Jack of Harts 2.5: Wolfenheim Rising (14 page)

Malcolm nodded in acceptance.  “Well, we
are
a colony expedition.  Hiding isn’t really on my list of things to do.”

She aimed a grim smile at him.  “Then consider very carefully how you want this chase to end.”

“I will,” Malcolm answered and gave her a long look.  “If you do the same.  We can compare notes when we get there.”

She pursed her lips, and the hologram looked at a display filled with Shang warships.  “I
would
prefer an end to this that doesn’t including shooting at each other.”

“Then we’ve already agreed on one very important detail,” Malcolm said with a broad smile.  “And with that progress in hand, maybe I should leave before we find something
else
to argue about.”

“You mean you should run while you still can?” she asked, snapping her gaze back to him.

Malcolm shrugged.  “I’d prefer to call it a carefully performed extraction from…well…perhaps not
entirely
unfriendly territory,” he finished with another smile.

She met his gaze for several seconds, measuring him again before answering.  “I can think of worse things to call it,” she finally intoned.

“Then by your leave?”

She shook her head with a rueful smile.  “Where you run, I will follow,” she warned, but her eyes betrayed the promise.

“Then until we meet again,” he acknowledged and turned to tell Dawn to cut the feed.

“Malcolm.”  Caroline’s single word stopped him short, and he turned back to her holoform, one eyebrow raised in a wordless question.  Her smile reminded him of Dana so hard it hurt.  But it was different.  Dana had been a girl the last time he’d seen her smile.  She hadn’t known how hard life could be.  Caroline’s smile spoke of a lifetime of adulthood’s disappointments, but somewhere in there was a child’s hope.  “Thank you.”

He smiled and gave her a bow of his head.  “Anytime, Caroline,” he said, emphasizing all three syllables as she had.  Then he turned to Dawn, nodded, and she cut the feed.  “I think it’s time to go, Smith.”

“Agreed,” Smith’s voice answered without hesitation.  “All fighters, return to base.”  With no more warning than that, their main engines came back to full power, and the fighters began accelerating.

Malcolm pursed his lips and watched the receding warships in the holofield.  It was odd.  He really did feel like he knew her.  Understood her.  But he couldn’t remember her.  Though if she was Dana’s sister, they must have met.  “She
is
going to catch us sometime,” he said to Dawn.  She just nodded, recognizing his need to think his words through.  “So we’re going to have to make some plans for that.”  Malcolm glanced at the ships again.  “Plans that don’t involve getting all of us killed.”

Dawn followed his gaze to the diminishing cruisers and destroyers.  “I’ll get Smith and Olivia on that.”

Malcolm let out a long breath as Olivia’s face flashed through his mind.  If there was a way, those two would think of it.  “Thank you.”

Dawn just smiled.  She didn’t need to say anything else.  She never did.  Behind them, the wrecks of the Shang fleet and the barely victorious Commodore Murphy faded into the distance.

Malcolm scanned the displays as the small wing of fighters flew through space.  Most showed crimson codes denoting major or lesser damage, the cost of the battle he’d thrown them into.  Almost all were drones, controlled by cybers linked to the single manned fighter commanding their squadron.  One of the manned fighters signaled major damage to one missile battery, the laser next to it, and the main engine above them.  Of course,
manned
wasn’t entirely accurate.  No one would ever mistake Jackie White for a man, but the appropriate gender-neutral terms just sounded stupid.

Malcolm quirked a smile at the thought and returned to scanning the displays.  Several of the fighters sported engine damage that kept them from accelerating on their own, and tow cables connected them to their squadron mates.  Other fighters had lost weapons, sensors, or even primary power plants.  Over half of the fighters he’d assembled for this project were damaged or destroyed, but they’d kicked the Shang good.  And they’d saved an entire squadron of American destroyers doing it.  That was cause for a good party, even if the redoubtable Commodore Murphy led the destroyers in question.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dawn asked.

He pulled his eyes from the displays to look at her holographic form.  The size of a girl’s doll inside the cockpit, the fiery redhead sat atop the main console and peered at him with concerned eyes.  “We just kicked ass,” he said with a jaunty smile.  “I liked it.”

She smiled.  “Me too,” she whispered and the view on the main canopy shifted to show the forts defending Bosphorus.  Malcolm’s starfighters moved slowly by interplanetary standards, their fuel tanks running low after the fight, but they approached and passed through the forts in the blink of an eye before drifting on towards Bosphorus herself.  “More importantly though,
they
liked watching it.”

Malcolm blinked at the thought, realizing he should have considered that already.  “How so?” he asked, his mind starting to calculate the possibilities.

Dawn smiled.  “Well, they’re impressed that a bunch of century-old fighters just beat the Shang to within a centimeter of their lives.  Jealous, too.”

