Operation Chimera (32 page)

“In any case,” said Michael, “our instruments led us right to the anomaly rather than back to the carrier. We then noticed the presence of a Terran ship and decided to investigate since we were already there.”

Commander Grey waited, tapping a finger on his tablet.

“What we found, sir, was the aft portion of the
Lewis & Clark
.”

Commander Grey matched his name. “That ship was lost almost a century ago.”

“Yes, sir. After picking up a life sign on board, we began rescue procedures. However, once we were inside the ship, we encountered Draxx. It appears that they had been using it as an outpost. We walked in on them using a communicator with an individual that appeared to be of some significant rank. They had quite a few fighters.”

“They had more than we saw,” added Liam. “Emma plugged their launch bay.”

She tried not to be too obvious with her grin.

“The Draxx converted the engine ports to fighter bays, a few well-placed missiles prevented them from launching more than we could handle.” Liam smiled for her.

“It was risky,” said Michael. “She rushed the first wave and assaulted their launch aperture before we got overwhelmed.”

“Rookie move, could have gotten herself killed,” muttered Aaron into his hand.

“It was reckless.” Michael nodded. “But if she didn’t secure that launch bay, we might have been overwhelmed. There was no telling how many ships they had.”

“I see.” Commander Grey nodded. “You recovered the survivor from the infirmary aboard the
Lewis & Clark
? Were you able to ascertain how much intelligence the Draxx obtained from the wreck?”

“We were not there on an archeological dig, sir. Draxx fighters engaged Green Wing while we were inside; I made the decision to get back out there as soon as possible. We moved as quickly as we could to find the survivor. However, the jump drive system appeared to be… missing.”

“Is it your contention that the Draxx have it?”

“No, sir. The entire area where the device was mounted was gone. The parts of the hull that remained were warped beyond recognition. I believe the recordings from our helmets are intact.” Michael accessed a computer terminal embedded in the table, bringing up video of his journey through the inside of the ship. “The entire chamber is twisted and stretched outward, as though it contained an explosion. Look here at how the bulkheads just stop. It looks like the drive decided to transport itself right out of the ship. All solid material within a 20 meter circle vanished with it.”

Commander Grey tapped a few keys. “The personal recorder information from your mission is now considered Top Secret. I trust none of you will discuss the nature of your findings with anyone outside of command or military intelligence with the proper authorization.”

“Yes, sir,” said everyone.

Two older individuals, a man and a woman, walked in at that moment. They wore the pristine white uniform of Fleet Intelligence Command. The senior, Commander Winthrop, took a seat. Her number two, Lieutenant Commander Reed, sat to her left. Winthrop had the demeanor of a CEO, while Reed looked like he might give Zavex a run for his money in a hand-to-hand fight, and was almost as dark.

Green Wing all stood as they entered, exchanging salutes.

“FIC is interested in learning about your communications issue, now that they are here, please enlighten us.” Commander Grey gestured at the two in white.

“Sir, Ma’am, Sir,” Michael nodded to them each in turn, and then sat when everyone else did. “I discovered that the Chimera Nebula is emitting a constant, varying signal that interferes with most of our electronics, especially sensors and communications.” He accessed his Glaive’s flight computer through the table terminal, pulling up the results of Betty’s analysis. “The ambient signal changes frequency, following either an ascending or descending pattern. At regular intervals, there are skips where it jumps from one extreme to the other and then inverts the direction of change. This algorithm”―holographic images appeared over the table, depicting equations―“enables our communications system to alter its transmission wavelength. Without it, the ambient signal of the nebula distorts the waveform of our outbound transmissions and degrades them over short distances. What does get through is unreadable. The algorithm modifies the outbound frequency such that the combined wave remains at the expected constant.”

“And the reverse filters the effects of the nebula out of a received signal,” said Winthrop.

“Yes, ma’am. The only problem is that on the receiving side, if the sending station does not have the algorithm in place, the usable signal range is reduced to a little over a hundred thousand meters.”

