by Medron Pryde
“Oh.” She pulled back and frowned at him. “Right.” She turned to another holofield where shuttles spilled out of the Wolfenheim Project starships. “Well, we’re almost ready to dive.”
Malcolm waved at the bulkhead showing a massive view of the nearby gas giant. “So long Independence. We barely knew yah.”
“That’s Perseverance,” Dawn corrected.
“Whatever,” Malcolm responded with a wry smile. He strode over to his favorite chair, sat down, and kicked his feet up onto the ottoman.
With a frown, Dawn sat down in the other chair, and they waited for the fleet to leave. Within minutes, the displays flashed and they were back in hyperspace.
“And that’s that,” Dawn reported, shaking her head.
Malcolm let out a long breath, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and watched the ships dive deeper into hyperspace. “Yup.” He didn’t have anything else to do. That thought soured his expression for a moment, but he pulled in a breath and decided that he was going to make the best of a bad situation and enjoy watching the lightshow. Somehow.
A few minutes later, Dawn shifted and looked at the hatch to the corridor outside the day cabin.
Malcolm aimed a questioning look at her.
“You’ve got company.” She blinked and then smiled. “And I think you’ll want to talk to him.”
“Well then. Don’t keep him waiting,” Malcolm ordered and turned towards the hatch. He caught a glimpse of Dawn sticking her tongue out at him, but the hatch opened without further delay.
A brown leather flight jacket moved into the cabin, worn by a young man with dirty brown hair and a black Stetson atop it. The kid swore up and down that John Smith was his real given name. Of course, the seventeen-year-old baby face could say the sun died while you slept with such guileless sincerity that you’d believe him until you saw the glowing orb for yourself. The real life Boy Scout, who surely helped old ladies cross the street in his spare time, was also a veteran of Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 112, the Cowboys. He was, in short, one of the cutest little killing machines Malcolm had ever met.
Malcolm smiled and sprang to his feet to welcome the kid, as a redheaded holoform wearing blue jeans and a matching flight jacket followed the kid in. Dawn, on her feet even quicker than he, rushed over to welcome the other cyber. Avatar and holoform leaned in close to exchange greetings, and Malcolm shook his head. Anna had the “high school student on the run from a truant officer” look down perfectly. She even had freckles on her cheeks. She looked so bloody cute he felt like a dirty old man every time he looked at her.
“We’ll leave you two boys alone,” Dawn said and led Anna away. The girl actually giggled as they walked away. Giggled.
Malcolm turned back to share a bemused look with the young boy in front of him and had to suck in a lungful of air to reengage his brain. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he finally said, waving towards the chair that Dawn had so recently vacated.
“Thanks,” the kid answered and bounced past him to take his seat. Bounced.
Suddenly feeling very old, Malcolm followed the kid and relaxed down into his seat again. After arranging his feet back on the ottoman, he smiled at the pilot. “So what can I do for you?”
Instead of answering, Smith waved a hand at a part of the bulkhead. Outside, the Privateer that recently joined them sailed off Normandy’s port side, rivers of gravity parting around her. “She’s a beautiful ship,” he said in a proud tone.
“Yes, she is,” Malcolm returned, even though he wasn’t sure he really agreed. She was too blocky for him. She had too many straight lines and angles and weird things sticking out of her hull. Give him an old first-generation gravtech beauty like Normandy, all curves and smooth lines, and he was much happier. But, beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and Smith obviously loved that ship. So to the younger man, she was beautiful.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time on her lately,” Smith said with a smile.
Malcolm nodded. Smith was an Avenger pilot by training. It made sense that Charles wanted him to test a ship designed to carry them, especially since thirteen Avengers came with her. “I know.”
The kid blushed at his wry comment and met his gaze. Then the boy looked away again, back to admiring the beautiful ship out there. “I’m really going to have to thank him for her, aren’t I?”
Malcolm chuckled. “Yes you will.”
Smith nodded at him and smiled. “You have no idea how much I love being back in an Avenger,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. The Blackhawks are nice birds, but…”
He trailed off and Malcolm smiled. “But nothing holds a candle to the first girl you fly.”
