Jack of Harts 2.5: Wolfenheim Rising (7 page)

Malcolm glanced at Captain Wyatt’s taut frame, wondering if she wished she were here to join the fleet.  The very slight quivering of her shoulders that anyone else would have missed answered the question for him.  She was a naval officer, no matter what her superiors said.  No naval officer worth her salt could come in sight of a fleet like this and not want to be part of what they were about to try to do to the Shang.  Even Malcolm felt the allure of at least getting close enough to watch.  But that was a deadly allure, and he didn’t have time for it.  He had a mission.

“Olivia?” he said in a very soft voice.

“Yes?” she asked in a breathless voice as she turned to face him with flushed cheeks.  When her eyes met his, he recognized the lust in them.  Oh yes, she wanted to be in that fleet with every ounce of her being.

He aimed a wry smile at her, doing his absolute best to not sound overly awed by the sight.  He was pretty certain he failed, but one had to make the effort at least.  “Just in case word of our…departure has preceded us, do you think we could keep our distance from…that?” he finished with a wave towards the gas giant and its gaggle of warships.

“Yeah,” Olivia gasped.  She scanned the displays again, taking in the impressive sights, and let out a very long breath.  “I think I can arrange that.

He glanced at Dawn before coming to his feet.  “And Olivia?” he asked and then waited for her eyes to meet his again.  “I know how much you want to be there.”  He waved at the displays showing the fleet again.  “I also know how much I want you
here
.”  He ran his gaze across the bridge to see the rest of the crew looking back at him.  Some of them exchanged knowing smiles, and he suppressed a sigh.  “
All
of you,” he added with a firm smile.  “This mission would not be possible without
all
of you.”  He nodded in emphasis and turned back to Olivia with a far warmer smile.  “I will never forget that,” he finished in the tone of a man giving a solemn oath.

Olivia bestowed a professional smile on him, though a slight amused quirk spoiled its edges.  “On behalf of my crew, I thank you for your kind words.  I’m sure they
all
appreciate the sentiment,” she finished with a single upraised eyebrow.

“Then my work here is done,” Malcolm said with an answering smile and spread his arms out wide to show he had no ulterior motives to hide.  “Thanks for letting me watch.  It was…enlightening.”

“You’re welcome to come watch anytime you like,” Olivia noted with a genuine smile.

“Thank you for the kind offer.”  Malcolm scanned the bridge again, catching a number of smiles being exchanged.  “Now I suppose I should stop being a distraction and let you get back to work.”  With that, he turned and walked through the hatch.

Dawn stepped out after him and smiled as the guards on either side of the hatch measured them to make certain they weren’t going to go suddenly mad and try to shoot everything in sight.  Upon passing the brief inspection, Malcolm and Dawn stepped into the lift that was the only other entrance to the guardroom.

“That was nice,” Dawn whispered as the lift shot away from the bridge.

Malcolm shrugged.  “They needed to know they were valued.”

“Yeah,” Dawn returned, an amused sound to her voice.  “Have I ever said how much I appreciate the way you care for my
entire
crew?”

He turned to see a glint in her eye and snorted.  “If I wanted quips from the peanut gallery I’d find one of those nice, big peanut mascot outfits for you to wear.”

Dawn rolled her eyes at him and placed both hands on her hips.  “Oh, you wouldn’t dare.”

Malcolm gave her a very long look.  “And why do you think that?”

She gave him a grin the Cheshire cat would be proud of.  “Because I have your baby pictures and I’m not afraid to use them.”

Her threat surprised him so much that he just looked at her, mouth agape.  And when her smile turned sweet, he realized it wasn’t a threat.  It was a promise.  “You are a horrible human being,” he proclaimed moments before the lift opened.

“Yup,” she responded and actually skipped out of the lift, giggling like a schoolgirl.  “Are you coming?” she asked over her shoulder.

He shook his head.  “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” she giggled over her shoulder and kept moving.

He sighed and stepped out to follow her down the corridor.  “You know, I seem to remember that
you’re
supposed to follow
my
orders, not the other way around,” he noted in a peeved tone.

“Oh no.  I work
with
you,” she said with a single finger raised in the air, and turned a corner.  “The contract is quite clear on that fact.”

“Don’t I own your ship?” he asked as he tried to keep up.

As he turned the corner, he saw her spreading her arms to encompass the ship with an ecstatic smile.  “Actually,
Normandy
is owned by the
Wolfenheim
Project
, of which
you
are merely a
director
.”  She smirked at him.  “Oh.  And what do we have here?  The
director’s
cabin,” she finished with an elaborate wave of one hand at the hatch next to her.

