Operation Chimera (17 page)

“Krait?”

“He got a lucky shot,” grumbled Aaron. “Systems check out fine, it’s just cosmetic.”

“Wheee!” the exuberant cheer of Keg announced his hit on one of the two remaining Kraits.

Emma caught the last one as it turned to break for the cover of the
Lewis & Clark
, strafing it with pulse lasers as it sailed across her line of travel. Two seconds into the barrage, she clipped something vital, and it burst.

“Aaaah,” yelled Liam, as the last Draxx ship pounded a particle beam onto the left wing-blade, leaving a crater a person could sleep in. Sparks danced around the exposed wing internals.

Keg launched out of the turret area in a shower of smoke and lightning, slamming flat into the floor of the cabin. Spindly arms pushed him upright and he shook as if clearing his non-existent head.

“Aw darn it, now they dun got me riled up. Them Draxx ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em now, no sir, no sir.” He popped upright and shifted about as if adjusting a belt, before zooming straight back up into the turret hollow.

The Monitor chased Zavex out of the way, willing to ram him to close in on the Manta. Emma shot it; the smaller pulse lasers on the Mosquito did not do much but burn the outer armor of the Draxx ship. She swung to the side, looking to get an angle on the vulnerable engine ports.

Michael and Aaron descended on it from above, just as Keg opened up with the turret. The red-white laser on the Manta’s turret had better luck on the armor than the Mosquito, though the Draxx pilot ignored it in his suicidal quest for honor; a Draxx mindset that had been drummed into them from the Academy. As soon as a Draxx felt they were losing, all that mattered was one kill.

At least one Terran ship must die.

“Dag nabbit, die, ya goat herder!” cried Keg, as his rapid-flickering pulse lasers chipped away at the front end of the incoming Monitor. Dull green hull blackened and blistered, dotted with spark bursts.

Liam howled and rolled the Manta ninety degrees to the left just as the Draxx ship opened fire with its particle guns. Liam’s maneuver narrowed his profile to the enemy and allowed the dual-firing weapons to pass above and below him.

“No joy,” howled Liam.

“Cain’t git an angle on the son of a―” Keg sailed out of the turret pod as Liam pulled right through a hard spiral, avoiding another shot. The droid hit the floor with a hollow metallic whump and bounced back into the air. He floated in the best approximation of a slouch his boxy frame could present. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we? We’re not gonna make it out of this one. It’s not your fault, we were just fated to―” Liam swerved hard right, this time on purpose to bounce the droid off the wall. “What am I doing down here?” wailed Keg. “The Draxx are coming!” He zipped into the turret pod.

Red lights and buzzers came on as Liam’s ship predicted the next shot from the Draxx fighter would be a dead-center hit. He reached for the bailout lever, but grinned at the rear-view screen as a pair of Glaives popped up behind his pursuer.

Particle beams crossed through the hull of the Draxx fighter as Aaron and Michael exploited the enemy’s target fixation. Liam cringed as flecks of metal clinked over his hull. The low reptilian growl of a four-second-dead reptile lingered on an open comm channel.

Without a word, Green Wing resumed their diamond formation around Liam, the last flight orders given them. After a moment of silence, Michael spoke.

“Status?”

“All fine,” said Emma.

“Minor damage, left wing. Maneuvering system at 80 percent,” said Liam.

Aaron’s enthusiasm had waned. “Cosmetic, nothing to worry about.”

“Hundred percent here,” said Zavex.

“What the hell are Draxx fighters doing inside the Chimera Nebula?” asked Liam.

“They were hiding behind the
Lewis & Clark
, waiting for us.” Emma took a breath. “Like they knew we were coming.”

esss,
I know
it’sss down, but do we ssstill have contact with our people?” Lieutenant-Commander S’lestra asked Ensign Blair, arms flailing to the side.

The Ensign looked up from her console, a helpless expression plastered on her face. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ma’am… nothing. The system’s dead. I couldn’t even tell you how many bodies are on the bridge right now.”

“What do you mean ‘dead’? It can’t be ‘dead.’ Let me have a look,” S’lestra gasped. The Ensign moved aside. S’lestra poked and prodded a series of buttons, unable to get the screen to display anything but signal graphs and ‘please wait’ messages.

“S’lestra?” Commander Teague asked.

