Jack of Harts 2.5: Wolfenheim Rising (5 page)

Malcolm studied the naval veteran he’d trusted with command of
Normandy
.  The brunette was far older and more experienced than her twenty-something looks suggested, of course.  Her naval dossier held a long series of “performs above and beyond the call of duty” characterizations from her commanders.  That they ended with “showed profound misjudgment of the tactical situation” meant very little to him.  Charles vouched for her, and the reports Malcolm wasn’t supposed to see showed him a classic example of shooting the messenger.  The woman who had extricated her ship from the Battle of Epsilon Reticuli, mostly alive and against formidable odds, turned away from the recalcitrant tactical officer and aimed a steady gaze to him.  “Malcolm,” she intoned, following one of the few actual orders he was prepared to give her.

“Olivia,” he answered after a quick breath.  He was too much a civilian to confuse the issue of command with fake titles he hadn’t earned.  And if he was just another civilian, given names were an appropriate form of address.  “You wanted me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with the highly
in
appropriate words that would have gotten him reprimanded if he were in the military.  Lack of rank, in this case, surely had its privileges.

Olivia rolled her eyes, but amusement colored the haunted look they normally held.  “Hardly.”

“Bugger.”  He made a show of a regretful sigh that brought a slight smile to her lips.  Very slight.  Anyone with less sensitive eyes probably would have missed it altogether.  “So why ask me up here then?”

Olivia grimaced and waved a hand towards the holodisplay next to her.

Malcolm followed her eyes and scanned the ships anchored in the Peloran yard.  Most were modern or near-modern warships undergoing repairs or refits.  British, American, German, and even French ships dotted the girders running through the yard.  They were the last of a long line of warships that had been flowing through the yard for months, and Malcolm wondered if they would make it to Sunnydale in time to rendezvous with the fleet.  But one ship declared her century of age with every first-generation gravtech curve and fin. 
Hastings
was the last, the oldest, and the most troublesome of his ships.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” Olivia said, her voice betraying worry.  “Well. 
Wanted
isn’t really the right word.”

Malcolm sighed.  He hated to throw the word around, but he was starting to wonder if the ship had actually been cursed when she was still in her original building slip.  She’d certainly suffered from enough “unfortunate events” during her time in service, and even her brief time under his ownership had been “eventful,” as one of his people had said.  “What happened
this
time?”

Olivia opened her mouth to answer, but an alarmed shout cut her off, and they turned towards the sensor display in the middle of the bridge.  “Multiple hyperspace footprints on the Earth–New Earth Run!” Anton Lee reported.  Malcolm suppressed a groan as he saw the flashes on the display.  “Designating Bogey One.  Thirty-one lightseconds out, point zero one cee, and accelerating to cross The Red Line now.”

The display zoomed in to show a tight formation of eight ships emanating  hyperspace radiation in all directions.  He couldn’t see what they were at first, but the displays confirmed it was a
military
formation.  The three-dimensional pattern allowed them to support each other on the off chance that someone might be waiting for them.

Then the displays cleared and revealed eight new
Austin
-class destroyers.  Even he knew those ships.  The
Austins
had a truly unique forward wedge, designed to look like a double-headed hammer.  Each of those eight hammerheads carried twice the firepower of any single ship in his squadron, and even if limited to broadside weapons his ships would be hard-pressed to defeat them.  He licked his lips and knew deep down in his bones that those ships were not just stopping by on their way to Sunnydale.  The fleet needed to leave
now
.

“Olivia?” he asked, his voice revealing more nerves than he really meant it to.

