Operation Chimera (25 page)

“Draxx are somewhat more susceptible to variations in electromagnetic radiation than humans or even Talnurians.” Professor Keg held up a hand. He’d have raised a finger, but his gripper pads didn’t have them. “Their proximity to a blast of that magnitude has likely left them in a state akin to severe inebriation, which may persist for about ten minutes. There is also a high degree of probability that such a potent pulse has overwhelmed their ship’s EM shielding and caused permanent damage. If the field burst was intense enough, their hull may have even warped due to the magnetic forces.”

“I don’t see any damage on the scan,” said Michel. “Right then, so we have ten minutes to lose them. Hold course for the designated waypoint, and let’s tighten it up a bit.”

“No problem,” said Liam. “Even this pig can get out of range of that thing with a ten minute head start.”

They drifted in close, once more in a diamond formation around the Manta. Michael shot a mournful glance at the dark screen that should be displaying the feed from the Fleet Command System. Where there usually was a wide-angle sector map showing the position of every Terran vessel in the immediate area, there was only a dark screen with faint physical grid lines.

Green Wing was alone.

Silent desolation was the enemy. He thought back to the Academy, when they had gone over the procedures for what to do in case a pilot found themselves adrift. The Glaives and the Manta could keep a pilot in stasis for quite some time, beaconing distress until the batteries ran out. The Mosquito was too small to have such a system. Michael searched for some manner of answer in the triangle of intense white light at the rear of Emma’s tiny fighter. She would have to go EVO and climb into the Manta if it got to that point. The heavy fighter was designed to save two people.

He glanced over his shoulder at the still unconscious survivor of the
Lewis & Clark
, the only one of four hundred and change crew. Two bodies in the Glaive could cause issues with the cryonic process. As a dense cloud of peach-colored nebula gas slid over his ship, Michael thought of his family. A thin band on his right wrist projected a hologram of his Mother’s smiling face, flanked on either side by his brothers. Seth, the older one, was on the left, still grinning with pride in his infantry uniform. Kevin, on the other side, had a face too young to believe he was already on his second year of high school.

He turned the holo-projector off, not wanting to dwell on the thought he might never see them again. Despair would lead only to a self-fulfilling prophecy. He attacked the communications system, tinkering with manual settings usually left to Betty’s control.

“Green Wing to Nest, Green Wing to Nest, do you copy?”

Silence.

Michael fiddled with the transmission settings, upping the packet count of the burst and trying a narrow-field transmission in the direction of their waypoint.

“Green Wing to Nest, Green Wing to Nest, do you copy?”

Aaron got into a staring contest with his targeting reticule. The hairline plus at the center of his forward view mocked him with the utter lack of anything his weapons could do about the situation. He had all the bravado in the world, but one could not intimidate, kill, or outwit the cold emptiness of space. He glanced to his left, past the Manta at Michael’s ship. The absence of a reply to Michael’s attempts to raise the carrier came as no surprise, though it still tainted his already grim mood.

He imagined a Draxx fighter out in front of him, tapping his finger on the trigger while making gun noises. In his mind, he had the perfect shot into the main engine of a Monitor, and flew through a cloud of metal particles. Aaron drew in a breath, watched a violet whorl drift past on his right, and then glanced at the Mosquito at the head of the diamond. Everyone had been quiet for at least twenty minutes, save for the intermittent attempts by Michael to raise the carrier. Aaron wondered if Emma was crying. He expected her to be,
needed
her to be.

That would let him keep some shred of his own courage.

The silence had lulled Lieutenant Emma Loring into an ephemeral sense of security. Keg had factored out a waypoint that pointed them to where the
Manhattan
should be if its course had not changed. Sure, the little droid was old and at least partially insane, but he was still a droid, and an astrogation droid to boot.

If anyone here could figure out where the hell they were, it had to be him, right
?

She had resisted the urge to look at Sarah’s picture for the first few minutes, knowing the effect it would have. Emma was not ready to accept the concept of being adrift. After ten attempts by Michael to comm the carrier without success, she looked. Sarah’s roundish face grinned with cherubic innocence; the smiling visage had been recorded during the most recent holiday break. A rare moment when both of them forgot about the Fleet and the Draxx, before this crazy mission was anything more than a spark in the mind of some deluded admiral.

Why did I volunteer for this? Am I nutters or do I just want freedom from Dad’s political life that badly?

