Operation Chimera

by Tony Healey

  One Draxx pulled an orbcaster rifle from his back, losing it in two pieces from the forward end of Zavex’s polearm as he pivoted it over and drove the other end into the Draxx’s snout. With a twist, he dragged the dead lizard around, in time to absorb an energy blast from another. Scales roasted to ash in an instant, leaving gloopy bits trailing from a nine-inch hole. Zavex pulled his leg up and punted the dead enemy off his weapon, launching the body into the shooter with enough force to knock him senseless.

  Michael pushed away from the wall, firing wild over the heads of the other Draxx to distract them from their aim at his reckless compatriot. “Zavex, what the hell are you doing? Find cover, dammit.”

  Zavex speared a chair through the back, flipped it around and hurled it at another Draxx, knocking him against the ceiling.

  Right in the middle of the hallway, Michael’s path changed from sideways drift to vertical fall. He crashed into the floor and wheezed.

  “Greetings, Lieutenant,” said EDEN. “I see you are participating in hand to hand combat with previously unnoticed hostile entities. I thought you would appreciate the restoration of artificial gravity.”

  Michael cringed amid the clamor of a few tons of floating debris rediscovering the concept of down all at once. Draxx piled on top of each other, the momentary humor of the noises they made took his mind off his exposed position in the center of a corridor. As that thought reached his brain, he jumped to his feet.

  “Thanks…”

  The Manta trailed Aaron’s Glaive over the top of the Lewis & Clark, heading for Emma. She kept reversing away, peppering the modest hole her missiles made with pulse lasers. Dozens of Draxx tumbled out of the breach, floating lifeless into space.

  “Oh, damn…” Liam accelerated to his ship’s full 5000 m/sec, passing Emma.

  Aaron flipped his Glaive around, sliding sideways as he thumbed the hat button on his right-side stick. “Back up, Sylph. Gonna give those bastards something to worry about.”

  Emma yanked the Mosquito’s nose upward, grunting through the overwhelmed inertial dampeners as she smashed the throttle forward. “Ngh, what are you doing?”

  Two red diamonds overlapped on Aaron’s HUD, then shimmered and turned bright. A high-pitched steady tone sounded through his head. A pair of AFM-38 “Widow” missiles leapt from the two centerline hardpoints on the underside of his fighter. The thirteen-foot long missiles spiraled forward into Aaron’s view, straightening out before they plunged through the green shell. Three seconds later, they detonated.

  The windows lit orange a split second before a shockwave caused the green mass to undulate like a squeezed airbag, cracking and deflating it. A secondary detonation shattered it into a long strip of exposed hull and Draxx parts.

  Michael was starting to build a strong friendship with the floor. No sooner had he gotten up than he found himself face down once more. This time, he rolled into the wall as well, involuntarily covering his face as a tremendous shockwave rumbled through the air. The first detonation had a long rolling quality that made him think of a volley of small charges; the most recent was far more significant.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” he screamed.

  “This ship’s got a barnacle problem,” said Aaron. “Just cleaning it off.”

  “Aaron, look out on your right side,” said Emma.

  “Dammit,” Aaron yelled. “Dragon, get out of there, we have fighters coming out of the engine ports. That thing is a damn hive.”

  “Lizards don’t have hives,” blurted Keg.

  Liam raised his fist, but hesitated. “Be grateful you’re stable. I don’t want to spin the wheel of strange. Get in the turret.”

  “On it.”

  “Confirm multiple contacts,” said Liam over the comm.

  Michael crawled to the bulkhead; the emergency e-suit case got him in the back when he went down that time. It hurt, but nothing was broken. He could not tell if Aaron sounded excited or worried, and he was not certain if he liked the abnormal calm in Emma’s voice. A dead Draxx, steaming trench sliced from throat to gut, slid through the open door. Zavex was alone with four hostiles. Michael leaned around the door and sighted over his sidearm.

  The Draxx he had legged while floating lay on his side, angling with his pistol for a shot at Zavex. The other three surrounded him, causing the wounded one to snarl and search for a clean angle. He spotted Michael and turned at the door, firing a glob of orange energy into the wall as Michael’s laser left a smoking hole through his chest.