“You’re trying to get smart with me, aren’t you?” he accused.

“That’s not hard,” she quipped, and then stopped as her head cocked to the side.  Then she smiled at Malcolm.  “Well, well.  What do you know?  Somebody
has
been expecting our arrival.”

“Really?” he asked, intrigued by her shift in mannerisms.

She waggled her eyebrows at him.  “It seems there is a supply depot with our name on it.  Literally.”  Her fingers actually waggled in the air as she leaned in closer to him.  “‘Wolfenheim Project’ in great big letters.  And it’s just outside the jamming zone.”  Her eyes shone bright as she continued.  “You’d think whoever put it there might be wanting us to be able to get out in a hurry if we need to,” she finished with a wink.

Malcolm chuckled at her statement and shook his head.  “Well.  I wonder who might be so considerate?”

“Yeah.”  Dawn aimed a doubtful smile at him.  “There’s such a long list of people wanting to do you favors, isn’t there?”

“Hush, you,” he responded with a snort and stepped towards the hatch.

“Oh.”  Her dark tone stopped him in his tracks.  “Trying to silence me now, are you?”  He turned to see her glaring at him, fists on her hips.  “You just be careful or I’ll use those pictures.  Mark my words, I will,” she finished with the wave of a finger at him.

Malcolm shook his head and frowned at her as the hatch opened.  “You are going to be the death of me yet.”

“Oh no,” Dawn answered, her sweet smile back.  “If you died, I’d have to find a new job, and that would be
so
much work.”

“Ah.  Right.”  Malcolm sighed and aimed an amused look at her.  “In that case, it is my profound wish that you never be forced to do anything so horrifying.”  He stepped through the hatch and waggled his eyebrows at her.  “But maybe that’s just the great humanitarian in me talking,” he finished and saw her register the clean hit with a single upraised finger as the hatch closed, leaving him alone in his cabin.

Malcolm leaned back in a sinfully comfortable reclining chair, feet kicked up on a padded ottoman that cradled them with exquisite care.  He relaxed in the middle of his day cabin, idly watching one bulkhead.  At ten meters long, it was an unthinkably large cabin aboard ship, but to a man that grew up in houses the rich and famous wished they could live in, the day cabin was only a small greeting room.  He hadn’t asked for it, but was profoundly grateful to have that one decently sized room to stretch out in and enjoy the sights.

At the moment, the sights appeared on the bulkhead in all their glory.  It was normally light grey, like most of
Normandy’s
bulkheads, without any permanent decorations.  Today, a starfield dominated the bulkhead’s smartpaint, filled with dozens of small shuttles moving back and forth between the supply depot and the Wolfenheim Project starships hovering nearby.  He loved just watching ships of any kind move through space, and today was a rare opportunity to do it live.  He intended to take full advantage of that.

The hatch opened behind him, but he didn’t shift.  He was too preoccupied watching the shuttles move through the steps of their intricate dance.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Dawn called out as he heard her step into the day cabin.

“You know the combination,” he retorted, but kept his attention on the view in the bulkhead.

“Sorry, fresh out of Prince Charmings today.  Though I might have something better,” Dawn announced, and he heard another set of feet enter the cabin.

“Impressive sight,” a voice he would recognize anywhere said in approval.

Malcolm kicked his feet off the ottoman and pushed himself up from the chair in a single smooth motion, bringing the newcomer into view.  Charles Edward Hurst stood before him in a black three-piece suit and tie tailored to hang off his lanky frame perfectly, just like old times.  Shoulder-length brown hair and stubble gave him a scruffy look the man never would have allowed in the past, but Peloran grooming styles were rather different from American military standards.

Malcolm absorbed the sight of his old friend for an instant, and then launched himself forward to wrap the man up in a bear hug.  “Chuck!” he shouted and thumped the man on the shoulder.

“Mal,” Charles returned with an answering bear hug and a few thumps that would have broken a lesser man’s shoulder.  A holoform wearing a formal black dress and an ever-present calm smile followed him through the hatch.  Malcolm gave Dorothy a quick nod and thumped Charles’ shoulder again.

“It’s good to see you,” Malcolm whispered in Charles’ ear before pulling away and patting the man’s shoulders far more gently.  “Been too long.”

Charles smiled.  “Far too long.”

