Jack of Harts 2.5: Wolfenheim Rising

by Medron Pryde

  Malcolm quirked a smile at the thought and returned to scanning the displays. Several of the fighters sported engine damage that kept them from accelerating on their own, and tow cables connected them to their squadron mates. Other fighters had lost weapons, sensors, or even primary power plants. Over half of the fighters he’d assembled for this project were damaged or destroyed, but they’d kicked the Shang good. And they’d saved an entire squadron of American destroyers doing it. That was cause for a good party, even if the redoubtable Commodore Murphy led the destroyers in question.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Dawn asked.

  He pulled his eyes from the displays to look at her holographic form. The size of a girl’s doll inside the cockpit, the fiery redhead sat atop the main console and peered at him with concerned eyes. “We just kicked ass,” he said with a jaunty smile. “I liked it.”

  She smiled. “Me too,” she whispered and the view on the main canopy shifted to show the forts defending Bosphorus. Malcolm’s starfighters moved slowly by interplanetary standards, their fuel tanks running low after the fight, but they approached and passed through the forts in the blink of an eye before drifting on towards Bosphorus herself. “More importantly though, they liked watching it.”

  Malcolm blinked at the thought, realizing he should have considered that already. “How so?” he asked, his mind starting to calculate the possibilities.

  Dawn smiled. “Well, they’re impressed that a bunch of century-old fighters just beat the Shang to within a centimeter of their lives. Jealous, too.”

  Malcolm chuckled. The Peloran upgrades had given them serious teeth, but he’d kept their original look for precisely that reaction. The jealousy confused him though “Why jealous?”

  “They wanted to jump the Shang first,” Dawn said with a wave towards one of her displays decrypted transmission. “Seems the Shang have been getting pushy around here, but the politicos are trying to hold on to neutrality.”

  He frowned at her. They’d only been in system for less than an hour. How could she know all of that? “That’s some pretty specific knowledge,” he said in a suspicious tone.

  Dawn’s smile turned cherubic. “Well, a friend of the family might have slipped me their encryption key.”

  Malcolm sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve been a bad influence, haven’t I?”

  “Horrible,” she answered, her tone bright and cheery. “Of course, you did balance that out by helping the people who came here to arrest you in front of a whole solar system full of witnesses. They rather like you now.”

  “Wait, they know that?” Malcolm asked, momentarily lost again.

  Dawn chuckled and shook her head. “She broadcasted the warrant for our detention the moment she arrived in system, before the Shang jumped her. I doubt Bosphorus actually would have tried to arrest us. They are neutral, after all, and we paid a pretty penny for resupply and safe passage,” she said with a shrug. “But everybody knows why she’s here. And they know you know why. And they know that you helped her in spite of that.”

  Malcolm watched Bosphorus go by on the main canopy, passing from light to dark side. Lights of cities cast the pattern of human civilization across the world, and he was momentarily lost in the beauty of the moment. This world was untouched by The War raging throughout the rest of human space. He found himself torn between hoping that remained the same, and wishing the merchants of Constantinople would finally make a stand. “Sounds like they know a lot of things,” he whispered in a wistful tone, eyes following the receding orb.

  “Yup,” Dawn said in a very pleased tone. “And now they’re just watching us fly our shapely derrières right back out of their space because of that.”

  Malcolm laughed and rubbed his chin with one hand. “Maybe your shapely derrière,” he joked. “But I doubt they want to watch mine.”

  “Was that a compliment?” Dawn asked, making a show of examining herself in a mirror that appeared in the air.

  “Maybe,” he answered, waggling his eyebrows at her.

  “That is so sweet,” she said with a wave of one hand. “But don’t sell your tail short. I have it on good authority that it is highly prized amongst certain demographics.”

  Malcolm snorted. “But I don’t plan on going to prison anytime soon, so they are all out of luck.”

  “Oooh,” Dawn whispered with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Nice one.”

  “I’ll be here all…well…” Malcolm paused to check the displays. “All hour?”