  Zavex spun the Azsha about, mesmerizing the Draxx with the flashing blades. He feigned high and left, then reversed and took the legs of the opponent on his right off at the knees. The Draxx in front of him grabbed the polearm between Zavex’s hands, wrestling for control. Zavex spun it clockwise and leapt into the twirl, driving his thick, plated boot into the Draxx’s nose while inverted and off the ground. The impact crushed the lizard’s skull, as well as broke the neck, leaving a flat-faced mess sliding dead into the wall. Zavex landed with a heavy clank, whirling on the only remaining threat; the Azsha blurred in a brief spin into a fighting posture.

  The final Draxx backed away, staring at the heat blur around the waiting blades. After two steps, he dove onto a stray orbcaster rifle, sliding behind a thick workstation barrier. Zavex spun to the rear and finished off the legless one. The reptilian gurgled as the Azsha lanced through him into the metal floor. When the remaining Draxx popped up to shoot Zavex, Michael fired twice, splattering the far wall with alien blood. The plasma rifle slipped from lifeless Draxx hands, clattering to the floor.

  Zavex twirled his staff, holding it vertical. He gave it a twist and the blades snapped closed. “Few Draxx are prepared to face such a weapon. They claim to have honor, but cannot face their opponents in close combat.”

  Michael kept his pistol out as he navigated around the dead, paying particular attention to the one with a flattened face. “Remind me not to bet money against you at arm wrestling.”

  Draxx fighters streamed out of the dormant engine ports, a swarm of green headed for the three Terran fighters. Keg went ballistic; pulse laser fire going in all directions as he sent a three-second burst one way before swiveling around and chasing another Draxx ship for six more.

  Emma streaked toward them, flying right into their midst in a whirling spiral. “Betty, full pod blow, both sides.”

  “Roger, Lieutenant.”

  Plasma bolts streaked past her. She jinked around, as if hugging the walls of a tube. The cloud of enemy fighters did not seem to know which way to go to avoid her. Bright flashes lit her cockpit as they fired, dark blurs rushed by as she skimmed past the larger ships.

  “Sylph, what the hell are you doing?” yelled Aaron.

  “Corking the hornets’ nest you kicked,” she said, as calm as if she were in class. Her fighter emerged from the far side of the cloud of enemy fighters, coming about on the engines of the Lewis & Clark.

  Emma squeezed the secondary trigger on both sticks. The remaining rockets, eighty-five per side, launched with such a push it bled off 800 meters per second from her velocity. Two emerging Draxx fighters evaporated amid the barrage. Emma rolled and dove, her trajectory a straight line down relative to the derelict. Most of her missiles went into the old engine-turned-hangar bay, setting off a chain reaction that incinerated the aft ten percent of the vessel in a rippling series of explosions that swelled through the hull as expanding white orbs.

  A handful of Kraits hopped on her tail, struggling to keep up with the faster Mosquito. Emma squinted at the rearview. She could outrun them, but in open space, it would be like duck hunting season having them on her backside. Clenching her guts in preparation for a high-g turn, she slammed on the lateral thrusters. The Mosquito pulled a one-eighty, careening rear end first for several seconds. Sweat ran down her face as she strained not to pass out until the engines compensated. As soon as the crushing inertia lessened, she tapped the “afterburners”, launching herself past the egg-shape
d fighters before they could get a clean shot.

  Kraits spread out in the shape of an expanding flower as the Draxx pilots took a more conservative turning strategy. By the time they collected in a group again, Emma cruised tight against the hull of the derelict.

  Liam picked off three Monitors tumbling through space from the force of the explosion; searing blue neutron beams poked holes through the enemy ships as easily as an icepick through a pie.

  “Six,” yelled Aaron with a cheer. He fired again. Orange light flickered through Liam’s cockpit. “Seven.”

  “This ain’t a damn game,” barked Liam.

  “Eleventeen,” shouted Keg.

  “Zav?”

  “Yeah,” replied the Talnurian, peeling himself off the wall.

  “I’m getting really tired of sucking on this floor.” Michael stood up, working his arm around in a few small circles to ease the pain out. “Landed wrong from that last explosion.” He drew in a breath. “Green Wing, this is Dragon. Will you please stop kicking the mung out of this thing until we are clear?”