Malcolm chuckled.  The Peloran upgrades had given them serious teeth, but he’d kept their original look for precisely that reaction.  The jealousy confused him though “Why jealous?”

“They wanted to jump the Shang first,” Dawn said with a wave towards one of her displays decrypted transmission.  “Seems the Shang have been getting pushy around here, but the politicos are trying to hold on to neutrality.”

He frowned at her.  They’d only been in system for less than an hour.  How could she know all of that?  “That’s some pretty specific knowledge,” he said in a suspicious tone.

Dawn’s smile turned cherubic.  “Well, a friend of the family might have slipped me their encryption key.”

Malcolm sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “I’ve been a bad influence, haven’t I?”

“Horrible,” she answered, her tone bright and cheery.  “Of course, you did balance that out by helping the people who came here to arrest you in front of a whole solar system full of witnesses.  They rather like you now.”

“Wait, they know that?” Malcolm asked, momentarily lost again.

Dawn chuckled and shook her head.  “She broadcasted the warrant for our detention the moment she arrived in system, before the Shang jumped her.  I doubt Bosphorus actually would have tried to arrest us.  They
are
neutral, after all, and we paid a pretty penny for resupply and safe passage,” she said with a shrug.  “But everybody knows why she’s here.  And they know you know why.  And they know that you helped her in spite of that.”

Malcolm watched Bosphorus go by on the main canopy, passing from light to dark side.  Lights of cities cast the pattern of human civilization across the world, and he was momentarily lost in the beauty of the moment.  This world was untouched by The War raging throughout the rest of human space.  He found himself torn between hoping that remained the same, and wishing the merchants of Constantinople would finally make a stand.  “Sounds like they know a lot of things,” he whispered in a wistful tone, eyes following the receding orb.

“Yup,” Dawn said in a very pleased tone.  “And now they’re just watching us fly our shapely derrières right back out of their space because of that.”

Malcolm laughed and rubbed his chin with one hand.  “Maybe
your
shapely derrière,” he joked.  “But I doubt they want to watch
mine
.”

“Was that a compliment?” Dawn asked, making a show of examining herself in a mirror that appeared in the air.

“Maybe,” he answered, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“That is so sweet,” she said with a wave of one hand.  “But don’t sell your tail short.  I have it on good authority that it is highly prized amongst certain demographics.”

Malcolm snorted.  “But I don’t plan on going to prison anytime soon, so they are all out of luck.”

“Oooh,” Dawn whispered with a wicked gleam in her eyes.  “Nice one.”

“I’ll be here all…well…”  Malcolm paused to check the displays.  “All hour?”

“I hope not.”  At Malcolm’s look, she assumed an innocent expression.  “They might get their boarding shuttles online by then.”

Intrigued, Malcolm gave her another questioning look.

“Oh, all right,” she said after a few seconds and a shake of her head.  “They are trying to maintain neutrality, so there’s this cover story about a virus in the inertial compensators of all the customs shuttles.”  Dawn aimed a forlorn look at him.  “Bosphorus Control has informed Murphy that even though they would
love
to help her with her warrant, the shuttles are totally unsafe to fly until that is fixed.”

“I bet that makes her happy,” Malcolm noted with a chuckle.

“Surprisingly, she seems very understanding,” Dawn said with a knowing smile.

Malcolm paused to take that in for a moment.  Murphy was probably playing politics and not wanting to offend Bosphorus.  People who offended them usually lived to regret that.  Still, her reaction impressed him.  “She’s good at this.”

Dawn aimed a sly smile at him.  “It
does
feel good to know that they sent someone actually good enough to be worthy of catching you, doesn’t it?”

Malcolm chuckled and cleared his throat.  “Yeah, but I’d be just as happy not getting caught.”

“Oh, of course,” Dawn returned and raised one finger.  “Not getting caught is the foremost plan in my mind, too.”

Malcolm nodded, but his eyes moved to the displays showing the receding planet.  He frowned as a thought came to mind.  “Is there really a virus?”

Dawn gave him a very earnest smile.  “Implanting a virus would be a hostile act on a neutral party, which I, of course, would have nothing to do with.”

“Of course,” Malcolm said with a quirk of his lip.  “Do you think you could pass along my thanks to all the people who had absolutely nothing at all to do with this?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dawn cocked her head to the side at his tone.  “Well, I might have some contacts who might know how to contact the individuals who first
reported
the presence of the virus,” she answered, her tone betraying not a care in the world.

“Thank you,” Malcolm said, trying to control another round of chuckles.

Dawn nodded towards him, her posture that of a perfectly attentive secretary.  “I’m here to serve.”

“If only,” Malcolm whispered under his breath.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, and met her gaze with nervous eyes.  Would she be offended by his slip, thinking he meant something he didn’t?  Not that he had any idea what he meant by it to begin with, which just made it all the more confusing.

