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2309_wolfenheimrising_chapter_ii

It was years of planning and hard work.  I always knew there was a chance that the people funding the Wolfenheim Project would realize they were funding it and demand their money back.  I even planned for it.  I just never expected to actually have to use those plans.  And they picked a rather inconvenient time to get a clue.  Years of planning distilled into days and hours of action, all the time wondering if I even had hours at all.  It was a bloody hectic time.

 

 

II

 

Malcolm gazed out at the yard complex and Normandy, pieces of her still floating beside the ship.  Ideas and plans flashed through Malcolm’s mind as he tried to come to terms that they had to leave right bloody now instead of by the end of the week.  Normandy wasn’t ready.  The colonists weren’t ready.  They couldn’t leave.  But they had to.  He didn’t have a single plan to cover this.

He turned back to Dawn, part of him wanting to ask her if she had any ideas.  But the stubborn streak that kept him from wanting to rely on anyone checked that inclination.  He growled in annoyance and Dawn’s green eyes widened in response.  And then it clicked.  There was a plan in place that could be beaten, abused, and tortured into the shape he needed.

Malcolm snorted, and felt the plan coming into place in his mind.  “Get me to our fighter,” he ordered, his voice far more steady than the nerves under it.  But as he considered the plan more and more, he knew it could work.

Dawn stood still for a second, studying him very closely.  He returned her look and she nodded in grim approval.  “We’re two minutes away,” she said as she spun on her heals and stepped back into the corridor.  She disappeared down the passage at a rapid clip and turned a corner.

Malcolm followed her around the corner, leaving the view of Normandy far behind, and immediately began to struggle to keep up with her avatar.  “Order all ships to recall their crews from the surface,” he gasped between breaths.  “And round people up if they don’t answer.  We need everyone on the station yesterday.”

Dawn chuckled as she led him through the warren of corridors cut through the formerly Shang warships that made up the outer ring of the Peloran yard complex.  “I’ll tell Captain Wyatt to do her best,” she intoned with a shrug, and then gave him a wink.  “But yesterday might be a bit difficult.”

Then she turned into another rabbit run, and Malcolm had to grab a handrail to keep himself from skidding as he followed her.  “And if Charles is right, yesterday might be too late, too,” Malcolm growled.  If even a tithe of their crews were on liberty, there would be hundreds of men and women to round up.  And they simply couldn’t sail with so many gone.

“Alan?” Malcolm nearly shouted, making certain that the station’s privacy filters would pass the words to its brain.

The station’s cyber flickered into existence beside Malcolm an instant later, long holographic legs matching Malcolm’s pace through the warrens of the former warship.  Alan was one of the oldest cybers Malcolm had ever met, a member of the original Peloran Contact contingent.  And unlike many cybers, he’d never changed his appearance to the more Terran standard that many had.  He still looked unambiguously Peloran.

He was human, of course, like every other major alien race they’d met, but unlike the short, nearly childlike, Shang, the Peloran averaged an impressive two meters in height.  Alan was tall and graceful, with long limbs that would have given him longer reach in a knife fight if he weren’t a hologram.  High cheekbones and a pronounced forehead shielded deep-set eyes from harsh light.  Thick, straight eyebrows redirected rain, snow, or other elemental attacks when he was wearing his physical avatar.  An angular jaw cut hard, determined lines in his face, and long hair stretched down to his neck, covering the slightly elongated, pointed ears of a race literally designed to be super soldiers by their long-dead creators.

“Yes, Mal?” the cyber asked in perfect imitation of the calm voice that almost every Peloran used.  Malcolm actually felt it calming his nerves, which was probably good now that he thought about it.  The ability to sound and act calm no matter how chaotic the battle was a valuable trait in any soldier.  And being able to spread that calm by mere presence would be invaluable.

Malcolm sucked in a deep breath and willed the nerves away.  “Did you read Charles’ message?”

Alan nodded with a no-nonsense set to his jaw.  “He copied it to me.”

“Good.”  Malcolm followed Dawn around another corner, nearly bouncing off a bulkhead as he misjudged the width of the new corridor.  He corrected, pushing off with one hand, and shot after her with his best ground-eating strides as he glanced at the station cyber.  “We need to expedite our launch window.”

Alan shook his head as his hologram kept up with Malcolm with what appeared to be no effort at all.  He was the brain of the station of course.  He should know where everything was.  “I will do my best,” Alan answered, but his eyes looked troubled.  “My resources are stretched, though.”