  “I hope not.” At Malcolm’s look, she assumed an innocent expression. “They might get their boarding shuttles online by then.”

  Intrigued, Malcolm gave her another questioning look.

  “Oh, all right,” she said after a few seconds and a shake of her head. “They are trying to maintain neutrality, so there’s this cover story about a virus in the inertial compensators of all the customs shuttles.” Dawn aimed a forlorn look at him. “Bosphorus Control has informed Murphy that even though they would love to help her with her warrant, the shuttles are totally unsafe to fly until that is fixed.”

  “I bet that makes her happy,” Malcolm noted with a chuckle.

  “Surprisingly, she seems very understanding,” Dawn said with a knowing smile.

  Malcolm paused to take that in for a moment. Murphy was probably playing politics and not wanting to offend Bosphorus. People who offended them usually lived to regret that. Still, her reaction impressed him. “She’s good at this.”

  Dawn aimed a sly smile at him. “It does feel good to know that they sent someone actually good enough to be worthy of catching you, doesn’t it?”

  Malcolm chuckled and cleared his throat. “Yeah, but I’d be just as happy not getting caught.”

  “Oh, of course,” Dawn returned and raised one finger. “Not getting caught is the foremost plan in my mind, too.”

  Malcolm nodded, but his eyes moved to the displays showing the receding planet. He frowned as a thought came to mind. “Is there really a virus?”

  Dawn gave him a very earnest smile. “Implanting a virus would be a hostile act on a neutral party, which I, of course, would have nothing to do with.”

  “Of course,” Malcolm said with a quirk of his lip. “Do you think you could pass along my thanks to all the people who had absolutely nothing at all to do with this?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Dawn cocked her head to the side at his tone. “Well, I might have some contacts who might know how to contact the individuals who first reported the presence of the virus,” she answered, her tone betraying not a care in the world.

  “Thank you,” Malcolm said, trying to control another round of chuckles.

  Dawn nodded towards him, her posture that of a perfectly attentive secretary. “I’m here to serve.”

  “If only,” Malcolm whispered under his breath.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” he answered quickly, and met her gaze with nervous eyes. Would she be offended by his slip, thinking he meant something he didn’t? Not that he had any idea what he meant by it to begin with, which just made it all the more confusing.

  Dawn examined him for several seconds before waving one finger at him in a threatening gesture. “You remember that.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said with complete sincerity.

  “Better,” she returned, a crooked smile betraying amusement.

  Then she waved a hand at another display, and Malcolm eagerly focused on it. The massive bulk of Wolfenheim dominated the display, an ungainly ship with massive cargo sections held together by an exposed exoskeleton of girders. Engine pods the size of frigates glowed as they vented heat from the recent full burn. A smaller ship held station off her port bow, looking almost as ramshackle and hard-luck as the colony ship. That didn’t fool Malcolm though. The Privateer was designed to look like a cargo transport, but her weapons and armor meant she could take on modern destroyers alone and probably survive.


  The destroyers and frigates arrayed around those ships in a globular formation were smooth and rounded by comparison, built in the century-old style of the first American gravtech starships. Only Normandy approached the colony ship’s size, her shape as elegant as the other warships. Broad and flat, with massive engines dominating her rear superstructure, her rounded bow betrayed the menace of a warship. Large cylinders that looked like pre-gravtech rocket boosters ran along either side of the carrier, rounded in the front and narrowing to points behind the main engine section.

  As he watched, the central parts of the cylinders began to move. They slid out a few meters to reveal massive hinges tens of meters wide, and he could almost hear the clanging as they came to a stop. Then they cracked open, and a puff of atmosphere escaped in the form of tiny flash-frozen crystals, reflecting glints of light as they spun away. The cylinders continued to open wide like clamshells, revealing Normandy’s primary weapon. The dozens of cradles designed to hold Blackhawk starfighters looked like a tiny peace of heaven to one Malcolm McDonnell.