“Got it,” she answered and pointed out a pair of chairs at an empty station at the rear of the bridge.  He and Dawn took her suggestion with haste and she turned to the man operating the sensor display.  “Plot us a course for Sunnydale, Lieutenant Lee,” she ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the man answered and his fingers flew across the controls.  On the display, hundreds of possible courses appeared and then faded out as he erased swaths of them that took the squadron too close to the incoming ships.  The possible courses narrowed down to a single option, pointing at an angle away from the incoming
Austins
.  “I have a course laid in for The Red Line in…twenty minutes,” he reported, turning to face her.  “We can be on the New Earth–Sunnydale Run in…forty-three minutes from your order, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Olivia said, sat down in her command chair, and studied the display.  “I concur,” she finally said with a firm nod. 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Lee answered and ran his fingers across his console.  “Transmitting to helm and comm now.”

“Lieutenant Lopez?” Olivia asked.

“I have the course, Ma’am,” the helmsman answered after a quick check.

“Lieutenant Jones?” Olivia asked.

“Transmitting course now, Ma’am,” the comm officer reported and leaned to the side to listen to her earpiece.  Then she nodded.  “All ships confirm receipt.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said with a smile and turned her chair towards Malcolm with a look that asked if she really needed to report that they were ready to leave to him.

He chuckled and shook his head.  He’d never been one to require pointless reports like that.  Pointless to him at least.  He understood why military forces were more careful though.  It would never do to shoot up a planetary capital by accident because you mixed up your numbers, after all.  That would seriously hurt an efficiency report.  And that said nothing about how the citizens of the planet would react.

“We’re receiving a transmission from Bogey One, Ma’am,” Jones reported.  “It’s broadcast in the clear.  Full holo.”

Olivia looked at Malcolm, a questioning look on her face.  He nodded back and she smiled.  “Well, if they don’t care who hears, put it on display, please,” she ordered, waving at the main forward display.

The static system display that showed every ship near the Peloran yard faded away as he watched.  In its place, the transmission Bogey One sent over half a minute ago came into focus.  The transmission lag didn’t allow for live conversations, of course, but the woman who appeared on the display looked almost stubborn enough to try.  Malcolm studied her black hair and narrow face, wondering if he knew her.  She looked familiar, and he could have sworn he’d seen that face wearing a smile in the past, but he couldn’t place her.

“I am Commodore Murphy,” she began in a clear soprano, “commander Third Destroyer Squadron, Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Star Fleet.  On order of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, we have been sent to impound all assets of the Wolfenheim Project and secure them for return to Earth.  All starships belonging to the Wolfenheim Project will stand down immediately and prepare to be boarded.”

Malcolm frowned, a feeling of almost recognition filling him, as the display returned to the standard rendering of nearby space.  He’d never heard a voice like that sound so harsh, but an echo of warmth tickled the back of his memories.  He glanced at Dawn, a question in his eyes.  She crossed her arms and smiled back with determination.  Then he turned to see the eyes of the bridge crew on him.  Now wasn’t the time to wonder why that woman over there felt familiar.  Now was the time for action.

“We’re leaving,” he announced in a determined tone without rising from his chair.  Beside him, Dawn nodded in agreement.  “And I think she’s gonna follow.  If you’ve got reservations about running from something like that, I understand.”

The bridge crew returned his look, recognizing the offer behind his words, and then turned to their captain.  She smiled and he saw the haunted look in her eyes again.  But he saw determination, too, and she nodded at him.  “Lieutenant Jones,” she began, her voice clear and strong.  “Please inform
Wolfenheim
she can initiate acceleration now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jones answered without hesitation and began whispering into her microphone.

“Lieutenant Lopez,” Olivia continued, her voice that of a woman born to command a starship.  “Maintain formation with
Wolfenheim
, if you please.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the helmsman answered and ran his hands across the controls.  He finally finished and leaned back in his chair, a pleased look on his face.  A few seconds later, the massive colony ship’s engines glowed to life and she began to pull away from the Peloran yard complex. 
Normandy’s
main engines rumbled in time with the larger ship, and Malcolm watched every ship of his squadron accelerate away from the complex in perfect synchronization.  Not one of them was holding back.  Except
Hastings
, of course.

