Operation Chimera (14 page)

The human banners returned to the ground and the flashing lights ceased. Several ran to a control console and set about opening the launch bay doors. As the immense doors slid into the ceiling, the pilots of Green Wing looked out through the atmospheric retention field at the opposite side of the inverted canyon. Two hundred feet away, the other row of fighter bays appeared as round-cornered blue rectangles. Michael opened a general comm to his wing.

“Green Wing, this is Green Leader. Our sector patrol is on the opposite side of the carrier from our departure point. Once we clear the bay, roll inverted and break ninety degrees down. We’ll do an Immelman up and over the
Manhattan
and proceed to our rendezvous point.”

The row of small holographic helmets in front of him all nodded. Michael’s ship AI communicated his flight pattern to Frank, who in turn relayed it to the rest of the fighter squadrons. One by one, the intended departure paths of every wing appeared as lines in their HUD; everyone knew where everyone was going. Except for the bombers―they were stuck on standby in the flight deck.

“Heads up people, this is Commander Grey. You are thirty seconds from launch clearance. We have arrived without incident in the Chimera Nebula by the way, Hunter.”―Green Wing cheered and waved at Aaron―“Long range sensors have not picked up any hostile contacts. In all probability, this will be an evaluation run to test the functionality and capability of you and your ships. Best of luck.”

“Avast ye scurvy dogs! Prepare to be boarded! The Green”―the tirade of a whining pirate voice ended with a sharp metallic clank―“Righto, chaps, apologies for that outburst. Carry on.”

Emma cracked up. Zavex looked around, trying to figure out where that came from. The piteous squeak of Liam trying not to laugh invaded their helmets.

“That damn droid is insane,” said Aaron.

“I assure you, my mental faculties are doing far better than yours would be, were you my age.” The stuffy, aristocratic voice emanated from Keg.

“This is where Sylph says she thinks it’s cute.” Aaron shot a saccharin smile at her little fighter.

“Alright, secure that crap,” said Michael. “We’re hot.”

Green Wing lifted off the flight deck at the same instant, Emma led the way through the field in her faster-accelerating ship. They all rolled inverted once clear of the door, heading down into a vertical (relative to the carrier) descent for a thousand meters before they pulled into a sweeping upward curve that took them across the top of the
Manhattan
and to their assigned position. Before long, they reached a distance of 18,500 meters, which reduced the massive carrier to a gleaming speck.

Michael checked the navigation system once more, satisfied at their position relative to the rest of the fighters. “Diamond, tight.”

Liam shifted the large Manta fighter toward the center of their formation, with a Glaive on either side and Emma out front. Michael took the outside spot, with Zavex in the rear and Aaron closest to the carrier.

“Gee, guys, I feel so loved,” said Liam.

“Dragon, I’m getting some kind of strange shape on my Navcon.” The sound of Aaron’s fist banging on something followed.

“I got nothing, looks clear to me,” said Emma.

Michael looked up at the odd calm in her voice. She sounded cold now, almost irritated by Aaron’s issue.

“Same here,” added Liam.

“Yes, yes. Everything is in order,” said Keg.

Zavex chimed in last. “I have no issues.”

“Everyone run an A-3 diagnostic,” said Michael.

Several minutes of silence passed as their various ships’ AIs got to work.

“Oh, this is so disappointing. I remember doing these A-3s, manually. Used to take a good hour you know. You’d think they’d have given me a socket to plug in die-rect, but oh no.” Keg waved his little grippers over his head. “That would have cost just a little too much.”

Liam glanced over at his butler-bot, waving his antenna-like arms about as it spoke, before it rubbed a chin it did not have.

When the systems check came back clean, Michael looked out across the Manta to Aaron’s fighter. “Hunter, you still having that glitch?”

“Nope, guess the diag cleared it up.”

“Green Wing, this is Operations, acknowledge.”

“Copy, Operations, this is Dragon. Go ahead.”

“We are vectoring a target drone in your direction for weapons testing. Take note of any unusual interactions between onboard systems and the nebula.”

“Copy that.” Michael hit the master arm switch, and his HUD lit up with weapon status and targeting information. “Team, we have an inbound target drone, approaching from zero-four-seven degrees starboard. Weapons hot, recorders on. Tell, don’t nail the drone… just shoot the ghost.”

Aaron laughed. “Hit the drone, that’s rich. That’s like shooting a missile down.”

Liam chuckled, grinning.

Beeping signaled the approach of a long tube-shaped drone, its transponder simulated the signature of a larger ship. The intent was to fire through empty space, leaving the drone itself untouched.

Emma flicked the safety cover open at the top of her right-hand stick to expose the trigger. The drone simulated a cargo pod, an easy target if there ever was one. She fired a few times, twin blue-white beams of energy leapt from the nose of her Mosquito through the designated target area.

“Betty, simulate missiles. Don’t waste ammo,” said Emma.

“Acknowledged,” chimed her AI.

On her HUD, the computer animated a ripple of virtual rockets, most of which went through the target area.

Liam nudged the Manta through the bottom of the formation, to get a shot past Emma without risk. “Keg, hop on the turret.”

He pulled up a little harder than the droid was expecting.

“It’s just a cargo pod, are you certain we should be fir”―clank― “Wow. Spaaaace.” Keg stuck against the canopy, small clamp-hands pressed into the glass. “It’s sooooo dark.”

Clank.

Keg shifted to ‘look’ at him. “Dammit, boy. Why you keep hittin’ on me like that. I say, one of these days y’all are gonna go one step too far and”―clank―“What?” Keg shifted back and forth. “We launched? Turret? Oh, heavens…” The boxy droid hovered up out of the co-pilot seat. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m on it, sir.” Six feet behind the seats, he zipped upward through a round portal in the ceiling, leaving a puff of dust billowing out on the floor beneath him.

Liam shook his head as he brought the Manta’s main guns online. Neutron beams were the longest ranged weapon in the Fleet arsenal, even if they did lack the destructive power of particle cannons. They penetrated better, but did not inflict the same catastrophic mangling on impact. He yawned as he squeezed the trigger; four dark azure streaks of light connected the axe-wings to the virtual cargo box several times.

“I can hear you yawning,” said Michael. “Relax, it’s not a test of skill. We’re evaluating the weapons.”

From above his head, red flickering pulse-laser blasts seared through the black. Keg had the turret going as fast as the lasing chamber could cycle.

“Is this good?” he asked. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes, yes. Looks fine.” Liam tapped at the readout, watching capacitor levels fluctuate. “Come on back down.”

The turret ceased firing. Keg floated through the ceiling hatch, ignoring the ladder as a legless, hovering droid should, and glided to rest on the co-pilot’s seat once more. Liam punched it in the side.

“Ouch.” A little robot hand rubbed the spot. “Why did you do that?”

Liam squinted at the droid. He sounded sane again. “Oh, nothing, I just got tired of the sycophantic bit.”

“Sycophantic bit? What are you talking about?”

Michael tracked the virtual target, opening fire with the main particle cannons first. Streaks of orange-yellow light sailed off through space, surrounded by crackling lightning. He let off the trigger after the first blast. The readouts showed normal, the weapon capacitor crept back up to full charge as expected. He fired again, watching the charge drop from eighty-four percent to forty.

“Hunter, Zavex, you seeing sparks on your partie-beams?”

“Yes,” said Zavex. “Perhaps an unforeseen interaction with the energy here?”

“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.