The Combat Coordination System remained dark. Emma scowled at the CCS screen; the omen of having zero contact with the carrier finally tugged tears from her eyes. How would Sarah handle the news of her older sister going MIA? Would she cope? Would she wind up one of those broken souls that just drift along, never truly alive after some traumatic event? Emma lifted her visor and wiped her face. Her red eyes hardened, it was still too early to give up hope.

Aaron’s voice made it easier to stop. “Bet she’s crying.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make you feel more like a man?” She cringed; the emotion wavering in her voice gave it away. It faded, replaced with cold anger. “Suppose next hop I’ll just stay behind on the
Manhattan
and have hot tea and crumpets waiting for the men when they get back. Maybe I’ll throw on a sun dress and pine my way across the flight deck.”

“Sounds like a brilliant idea,” replied Aaron, mimicking her British accent.

“She stayed cooler than you did, Hunter.” Michael’s silken voice soothed her. “Empty space is a hard foe to intimidate.”

Liam mocked Aaron’s “Get it off me” plea.

“Very funny, Tell. All I’m saying is that she’s a distraction, the men will go out of their way to protect her and take stupid risks.”

Michael sighed, the kind of sigh that ends debates. “Guess you weren’t paying attention to that last engagement. She saved all of us by distracting that corvette.”

Liam chuckled, off the comm. Keg worked feverishly at the controls for the electronics suite, trying to get any sort of signal through the distorting effect of the Chimera Nebula. The click of metal grippers on the controls provided a mechanical lullaby that made it difficult to stay awake. Liam leaned back and yawned, and then got up.

“Go spastic if anything happens,” Liam stretched. “I’m going to have a constitutional.”

“Gotcha.” Keg saluted him with a light clank.

The bomber-style cockpit had a tiny bathroom.
Cripes, even Emma would be cramped in here.
Liam assumed the position, enjoying the one perk of being stuck in such an unmaneuverable machine. He battled his nerves, intent on preventing him from completing this side-mission.

“At least there’s one benefit to flying a giant pig,” he yelled at the door.

“Great amounts of firepower and standoff range capability?” asked Keg.

“Nope. Don’t need to wear a PWRS.”

The tapping ceased. “If we crash land on a hostile environment, the personal waste recovery system would provide you approximately eighteen additional hours’ worth of drinking water.”

Liam gagged.

“Tell, you got anything on the long-range?”

“Keg, we got anything on the―”

“No, sirs,” replied the droid.

“It’s clear, Dragon,” yelled Liam from the throne.

“Good. Keep your eyes open, I don’t want to get caught with our pants down.”

What the…
“Oh that’s hilarious, Dragon. You’re quite the comic.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Zavex set Betty to the task of keeping his position in the formation, something the AI could easily accommodate while they traveled in a simple, straight line. He closed his eyes, meditating on the situation and thinking of Niria. He smiled, accepting that should he die out here, he would see her again. Despite the short duration of his mission, volunteering at all for such a dangerous expedition was honor in and of itself.

“Zavex, are you smiling?” asked Aaron.

“I am at peace with my fate.”

“No family to miss?”

Emma scoffed. “Maybe they’re like yours and don’t want him around.”

“Ouch,” said Liam, his voice echoing and distant.

“Cute, princess.”

Zavex opened his eyes. “I have a sister, Niria. She is with the Yldris, our military.”

Aaron’s hologram raised an eyebrow. “Wait, didn’t you say your women are all passive and meek and can’t hurt anything?”

“Talnurian women are generally docile beings,” said Zavex with a nod. “Niria is a Ra’ala, a healer. They are forbidden by vow from causing harm to another living being, unless not doing so would ensure their death or the death of someone under their care. If I should meet my end out here, my spirit will find her and we shall be reunited.”

“That sounds like an oppressive culture,” grumbled Emma. “Women aren’t all cuddly and timid.”

“I am afraid you misunderstand. Talnurian females are, by their nature, nurturing and kind. Perhaps docile is a mistranslation of what I am trying to convey. Many of our women choose to fight alongside the Yldris, they are not forbidden from war―most just choose not to participate. Our society does not project expectations on an individual based on their gender, it is a matter of physiology.”

“Talnurians exhibit a modest degree of sexual dimorphism,” added Keg. “Males reach an average height of 2.13 meters at full adulthood while females average 1.6. Additionally, Talnurian women possess prehensile tails while the men do not.”

Zavex laughed. “Some men have tails, though the ones who do often have more feminine personalities.”

“Wait,” said Emma, “So you
don’t
expect a woman to be passive?”