“Malcolm,” Dawn whispered and he turned to look at her again.  She glanced down and he followed her gaze to a small holodisplay floating in the air before him.  It showed their small fleet accelerating away from the station and the incoming squadron.  Projected courses of each fleet showed their routes through the sphere of space controlled by the Peloran yard’s gravitic interference.  The Red Line marked the gravitic jamming field that forced all ships to keep their distance from the yard when diving or rising in and out of hyperspace.  The display twitched, showing an escape pod accelerating away from
Hastings
.

“That’s Mary,” Dawn reported with approval.  “She flashed the primary computers before evacuating.”

Malcolm smiled.  “Good.”  If they couldn’t have
Hastings
, leaving the ship brain-dead was one way to make certain it couldn’t be used to chase them down.  The display showed the escape pod accelerating away from the ship until a passing shuttle snagged her with a tractor beam.  Malcolm frowned and glanced at Dawn.  “Is that good or bad?”

She chuckled.  “Very good.”  A gaggle of shuttles joined the first on the display, each accelerating away from the yard at what had to be maximum acceleration.  “It seems somebody was thinking ahead,” Dawn whispered with a look towards Olivia.  “She already had the crew assembled in the station hangar bays.”

“Good.”  Malcolm hated leaving people behind.  “Those shuttles can catch us, right?”

“They can catch
Wolfenheim
if they need to,” she answered, not quite correcting him.  “They could never meet the rest of us if she wasn’t slowing us down, though.”

“Got it,” Malcolm whispered, back to scanning the display for any clue he could find.

“Aspect change on Bogey One,” Lieutenant Lee announced as Malcolm saw the display begin to shift.  “Acceleration and course change.  They’re turning our way.”

“Can they intercept us short of The Red Line?” Olivia asked.

“Still calculating, Ma’am,” Lee answered as the displayed course continued to change towards them.  The man turned to her with a frown.  “But one thing I can say is that these ships have absolutely modern drives, and the emissions we’re getting are right off the last refit package.  I think they sent their Alpha Team to get us.”

“That’s good,” Olivia responded with an approving smile.  The bridge crew seemed to waver at her demeanor, and she sighed.  “Just think what it will do for morale when we pick up our skirts and dance away from the very best,” she added with a look towards Malcolm.

He met her gaze, and for the first time he truly saw the woman Charles had recommended to him.  The captain who had extricated a cruiser from the slaughter of Epsilon Reticuli stood in the center of the bridge, bereft of the doubts she’d tried to hide all the time he’d known her.  Even the strongest individuals would have to wonder if there was some grain of truth to the kind of charges she’d lived through after that battle.  But the Captain Olivia Wyatt that turned back to her crew showed none of those doubts, and he could almost see the tendrils of her command presence reach out and take control of the bridge like never before.

“Bogey One has sent another transmission,” Jones reported from her station, then leaned into her ear.  “It’s a repeat.”  After another pause, she looked up.  “But there’s a companion signal addressed to Alan.”

Captain Wyatt turned to her, eyes bright with interest, and Malcolm expected her to order it displayed again.  “Summarize it,” she said instead.

Jones’ lips pressed together in worry, but then she twitched again and brought a hand to her ear.  She looked up with a smile after that, her eyes bright.  “They demand that Alan stop us from leaving, using all necessary force.”  Everyone on the bridge tensed for a split second.  Alan’s Peloran shipyard had more than enough firepower at his command to do exactly that, but Jones kept on talking.  “But Alan just said he can’t.  Seems his targeting grid is down due to scheduled maintenance,” she reported in a melancholy tone.  Scattered laughter broke the tension and Malcolm smiled at Dawn.  He’d been right about the man.  Dawn returned his smile, a very slight shoulder twitch suggesting she’d never doubted the other cyber, as Jones continued her report.  “He’s most apologetic, of course, and
promises
to hurry the reboot along.  But he’s very much afraid it’ll take at
least
five minutes.  Maybe longer.”