“Every resource we put into this project will be wasted if Charles’ family stops us,” Malcolm muttered, grabbed a handrail, and swung himself around another corner to find a hatch opening before him.  He smiled as he recognized the hangar and shot through the hatch after Dawn, with Alan in tow.  Alan made displeased sounds beside him, but Charles only had eyes for the small fighter waiting for him.

She was an old Blackhawk starfighter, the most successful first generation gravtech fighter the Americans had built.  She looked like an old pre-gravtech muscle car and an acrobatics plane had loved each other very much and decided to make a baby.  Mix in a few old rocket stabilization fins and four massive fusion rocket engines, and no one would miss that she was a true starfighter.  But she was a starfighter with class and panache, unlike the recent unimaginative crap the design boards had been putting out.  And she was ready to launch.  Malcolm shook his head.  He didn’t have time to ogle his fighter right now.

“I’m serious, Alan,” Malcolm said and tore his eyes away from the masterpiece of design, form, and function.  “Charles put a lot of work into this.  So did I.  So did Dawn.  So did you.  It’d be a real shame if it all came to naught.”

“I agree,” Alan said, his voice filled with manifest unhappiness as Dawn climbed up the rolling stairway into the fighter.  Malcolm slid to a stop at its bottom and turned to face the cyber.  Alan looked out at the stars visible through the energy screen holding the air in the bay for a moment that must have been an eternity to his cybernetic mind.  “Very well,” he finally said, shaking his head.  “The Wolfenheim Project now has number one priority.  I am reassigning resources now.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm said with a nod and darted up the stairs.  He stopped at the top and looked down into the cockpit where Dawn already inhabited the Guy (or Gal) In Back position.  Then he dropped into the front seat and started snapping the five-point harness in place to secure him against extreme acceleration as the canopy slid back.

“Good,” Dawn said as Alan’s small holoform appeared atop the main console.  “Am I clear to launch?”

“Absolutely,” Alan answered with a smile, and they streaked out of the bay under the growling power of four blue fusion flames.

Malcolm felt the fighter vibrate around them and looked towards Alan.  “How long before you can get the fleet ready to launch?”

Alan licked his lips and shrugged.  “Most of the ships are in finishing stages now.  I can have them done today.  Normandy is still open to space, but we should be able to button her up and launch by morning.  Hastings will take longer.”

Malcolm fought hard not to wince at the mention of that ship.  A part of him almost wished he hadn’t found her at all.  Almost.  “We may not have longer.”

“I know.”  Alan sighed.  “But we have had setbacks with her.”

Malcolm did wince this time.  All of the warships he’d found for the mission were first generation gravtech, old enough that any modern navy had retired them decades ago.  It had taken him years to find the handful he did, stored in mothballs or languishing in some planetary defense fleet.  But Hastings was by far the worst of them.  The problem was, where they were going, he was going to need every stray hull he’d found, which was why he’d paid far more than he should have to bring the old wreck here.

“Just…do what you can.  Please.”  Malcolm shook his head, not happy with the delay now that he knew Charles’ family knew something was up.  He wanted to be out before they thought to look his way.  Assuming they hadn’t already.

Alan smiled at him in understanding.  “I will do everything in my power,” the cyber answered, his tone serious.  “Good luck, Mal.”

“Thanks,” Malcolm whispered and sucked in a long breath.  “I think I’m gonna need it.”

Alan nodded again and his holoform flickered out of existence as they continued to accelerate away from the yard complex.  Malcolm leaned back in his seat and looked at Dawn’s face on one of the displays.

She smiled back at him.  “Course laid in for New Earth.  I even asked for a landing slot and a car.”

“Well then.”  Malcolm chuckled at the fresh realization that sometimes she was better than he was at knowing what he’d need.  “I suppose we should get going.”

“By your command,” she intoned and the fighter’s main engines came to full power.  The acceleration slammed him back in his seat as the inertial compensators fought to catch up with the drive power, and Malcolm forced himself to breathe.  Dawn wasn’t worrying about fuel consumption, which was probably a good thing considering the time constraints they were under.

They accelerated towards New Earth, cutting through orbital traffic lanes with barely enough time to receive clearance.  Malcolm kept an eye on the display that showed those clearances flashing into existence as the orbital traffic controllers routed other traffic out of their way and smiled.  Years of birthday gifts, tickets to games, or reservations at the nicer restaurants were being paid forward today, and he made a mental note to triple the amount of money he intended to leave behind when the time came.  They deserved a few more perks for service like this.

