Jack of Harts 2.5: Wolfenheim Rising (8 page)

“Me too,” Charles returned without hesitation.  Then he glanced towards the hatch with another meaningful look.

This time, Malcolm took the hint.  “Sometimes I just wish I could find someone that fits…me.  Just me.  Someone that knows me so well she…
starts
my sentences for me,” he finished with a chuckle.

Charles glanced at the hatch and smiled.  “Yes.  That is a good thing to look for.”  He raised his beer again.  “To sometimes.”

Malcolm returned the toast by raising his beer too.  “To sometimes.”

They leaned back and watched the ships moving, savoring the good beer for several minutes.  Finally, Charles spoke again.  “So how is Captain Wyatt doing?”

Malcolm pursed his lips and let out a low whistle.  “She’s doing good,” he answered, letting more admiration leak through than he meant to.  “You picked real good there.”

Dawn stuck her head through the hatch.  “Oh,
Malcolm
thinks
Olivia
is doing
amazing
. 
Sometimes
,” she said in the tone of a sister telling on her older brother.

“Hush, you,” Malcolm growled back.

“Baby pictures!” she returned, waving one finger in the air.

Malcolm’s smile took on an evil glint.  “New job,” was all he said, though.

She covered her heart as if struck by a killing blow and stumbled back into her cabin.

Charles looked back and forth between them and shook his head.  “So Dawn really
is
working out, I see,” he finally said with complete aplomb.

“Oh, she’s a real slave driver,” Malcolm snorted back.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t such a lazy, good-for-nothing slob!” Dawn shouted from the other room, seemingly having completely recovered from his killing shot of a moment ago.  Malcolm shrugged at Charles.  “I saw that!”  He stuck his tongue out at the door.  “That too!”

Malcolm chuckled and turned to Charles.  “Honestly, we’re good.  She’s good.  They’re all good.  I couldn’t do it without them.  We’ve got a good team thanks to all the suggestions you made.  I wouldn’t want any of them gone.  Does that answer all your questions?”

Charles sighed.  “Yes.  I think it does.”  He looked around the quarters with a smile and raised his beer again.  “To sometimes,” he repeated the toast.

Malcolm followed his look with a smile.  “Yeah.  To sometimes,” he returned and took another pull of his beer.

They leaned back in their chairs and just relaxed, two old friends that didn’t need to say anything else to say everything that mattered.  Cargo shuttles passed before their eyes on the bulkhead, slowly emptying the supply depot of the supplies set aside for them.

Movement caught Malcolm’s attention, and he turned to see Dawn stepping into the day cabin with a worried look on her face.  “We just detected eight emergence signatures on the New Earth–Sunnydale Run,” she said with a frown.

Malcolm groaned and held the cool bottle against his forehead to stem the headache he could already feel coming.  “Not again.”

“Transmission arriving.”  Dawn shifted her head to the side for a moment, before looking back at him.  “Same as before.  Commodore Murphy, blah, blah, blah,” she said with a smile.  “Stand down and prepare to be boarded, blah, blah, blah.  I can send her a rude response, if you want,” she finished with a hopeful smile.

“Wait,” Charles interrupted, pulling Malcolm’s attention to his thoughtful gaze.  “
Dana
Murphy?” the other man asked in a very pointed tone.

The name tagged a memory somewhere, but Malcolm couldn’t place it.  “How should I know?” he asked, his tone exasperated.  “She’s trying to
arrest
me.  We’re not exactly on a first name basis,” he explained with a shrug.

Charles sighed and looked at Dawn.  “Can I see a picture of her?”  She nodded and, a view of Commodore Murphy appeared in the air next to her.  Charles frowned at the picture for several seconds before shaking his head.  “I do not know.  But then, I never knew her that well, either.  You were the one carrying a torch.”

“What?”  Malcolm looked more closely, and then it all clicked.  She really
did
look familiar.  “Prom night?  The cute little brunette with the dimples?”

Charles snorted.  “That describes a third of the senior class,” he said with a shake of his head.  “But…yes, I think we are thinking of the same girl.”

Malcolm studied the picture for several more seconds, but beyond the moment of recognition nothing seemed quite right.  “I don’t know,” he finally whispered in a doubtful tone.  She certainly
could
be that girl, all grown up, but there were too many differences to be certain either way.  “Maybe?”

“So,” Charles noted in a very serious tone.  “
Maybe
the girl you broke up with on prom night?”  His expression showed he still thought it had been one of Malcolm’s less intelligent choices in life.

