Wolfenheim Rising (Jack of Harts) by Pryde Medron

Author:Pryde, Medron [Pryde, Medron]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pryde Rock Publishing
Published: 2013-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

Life is about change. If we never change, we don’t really live. I’ve been through a lot of change in my life. Most of it has been painful in one way or another. But without that change, I would have died a long time ago. Or turned into the kind of guy I wouldn’t want to be, at least. And that’s the real kicker. I want to wake up each morning, look in the mirror, and be happy with the man looking back at me. If I’m not, it’s time for a change.

VI

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

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