Operation Chimera (26 page)

“Not at all. Talnurian females are nurturing because it is in their nature to be that way, not because society demands it.”

“Everyone hold it together,” said Michael. “Enough talk about not seeing our families again. Our ships aren’t damaged―”

“Much,” interrupted Keg

“―and we have an approximate heading.”

Michael paused as the sound of a flushing toilet invaded the comm channel. Given their complement of fighters, there was only one suspect. The sound made the rest of them uncomfortable, reminding them of something they could not, at that moment, do.

“Hope you enjoyed that, Liam.”

“I did, Dragon, thank you.” Liam made an exaggerated show of sighing with pleasure as he resumed his place at the controls.

“Look, everyone.” Michael cleared his throat. “We all knew that coming into the Chimera Cluster was a dangerous mission with the potential to make a major impact in the Terran-Draxx conflict. We all signed on knowing that there was a reasonable chance we would not be coming back.”

“Statistically, our odds of survival are better than station defense squadrons along the front line.”

“Ray of sunshine as usual, Tell.” Michael grinned. “Look, I got family too. I know where your heads are going and we can’t let it eat at us. At our current speed, we should be able to have visual confirmation on the
Manhattan
in about four minutes.”

“Assuming we’re even headed in the right direction.” Aaron grumbled.

Keg sounded upset. “I assure you, Hunter, my calculations are perfect.”

“It’s not your calculations I’m worried about. We thought we were flying
away
from the anomaly before and wound up getting closer to it. Who knows where we are going; the nebula is wreaking havoc with our Navcon.”

Michael stared at Aaron’s holographic face. Had Aaron been smiling, or shown any trace of sarcasm, he would have screamed at him, but genuine worry leaked through the virtual pilot on his console. He resumed tinkering with the communications system.

“Should we turn on our distress beacons?” asked Liam. “Those operate on an extremely low frequency signal that might pierce this cloud.”

“Not just yet, if there are more Draxx out here, they’ll come running at a Terran distress beacon, looking for an easy kill.” Michael thought for a moment. “Betty, run a scan on any ambient electromagnetic energy out there. Radio frequencies, cosmic radiation, anything that might possibly affect sensors or comms.”

“You really think that will help?” asked Emma.

“It’s got to.”

hey’re going as fast as they can,” Chief Macintosh told Commander Robin Teague.

The Commander watched as the repair crews hustled to get both capacitors up and running. The
Manhattan
carried several spare units, so now they were busily doing their best to disconnect the twisted and burned wreckage of the old capacitors and replace them with the ones that had come out of storage.

“I know, Chief, but this is time critical. The Draxx are out there. Maybe they’re as blind as we are in this nebula, or maybe the only reason they’ve not come near yet is that they’re uncertain as to our intentions. They might simply be wondering why we’re just sitting here. Even to a cold-blooded killer like them, what we’ve done must seem out of the ordinary. And the fact they’re preoccupied with our fighters right now.”

“Well, Commander, we should have the primary capacitor up and running in the next twenty minutes or so. I have everybody out here working on it. Pop your head in the engineering section if you like―there’s nobody in there,” Macintosh said.

“I know. I passed through on my way here,” Teague said. In fact, on her way to Macintosh she’d indeed visited the engineering section and found it deserted just as the Chief claimed. Strange to walk in there and find it devoid of any activity.

“You just can’t account for sabotage,” the Chief said.

Teague studied the former capacitors. They’d once been shiny chrome cubes, pipe work running through them like arteries.

Now they were black hulks, barely recognizable. As if the explosive had not caused enough damage, the resultant blast of chemicals and electricity reduced them almost to slag.

“Is there anything I can do?” Teague asked.

The Chief’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “With the people you picked up along the way? No. Even
I’m
redundant. They know what they’re doing, and they have more than enough hands here to help them.”

Commander Teague slumped against the wall. “So it’s just a waiting game.”

“Sorry to say so, but it is,” the Chief said. His thoughts turned to the conversation he’d had with Captain Driscoll while they were at Jump.

“All because you didn’t know when to call it a day. You didn’t know there are limits to how far you can push men, women and ships,” the Chief had said.

Driscoll’s eyes had become hard pits of darkness. “I do now.”

Everything was a waiting game, wasn’t it? He’d always known that one day their paths would cross again. He’d never imagined that it would be aboard a ship like the
Manhattan
. A vessel he’d put so much energy and spirit into, only to watch that man step in and assume the Captaincy. He was surprised that Driscoll hadn’t chosen a different Chief of Engineering when it had come to reviewing the crew roster―but Driscoll was no idiot. Macintosh was the best, and given the fact he was already elbow-deep in the ship’s construction, an essential component in having the
Manhattan
’s cosmic debut be a smooth one.

They had their differences, their past―
one day Driscoll will answer for what had happened those many years ago
―but for now there was a job to do.

Macintosh startled as a loud crackling noise burst through the air on the heels of the scent of ozone. Cyan sparks lapped at the walls for a few seconds as workers leapt away with stunned faces. The replacement capacitor sat dark. Just as a wave of disappointment started to sweep through the crewmen, the front panel lit up and it hummed. On its front, the holo-display flickered to life with a pie chart: eighteen percent capacity and rising.

Lights came on around them, the heartbeat of the
Manhattan
returned, thrumming along the deck plating in surges.

One of the crewmen leaned back and cheered; his revelry screeching to a halt with a worried glance at the ship’s XO so close.

“Congratulations, Chief,” Commander Teague said.

On the bridge, all systems returned to life. Driscoll slapped his hands together and gave them a rub. “Okay, ladies and gents. Looks like we’re back in action. I want a full status report. Damage assessment, short-range sensor sweeps, medical bay report. Blair, re-establish contact with all deployed fighters. If you can’t get them, keep trying until you do.”

“Uhh, sir,” Lieutenant Brooke said. “I think we have company.”

Driscoll looked up at the viewscreen. There, closing on them, were the unmistakable shapes of three Draxx capital ships.

“All handsss, battle stationsss!” Lieutenant-Commander S’lestra yelled a second before alarms rang throughout the
Manhattan
.

“Full reverse!” Driscoll ordered.

Hardy didn’t hesitate reversing the mighty thrusters, backing the ship away from the Draxx threat. The
Manhattan
trembled, the inertial dampeners struggling with the sudden shift. Driscoll stumbled forward a few feet before regaining his balance.

He turned to Brooke. “Lieutenant, target the lead vessel. Charge all primary weapons.”

Thin amber circles appeared on the viewscreen, spinning in counter rotation as they shrank over the center vessel. Within seconds, they blinked and stopped spinning.

“Target locked, sir,” Brooke said. “Weapons online, sir.”

“Fire at will.”

ichael tapped at tiny square buttons around the outside of the comm display, keying in minute adjustments to signal wavelength. Each time the numbers ticked higher, he repeated his attempt to speak to the
Manhattan
. Green Wing continued through billowing masses of nebula, following the course that Keg had plotted.