Malcolm shrugged back.  He couldn’t argue the fact.  He’d done more stupid things back then than he cared to remember.  And in fact, he was very certain that he
didn’t
remember all of them.  “But we were
kids
back then,” he protested.  “Young and stupid goes with the territory.”

“True,” Charles intoned as he scanned her holo again.  “But Pennsylvania has many destroyer squadrons.  They sent
her
squadron for a reason.  Maybe they thought she had a reason to not just give up easily.”

Malcolm wanted to protest, but he just nodded in agreement.  Charles’ thoughts made sense and went parallel enough to his thoughts that it disturbed him.

“So what do you want us to do?” Charles asked in a decisive tone.

Malcolm recognized the question for what it truly asked.  Charles had the connections to make certain this Commodore Murphy never made it out of Sunnydale.  Their eyes met and he knew Charles really was making the offer.  “No,” he finally said, his voice firm.  “If this is personal, I don’t want you burning resources you’ll need later.  I’ll find a way to handle it.  And if it’s not, she’ll give up sooner or later.  All I have to do is stay a step ahead of her.”

Charles smiled in approval.  “Can we at least delay her, then?”

Malcolm chuckled.  “Oh, I think that’ll be easy.  Her fleet probably didn’t expect a trip this long.  I mean, they’re
Pennsylvania Star Fleet
.”  He shrugged and Charles smiled.  For a “Star Fleet,” they’d always been more of a prestige force than a true deep-space fleet.  That was why they had so many destroyers.  The more squadrons and fleets they had, the more commodore and admiral positions they could give to people with the right connections.  “They’re probably sucking on emergency rations by now and are gonna wait as long as it takes to get real food on board.  Not to mention spare parts for all the stuff that probably broke down on the way out here,” he added with another chuckle.

“Good point.”  Charles’ eyes brightened at the thought.  “I think we can do something to help you there.”  He took another sip from his beer, gave it an appreciative look, and placed the bottle on the deck.  “But I should go now.”  His voice was decisive as he came to his feet.

Malcolm echoed his actions and stepped forward to hug his old friend again.  “Thanks, man.  Good luck at Hyades,” he finished with a thump on the shoulder.

“Good luck at Gateway.”  Charles squeezed hard, almost forcing the air from Malcolm’s lungs, and stepped away with a nod towards the hatch.  “I can find my way out,” he added and began walking towards the day cabin’s exit.  Dorothy met him there and Charles looked back, one finger tapping his ear.  “Besides, Dorothy tells me I have an escort.”

Malcolm aimed a questioning look at Dawn, and she just smiled in acknowledgement.  That question answered, he smiled at Charles again and nodded.

The hatch opened and Malcolm caught a glimpse of the John Parker in the corridor.  Malcolm chuckled, and Charles stepped out to see the man that had practically raised both of them, Dorothy in tow.  The hatch closed, leaving Malcolm and Dawn alone in the cabin.  They shared a long look before Malcolm sat back down and reached for his beer.

Dawn moved to pick up Charles’ bottle of beer, and her face brightened at the sloshing sound.  She plopped down in the vacated chair, kicked her feet up onto the ottoman, and leaned back to gulp down the beer in a long draw.  Finally finishing it, she smacked her lips in approval and smiled.

“Good stuff.”

“The best,” Malcolm returned, and looked at the hatch Charles and Dorothy had left.  “She’s always a holoform isn’t she?”  His eyes returned to see Dawn sighing.

“Yeah.”  She shook her head.  “Per American military rules, always a holoform.”

Malcolm wondered what it would be like to be that close to a woman that completed him the way Dorothy completed Charles, and never be able to touch her.  He didn’t envy Charles nearly as much after that realization.  “I’m not sure I could make that bargain,” Malcolm whispered and swirled the bottle in his hand, feeling the last dregs of beer splashing in the bottom.

“I couldn’t,” Dawn said with a certainty that forced him to look at her over the lip of the bottle.  She met his gaze and sighed as she chewed her lip.  There was far more going on there, and he relaxed in his chair, waiting for her to say it or not.  Finally she smiled at him.  “Fifty years ago.  American fighter contract.”  She winced and shook her head.  “Ended badly.  My family hasn’t accepted them since.”  She planted her empty bottle on the deck with a solid thunk and smiled.  “And that’s why I have a body.  That’s how I like it.”

“Me too,” he whispered absently.

“Do you?” she asked in a very serious tone.

He met her gaze for a moment, recognizing the worry in her eyes.  He pulled in a deep breath and smiled.  “Yeah.  I do.”  He relaxed as the words felt utterly right.