  Zavex followed the map line, stomping right over a fallen Draxx on his way to a door that did not open. He reached for the panel, but wound up holding on to the wall as another explosion shook the room.

  “Green Wing, what’s going on out there?” Michael clung to the bulkhead, trying to avoid another high-energy meeting with solid ground.

  “Sixteen hostile contacts,” said Aaron. “Whatever you’re doing in there, do it fast.”

  “Don’t forget we are in here. Stop hitting the Lewis.”

  “Sorry, Dragon,” said Emma. “One of the Kraits chasing me just crashed into a sensor obelisk.”

  Zavex made four quick slashes in the door with the Azsha, and punted the metal slab into the hole. Smoke billowed through the opening, several glops of biomatter on the left wall burned. They ducked through, using the map overlay more than their eyes to make their way down the hall. Another detonation, this time behind them, caused them to stumble.

  Emma rolled from left to right to slip through a narrow channel between two sections of the Lewis & Clark. One more Krait failed to follow the tight maneuver, and clipped the edge of a long-range communication array, bursting into a cloud of flames and debris. She accelerated as dozens of plasma globes peppered the Lewis’s hull just behind her. The last three light fighters made it through a forest of panels as she slalomed the solar array. Ahead, the forest of cover ended. With nothing but smooth hull waiting for her, Emma committed to a sprint. The Mosquito left the Kraits behind, racing an endless stream of energy orbs until she dove over the mangled end and broke line of sight.

  She eyed her rearview, waiting for them to appear over the edge. As soon as they did, she cut her throttle to nil. The Mosquito’s engines went dark, thrust vector plates closed, and Emma kicked the lever forward. Her willowy body lurched forward in the straps, knocking the wind from her lungs as the ship lurched backwards. The Kraits overshot. She sent a stream of pulse laser into the engine port of the far left one, throwing it into a death spin as she retracted the vector plates. With the engines no longer redirected, the Mosquito’s full thrust once more pushed it forward. Emma crashed against her seat as if she had flown into a solid wall. Grunting, she fought to cling to consciousness as she found herself on the tail of the last two.

  The one she shot tried to keep its course, and wound up swerving into the center ship, destroying them both. As the two winged ovoids collided, Emma pulled hard right to avoid the deadly fragments, and settled in on the last Krait.

  Aaron flew through a mass of Draxx fighters, taking pot shots whenever angle gave him the opportunity. There were too many to settle on a specific adversary, target focus would also give one of them a good shot at his backside. He sent bursts of pulse lasers, three streams of red light from the wingtips, at the small fighters while using the body-mounted particle cannons on the less agile medium fighters.

  The Draxx were just as aggressive, foiling most of Aaron’s gunnery by making him avoid incoming fire. Liam had taken to borrowing Emma’s tactic of using the Lewis & Clark as cover, though the Manta was far too large to fit in the same narrow trench Emma had used. Keg winged one of the Monitors, leaving it slow and limping to a point where the ponderous Manta could outmaneuver it. As soon as he got position, Liam fired, slicing it apart with a raking blast of four neutron beams. With most of the cloud of angry hornets chasing Aaron, Liam tucked the Manta against the bridge tower and started sniping.

  “Keg, watch my ass.”

  “You got it, boss.” The turret whirred around to face the rear.

  Liam fired four times, taking out four Draxx ships before they realized where the attacks were coming from. Out of about sixteen remaining contacts, nine turned and came after him. Aaron pounced, accepting a few nicks on the wing for the prize of sending particle beams into the engine ports of two Monitors. One careened into the lower reaches of the bridge tower while the other bounced away from the side and went spinning off into the nebula.

  Michael and Zavex ran down the final leg of the navigation line. Beyond another door Zavex had to cut open, the entire right side of the hallway was missing. Dozens of mangled Draxx adhered to the wreckage of a section about eighteen meters long where the wall was gone. Clusters of burned black biomatter rimmed the twisted metal; the gore that remained did so only due to the artificial gravity field. They stopped to stare out at the streaks of energy against the endless black. Both men would have rather been out there.

  “Aaron, you got one on your six,” said Michael.

  “How the hell”―his voice broke up into a grunt as an explosion came over the comm―“do you know that?”

  “I’m watching…” Michael’s stunned voice faded out as a Monitor lined Aaron up for a kill shot.

