Operation Chimera (15 page)

“Sir, Green Wing acknowledges confirmation of authorization to proceed and investigate,” she said.

“Okay. That’s what we’re here for,” he said. “But they mustn’t get complacent. Even if we weren’t in a dangerous nebula, these pilots are mostly just kids. Straight out of the Academy. Fresh outta Simulator High.”

That produced a hearty laugh from Teague before she could even attempt to suppress it. Driscoll smiled but otherwise remained composed.

“I’ll pass it on,” she said.

“Please do. Tell Commander Grey I don’t want these rookies getting overzealous out there. Caution is the key right now.”

“Agreed,” Teague said, and went to the nearby comms station to talk to Commander Grey belowdecks.

Driscoll remained in front of the holo-display, watching the small green dots travel further and further away from the
Manhattan
. Every now and then it would glitch, lose contact with them, the display stuttering with the lapse in data and stability. Soon, he knew, it wouldn’t work at all. The Cluster weighed down on a ship’s systems that way―wore them out, its alien effects eventually neutralizing most of a ships sensitive equipment in much the same way salt water corroded a metal hull. It eroded, and no one knew quite why.

“Done,” Teague said, returning to his side. “He’s aware of the dangers.”

“I hope he is. Any minute, these kids will be on their own. I might’ve insisted on the best, Commander, but even so… they are what they are.”

“Sir?” she asked.

“Newbies,” he muttered.

“Understood.” Teague approached, lowering her voice. “They all volunteered, sir. Every one of them knew the dangers involved.”

Right then, as if on cue, the holo-display died in front of them. The word ‘calibrating…’ typed itself in, disappeared, and repeated in a continuous cycle along the bottom. Commander Teague looked at Driscoll. He raised an eyebrow.

“What
now
” Hardy exclaimed.

he farther away they went from the
Manhattan
, the glitchier the communications systems became. Patches of thick peach-hued gas rolled by, punctuated by the occasional pocket of empty space or streak of violet. Michael set a group waypoint based on the last known reading of the strange object, putting Green Wing on a beeline.

Within minutes, the elements on the Navcon whirled about, headings and degree markers appeared to trade places at random. The anomaly faded in and out, the rangefinder jumped from four thousand kilometers to forty, then a hundred, and all points in between.

“Dragon, my Navcon’s up the pictures at the moment,” said Emma. “It’s flashing all sorts of nonsense.”

“You’re probably not reading it right.”

“Damn it, Hunter,” said Liam, “mine’s on the fritz too.”

Zavex appeared, brow furrowed in concentration. “It appears that the effects of the Chimera Nebula worsen as we increase our distance from the
Manhattan
.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that feeling.” Michael flipped through several screens of self-test procedures. “Everything looks normal.”

A faint humming buzz drifted into the open audio stream.

“If we go any farther out, we might not be able to find our way home,” said Aaron.

Michael pondered.

“Guess it’s Hunter’s turn to mardy about, what?” grumbled Emma.

“What does that even mean?” asked Aaron. “You’re English, right? Can you please speak it?”

“Enough,” grumbled Michael. “Keep the chatter to a minimum until we understand the situation, and what in the hell is that damn droning noise?”

“Ol’ Keg is meditating or something. He’s floating behind me with his arms out, keeps chanting ‘ohmm’.”

“Tell him to knock it off.” Michael tried the old tried-and-true method of getting technology to work better―he pounded it. “Damn. Ops, can you read us? Please confirm our distance and vector to target.”

Silence. Michael fluttered his fingertips across the stick, waiting.

The comm crackled. “… four-six degrees… loss of contact with… ssible approaching…”

“Dragon, this is Zavex. I have lost sensor contact with the rest of Green Wing. According to my instrumentation, I am alone out here even though I can see you.”

Michael leaned forward, searching the stars as he spoke. “It’s the nebula’s effect. We had some idea of that coming out here; that’s why command chose this area for our operations. The Draxx won’t be able to pinpoint the
Manhattan
. Engagements will be reduced to visual range when we’re operating outside the carrier’s field dampeners.”

“Wouldn’t that dampening field let the Draxx see us like a lamp in a dark room?” asked Aaron.

“The range is quite short,” said Emma. “The Draxx would have to know we were coming and just where we’d be in order to find us.”

“Oh, what’re the odds of that?” Aaron chuckled. “I guess it’s nothing to worry about, assuming that we can find our way back.”

“You’re trying to scare me, aren’t you?” Emma still seemed calm. “It won’t work.”

She poked one of the small, square programmable buttons on the left side of the instrument panel, causing a tiny hologram of her family to appear for a few seconds.

Michael frowned at his useless instruments. The formation had taken a straight line course from their position around the carrier, and he did some quick head math to plot a maneuver to bring them around to an intercept with the carrier’s position.

“Green Wing, this is Green Leader. Considering we have lost contact with the
Manhattan
and are experiencing severe equipment malfunction, I am calling an abort on our investigation of this anomaly. Bring it about right, one-six-six degrees off current bearing, maintain current speed.”

“Giving up so easy, boss?” Aaron’s hologram head winked.