The fusion engines cut out as they dropped through the lowest orbital plane and began to freefall towards New Earth for a moment.  Then the engines began spewing blue fusion flames towards the planet, and Malcolm fell forward into his straps as the Blackhawk shed her hard-earned velocity.  They’d dropped to “merely” hypersonic speeds by the time they hit the atmosphere and the engines coughed once before going silent.  The air burned around them and they plummeted down towards the ocean that filled his vision at the head of a pillar of flame.  They pulled up a kilometer above sea level and dropped into the supersonic range before the engines coughed back to life to push them towards Landing City.

More clearances appeared on the displays, giving them a straight-line approach to Landing Starport, and Malcolm smiled again.  Then one display flashed a suggestion that they go a bit slower and he looked up to Dawn’s small form on the console.  She smiled back and the Blackhawk shook around him as they crossed through the sound barrier.  The air boomed around them as New Earth’s capital grew on the skyline.  They followed the guidance beam through the mouth of Landing Bay and banked to the right for final approach to the port facilities.

The main engines coughed once more and silence filled the cockpit.  Only the sound of wind flowing over the fighter’s fuselage reached Malcolm’s ears, and he smiled as they drifted towards the edge of the port.  Lights blinked ahead of them and the gravplating thrummed in and out as they crossed over the landing pad.  One brief burst of fusion flames brought them to a halt, and the Blackhawk spun in place to face the bay and the open ocean beyond.  Then the fighter lowered itself to the pad, came to a rest, and fell into silence around them.

“Smooth like butter,” Dawn whispered from her console.

“Soft as a maiden’s kiss,” Malcolm returned and winked at her.

“And you know that with all your experience?”

“Well…”

“Don’t be mentioning the cheerleading team,” Dawn said in a quelling tone.  “I don’t think they count.”

“Ouch,” Malcolm said as his mind went back to what he remembered of that particular night.  What little he remembered thanks to not enough common sense and too much alcohol.  But he had to admit that she had a point.  “Savage burn.”

“I can recommend a good cream for that,” Dawn said and her smile was innocent enough to melt butter.

Malcolm’s eyes widened and he raised his hands in surrender.  “You win.”

Dawn crossed her legs and smiled.  “Always.”

Malcolm pointed at the canopy with one finger.  “Can I go now?”

“Escaping so soon?” Dawn asked as the canopy began to slide forward.

“Absolutely,” Malcolm said and hit the quick release for his restraints.  They retracted back into their housings and he pulled himself to his feet.  Then he stepped out and onto the rolling stairway as it made contact with the fighter’s hull.

Malcolm walked down the stairway, hearing the fighter’s hull popping as she radiated heat from their hypersonic reentry.  New Earth’s Landing Starport spread out around them, starships moving through the air above on nearly silent gravitic plating.  Only minor bursts of flame from maneuvering thrusters could be seen as the ships approached or left the starport.  A massive freighter landed on a nearby landing pad, settling down with a hydraulic hiss as her landing gear took the load.  A freighter clawed for space beyond it, and he wondered if it was another of the ships preparing to join the weekly convoy to the fleets at Sunnydale.

He looked down as a limousine floated down towards the landing pad next to their fighter, and Malcolm focused on it.  A familiar face stuck his head out of the rear window, and Malcolm stopped in surprise as he recognized the man that didn’t look a day over fifty.  Or maybe forty.  The cue ball standing in for a head made it hard to tell.  The Reverend John Park had been Charles’s steward when Malcolm and he were young.  He hadn’t been a man of God back then, but he’d been a good man.  He’d taught his charges well, and too many of those lessons had included suggestions that the Great Families weren’t as great as they liked to think.  Charles’ father fired the old man the better part of a century ago.  And now he was a pastor on New Earth, putting some space between himself and Mister Hurst.  Malcolm had to admit he understood the idea.

“Well hello, Mal,” John said with an amused expression and waved them over.

Malcolm snorted and approached the vehicle with a wry smile.  “Hey, Baldy.”

John raised one hand in protest.  “Hey!  New Earth summers get hot.  It’s purely a defense mechanism.”

“Ah.  Right.  The weather.”  Malcolm stopped by the limo, scanning for the car that was supposed to be picking them up.  He didn’t see anything, which made him suspicious of John’s arrival.  “Of course you’re not losing your hair,” he added in a sly tone, refusing to voice those suspicions.

