickering flames.
His private quarters, though spartan in nature to the eyes of a mega-corporation CEO, were luxurious by his usual standards. His desk, a large dark wood structure, was a carefully crafted gift from his holdings on Hidelborg. The armchairs, though old and worn, were one of the few comforts he allowed himself. Despite being barely middle-aged, Damien still had war wounds that bothered him now and again and the stiff, but familiar leather helped grant him some reprieve. The walls were painted black and adorned with the House Sten banner that hung from wall behind his desk. The sigil, a sword laid across an open book, was widely recognizable and signified the Sten dedication to warcraft and statecraft. It bore similarities toward Starfield Theory ideology as well. The two branches of Theorists, Praxis and Pedant were represented by the sword and book respectively. It seemed a happy coincidence, but Damien believed the family's founders were once Theorists as well.
As he tried to relax and ease away the sick feelings of space travel, the image of his nephew, Kristoffer, and the many problems he presented flashed in his mind. The boy was no doubt a near spitting image of his father, pale skin, blue eyes, high cheekbones. The relation between them was so obvious that Damien had no doubt in his mind that the boy was Peter's son. If he put
Duke of Hidelborg, Defender of the Border, The Gray Knight
19 February, 23,423
Crimson Lady, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth
______________
Damien felt the familiar lurch and sudden vertigo of falling into space. For a moment he could feel the universe tugging at his mind, pushing him into the immense blackness between the stars. He felt weightless, a sort of weightlessness that only accompanied the loss of a great burden, but, as always, t he weight returned suddenly and violently as his flagship Crimson Lady reemerged in the Goteborg system, hovering above the star's zenith, just a few dozen klicks from the massive stargate. Damien could see the station from the window of his quarters, a huge, spoked testament of human engineering. Hundreds of ships waited in line to jump, forming a long snaking formation of vessels of every size and make.
The Crimson Lady powered up her engines and burned away from the stargate towards the system's capital world. The stargates linked the vast human empires together, manipulating the stars' massive gravity to pull space together like two edges of a piece of paper being drawn together. Rather than the ship traveling to its destination, the destination traveled to the ship, allowing vessels to jump a much shorter distance and travel through the depths quickly. Of course, the stargates were never exactly accurate. Forty years earlier, Damien's own father, Archduke Haakon, vanished during a misjump. After an extensive search, the ship and crew were considered lost and the Commonwealth crown went to Peter.
Damien chuckled as he considered the sad coincidence that he, too, might vanish during one of these jumps. He had endured most of the trip in the silence of his own quarters, refusing to speak with the rest of his staff. He had spent that time thinking, plotting and occasionally grumbling. He had been handed a most unfair situation. It seemed so ludicrously out of the ordinary that it was one of those things that actually made him consider the influence of fate and perhaps even the will of some deity like Amrah.
He rubbed his hands together angrily as he stared into the fire lit in his own personal quarters. Being the Archduke's brother and a Commonwealth lord allowed him certain privileges, like fire on board a ship, commonly denied to others. The pulsing warmth helped him relax and the jumping flames allowed his mind to focus better. His eyes followed the dancing flames and sudden cracking of wood. Fire was so much like life: hot, bright, persistent, unpredictable, but so worthy of study. He spent many hours watching the flickering flames.
His private quarters, though spartan in nature to the eyes of a mega-corporation CEO, were luxurious by his usual standards. His desk, a large dark wood structure, was a carefully crafted gift from his holdings on Hidelborg. The armchairs, though old and worn, were one of the few comforts he allowed himself. Despite being barely middle-aged, Damien still had war wounds that bothered him now and again and the stiff, but familiar leather helped grant him some reprieve. The walls were painted black and adorned with the House Sten banner that hung from wall behind his desk. The sigil, a sword laid across an open book, was widely recognizable and signified the Sten dedication to warcraft and statecraft. It bore similarities toward Starfield Theory ideology as well. The two branches of Theorists, Praxis and Pedant were represented by the sword and book respectively. It seemed a happy coincidence, but Damien believed the family's founders were once Theorists as well.
As he tried to relax and ease away the sick feelings of space travel, the image of his nephew, Kristoffer, and the many problems he presented flashed in his mind. The boy was no doubt a near spitting image of his father, pale skin, blue eyes, high cheekbones. The relation between them was so obvious that Damien had no doubt in his mind that the boy was Peter's son. If he put
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