“Yeah,” Smith answered with a smile. “I just wish I could give an Avenger to each of my pilots. But that would make us all targets.”
Malcolm nodded in understanding. The fighter squadrons on Normandy had a single pilot-cyber team controlling twelve fighters. The beauty of the system was that the enemy didn’t know which of the twelve fighters the pilot flew, making it impossible for them to target him. Handing out the Avengers to the other pilots would be like waving a giant sign that said “Shoot here.” And while cybers could come back from dying by just loading up a previous backup, death for genetic humans was a bit more permanent. Besides, there was another problem.
“And Normandy can’t support Avengers anyways,” Malcolm noted. Her hangar bays were designed for Blackhawks half the size of those monstrous fighters.
“Too big,” Smith agreed. Then he sighed, and Malcolm knew the kid was ready to say what he came here to say. “The last problem I have is that now we have five fighter squadrons and four pilots. Right now we’re using the fourth Blackhawk squadron as a reserve,” Smith continued in explanation, “putting broken-down birds there while they get repaired, and using it to flesh out our fighter screen.” He shrugged. “We could do that on a permanent basis, but that’s not optimal for a lot of reasons I don’t have time to explain. We just really need another pilot if we want to make full use of them.”
“Right,” Malcolm returned and looked back out at hyperspace. Good pilots were rare. He didn’t know how Charles managed to talk four Cowboys into retiring and joining the project, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to ask. The fact that all four were Ageless, with all the advantages that brought, made him even more unwilling to ask. There were some secrets he just didn’t need to delve into. “There’s not one person in the fleet that can fly a starfighter the way you do.”
Smith nodded very slowly, as if in deep thought. “Well,” he began in a doubtful tone, but he didn’t fool Malcolm at all. The boy knew exactly what he was going to say next, so Malcolm remained silent and waited for the next words. “I can think of one person on this ship I’d trust with a fighter.”
Malcolm raised one eyebrow as he waited, but Smith’s silence finally forced the question out. “Who?”
“He’s got all the right aptitudes,” Smith answered with a smile. “Based on the tests I’ve seen, I think he could make our fighters dance.”
“Who?” Malcolm repeated, wondering who could actually impress a retired Cowboy.
“His name’s Malcolm McDonnell,” Smith noted without any hesitation at all.
The name didn’t register for a second. Then Malcolm laughed. It was just too ridiculous. “No.”
“Why?” The kid was still smiling, but Malcolm felt something underneath the childlike skin. He couldn’t tell what it was, but the kid that looked at him suddenly appeared far older than he looked.
“Well,” Malcolm said with a trace of uncertainty. “Look, I’ve never flown a starfighter in my life. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
Smith smiled. “I didn’t either when I started.” He looked to the hatch the girls had disappeared through. “Honestly, with them, we don’t need to know how to fly. They do all the hard work. We’re just there to…add some organic randomization to the mix.”
“You do a lot more than that,” Malcolm said a raised eyebrow, daring
the kid who wasn’t quite a kid to correct him.
Smith smiled. “Well, that’s because I’m in command. I have to be able to think ahead and strategize.” Then he aimed very old eyes at Malcolm, laying a hundred years of Marine experience on him at once. “You’d just have to be willing to follow my orders.”
Malcolm leaned back further in his chair and frowned. “Well, that’d be a bit of a change.”
Smith shrugged. “You’d still be Director of course. But when in flight, you’d need to be willing to accept my commands without reservation. And at the same time be able to trust your instincts when your subconscious tells you that Something Bad is about to happen,” he noted and tapped his forehead. “And you’d need to be ready to risk your life to protect a pack of normal humans.”
Malcolm raised one eyebrow at the man.
Smith cleared his throat in the uncomfortable silence, but took the bull by the horns and leaned forward. “Look. Many people like us refuse to lift a single finger to protect them,” he spat out.
“Like the Hurst family?” Malcolm asked with a shrug.