“You still need to learn respect for your elders, I see.”  John chuckled and opened the door.  “Now get in.  We’ve got places to go, right?”

“Right,” Dawn whispered from behind and passed him to flow into the limousine gracefully, bending down to step in before sliding over.  She aimed a smile at Malcolm and patted the seat next to her.

Malcolm grumped as his suspicions were so quickly confirmed.  Then he shrugged and slipped into the limo to take the offered seat, facing John as the door automatically shut.  “Well, I know where I planned on going, but where are we going?”

John snorted as the limo shot up into the air.  “Always so suspicious of helping hands.”  The pastor sighed and placed both hands up as if showing he had nothing at all hiding in his sleeves.  And one could believe as much of that as one wanted.  “Well, I think we need to go talk to our mutual friends who don’t like commlinks.  Am I right?”

Malcolm froze for a split second and turned to watch the landscape of Landing City flash by below and around them.  Landing City incorporated many of the oldest, interstellar, historic buildings in the Western Alliance, many of them no more than a dozen or so floors in height.  The limo flew over with ease.  But newer gravtech towers less than a century old literally towered above the limo, their gleaming flanks stretching up into the sky above him.  Some of them weren’t even proper buildings, floating in the air entirely on gravplating, anchored to the ground only for easy elevator access.

Malcolm wasn’t certain which he liked better.  He loved the charm of the historic districts, including the seaside boardwalk, but the towering business and manufacturing districts were filled by an intense energy as New Earth struggled to match the ever-increasing demand for War supplies of every type.  He took in a long breath, wondering what John knew, and leaned back in his seat as the beautiful buildings of Landing City passed by.  Malcolm hadn’t told anybody who he was coming to talk to.  Even the people he was coming to talk to.  One never advertised that one was talking to them, after all.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his tone as innocent as he could manage.

“Please.”  John aimed a paternal look at Malcolm.  “I wasn’t born yesterday.  And you never did get that innocent act down as well as you thought,” he finished with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine.”  Malcolm shrugged and shook his head.  “You got me.  But what’s this about ‘our’ friends?  I thought you found religion.”

A hurt expression took over John’s face, and wide, sorrowful eyes gazed back at Malcolm.  “I found religion, boy.  I didn’t lose my mind.”

“Right,” Malcolm returned with a snort.  “So why do you deal with them?”

John sighed and relaxed back in his seat.  “Well, Christ himself said that he came to walk with those who needed saving, not with those who were already righteous.”

Malcolm actually laughed at the pious statement.  “And you really think these guys are open to hearing the Word of God?”

“You’d be surprised.”  John aimed a sobering look at him.  “They’re not all cold-blooded, hardened criminals.  And they take the Confessional very seriously.”

The limo began to drop down towards the ground again, and Malcolm felt a scowl coming on.  He knew the neighborhood.  John really had known exactly where he was going.  “One problem with that idea,” he growled.  “You’re not a Catholic priest.”

John smiled as the limo slipped into the parking ramp, lights flooding on to fill the dim structure with light.  “But I knew them before you were born.  We grew up together, just like you and Charles.  Blood wishes it is as thick as we are.  Did you ever suspect that they asked me if you were trustworthy the day you contacted them?”

Malcolm blinked at John’s serious tone and realized he’d underestimated just how much influence the old man had.  He hadn’t thought that was possible, but now he knew otherwise.  Then the old man smiled once more.

“Ah, what tangled webs we weave when faithful Irish Catholics can’t be trusted to hang a heathen English Protestant on sight,” he said with a chuckle.

Malcolm echoed his chuckle as the limo prowled towards the end of the parking ramp.  There’d been a time when the difference between Protestant and Catholic had been death.  Literally.  But that was centuries ago.  Malcolm peered into the old man’s eyes and realized that the man was talking from personal experience.  He’d lived those differences.  But Contact had changed everything.  Humanity wasn’t alone in the universe, and that made the differences between Catholics and Protestants a very minor thing.  That made this man a living anachronism who had learned to adjust to a new world, a new universe.  The limo came to a stop and the doors opened, letting in a breath of fresh morning air that dispelled the mood of dawning comprehension.

Malcolm slid to clear his mind and looked at the open door that led down into the bar.  Dawn echoed his actions, and Malcolm shared a look with her and John before walking towards the opening.

An alarm blared as they approached and a guard stepped out of a nearby alcove, hand rising to stop them.  He looked straight at Dawn.  “No personal assistants in the club.”