  Thrusters flared throughout the fighter formation, and engines came to life as they slowed to match speed with the much larger carrier. Tow cables holding disabled fighters vibrated with the tension of holding them in place, but the cybers performing the maneuvers knew exactly how much they could push. Malcolm just relaxed back in his seat as Dawn finally detached tow cables from the fighters she commanded, spun them around, and backed them into their cradles on small puffs of maneuvering thruster.

  A cradle locked around his fighter with several small clangs, and a final jerk brought them to a halt. He scanned to either side, watching the last of the wounded fighters limping into position for their cradles to close around them as well. And then the massive clamshell bay swung shut to block off the Pleiades Cluster’s light. The bay doors boomed as they hit, the vibration flowing through the cradle and into his seat. The doors pulled back into the ship, another clang reverberated through his fighter, and all was silent for a moment.

  Then the steady thrum of Normandy’s engines returned, and he looked at Dawn. She just smiled, confirming that they were accelerating away from Bosphorus. That was good. He didn’t want to spend any more time in-system than was necessary. Murphy and the Shang made things far too complicated for him to want to be anywhere nearby. It seemed a certain Captain Olivia Wyatt thought the same thing. He would have to thank her for that initiative.

  A light turned from red to green and he examined it. Air pressure. Excellent. With no more warning, the canopy retracted back into the fighter’s body, and fresh air flowed into him. It had the stale quality that all ship air did, but it was better than the recycled air inside his cockpit. Happy with the improvement, he unlatched his five-point harness and waited for it to retract into his command chair.

  That done, Malcolm pulled himself to his feet in time to see a gantry lock into place beside his fighter. Dawn smiled once more and walked directly onto the gantry, holoform growing to full size by the time she left the fighter. He scrambled up after her, pulling on a handrail to steady himself, and scanned the hangar bay.

  Stretching out more than the length of a football field in either direction, the hangar bay was full of damaged fighters, with crewmembers already scrambling to begin repairing them. He could see six empty cradles in the bay, but even they were busy, as small carts began moving spare parts to the other bays. Even the undamaged fighters had been through the ringer of weapons fire that left them covered in scorch marks and carbon scoring. And the smell of things burning wafted over him. The hiss of firefighting foam caught his attention for a moment, but Dawn just shook her head to tell him that everything was under control.

  One gantry over, two figures in flight jackets and black Stetsons left their damaged fighter behind and jogged towards him, sporting colors bright enough to blind a bat. The man whose real name could not possibly have been John Anderson was a hulking specimen of humanity from the Kingdom of Hawaii who loved honest-to-God Hawaiian shirts. Today’s example peeking out from under the flight jacket was an eye-assaulting combination of numerous shades of red. The tiny cyber walking behind him wore a simple black shirt under her jacket, but her own hair’s red and blues complemented John’s Hawaiian shirt.

  “Not bad for a first rodeo,” Anderson boomed with a voice so deep it had to come from somewhere under the deck. Then he slugged Malcolm in the shoulder. It was a playful slug. If it hadn’t been, he’d have already flown into the nearest bulkhead. Malcolm knew that, but bloody hell it hurt.

  He tried not to wince in pain, and smiled back at the man who towered over him. “Thanks,” he said through gritted teeth and meant every word of it. It was actually high praise and he knew it. He just wished it could come with a less painful accompaniment. And that, of course, was another compliment of sorts. Anderson was a powerful giant that had to use more control than even other ageless individuals. The fact that he’d hit Malcolm hard enough to hurt meant he’d earned the man’s respect. Once again, he wished that respect could be broadcast with a little less pain.

  “We’ll make a proper pilot out of you yet,” the big Hawaiian boomed in amusement, wrapped one arm larger than most peoples’ legs around Malcolm, and very gently ushered him towards the hangar bay exit. It was gentle because it didn’t hurt. But Malcolm knew from experience that trying to go any other way would be about as effective as arguing with a boulder. Anderson was truly the unstoppable force, and minor things like bulkheads and armored hatches learned to stay out of his way.