“Well, we’ll just leave you two alone to bond,” Dawn announced and cocked her head towards the hatch that led into her quarters.  Dorothy smiled at Malcolm before following Dawn out of the cabin.  Malcolm stopped for a moment, just watching the backsides of a set of pants and a dress.  The idle thought that Dawn used to wear dresses passed through his mind again, but he had more important things to think about and turned back to Charles.

Charles turned from watching as well and smiled at Malcolm.  “So how does that work?” he asked with a wave of one hand towards the hatch the girls had disappeared through.

“Better than you’d think,” Malcolm answered with a snort.  “She has her own door outside.  She just put that in for ease of access.”

“Hatch,” Charles corrected, a wry smile on his face.

Malcolm winced.  “Ah.  Right.  Silly navy terms.”

“Everything has a reason,” Charles corrected, then smiled.  “Even if we lowly mortals can not understand it.”

“True that.”  Malcolm shrugged and turned away from the hatch.  “And honestly, I’m really trying to learn all the lingo.  Sometimes it just…” he paused for a moment and opened a hand into the air with a sad smile.  “Goes away.”

Charles patted his shoulder with a commiserating nod.  “Keep trying.  You will get there eventually.”

“Right.”  Malcolm shook his head to clear it.  “But I don’t want to talk about that.  This is a time for beer!”

“Hallelujah,” Charles responded with a chuckle and looked around the day cabin.  “Where is it?”

“Right here,” Dawn proclaimed as she walked back through the hatch with two cold bottles in her hands.

Malcolm frowned at her.  “What’re they doing in there?”

“
You
were drinking too much,” she answered with a sweet smile and placed the bottles on the table.  She turned away and walked back through the hatch without another word, but her actions said everything that needed saying.

“Ease of access,” Charles said in a skeptical tone, filling the silence that followed her departure.

“Yeah,” Malcolm whispered, chewing his lip.  “I keep telling myself that.”  He twisted the top off his beer, tossed it into the trash, and moved to sit back down in his chair.  He pointed the beer at the chair across the ottoman from him and returned his feet to their rightful place on it so he could relax and drink.

“Keep it up,” Charles said in a wry tone as he followed the command.  “Sooner or later you’ll believe it,” he added before taking a careful sip.  His expression brightened and he smiled.  “This is good.”

Malcolm chuckled.  “Callahan Brewery’s best stock.”

Charles laughed out loud and gave the bottle a fresh examination.  “Doesn’t he give these out with every special order?”

Malcolm aimed an innocent look at his old friend.  “Why, this
was
the special order.  And I have the customs receipts to prove it,” he finished with a raised finger.  “So don’t you suggest anything else.”  He paused to take a deep breath and smiled at the bottle.  “Totally worth the special trip, too.”

Charles took another long draw and nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, it would be.  The old man does good work.”

Malcolm raised his bottle high and smiled.  “The best.”

Charles leaned back further in his chair and took another sip, giving every impression of just enjoying the taste.  But Malcolm knew his old friend well enough to realize he was holding back from saying something.  Malcolm turned to watch the shuttles ferrying to and from the supply yard outside and just gave his friend time.

“I hear you lost
Hastings
,” Charles finally said into the silence.

Malcolm sighed, but didn’t turn from the view of outside.  “She was a good ship in her time.  Maybe will be again.  But we just didn’t have enough time to fix everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said in a tone that left no doubt he meant it.

“Nothing you could do about it.”  Malcolm smiled at his friend and raised his beer again.  “Thanks to your warning, we got everybody out.  Even her crew.”

“Dorothy told me it was close,” Charles said over his beer.

“
Too
close.”  Malcolm swallowed and looked at his friend in complete seriousness.  “They’ve got
Austins
.  Eight of them.  If they
ever
get those main cannons into range, they’ll cut every one of my ships apart in seconds.”

Charles frowned.  “You think they are following you?”

Malcolm chewed his lip for several seconds before answering.  “I don’t think they sent someone who’ll give up easily.”

Charles nodded very slowly, still thinking.  Finally he smiled and let out a long breath.  “Well then.  I may have found something that will brighten your day,” he noted in a pleased tone.

Malcolm cocked his head to the side, examining his friend for a moment.  “What?”

“Look over there,” Charles said, pointing his beer at the bulkhead showing outside space.