They turned as one, changing course to a path intended to intercept where Michael estimated the
Manhattan
would be if it kept its current heading and velocity.

“There’s nothing at risk here but our butts, Hunter. No objective aside from curiosity. I don’t see the need to take chances for something that might only be a glitch in the system. For all we know there’s nothing out there but angry electrons.”

Flashing lightning crackled through the hazy gas clouds to the left and low; the flickering light drew everyone’s attention for a few minutes.

“Right, that’s pretty,” said Liam.

“Beautiful,” added Emma.

Aaron’s smirk came through in his voice. “I wouldn’t want to fly through that.”

“That could be an ion storm. Perhaps that is responsible for our equipment troubles.”

Michael thought it over for a few seconds. “Might be, Zavex. I’m thinking that was the anomaly we read, based on where we should be.”

“That’s a gas cloud,” stammered Liam. “The sensor sweep was showing it as metallic.”

“You reps are pretty perceptive.”

“Ohmm,” said Keg, taking a cue from Liam’s face.

“Dragon, pardon my obvious question, but if we are on an approach vector to the
Manhattan
, why is the anomaly ahead of us on the port side?”

“Yeah, he’s right,” said Aaron. “I think you made a wrong turn.”

“We had to have been drifting.” Michael slammed his fist into the side wall of his cockpit. “Damn it all; straight lines are only straight by instruments. Who knows where we went.”

Aaron flashed a salesman’s smile. “Since we’re already out here and have no idea where we are, we should check it out.”

“I do not think that to be wise,” said Zavex.

“Bwaaaah, I’m scared!” yelled Keg. The sound of rattling metal filled their helmets.

“We don’t know what effect that storm will have on our ships.” Liam absentmindedly rolled the Manta back and forth. “Our first priority should be to locate the
Manhattan
and get back to it.”

“There is some merit to investigating this anomaly. Deep-scan data of that could provide critical intelligence for future operations.”

“Thank you, Zavex,” said Aaron. “We are already here. Two for, two against, I guess that leaves the tiebreaker to Dragon.”

Zavex’s eyebrows bunched together. “Who is the other no?”

Aaron laughed. “Oh come on, as if Sylph is going to vote to fly into an ion storm.”

Her hologram head whirled to the right as she looked over her shoulder at Aaron’s fighter. “I haven’t―”

“Since when”―Michael’s initial yell faded to conversational volume―“is anything we do out here a democracy? Tell, you have the biggest relay antenna, see if you can raise the carrier.”

“Roger, on it.”

“Umm, Dragon, I think I’m having an FCS malfunction,” said Aaron, far too calm.

His Glaive drifted apart from the formation, rising and veering toward the flashing arcs.

Michael was near the point of growling. “Hunter, keep formation. If your flight control system failed, it wouldn’t point you right at the thundercloud.”

“The ship is not responding to controls,” he protested, still at ease.

“Perhaps an unknown intellect has obtained control of his ship?” asked Zavex.

“Aaagh! We’re all gonna die,” screamed Keg.

“Oh great, now he’s hiding under the seat.” The sound of rattling joined the voice on the channel. “Thanks, guys. Really.” Liam sighed.

“Lieutenant Vorys.” Michael’s voice fell half an octave, the silken baritone of rational anger. “There is no room in this wing for a hotdogger that puts everyone at risk.”

The rogue Glaive settled back into the diamond. “I’m impressed, I expected you to pull rank.”

“These little bars on my lapel won’t mean a damn thing if we’re dead. It’s not about rank, it’s about working as a group. We have to trust each other, not just abide orders begrudgingly.” Michael’s gaze settled on the diagnostic panel, on all the floating green “OK” readouts.
What did he do to my ship?

Silence existed for several minutes before Emma broke it. “Dragon, I have a visual confirmation of a target bearing three-hundred-fifteen degrees high. It does look metal.”

Everyone glanced to the left and up.

“I don’t see it,” said Michael.

Emma traced her finger on the inside of the canopy, drawing a circle of light around a glimmering speck near the center of the storm strikes. The same graphic appeared on everyone’s HUD. “Right there.”

“Oh… Oh yeah, I got it too,” said Liam.

Zavex hummed, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps that is what is causing all the sparks, like the particle cannons before.”

Michael squinted. “Betty, clean that up, zoom in as much as you can.”

A tile of reality peeled away from the canopy glass, the hologram stretched and the image within came closer. Amid the infinite blackness, a metal shape bore a striking resemblance to a damaged capital ship. The Glaive’s AI enhanced the image, sharpening it and creating an estimation of what they were seeing. By any of their best guesses, they were staring at the aft third of a battlecruiser.

“That looks Terran,” said Aaron.

“It does.” Michael rotated the graphic, noting the flat inorganic lines and recognizable engine ports on what appeared to be the stern. “Old design though, they haven’t used triple-ring emitter shrouds on engines in at least sixty years.”

“Damn, that bloody thing drifted far.”

“I say, girl,” interjected Keg, reverting to the British butler. “Based on the current velocity of said object, from the nearest Terran colony, it would have taken it almost four-thousand-ninety-two years, six months, fourteen days, six―”