by Medron Pryde
Missile after missile ripped apart in less than a second, victim of the scout’s point defense, but there were a dozen more missiles for each one that fell, and they bore in on their victim. The first to breach the point-defense grid exploded outside the scout’s deflection grid, reaching out with talons of focused gravity to rip the concentrated bands of gravitic shielding apart. Missiles following them sailed through the shredded deflection grid with impunity, though three actually hit sections of the grid still online. Those missiles disappeared without a trace, twisted and ripped apart by gravitic shear measured in the thousands of gravities.
The other missiles found their target easy prey, though, and erupted into miniature black holes that tore through the scout with impunity. They only had enough power to maintain their attack for a fraction of a second, but in that time they twisted and tore at the scout and the streams of hyperspace around her without mercy. Gravity, the very fabric of hyperspace itself, vibrated with the assault, and gravitic whips lashed against both missiles and the nearby scout.
“Firing, Ma’am,” Thompson finished repeating her order, in accordance with standard Navy doctrine, as the missiles tore the scout apart before their eyes. That particular protocol seemed rather pointless to Malcolm as anybody with working eyes could see they were firing. But the Navy had their regulations. As he watched, the wreckage of the scout began to drift apart, victim of the gravitic currents swirling around the devastation.
“Good job, guns,” Wyatt congratulated, and turned to Malcolm with a smile. “Well. That was exciting. Did you enjoy your first hyperspace ambush?”
“It was…quick,” Malcolm responded, holding Dawn’s gaze for another second. She nodded back without a word. It could have been them under surprise attack. Four years of planning, wiped out in seconds by a chance meeting, and he couldn’t have done a thing to stop it. It was a humbling realization. “Meeting ships in hyperspace is…dangerous.”
Wyatt nodded very slowly, expression sober. “It’s incredibly rare. But yes. Very dangerous.” She turned back to her crew with a sigh. “Lieutenant Lopez. Bring us up into normalspace now,” she ordered, her voice under complete control.
“Surfacing now, Ma’am,” Jorge Lopez acknowledged, and the fabric of hyperspace began to twist around them as Normandy’s hyperdrive flexed her muscles. Every exterior display blinked out for a moment, and when they came back online an inky darkness filled by pinpricks of light surrounded them. One by one, the other ships of their fleet flashed into being around them, a rainbow of light radiating from them as they bled off the excess energy of their transit. In a matter of seconds, every last member of the Wolfenheim Project had arrived at their destination.
Sunnydale was the last major colony short of the Hyades Cluster, the linchpin in a network of military bases that kept pressure on Shang forces holding the cluster. Malcolm knew that intellectually. News reports of the brave stand of Sunnydale were legion, after all. But as the massive network of fortifications began to populate the sensor displays, he truly began to realize what it meant. Most of the stations were mere sensor platforms, scattered throughout the star system to keep track of starship traffic, but many others displayed the symbols of true forts inside jamming bubbles that disrupted hyperspace a lightminute across. The forts ringed both inhabited planets, protecting the inner system from the sneak attacks the Shang had become famous for.
Normandy and her charges had arrived far outside that cluttered part of the system though, near a single massive gas giant that dominated the view of nearby space. One display showed a zoomed-in view of the world, revealing the spiraling bright orange and red storms that gave it the name Torchdale. Another display came to life, and Malcolm had to suppress a gasp of amazement. Someone else on the bridge failed to suppress the urge, and he couldn’t blame them.
Hundreds of warships from every nation of the Western Alliance orbited the gas giant, icons proudly proclaiming their country of origin. Entire fleets of British, German, French, and American warships held formation near the fortified moons, ready to respond to any Shang incursion. Individual squadrons from other countries dotted the edges of the larger formations, and a few single ships held station next to one of the larger forts. Shuttles and fighters appeared as pinpricks of light, moving around the larger starships in a never-ending dance that betrayed the energy running through the fleet.
Malcolm whistled when he recognized the icon for Columbia, flagship of the American fleet. Far larger than any of the twenty or so dreadnoughts he could see, she didn’t even have an official class name. The newsies joked that it was because there was no other ship that could match her, and as one display zoomed in on her, Malcolm had to admit they had a point. The largest warship ever built by America, she dwarfed the “mere” battleships surrounding her in defensive positions. The scores of cruisers, destroyers, and frigates supporting them looked like mere toys next to her bulk, but reinforced how seriously America took the buildup at Sunnydale.
The display shifted again, this time showing nearly fifty brilliant white spires floating in the darkness. Malcolm swallowed and licked lips that were suddenly dry. He’d seen ships like that before, in orbit over Earth, but he’d never seen more than nine at a time. Nobody this side of Independence had ever seen more than nine. Aneerin’s single battle squadron had been the symbol of Peloran support of the Alliance for a hundred years. Now two more battle squadrons floated nearby. He blinked and reread the display to make sure he understood it. Yes. Someone on the other side of The Gateway had shaken loose an actual carrier squadron, and what looked like two escort squadrons, as well.
It wasn’t a true battle fleet. Nothing short of two hundred Peloran warships could ever be a real battle fleet. But those fifty warships were the most powerful collection of Peloran might seen in Terran space since Fifth Battle Fleet disappeared into the Hyades Cluster five years before. Which was what made the fleet assembled here at Sunnydale so very important. They had to fight an enemy that somehow wiped out two hundred Peloran warships at Hyades with no survivors. And as if that wasn’t enough to make anyone nervous about The War, that same enemy had destroyed over three hundred Alliance warships at Epsilon Reticuli with almost no survivors.
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.
Over the years, I have met many I would consider friends. There are only a very few that I would trust with my life. There are even fewer that I would drop everything for. Charles and I can go years without seeing each other, drink a beer over a word or two, and go our separate ways after saying everything that needs saying. We are family, in every way that matters. And when true family calls, you just answer. No questions. No reservations. You just do.
V
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 ha
tch. 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.”