“Interesting,” noted Reed.

“We’ll need to have this evaluated, of course. If it checks out, we’ll have to make the necessary adjustments to all systems so we don’t lose contact with long-range missions again in the future.”

Winthrop and Reed remained for another ten minutes, discussing the method by which Michael came up with the algorithm. Then, satisfied, they took their leave. An often tedious, detailed verbal dissection of the recent Draxx engagement consumed the next hour and forty-five minutes. The lack of any reported oddities in weapons performance, aside from the apparently cosmetic addition of lightning to particle beams, pleased Grey.

“Excellent work, Green Wing. If I didn’t read your transcripts, I almost wouldn’t believe you’re fresh from the Academy.”

Everyone stood.

“Thank you, sir.” Michael said, with a salute. “It’s an honor to be on the
Manhattan
.”

Commander Ellison Grey returned the salute. “Dismissed.”

ommander Teague stood outside the briefing room, hands clasped behind her back.

The pilots saluted her on sight and she returned the gesture.

“At ease,” she said. “I’m here to congratulate you all on a job well done. From what I heard of Grey’s report, you all did us proud. But I’m not really here for that.”

Michael looked at the others, a nervous expression on his face.

Commander Teague smiled. “The Captain would like to see you. He’s down in the hangar.”

For Driscoll, it was like revisiting his glory days―when he himself had once flown in the cockpit of a starfighter, at incredible speeds skimming past debris fields and alien terrain in pursuit of Draxx bogies.

He ran his hand down the nosecone of one of the ships. One of many different types the
Manhattan
accommodated. In his day, there had been only one class of fighter―the Wasp. Small, speedy, and extremely reliable in all atmospheres, they’d been the workhorse of the Union fleet.

Now… obsolete.

That’ll be
me
one day.
Obsolete.
I’ll outlive my purpose.

He looked about at the rest of the hangar, saw the group of young pilots headed his way, and his mood brightened.

No.
He smiled.
Not before I’m done
.

“Captain Driscoll?” Michael asked.

Driscoll threw them a salute, and watched with satisfaction as they stood to attention.

“At ease, boys and girls.” He was aware he looked tired, a little fried from that day’s exploits. Still, he might’ve looked it, but he certainly didn’t feel it.

All in all, he was pleased with how the day had ended, with not a single fatality. And that in a major confrontation. He dared to wonder how many Draxx had died along the way.

Not enough.

Driscoll placed a hand against the starfighter, felt its cold metal hull under his palm. “I was once a pilot myself.”

“We know,” Aaron blurted. The others looked at him, brows furrowed. He came over pale all of a sudden. “I, I mean to say, uh, that you’re pretty much, er, required reading.”

“We’ve all read about your victories and scrapes,” Michael said, somewhat in awe of the man himself, but managing to keep from stammering as Aaron had.

Driscoll grinned. “Is that so? I didn’t know that. Well, anyway, some of my best memories are of that time. The feel of the fighter under your control, the charge of the guns. In a way, I miss it.”

He regarded them then and felt a stab of sorrow in his heart for a time long past, a time in his own life when he’d been somewhat innocent. His hands had had much less blood on them then. He subconsciously removed his hand from the side of the starfighter and glanced down at it, as if he’d expected to see a red stain there. If the kids noticed it, they didn’t make it look as though they had.

“I guess what I’m getting at, is that it was a fine time for me then, as it is for you now,” he said. “Make the most of it. You kids did yourselves proud today, with what you did out there. Made me proud, too.”

Emma glanced at Michael, who beamed back at her.

“But I want you all to remember this place has teeth. It’ll bite you if you’re not careful. Keep that in mind, watch your corner and look out for one another. Do that, and you’ll always make it home,” he said.

The Captain drew himself to attention, shot them a salute and walked off.

The young pilots watched him go, and for the longest of moments not a single one of them said a word.

There was no need.