Dawn examined him for several seconds before waving one finger at him in a threatening gesture.  “You remember that.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with complete sincerity.

“Better,” she returned, a crooked smile betraying amusement.

Then she waved a hand at another display, and Malcolm eagerly focused on it.  The massive bulk of
Wolfenheim
dominated the display, an ungainly ship with massive cargo sections held together by an exposed exoskeleton of girders.  Engine pods the size of frigates glowed as they vented heat from the recent full burn.  A smaller ship held station off her port bow, looking almost as ramshackle and hard-luck as the colony ship.  That didn’t fool Malcolm though.  The
Privateer
was designed to look like a cargo transport, but her weapons and armor meant she could take on modern destroyers alone and probably survive.

The destroyers and frigates arrayed around those ships in a globular formation were smooth and rounded by comparison, built in the century-old style of the first American gravtech starships.  Only
Normandy
approached the colony ship’s size, her shape as elegant as the other warships.  Broad and flat, with massive engines dominating her rear superstructure, her rounded bow betrayed the menace of a warship.  Large cylinders that looked like pre-gravtech rocket boosters ran along either side of the carrier, rounded in the front and narrowing to points behind the main engine section.

As he watched, the central parts of the cylinders began to move.  They slid out a few meters to reveal massive hinges tens of meters wide, and he could almost hear the clanging as they came to a stop.  Then they cracked open, and a puff of atmosphere escaped in the form of tiny flash-frozen crystals, reflecting glints of light as they spun away.  The cylinders continued to open wide like clamshells, revealing
Normandy’s
primary weapon.  The dozens of cradles designed to hold Blackhawk starfighters looked like a tiny peace of heaven to one Malcolm McDonnell.

Thrusters flared throughout the fighter formation, and engines came to life as they slowed to match speed with the much larger carrier.  Tow cables holding disabled fighters vibrated with the tension of holding them in place, but the cybers performing the maneuvers knew exactly how much they could push.  Malcolm just relaxed back in his seat as Dawn finally detached tow cables from the fighters she commanded, spun them around, and backed them into their cradles on small puffs of maneuvering thruster.

A cradle locked around his fighter with several small clangs, and a final jerk brought them to a halt.  He scanned to either side, watching the last of the wounded fighters limping into position for their cradles to close around them as well.  And then the massive clamshell bay swung shut to block off the Pleiades Cluster’s light.  The bay doors boomed as they hit, the vibration flowing through the cradle and into his seat.  The doors pulled back into the ship, another clang reverberated through his fighter, and all was silent for a moment.

Then the steady thrum of
Normandy’s
engines returned, and he looked at Dawn.  She just smiled, confirming that they were accelerating away from Bosphorus.  That was good.  He didn’t want to spend any more time in-system than was necessary.  Murphy and the Shang made things far too complicated for him to want to be anywhere nearby.  It seemed a certain Captain Olivia Wyatt thought the same thing.  He would have to thank her for that initiative.

A light turned from red to green and he examined it.  Air pressure.  Excellent.  With no more warning, the canopy retracted back into the fighter’s body, and fresh air flowed into him.  It had the stale quality that all ship air did, but it was better than the recycled air inside his cockpit.  Happy with the improvement, he unlatched his five-point harness and waited for it to retract into his command chair.

That done, Malcolm pulled himself to his feet in time to see a gantry lock into place beside his fighter.  Dawn smiled once more and walked directly onto the gantry, holoform growing to full size by the time she left the fighter.  He scrambled up after her, pulling on a handrail to steady himself, and scanned the hangar bay.

Stretching out more than the length of a football field in either direction, the hangar bay was full of damaged fighters, with crewmembers already scrambling to begin repairing them.  He could see six empty cradles in the bay, but even they were busy, as small carts began moving spare parts to the other bays.  Even the undamaged fighters had been through the ringer of weapons fire that left them covered in scorch marks and carbon scoring.  And the smell of things burning wafted over him.  The hiss of firefighting foam caught his attention for a moment, but Dawn just shook her head to tell him that everything was under control.

One gantry over, two figures in flight jackets and black Stetsons left their damaged fighter behind and jogged towards him, sporting colors bright enough to blind a bat.  The man whose real name could not possibly have been John Anderson was a hulking specimen of humanity from the Kingdom of Hawaii who loved honest-to-God Hawaiian shirts.  Today’s example peeking out from under the flight jacket was an eye-assaulting combination of numerous shades of red.  The tiny cyber walking behind him wore a simple black shirt under her jacket, but her own hair’s red and blues complemented John’s Hawaiian shirt.

“Not bad for a first rodeo,” Anderson boomed with a voice so deep it had to come from somewhere under the deck.  Then he slugged Malcolm in the shoulder.  It was a playful slug.  If it hadn’t been, he’d have already flown into the nearest bulkhead.  Malcolm knew that, but bloody hell it hurt.