Smith nodded and gave him an apologetic look. “And most of their allies,” he said very slowly.
Malcolm nodded, acknowledging the clean hit. Then he spread both arms out wide. “And here I am.” He smiled, understanding what the man was thinking. “Directing.” Not fighting.
“Yes,” Smith responded with care, reluctant to be any more direct. Malcolm understood that too. He was about as close to the Hurst family that anybody could get without actually being blood. It didn’t matter if they were chasing him. A man could pick up a serious case of superiority complex by living a life with them. And people like them looked poorly on direct challenges to their humanity. Especially when they thought they were the best humans around. Smith came to his feet and sucked in a deep breath. “You don’t need to answer now. Just think about it and get back to me.” Smith nodded and turned to walk back to the exit hatch.
Malcolm followed his progress to see Anna appearing in the other hatch. She moved to meet him, her green eyes shining brightly as she studied Malcolm. The intensity of that gaze did not belong on her high school–girl looks.
She reminded him of another girl, long ago. Back in a time when he thought Earth was alone in the universe. For a split second, he remembered the man he’d been back then. Just a normal human like everyone else, thirty-four years old and willing to face five men for the woman behind him. He remembered the feeling of dancing through the katas, diving between men, and lashing out with fists, feet, elbows, and more. That younger version of himself had been willing to die for her. He almost had.
Malcolm shook his head. Girls made men do the stupidest things. But across the gulf of time, he saw that man and sighed. Some people had the example of parents to live up to. Some people were moved into action by how they thought other people would be disappointed. Malcolm had himself. A stupid, idiotic, stubborn individual who lived a century ago and still demanded that Malcolm rise to his example. Looking at that person, he didn’t need time to think about it.
“Smith.” He only said the one word, but the man turned to look at him, one foot in the open hatch, and raised one questioning eyebrow. “If you really want me, I’ll give it a try,” Malcolm said into the silence.
The old man hiding behind the boy’s face aimed a stern gaze at him. “There is no try.” He said in a very hard voice. “There is only do.” He waved an arm towards the ship around them. “Trying is dying.”
Malcolm met the challenge in the man’s gaze and felt it settle into his soul. The stubborn idiot from the past smiled and accepted it without question. Malcolm sucked in a long breath, let it out, and nodded. “Then I guess I’ll do,” he answered, and the stubborn, idealistic fool from his past practically bubbled with pride.
The old Marine stared at him for several seconds, measuring him carefully. Then Smith nodded and the Marine faded away, replaced by a seventeen-year-old kid with a cocky smile. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” the kid said and stepped out of the day cabin. Anna took one step into the hatch, paused to aim another examining look at Malcolm, and skipped out after him. Skipped. With a dimples, a freckled smile, and everything.
“I like them,” Dawn whispered after the hatch closed behind them, and moved to sit down in the vacated chair again.
“They make me feel old,” Malcolm returned, not wanting to think about the other things they made him feel. It had been a long time since he met someone that made him want to step up like that. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair to cover that realization.
“Well, that’s fair,” Dawn answered with an amused smile and crossed her legs on the shared ottoman between them. “You are old.”
“Hush, you,” Malcolm shot back.
“Baby pictures,” Dawn warned, one raised finger in the air.
Malcolm chuckled and smiled. She met his gaze and he read the promise in them. She would help. No matter what. “New job?” he whispered, turning the rejoinder into a question.
“Sounds good to me,” she answered with a crooked smile and turned to look out at the multicolored rivers of hyperspaces flowing past them. “I was getting bored anyways.”
Malcolm examined her profile for a few seconds, and then turned to follow her gaze with a satisfied sigh. It was a beautiful sight.
Humanity is a diverse lot. We have many beliefs, many wishes and dreams. We fight each other, sometimes kill each other. Too often, we see only the differences and think, “they aren’t as good as us.” But some days we rise above what separates us. Some days we stand united. There aren’t enough of them. But they are the best of days, no matter how fleeting.