“Good,” she answered, her voice betraying relief, and looked out into space.

Malcolm followed her gaze to the part of the bulkhead showing where Murphy and her squadron rested.  “You know, if she keeps following us, she might get close enough to pounce on us before we can get out.”

“Yeah,” Dawn whispered, her eyes dark.  “We’re going to have to be ready to do something about that.”

Malcolm met her gaze and read the question in her eyes.  He thought about it for a long moment.  It would simplify everything if he could just wipe those ships out with a fighter strike or something equally decisive.  He felt the cliff before him, the hungry urge to take that option below him, and shook his head.  He mentally stepped back from that cliff and sighed.

“No.”  He shook his head hard.  “Not if we can avoid it.  I need other options.”

Dawn smiled, her gaze approving of his choice.  “It’ll make things harder on us if she catches us.”

“I know,” Malcolm whispered and looked back out as the shuttles began to pull away from his ships for what had to be the last time.  “But I won’t this project
begin with the legacy of American blood on her hands.”

“Good,” Dawn said, her voice radiating profound approval now.  “Thank you,” she added and let out a long, relaxing breath.

Malcolm smiled, raised his bottle, and drained it in one final gulp.  Then he placed the empty bottle on the deck and just watched the lights move on the bulkhead.  He waited, not saying a word, not needing to say a word, for the last preparations to be completed.

As the new ship slipped into formation with them, Avengers twice the size of his old Blackhawks escorting her, he waited to leave another star system behind.  He was leaving everything behind.  Everything he thought had mattered to him a mere few years ago.  Now, with Charles departing again, he realized his old friend had helped him find something that mattered far more than anything back home.  It was right here, on the few small ships of this fleet, and it came with him wherever he went.

He didn’t see the hyperdrives power up and drop the fleet back into hyperspace.  By the time they were gone, his breaths came long and deep, lungs filling with air beneath closed eyes.  He didn’t see Dawn lay a thin blanket over his shoulders or walk away with the empty bottles.  He was at peace, surrounded by a family he trusted with his life and more.

Malcolm pounded on the punching bag in the empty fitness center.  Twenty-five days had gone by since leaving Sunnydale, far too long as far as he was concerned.  He was bored.  For the first time in years, Director Malcolm McDonnell of the Wolfenheim Project had nothing to do, and he hated it.  He’d been so careful to make certain that there were people to do everything that needed doing that he’d organized himself out of a job.  Now he was just a glorified passenger on a starship that didn’t need a word of input from him.

A knee flashed up to strike the bag, followed by a punch and an elbow that kept the punching bag vibrating in a steady rhythm.  Rivulets of sweat poured down his upper body, soaking his athletic shorts, and he breathed deeply to keep the oxygen flowing through his body. 
Normandy’s
crew were at their stations, ready to arrive in Independence, which gave him the very rare opportunity to get in a real workout.

There were many things Malcolm liked about his body.  There should be.  He’d spent enough of his life working on it, after all.  He was a naturally small person, which would have made him the brunt of many jokes when he was young if he hadn’t taught the bullies that he was perfectly willing to fight dirty.  They liked easy victories, not real fights, and he’d spent most of his childhood in relative security, training in the martial arts and weight lifting.  For a small guy, he’d built up impressive muscle tone that he took into adulthood.

All that ended when he was thirty-four.  Five of that particular blight on humanity had envisioned plans for a girl and there was only one of him.  He won, for certain values of winning.  They didn’t stand back up.  Of course, neither did he.  Thankfully, the girl carried him to an emergency room where they put all his parts back in the right order.  Even with her quick reaction, he probably would have died, though.  He didn’t wake up, and the doctors weren’t hopeful.

Then the Peloran made Contact and brought superior medical treatments with them.  The girl made certain he got them, and he woke up.  It was a miracle.  But every miracle came with a cost.  He spent the next few months recovering and adjusting to the new world.  He lost all of his muscle tone in the months of rehabilitation, and when the final Peloran Treatment did whatever it did to the one-in-a-million people like him, his body decided that was how it wanted to look.  Forever.

He was perfectly healthy.  He would be until the day he died.  He was stronger and faster, his senses sharper, and he healed from wounds that would kill a normal human.  But his body rid itself of “unnecessary” muscle tone on a daily basis.  He ran and lifted weights like an Olympic medallist, all to maintain just a little bit of muscle tone.  He liked having muscle tone.  So unlike most Ageless, he exercised every day.  And today was a very special day.  Today he was alone in the fitness center, with the gravity dialed up to twice Earth standard.  It was a very good day to push his body to its limits.

