Malaxius Harvel's page

The recent events have made Malaxius extra carefull not to kill someone innocent. He would prefer to use his stunner in a fight, if he is not 100% sure that it's their target or his goons. Outside of combat, he follows the lead of whoever seems to know what they are doing (mostly Zirelle). The space sickness doesn't actually help with his selfesteem. But whenever he feels, he can make a valid contribution, he will try.

Galya is pacing up and down in their appartment, her nostrils flaring, arms gesticulating energetically. Mal has been sitting in his comfortable deskchair the whole time. The argument has made him a nervous, testified by his hands continously fiddling with the points of his beard. But at the same time the gleefull exspectation is still burning bright in his face. It makes her even more angry. In moments like this she feels like talking a bright eyed child out of an unrealistic dream: you feel a bit cruel and like the "boring adult" but you know at the same time, it has to be. It just seemed unfair to her that she had to feel that way so often when talking to her husband, a prize winning academic.
"What I don't understand," she says, forcing herself to stand still for a moment, "is why you don't see the numbers you calculated yourself: its bankrupcy for us. In two years, IF things run smoothly. As a 'best case scenario', you could say. Who knows what could go wrong and swallow even more money...or get you all killed. I suppose your optimistic plan not exactly involves hiring the best you could find..." Mals hand leaves his beard and waves in an angry gesture. "That's not fair! You are right, I'm counting on a few old friends, but not as a compromise in competence...rather the opposite. For example, I was thinking about asking Nic, if he could..." - "...join in this unique opportunity to get drowned in debt? Or to get lost in space, because you saved some money with the repairs? He'll be enthusiastic, I bet..." she snorts contemptiously.
Malaxius takes a deep breath and then says, with a deliberately calm voice: "Just you know: I'm not a madman! And I don't want to ruin us. If we find nothing, if my assumptions are wrong, we come back in a year, we sell the ship, and I think we'll at least run even with that. I won't be happy then, but I will have tried. This counts for a lot. But actually I don't think it will come to that - if things as I suspect, we will generate enough interest to get funding. Even an imperial subcontract, if we are lucky. If we find something that could cause a stir, I sure know the right people to make this happen." He stands up, puts his hand on her shoulders and looks her in the eyes, the big beaming confident smile back on his face. "Trust me: that's not the crucial part, but if this goes right, today might be the last time, we have to argue about money." At this moment, she actually was trying to allow his confidence to calm her. But if anything it was filling her with even more dread...