  Lucky for Malcolm, Dawn came to his rescue. Unluckily for him, it was only after she shared an amused smile with the other cyber. But she finally did step her holoform up to the hulking man. “I’m sorry,” she began in an earnest tone, “but Captain Wyatt has requested Mal’s presence on the bridge. We should hurry.”

  At the captain’s name, Anderson looked down at Malcolm and began to laugh. Malcolm imagined that ancient gods would have envied the thundering expression of amusement powerful enough to shake him in his boots. And then Anderson punched him in the other shoulder. “Well, we’d best not keep her waiting, then,” the giant bellowed into the pain-filled silence and pushed Malcolm forward.

  Somehow he kept his feet under him as he ran into the lift doors. They opened to revealed Dawn’s true physical avatar waiting for him, and he had one split second to see her smile before she stepped smoothly out of the way. The lift walls stopped him, expelling most of the air from his lungs. He just stayed there for a bit, trying to breathe, as the lift doors closed and it began to move.

  “How are you?” Dawn asked and stepped close enough he could feel her presence.

  “Ow,” he answered and pushed himself away from the lift wall. To his amazement, both arms still worked, despite the dull throb in them. He worked them around, feeling twinges of pain, but nothing was ripped. He’d survived.

  “He can be a bit exuberant,” Dawn said in amused tones.

  “You think?” he asked with a glare. Her simple smile, mere centimeters away, robbed his glare of any strength it might have had. He turned away to look at the lift doors and laughed. He’d survived a run-in with an exuberant John Anderson. And his fleet was finally on the last leg of their trip to the Pleiades Cluster. This was a truly amazing day.

  Dawn leaned against the wall beside him, still close enough he could feel the way the energy in the small area flowed around her. With nothing else to watch or examine, he realized just how intensely aware he was of everything around him. The colors in the lift’s control display appeared sharper and more in focus. He could see the imperfections in the machined weld lines that linked the plates. Everything seemed more alive. He was still running on adrenaline, and he liked it.

  The lift came to a stop, the doors slid open to either side, and he stepped into a guardroom, Dawn following mere centimeters behind. Her presence was impossible to miss as she stepped up beside him. But even following her every move, he was acutely aware of the two guards. They measured hi
m up and down, then examined Dawn, and nodded after coming to the conclusion that they weren’t mad assassins on the way to kill Normandy’s crew.

  They waved Malcolm forward, and he walked through the armored hatch onto Normandy’s bridge, Dawn still following like she was glued to him. Most of the crew held their attention on their displays, keeping to their duties, at least as long as they thought their “mistress after God” was watching. She looked up as he walked in, and his eyes snapped to follow her progress.

  “Malcolm,” Captain Olivia Wyatt said, her eyes examining him.

  Malcolm aimed a broad smile at her and let his adrenaline speak for him. “You wanted me?”

  Olivia shook her head but smiled. “I requested your presence,” she corrected.

  “Potayto, potahto,” Malcolm repeated the age-old saying with a wave of one hand.

  Olivia sighed and shared a long look with Dawn. “Are you suffering from an adrenaline high?” she finally asked him.

  “Oh, I’m not suffering at all.” He shrugged. “I’m enjoying it immensely.”

  Olivia shook her head again. “So I’m not going to talk you out of flying again?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Malcolm said with gusto.

  “You know it’s dangerous, right?” she asked, her tone full of caution.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he answered, looking straight ahead.

  “Did you remember to wear your helmet?” she asked with a glare.

  Malcolm blinked, realizing he’d never thought about that.

  Olivia sighed and he saw her mouth one word out of the corner of his eye. Men.

  Dawn nodded in sympathy.

  “Hey, you two,” Malcolm said in a commanding tone. “No deriding me behind my back.”

  “We would never do that,” Olivia said in a dry tone.

  “Right in front of you is another matter entirely,” Dawn added without a perceivable pause.