Operation Chimera (5 page)

Driscoll kept it semi-dark in his quarters, as was his preference. There was a private head with toilet and shower. He also had a sofa, bed and desk. Compared to some of the ships he’d served on, it was a palace. Compared to others, the Captain’s quarters would never have passed muster.

However they were the ones he’d picked. He didn’t need fuss. Just everything he wanted at hand, in one place. So here it was.

“Ma’am?” Ensign Blair asked as she stepped foot on the bridge for the first time since the Academy. Then it had only been a set, a simulation of a standard bridge for training purposes. This… this was the real deal, and it felt different too.

The alien woman turned around. “Yesss?”

The Ensign broke into a salute. “Ensign Blair, reporting for duty.”

“Indeed,” Lieutenant-Commander S’lestra said, managing to keep herself from smiling, though not without some difficulty. “Take the Communicationsss ssstation pleassse. I believe that was your ssspeciality?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blair said as she took her seat. The other bridge crew watched for a moment then returned to what they were doing.

“You’re familiar with this syssstem?”

Blair nodded. “Yes. It’s a sister model to the one I was trained on.”

“Exsssellent. Liaissse with Ssstation control, sssee where they’re at. Tell them we ssstill intend on disssembarking azzz hoped.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Ensign Blair replied, already feeling as though she were made for the job.

A voice from behind stopped Driscoll in his tracks.

“Well, Nick, it seems your hair is living up to my name,” Commander Grey said. The Captain turned around to face him. “But still a handsome son-of-a-gun if there ever was!”

“Well, well, well,” Driscoll said, grinning. He’d been on his way to the bridge and had not noticed Grey emerge from a door to his side just as he was passing. The Captain shook his hand vigorously. “I knew you were aboard, but…”

Grey raised an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“It’s okay. You can be honest. I’d wanna avoid me, too.”

Driscoll laughed. “Okay, maybe I avoided you. Must’ve been your appearance. You’re getting more and more feminine. Could be I mistook you for a woman.”

“I’m still more woman than you can handle,” Grey said.

Driscoll had known Grey for over ten years. They’d served together aboard the
Divergent
, starting out at the same rank. Driscoll’s ability and skill at the controls of a starfighter had equaled even the great ‘Hawk’ Nowlan. Whilst Grey remained a great pilot in his own right, Driscoll had shot up through the ranks, eventually transferring to the bridge where he soon found himself a Lieutenant-Commander.

“Why don’t you shoot for the same thing?” Driscoll had asked Grey at the time. “They need more people like us. There are too many silver spoons in command of these ships, not enough warriors. And that’s what we need right now.”

“I like doing what I do,” Grey had told him.

Eventually they’d found themselves posted to different ships, though they stayed in contact over the years and even met from time to time. When Driscoll got the call to lead the
Manhattan
, there’d been only one man he wanted to lead the way down in the hangar. To his relief, Commander Grey had agreed to do it. Now they were both older―and his old friend was right. Driscoll’s hair was no longer the jet black of his youth.

“Where’re you off to now?” Driscoll asked.

“The hangar deck. I have to settle in a load of newbies. I’ve got squadrons of rookies who need a good breaking in,” Grey said. “The usual.”

A bell chimed. An indicator he was wanted on the bridge; they were waiting for him there. “Look, I need to go…”

Commander Grey drew a tight salute, shoulders back, chest puffed out. “Captain.”

“
Yeoman,
Grey,” Driscoll said with a wink as a parting remark.

“Captain on the bridge.” Lieutenant Hardy announced upon Driscoll’s arrival.

The Captain raised a hand to stop him in his tracks. “Thank you, I appreciate it. But please…
don’t do it again
.”

The bridge crew returned to their stations.

“Sorry, sir,” Hardy said.

“No need to apologize, Lieutenant,” Driscoll said. “Just don’t repeat it, son, okay?”