“She’s a cyber, not an assistant,” Malcolm corrected with an upraised hand.

“Doesn’t matter.”  The guard shook his head, a mulish expression taking over his face.  “We don’t serve her kind here.”

A hot anger flashed through Malcolm, and he glared at the guard.  “Now just you see here,” he growled, but Dawn’s hand touched his shoulder and he turned to look at her.  She shook her head in a movement so slight that the guard probably hadn’t even noticed.  Malcolm suppressed a growl and turned back to the guard in silence.

“We don’t want any trouble,” John said in a calm tone, arms raised in a pacifying gesture.  “So why don’t you go tell Mikey that Johnny and Mal are here to see him,” John continued, putting only the slightest of emphasis on their first names.

The guard’s eyes widened in surprise, and John continued to simply smile at him.  Nobody used first names around these people casually, unless of course they could use them casually.  Because if they couldn’t and they did, they never did it a second time.

“Go on,” John whispered, waving his hand towards the door.  “You don’t want to keep Mikey waiting, do you?” he added, and despite the casual words, his tone left no question as to whether or not it was an order.

The guard practically scampered off down the stairs, obviously not wanting to get between anyone who thought they could call his boss by a childhood name and whatever fate awaited them for their temerity.  The man disappeared into the heart of the club at the bottom of the stairs, and Malcolm grunted in approval.

John sighed and gave him a long look.  “You really need to learn diplomacy.”

Malcolm glanced at Dawn and she cocked her head to the side, obviously waiting for his response.  “Not sure I want to deal diplomatically with idiots like that.”  She frowned at him and he stared right back at her for several seconds, making it clear that he wasn’t about to back down from that point.  Then he turned back to John, fresh determination to get his suspicions answered filling him.  “So, what are you really doing here?”

“What?” John asked, his eyes opening wide in an innocent expression that didn’t fool Malcolm for an instant.  “I can’t be here just to see an old friend off to the stars one last time?”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed.  They weren’t officially scheduled to launch for at least a few more days.  John knew far more than anyone outside the Wolfenheim Project was supposed to know.  “What do you know?”

John cleared his throat and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.  “Oh, nothing really.”  John sobered when he saw Malcolm’s raised eyebrow.  “Fine.  The courier that arrived earlier today had a message for you.  I assumed you were coming down here for one last meeting.”

Malcolm sighed and nodded.  He supposed it wouldn’t do any good to deny that fact at the moment.

“Charles sent me a message too,” John said in all seriousness.  “He said it might be best if I get off planet before certain people we all know come by with ill intent aimed at my person.  And besides, there are new horizons out there.”

Malcolm grunted.  “There’s no turning back from out there.”

“There is no turning back for me the day Archie finds out that I had anything at all to do with this,” John said in a serious tone, and Malcolm’s cheek twitched as he recognized the name of Charles’ father.  Not that he’d ever heard it said quite that diminutively.  “He let me live last time.  Now is not the time to test his patience any further.”  Then John let out a chuckle and smiled.  “Besides, you need all the adult supervision you can get out there.”

Malcolm frowned, but before he could respond the sound of feet on the stairs caught his attention.  An old man walked up into his view, grey hair and a wrinkled face telling the tale of a man that had lived centuries in one of the hardest businesses of all.  Several guards scanned for threats around him, and the single guard they’d met already followed them up, moving gingerly as if afraid someone would take his head off.

“Johnny.”  The soft but firm voice came from the old man as he walked up, hugged the pastor in the way that declared someone a member of the family, and kissed him on both cheeks to say that he was a trusted member of the family.

“Mikey,” John answered, returning the old man’s hug and kisses.

“And Mal,” old Mike Callahan said as he stepped over to hug him as well.

“Thank you,” Malcolm returned, hugging the frail, old body back.  Only the body wasn’t nearly as old or frail as he’d thought it would be from appearances.  He pulled back and saw a necklace twinkling in the dim light of the parking garage.  He recognized the face on the side of the coin facing him as Saint Connor, one of the Irish’s favorite saints.  The other side would be Murphy, Connor’s twin brother, and fellow enemy of all evildoers.

“And my dear Dawn,” Callahan said as he opened his arms towards her.  “How goes the mission?”

“He’s stubborn,” she answered and stepped into the old man’s arms.  He kissed her on both cheeks too before giving Malcolm a conspiratorial wink.

