Operation Chimera

by Tony Healey

  “Looks like ionization.” Aaron fired again. “I don’t get anything weird on the sensor; it’s probably just a visual disturbance.”

  “You won’t know for sure until you hit something solid,” said Emma. “It might strengthen or weaken the effect. If the beam is bleeding off energy to that static, the particle cannons may be less effective than lasers here.”

  Zavex perked up. “Are you suggesting atomic friction? Perhaps the particles are being slowed by collisions with the nebula gases.”

  “It’s possible,” said Michael. “We’ll have to keep our eyes on it to make sure they’re still tactically sound in this sector.”

  The voice of operations came over the comm. “Attention all wings. Formation change inbound.”

  On the Navcon, the hexagons representing the fighter wings moved farther out in a wider circle, almost double the previous distance from the Manhattan. Green Wing maneuvered into their designated position, now too far away for naked-eye visual on their carrier. Wing by wing, other squads reported all clear and nothing on sensors.

  “Green Wing reporting all clear,” said Michael.

  Liam broke the silence. “Dragon, I think I have something on scan at two-seven-two degrees, distance of about fourteen thousand kilometers.”

  “I ain’t seein’ it,” replied Michael. “Anyone else got it?”

  “The Manta has beefier electronics,” said Emma. “We might be out of range.”

  “Hold on, sharing.” Liam swiped at his console, linking his sensors to the rest of his wing.

  Michael tapped the dark screen, a shimmer flashed as if lit by a sonar sweep. A second of bright green, and then gone. It happened again at regular pulsing intervals, the shape of it made him think of a capital ship; though its width and size seemed at ill proportion.

  “I see it now. Looks strange, some kind of giant cargo box?”

  “Let’s check it out,” said Zavex. “We are supposed to investigate this nebula, correct? If it is an artifact of this energy we should document it.”

  A moment of silence.

  “Ops, this is Green Leader, do you copy?”

  The reply came a few seconds delayed, with some static. “Copy. Go ahead Green Leader.”

  Michael tapped the stick. They were nowhere near far enough from the carrier for communication degradation. It unsettled him, but he chalked it up to the nebula. “Operations, we’ve read an anomalous signature bearing two-seven-zero degrees, now at fifteen thousand three hundred kilometers from our current position. It appears to be metallic. Also, I am noting comm deg.”

  “Roger that, Green Leader.” The static grew worse. “… vestigate and report, all clear.”

  “Come again, Ops? Last transmission was unclear.”

  “You are cleared to investigate and report.”

  Michael cringed at the high-pitched squeal at the end. “Operations, com deg is getting severe at this point.”

  “We are reading an RF cloud in your vicin”―crackling―“should pass.” The operations crew relayed orders to the other wings to close the circle, anticipating Green Wing breaking away.

  He stared at the star field creeping toward him, weighing things in his head. “We have authorization to check on this anomaly. Alter course to two-six-nine degrees from current, match the Manta’s speed. Tell, give it all you got.”

  The diamond formation of Green Wing peeled away from their patrol grid in a left arc. Four great shafts of white light stretched out from the Manta’s engines as it lumbered up to its full speed of around five thousand meters per second. The Glaives kept pace with ease, while Emma had the Mosquito at forty percent.

  Michael exhaled. “Everyone stay awake. If anyone sees anything they don’t like, I need to know about it.”

  ommander Teague stood with her arms folded in front of the large tactical display. At a touch, the holo-display filled in the center of the bridge, and both she and Captain Driscoll watched the fighter’s progress.

  “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―”

  “Stuff it, Keg, we get the point.” Liam’s voice was followed by a metallic clank.

  “Holy cripes, guys. Space is beige? What’s wrong with the viewfinder? Why is everything all peachy and purple, shouldn’t it be black what”―clank―“Thank you, sir!”

>   “Need to get that droid’s AI reformatted.” Aaron sighed over the comm.

  Hologram Emma grinned. “I think he’s kind of cute.”

  Michael laughed. With her eyes covered by helmet, she looked sinister in an adorable sort of way. He frowned. That’s the kind of thing Aaron would think. An indicator blinked on to his left, expanding into an information pane with only some of the data fields filled in.

  “Anyone else seeing that?” asked Liam.

  “Seeing what,” replied Zavex. “All I can see is the back end of a Manta.”

  “Yeah, the derelict is still transmitting IFF codes.” Michael slid his visor up to rub the bridge of his nose. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. “Terran codes that tag it as the Lewis and Clark.”

  “Or at least half of it,” added Aaron.

  “Dust me…” Liam gasped. “That ship disappeared almost ninety years ago.

  “Shall I ‘ave a look then?” Emma sounded enthused. “Rather would like to.”

  “Now that we know what it is, we can’t just turn away.”

  “Fine,” said Michael. “Sylph, go in careful. Everyone else follow at ten thousand meters.”

  The rear end of the Mosquito flared bright white as she rammed the throttle all the way up, turning the little fighter into a comet of light that left the rest of them behind.

  “Lieutenant Loring, what the hell are you doing? I said careful.”

  Emma clenched her body tight against the inertial forces; the shift from 5000 m/sec to 12,500 m/sec in three seconds overwhelmed the dampeners and left her feeling about six Gs. The hulk expanded to fill her canopy. When she was close, she swerved toward it, and then rolled through a turn to skim along its side. The dull-green metal had no reaction to the violent passage of her ship. After careening over several gaping holes, she throttled back to a slow cruise. Intact metal ‘ground’ beneath her point of view showed no signs of weapon strikes or attack; at this range, her Betty provided a better schematic. The image, which was transmitted back to the rest of Green Wing, compared the floating derelict to archival schematics of the Lewis & Clark. The ship looked as though some colossus twisted it apart aft of center; this was the smaller hunk, the rear third.