He slammed one final quivering fist into the punching bag to stop it, and sucked air into his lungs.  He blinked sweat out of his eyes and flexed his hands.  His muscles jittered from head to toe, fatigue chemicals filling them to the point that even he could barely stand.  He was done.

He stumbled over to a bench, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and sat down, willing his heart beat to drop back down to normal.  It seemed like it took forever, but finally the rapid thumping slowed.  His breathing became regular, and sweat began to evaporate into the chill air of the fitness center.

The hatch opened, and fresh air swarmed into the fitness center.  Dawn stepped in from the corridor and wrinkled her nose.  “Are we finally done with this torture?” she asked with a wry smile, holding a tempting beer in each hand.

“Yeah,” Malcolm answered in a breathless hiss.

“Good,” Dawn whispered and strode forward as light as a feather.  It was like she didn’t even notice the high gravity.

He took one beer from her hand with a muttered “Thanks” as holographic fields came to life in the middle of the fitness center.

“Always,” she answered, her tone betraying amusement.  “Here it comes,” she added as a maelstrom of gravity-generated colors Malcolm didn’t have names for filled the center.  That wasn’t a surprise, of course.  He didn’t have names for
most
colors.  Peach was a fruit, after all, not a color.

“There,” Dawn announced, pointing her beer at one display.

Malcolm absentmindedly twisted the top off his beer and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.  He loved watching ships leave hyperspace.  Since he was a child, he’d watched every recording he could find, and had made special trips to see fleet maneuvers that involved them.  It was beautiful.  As a child, it had been proof that mankind could go wherever it wanted to go.  To the adult Malcolm, it was a reminder that they were not alone in the galaxy.  To the Malcolm who sat in the chair, it was a promise.  They were coming.  No matter the cost, no matter how hard anybody hit them, the people of Earth would never stop coming.

He
would never stop coming.

The displays went blank for an instant and then came back to life with pinpricks of stars dotting the darkness of normalspace.  Nine more starships and four dozen fighters appeared over the next few seconds, shedding the colors of their own hyperspace energies into the Independence star system.  Malcolm just smiled as the light pulsed out from them, a message to anyone in system that visitors had arrived, and then faded away.  In seconds, the show was over, but Malcolm remained where he was, letting the feelings it evoked flow through him.

“Beautiful, huh?” Dawn asked, sipping her beer with satisfaction.

“Absolutely,” Malcolm answered and sucked in a long breath before asking the next thought that came to mind.  “Do you think we’re alone?”

Dawn laughed.  “Oh, not a chance.”  She pointed her beer at the gas giant now dominating the view on one display.  Several dozen ships appeared, holding the gas giant’s orbitals against any threat.  Most were frigates or destroyers, but a few cruisers supported them.  It wouldn’t be enough to stop a major invasion, but the planetary defense force was more of a warning against attack than a true defensive fleet.  The actual battle squadrons that orbited distant Independence were the real threat.  Most of the ships flew the flag of Independence: red, white, and blue with a single star.  A few warships flew the Peloran flag as well, proving that they still considered the system important enough to garrison.

“You know what I mean,” Malcolm muttered as he scanned for the navy blue flag of Pennsylvania. 

“Every ship I’ve found so far is squawking their codes, and not a one of them is our friend Murphy.” She turned her head and smiled at him.  “I think we’re clear.”

Malcolm nodded in relief.  “Then I suppose we should resupply, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dawn growled.  “You have no idea how peckish I’ve been getting lately.”

Malcolm suppressed a smile at her unconscious adoption of her ship persona again.  It was amusing to watch her shift personalities on a dime.  She caught his motion, though, and glowered at him.

“You try twenty-five days of eating out of a pack you carried on your back and tell me you like the rations by the time you’re done,” she growled.

“I’ll pass,” Malcolm answered, hands held up in a defensive gesture.

“Thought so.”  She turned back to the bulkhead with a wistful gaze.  “That gas giant looks yummy.”

Most fleet bases orbited gas giants because they were amazing refueling depots.  Ships swooped down into the gas giants, sucked in their atmospheres to collect the elements they needed to run, and pulled away again with topped-off supplies.  They couldn’t find everything they needed, of course.  For the rare elements, they stopped at the depots to load up.  And of course they always needed spare parts too.  And food.  Food for the crew, at least.

“We can’t get that far behind The Red Line,” Malcolm cautioned her.

“I know,” she growled back.  “But one of these days, I’m going to find myself a gas giant without a hyperspace jammer.  And then I’m taking a
bath
in it.”