VII
Malcolm flexed his fingers as hyperspace roiled around the Blackhawk fighter. In the near distance, Normandy flailed through the gravitic maelstrom surrounding the Pleiades Cluster. He’d heard stories of the Pleiades but assumed they were just that. Wild stories told to impressionable children.
Seeing it now, he understood why the NASA missions had never even tried to explore the Hyades Cluster. Her one hundred or so stars tore at hyperspace so badly that old rocket ships could never have navigated it. But the over one thousand stars that made up the Pleiades were a true terror to anything without modern gravtech. Even modern vessels had to tread carefully and watch for gravitic currents that would pull them into nearby stars without warning.
But the siren call of Celaeno’s effect on hyperspace guided them through the chaos. The giant star stood out even against the backdrop of the cluster, giving them a target to aim for. That beacon-star quality was why Constantinople claimed the system decades ago. They named it Bosphorus, after the waterway that had made Byzantium, Constantinople, and even short-lived Istanbul the center of trade on old Earth.
The name made sense. The hot giant star, twenty-five lightyears from the center of the Pleiades Cluster, stabbed a path deep into the hyperspatial maelstrom that surrounded the cluster. Ships sailed that path to the Alcyone star system, deep in the center of the cluster, to find the greatest single reason that anyone ever came to the Pleiades. The Gateway.
Peloran space lay on the other side of The Gateway, thousands of lightyears away as light traveled. It was a shortcut through the stars that could send humanity farther into the galaxy than any man had gone before. Any Earthling at least.
Malcolm flexed his fingers again. A month ago, he’d never dreamed of piloting a starfighter. He hadn’t even flown combat simulators as a kid. A member of the Hurst family, no matter how remote, didn’t have time to waste on something like that. And even though Malcolm had no blood relation to the family, he was close enough that he was roped into all of the Hurst family training.
Some of it he hadn’t minded. They had some amazing daughters after all. Unfortunately, most of them just weren’t the kind of people he wanted to spend time with outside of school. Didn’t matter how pretty a girl was, when her gaze felt like a snake sizing up its next meal, he just wanted
nothing to do with her outside of approved family functions. Well, he didn’t want to see them at those either, but one had to keep up appearances.
The problem was that none of those family functions, not one bit of the family training, had prepared him for this day. The Hursts were expected to lead mankind into the next century by example. They were not expected to actually pick up weapons and brandish them at the enemy. There were always enough expendables from the lower classes for that brute force approach, after all. Let them fight with guns. A Hurst would fight with his mind on the battlefield of the boardroom and change worlds.
That training had made it possible for him to wrangle the Wolfenheim Project into being. It enabled him to acquire a Class One Colonization Package, the escorting warships, the colonists, and everything else he needed to complete the mission. Because of it, the Wolfenheim Project was a reality. But no amount of family training had ever prepared him for this moment, flying into a potentially hostile system in a starfighter.
They’d drilled every day of the month it took to sail from Independence to Bosphorus, burning the practical lessons of piloting a fighter into his subconscious. He doubted he would ever be as good as Smith, Anderson, Jones, or White. He had to smile as those names hit his mind again. The four Cowboys all swore those were the names they were born with. He thought they were lying through their teeth. But they were Cowboys. Charles had flown with them, trusted his life with them, and if Charles trusted them, Malcolm would too.
Malcolm turned from his inner ruminations to his partner. Dawn’s holoform sat atop the console, smiling back at him. The Blackhawk-class fighter didn’t have enough room for her physical avatar to fly with him, and even her holoform stood a mere twenty centimeters tall in the tight confines of the cockpit. She wore the same black combat boots, slacks, and flight jacket that she normally wore in real life, though, and he was growing accustomed to seeing her like this.
Dawn was the real brain of their Blackhawk. She flew them, and if they ever had to fire on an enemy, she would be doing that too. Smith had been right. He really was just along for the ride. Smith was also wrong, though Malcolm had a sneaking suspicion Smith had misled him on purpose. If he’d known the full of truth of what a pilot-and-cyber team was like, would he have accepted Smith’s offer? Malcolm didn’t know.