The alien glanced up, shaking her head, dejected. “Asss the Ensign saysss. Completely dead. There are no communicationsss being transmitted or received from the
Manhattan
at all. The sssurrounding area isss inhibiting it completely.”

“I did warn you this place is”―Driscoll raised one eyebrow―“unpredictable.”

“Shall I have us move to support our fighters, sir?” Lieutenant Hardy asked.

Driscoll rubbed the fine covering of grey stubble over his chin and jaw line.

“Yes, but we must observe Protocol Four. Take her toward their general vicinity, one half speed only and come to a full stop after ten thousand kilometers. I daren’t move her further. But I’m comfortable to take us a little closer, make us more visible to them.”

“Aye, sir,” Hardy said.

The
Manhattan
trembled underfoot as the Lieutenant brought the engines back online.

“Port ten degrees, Lieutenant,” Driscoll said.

“Aye.”

“Captain, our long range sensors are only intermittently picking up on what’s going on over there,” Teague said. “There’s no telling how well we’ll be able to spot and track enemy craft.”

“We’ll just have to take our chances, Commander,” Driscoll assured her.

There was a noticeable drop in what had been the steady rhythm of the
Manhattan
’s engines. Hardy lifted his hands, looked down at his controls. It happened all of a sudden, as if the vast ship had stalled. The bridge was submerged in darkness for a moment, before the red glow of the emergency lights could kick in.

“Lieutenant?” Teague asked, confused.

He jammed his open hands against the many helm functions then spun about to face them. “Sir, the helm is not responding. I have no controls!”

Driscoll looked up, as if the ship’s computer resided in the ceiling. It was as good a place as any. “Frank, what’s up with our helm controls?”

“Working,” Frank replied. “Performing systems assessment.”

Captain Driscoll shot a look to Ensign Blair. “Get the Chief on the line. I want to know what the hell is wrong with this ship.”

“Captain?” Macintosh asked as he answered the hail down in the engineering section.

“Chief, we’ve lost all power to the helm.”

“I’ve just been made aware of it. Hopefully I can chase it down in the next couple of minutes,” Macintosh said.

Captain Driscoll sighed on the other end.
“Is there any way―”

Everything went pitch black around him. Unlike on the bridge, even the emergency lights failed to come on. The entire engineering deck had become blacker than space and just as quiet. At least space had stars. The Chief glanced about.

“Sir? Do you still read me?” He waited for a reply. “Bridge, this is the Chief. Are you getting this?”

Nothing.

One by one, points of light winked on around him as the engineering crew activated the working lights fitted to the front of their overalls. The Chief did the same.

“Okay, people, let’s all gather over here,” he yelled and waited as the individual lights coalesced around him. “Huddle round.”

The normally busy engineering section of the
Manhattan
had become eerily silent in the absence of the reactor’s comforting thrum. The kind of sound that evaded conscious thought―until it stopped. “Gather round, come on, hurry up. We’ve got a ship to fix. Right. Listen, here’s what I want you all to do…”

Driscoll slammed a fist against the communications console. “Dammit!”

“Lieutenant Hardy, you come with me,” Commander Teague said. She turned to Driscoll. “Captain, I’ll go and find the auxiliary power.”

“Yes, go,” he said, calming a little following his outburst.

Teague left the bridge at a run with Hardy close behind.

Frank spoke up, finally. Apparently the sudden loss of all power had not affected the ship’s AI. Driscoll remembered his briefing about the
Manhattan
and her abilities. As a security precaution, Frank had his own self-contained power source. Though where exactly that happened to be located, he could not have said.

“Captain Driscoll, at fourteen minutes and eight seconds ago, the primary capacitor in compartment 81-C went offline.”

All eyes turned to face him, the faces of the bridge crew glowed in the dim red emergency lighting from below, making them appear like ghouls.

“Excuse me? Clarify what you mean by ‘went offline?’” Driscoll asked.

“Sensors indicate that the primary capacitor was destroyed by a small explosive device,” said Frank. “Ten seconds later, a similar charge compromised the secondary capacitor causing total power systems failure.”

“My God…” Driscoll murmured. With them both down, getting power around the ship was nigh impossible. The Capacitors were a shortfall in any Union starship. An Achilles heel. But only Union personnel knew about them. And an explosive had taken them out?