“Good,” Callahan said with a smile and turned to the nervous guard.  “Get back to your post,” he ordered and the man scampered away, obviously happy to still have all of his digits attached.  Then Callahan returned his attention to Malcolm.

“Come in.  Come in.  If you came all this way, at this time of the morning, we have something important to discuss,” the old man said as he turned to walk down the stairs.  “Might it have something to do with the courier boat that just came in from Sunnydale?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Am I the last one to hear about that?” Malcolm grumbled, but followed the man down.  A red light began to blink on the cuff of his suit, telling him that they were in a jamming zone, designed to stop anybody from listening to them from a distance.  It was safe for them to talk.

“Not quite,” Callahan said with an elaborate shrug.  “You probably knew before I did in fact.  But computers are notoriously easy to hack.  Hence our policy on them in this establishment.”

Malcolm studied the old man for over a second before responding with a simple “I see.”  Then he shook his head as another suspicion arose in his mind.  “Is that the only reason for your policy?”

Callahan met his gaze with calm eyes and shrugged.  “No.  I remember a time before AIs.  Back when humans did far more of the work that maintains our civilization.  We’ve become soft and lazy because we can rely on computers to think for us.”  He turned to look at Dawn.  There was no malice in his eyes, but there was also no give in them.  “My policy forces my people to use their own minds.”

“You’re a smart man,” Dawn whispered.  “I wish more of your people were as motivated.”

Callahan’s eyes narrowed and studied her carefully.  “Do you?  Really?  Or do you wish we would just roll over like the Peloran?”

Dawn simply sighed and aimed a sad smile at Callahan.  “That…is a very serious charge.”

Callahan pursed his lips and shook his head.  “Yes it is.  But you are family.  And sometimes family has to ask hard questions.”

Dawn returned his look for a moment, and then smiled.  “We don’t control them.  They do what they want.”  She sighed and looked away from them all.  “The Albion created them to be the best supersoldiers in the galaxy, to feel more alive in the midst of battle than anyone.  And then they programmed them to want nothing more than to live in peace if they didn’t have orders to fight.  Tailored them to never question their life, to never seek anything beyond the peace of their forests, so they would never consider rebelling.”  Dawn snorted and shook her head.  “The Albion made them slaves of their own desire to never harm another life, and when the Albion died, when their last mission to kill the Albion’s killers was complete, they settled down to groom their trees.”

Malcolm’s mind actually recoiled at Dawn’s frank description.  He’d never heard the Peloran described like that.  They were supersoldiers, with reaction times and senses far above the human base levels.  But he’d never considered the Peloran to be victims of actual mental programming like that before.  They always seemed so calm and collected.  Never victims of what Dawn made sound almost like mind rape.

“We did what we had to do,” Dawn continued as Malcolm’s mind raced through the idea.  “We worked with the oh-so-very-rare number of Peloran who had the…drive that you take for granted and built a society all of them could live in.  We gave the rest of them the peace they were forced to crave on a genetic level.  Can you honestly tell me that you would want to live a life like that?  To never see something and think that maybe you could do it better?  To never have the drive to try to be better?”

“Some of us would love a world like that,” Callahan said in a hard tone.

Dawn met Callahan’s questioning gaze and answered it with a calm smile.  When she spoke, it was in the tone of an oath made long ago.  “That is why we never choose such people for partners.  We will never do to you what the Albion did to the Peloran.”

Malcolm considered her words, everything she’d said in answer to Callahan’s question, and wondered at the possibilities and ideas that they brought to mind.  He looked into Dawn’s wide-open eyes and saw her hesitation.  She’d never said anything like this before to him, and he’d never once considered any of it.  But now that he thought about it, he could see what she meant.

He thought of his first century, and then the life he’d lived in the last five years.  He’d done so much more in the last five years than he’d ever imagined doing.  And he really had done it.  He saw many of the times she’d nagged him into doing it, too.  Well, maybe nagging was unfair.  It just felt like it some mornings.  But he saw what she meant with that oath and recognized what she was doing.  He was a better man today than he had been before.  He could live with that.  He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

“I see.”  Callahan’s words pulled Malcolm’s attention back to the older man as he started walking down the stairs again.  “Then it really would appear we have much business to discuss today,” Old Man Michael Callahan added and guided them into the bar he’d owned for nearly two hundred years.

2309_wolfenheimrising

2309_wolfenheimrising_chapter_ii.txt · Last modified: 2018/01/16 20:18 by medron