  Just then, four neutron beams lanced by. Two went above Aaron’s ship, two below, with inches to spare. The Monitor went into a fatal tumble, exploding into a dendrite-shaped cloud a few seconds later. Faster smoldering chunks trailed ember-tipped fingers out of the smoke.

  “Damn, nice shot, Tell.” Zavex clapped, not that any of the pilots saw.

  Aaron remained quiet.

  “Come on.” Michael tugged on Zavex’s arm, leading him through the remnant of corridor.

  Just as he reached the end, he floated off the ground. All the lights failed. “When it rains, it pours.”

  “Are you hallucinating, Dragon? It is not raining here,” said Zavex.

  “I’ll explain later.” A puff of the RCS sent him sailing to a door. “My guess is that big explosion took out the power core; bet the capacitors just went dry.”

  Michael pushed the door open with ease; the lack of power anywhere in the ship took the strength out of the magnetic actuators. The infirmary waited twenty paces beyond it. Amid a cloud of drifting linens, pillows, surgical instruments, meds, and various other things, a man floated in a liquid-filled tube. At least, he would have been floating if the substance had not been frozen solid. Michael kicked away from the wall, gliding through the darkness until he caught himself against the cylinder. He brushed a glove’s width of clear through the frost, staring at the occupant.

  “Record log. Lieutenant Michael Summers on board the derelict ship, Lewis & Clark. We have discovered a survivor preserved in medical stasis. Caucasian male, approximately thirty five to forty five years of age, brown hair, average build.” He recorded video of the man, then moved to the stasis console, appraising the readouts. “There is no indication of the reason for the individual’s stasis. The ship has lost power. We are about to recover the survivor.” Recorder paused, he stared at all the controls. “Zavex, are you familiar with this equipment? The ones I’ve trained with had about eight buttons.”

  “I’m afraid we do not use such technology. The Ra’ala”―again the translator spat out the word ‘priests’― “can induce a similar state with their Na’zshri.” The translator hesitated for a few seconds and spat out “powers.”

 
“Great, I don’t want to kill the guy. We’re out of comm range to the Manhattan, we can’t hit the archives for century old technology.”

  “No one studies these things?” asked Zavex.

  “As if anyone expected to find something this old drifting through deep space.” Michael scratched at his helmet. “Century old… Keg, acknowledge?”

  “I’m here, boss.”

  “Betty, patch my helmet feed through to the Manta. Keg, do you know how to work one of these old stasis units?”

  “Hold on, boss. Liam, hold ‘er steady, son. You’re doing a bang-up job.”

  Liam’s sigh rolled over the comm.

  “Okay, boss. I can see what you see. Looks like a GE Healthcare model S9410. Umm.” The soft clanking of a metal hand tapping a metal body followed his words. “Yes, I have it. Woo hoo!”

  “Keg, stop dancing and help them,” growled Liam. The electronic thrum of neutron beams firing underlined his words.

  “Right, boss. Sorry. I haven’t seen one of those things for at least… umm… a long time. They used to put people to sleep for spaceflight. Interplanetary travel used to take decades. Generations could come and go before people got where they were going.”

  “Keg…”

  “Oh, right, boss. Sorry.” Keg made a throat-clearing noise. “Lieutenant, you’ll want to initiate the primary gas phase interlock and then warm up the sublimation unit.”

  “Keg, just tell me what buttons to push.”

  “Oh, sorry, boss.” Keg, able to see Michael’s hand entering the bottom of the frame in the image, guided him through the twenty-seven button (and two dial) process of reviving the man.

  “Good thing you’re as old as this ship, buddy.”

  “Aww, I’m not old. For a droid, I’m just getting started. Now when that blue graph gets into the 83-85 range, push the button on the bottom right.”

  The machinery chugged to life. From the top of the cylinder, silvery opacity spread through the cryonic gel until the entire chamber looked like a mirror. The next few buttons started a ventilator that sucked fog away from the man, now drifting loose in the tube. Zavex de-boxed the spare e-suit while Michael worked, and by the time the clear tube retracted into the wall, they scrambled to get the man into it as fast as possible. Vacuum had not infiltrated the med bay yet, but there was no telling how breathable this air was.