Malcolm followed the aim of the bottle and frowned as he focused on a ship the size of a modern destroyer approaching them from the gas giant.  She wasn’t like any ship he’d ever seen before.  A wedge-shaped hull the size of a frigate dominated her forward half, with a long rectangular cargo pod of some kind hanging off her rear.  A massive collection of engines completed the ship’s final meters, though they were currently inactive as the ship drifted near them.  She looked like some kind of modular cargo transport, though he’d never seen one like her.

“A
transport
?” Malcolm asked with a frown.

“Yes,” Charles answered with a chuckle.  “The cybernetic families built her for us.”

“The
cybers
?” Malcolm asked in surprise, eyes glancing towards the other cabin.  “Not the Peloran?”  They’d integrated themselves into both Terran and Peloran society so well that sometimes it was hard to remember they had their own separate resources to call upon.  And they never advertised the fact.

“I was hoping you would catch that,” Charles noted in an approving voice.  “She is a side project I asked the cybernetic families to undertake to…deal with the side effects of other new projects.  That secondary hull is actually a carrier pod designed to support a full Avenger squadron.”

Malcolm frowned at the pod, wondering if his scale was off.  Avengers were big birds.  “She doesn’t look big enough for a squadron.”

Charles chuckled again.  “She isn’t for a
fully manned
squadron,” he whispered and tapped himself on the chest.  “But I have not flown in a fully manned squadron since the New Washington Winter Contingency.”

Malcolm swallowed at the mention of the disastrous results of that particular Shang orbital bombardment.  Then he frowned as the rest of Charles’ statement clicked the light bulb in his mind.  “She’s designed to carry a
cowboy
squadron, isn’t she?”

“Precisely,” Charles said with a slow nod, and Malcolm considered the ship very carefully.  During the early Battles of Alpha Centauri, Charles’ Cowboys had started using cybernetically piloted drone fighters to augment their numbers.  The name had caught on with the public, and forces across the Alliance were adopting them into common use.  Even
Normandy
flew cowboy squadrons since it was so very hard to find good, retired fighter pilots.

“Well, that puts a new spin on things,” Malcolm whispered as he came to terms with the implications.

“More than you think,” Charles answered.  “You see, they are going to be marketing downgraded versions of this ship to the public.”  He waved a hand at her.  “But that girl is fully armed and operational.  All Peloran tech under the hood.  If those
Austins
meet her, they will not enjoy the experience,” he finished with a feral smile.

Malcolm let out a low whistle.  “And she’s mine?”

“Not exactly,” Charles equivocated.  “We only have a few of them right now, and all are in testing.”  Then he smiled.  “I may have arranged for that girl to get lost in paperwork.”

“
You
arranged for something to get
lost
?” Malcolm asked with raised eyebrows.

Charles sighed.  “Must be your corrupting influence.”

“Don’t believe a word he says,” Dorothy shouted from the other cabin.  “He asked and we agreed.”

Malcolm cocked his head at Charles.

Charles shrugged, raised his beer in a toast, and took another swig.

Malcolm answered his motions and sighed.  “So how does
that
work?” he finally asked with a glance at the hatch.

Charles let out a long breath as he considered his words.  “Much better than I ever expected.  She is…” he trailed off and shook his head, unable to find the right ones.

“Yeah,” Malcolm whispered.  “She fills in all the holes, doesn’t she?”

Charles glanced over his shoulder at the hatch for a long second before answering.  “Yes.”

Malcolm studied his friend for several moments, recognizing the utter contentment radiating from him.  The man could die tomorrow, but he was happy.  That meant a lot.  “Sometimes I envy you.”

“Really?” Charles jerked his head towards the hatch.  “What about her?”

Malcolm pulled in a long breath and sighed.  “She’s a good friend.  It’s what administrative cybers are supposed to be.  Friends to everyone they work with.  But you?  Truthfully, how often does Dorothy finish your sentences?”

Charles laughed and looked back out towards the stars.  “Hell.  She usually
starts
them for me.”

“That’s what makes you such a good team,” Malcolm whispered, a hint of envy creeping into his voice.

Charles sighed again.  “God does not always give us what we want, Mal,” he said in a very serious tone.  “Just what we need.”  He jerked his head towards the hatch with a meaningful look.  “And sometimes we find out after all the kicking and screaming, that He gave us what we really wanted after all.”

Malcolm stared at his friend for several seconds.  Five years ago, Charles never would have said anything so sappy if his life depended on it.  And God was just some guy that some people believed in.  But looking his old friend in the eyes, Malcolm realized that he really meant it all.

“I remember when we made fun of people who talked like that,” Malcolm finally whispered.