“Can I watch?” Malcolm asked with a sly look.

She blinked in confusion, and then he saw the Dawn he’d known for years come back up for air.  Dawn raised an eyebrow at him, tilted her head back, and took another long pull from her bottle.  When she finished, she shook her head at him.  “You,” she said, pointing her bottle at him with a threatening motion.

“Hello, Dawn,” he answered without a hint of repentance.  “Nice to have you back.”

“Oh.”  She blushed in the way only a redhead could match.  “Right. Thanks,” she finished and took another long pull from her beer.

“What are friends for?” Malcolm asked and sipped his beer as well.

They shared a smile before turning back to watch the view in the bulkhead.  After so many days in hyperspace, it was a beautiful view.

“Well, what do you know?” she said after a few moments.  “We just got a message from Independence.”

“Good or bad?” he asked.

Dawn chuckled.  “
Very
good.  They’ve got a supply depot waiting for us, too.”

Malcolm snorted.  “I love it when a plan comes together.”

“Even when it’s not yours?”

“Especially when it’s not mine.”  He winked back.  “The surprise makes it better.”

“Ah.  Right.”  She waved her beer at him.  “Everyone loves a good surprise.”

He finished taking another sip of his and waggled his eyebrows at her.  “Yup.”

She aimed a sly expression at him.  “It’s the bad surprises that bring all the screaming and running and gnashing of teeth, right?”

Malcolm shrugged.  “Eh.  I prefer
shooting
at bad surprises.”

She threw her head back and laughed.  “Oh you have no idea how much joy I’ve gotten out of envisioning you shooting some of the paper pushers I’ve had to deal with over the last few years,” she said after a few seconds.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her.  “Point me at ’em,” he only half joked.

She actually giggled at his comeback.  “Oh, I’ve been tempted.”  She nodded towards the outside view of the approaching supply depot.  “We’ll be loading for a while, by the way.”  Then she made a show of sniffing and wrinkling her nose.

“Right,” Malcolm said with a nod.  The brief rest had given his body time to recover.  He would need to eat soon to replenish everything he’d burned.  But she was right.  He had a far more important problem that needed taking care of.  “I need to shower,” he muttered, guzzled down the last of the beer, and rolled onto his feet in a graceful motion.

Dawn frowned at him.  “What a waste of a good beer,” she scolded.  “
I
am going to stay right here and
enjoy
mine,” she added in a prim tone.

“You do that,” Malcolm noted with a chuckle.  “Don’t forget to tell me if something important happens.”

“Why would I ever forget something like that?” she asked in an innocent tone.

“It’s amazing how much you forget when you think it’s for my own good,” Malcolm answered and stepped into the dressing room.

“Oh,” Dawn said in an unrepentant tone from his earpiece.  “Not that old argument again.”

“No argument,” Malcolm whispered as he walked towards the showers.  “Just an observation.”

“You are a very suspicious person, you know that?”

“I survived growing up with the Hurst family,” he said deadpan.  Suspicion was a survival trait when dealing with those people, after all.

“Good point,” Dawn whispered, and he could almost see her raising one finger in the air.  The only question he had was which finger she’d be raising in his direction.

“No peeking,” he ordered and stepped into the showers.

“You’re no fun,” she returned in a disappointed tone as he reached up to twist the shower handles.  Water sprayed out over him, and he smiled as the warm flow relaxed his exercise-strained muscles.

Five hours later, Malcolm leaned back from the wreckage of his second meal of the day.  Ravaged plates lay scattered across his day cabin’s table, telling the tale of his ravenous hunger.  The remains of a Philly cheesesteak, a giant bowl of clam chowder, an entire pan pizza, and far more dotted the table.  His eyes strayed to the slice of pecan pie before him.  It looked delicious, and his stomach rumbled as it caught the hint of fresh sugar on the way.  He smiled and reached for a fork.

“Oh, not again,” Dawn whined.

He froze, one hand on the fork, and turned to aim a baleful gaze at the cyber.  “What?” he growled.

She aimed a disgusted wave of her hand at a display as it came to life with eight starships radiating hyperspatial energy.  “Murphy,” she spat out.

His fingers clenched around the fork, working it like a dog working a bone.  “You sure?”

Dawn snorted.  “Just got the transmission.”

“Bloody hell.”  He felt the fork bend under his assault and looked down at its horridly misshapen hulk.  Well.  That was another fork ruined.

“Why can’t she just wait until we’re done loading supplies, for once?” Dawn growled.