Hardy sat back behind the helm next to the navigator. The only two seats to be found on the bridge were at the front, behind the helm controls and under the glare of the huge viewscreen. The other stations were manned standing. Not even the Captain and his Executive Officer got a seat. A lot of Captains complained about it, but Driscoll preferred it that way. It kept the crew sharp, it made them feel as though they’d done a full day’s work when they finished their shift. Their feet ached afterward.

Driscoll had once heard an Ensign complain to a former Captain of his, Captain Lancing, about sore feet. Lancing had leaned close to the younger man and said, “Grow thicker soles, my boy.”

In other words…
harden up
.

The bridge was an oval shape with the viewscreen at the end of one narrow edge, and the entrance to the bridge at the other. Smaller than the bridge he’d had on the
Sonata
. But then, the Archon classes weren’t equipped with an AI unit. Most of the
Manhattan
’s functions and processes could be handled automatically by the supercomputer known as Frank if needed, though Driscoll didn’t quite feel comfortable in putting his life in the hands of something that didn’t exist.

To a degree, you could trust in the dependency of metal and flesh. But positronic thought patterns? Not so much.

“Greetings, Captain,” Frank said through the overheads. “Welcome Aboard.”

Commander Teague glanced at Driscoll, waiting for his reaction to the AI.

“Thanks, Frank,” he said.

“Shall I prepare the
Manhattan
for departure?”

The Captain turned to Commander Teague. “Are all hands accounted for?”

She nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

“Go ahead, Frank,” Driscoll told the distinctly male―yet
bland
―personality.

Commander Teague went and stood by the helm. “Lieutenant Hardy, when you’re ready, clear all moorings.”

The Lieutenant’s hands flew over the controls. “Moorings cleared.”

“Release all airlocks. Uncouple the docking clamps and equalize pressure.”

“Aye.”

“Reactor at one hundred percent, Captain. Engines primed. Jump drive spooled.”

Driscoll waited for Commander Teague to return. “Efficient isn’t he?”

She nodded. “That he is.”

Driscoll turned his attention to the helm. “Thrusters only, Mister, Hardy. Get us away from the station before we open her up a bit, see what she can do.”

It was traditional to call a ship
She
or
It
. Never
He
. A chariot of the stars could only ever be referred to as a lady. Nothing less. Not when your life depended on her. Driscoll glanced at the overheads, wondering what pencil-neck in a lab coat decided to make the AIs in capital ships male.

“Yes, Captain,” Hardy said.

“Ensign,” Commander Teague said to Ensign Blair. “Thank Horizon Station for having us and advise them we are under way.”

“Aye.”

The other bridge crew were hard at work ensuring all other aspects of the
Manhattan
’s many systems functioned as expected. The Captain stood back next to his second in command and reached up to one of the handholds rigged across the ceiling. Robin Teague had already done the same.

“Helm has control,” Frank announced.

“Any way we can shut that goddamn thing off?” Driscoll whispered to her.

“I don’t think so, Sir,” Commander Teague said. “He’s part and parcel.”

Driscoll loosed an irritated sigh.

The
Manhattan
eased away from the side of Horizon Station. Hardy fired the maneuvering jets along her port side, allowing her to drift to starboard and gain distance.

The Lieutenant activated the thrusters, using only eight percent thrust to break away from Horizon Station’s negligible gravity. Once a safe distance from the huge superstructure, he increased their thrust to one quarter.

Lieutenant Hardy turned around, awaiting his next orders.

“Ahead, one half speed,” Driscoll ordered.

“Aye.”

A steady pulse of vibration rippled through the deck as the
Manhattan
came to life, emanating from the heart of the vessel. Power surged from the mighty engines at the aft of the loaf-shaped behemoth like blood flowing toward ready muscles. Driscoll had always thought of starships in organic terms.

The engineering section contained the heart and other essential organs. The bridge was the brain. The computer network had to be the nervous system. Her guns were her fists; missiles the spit she threw in the faces of her enemies. And her engines? They were her legs, strong and far-reaching so that she might run with grace upon the spider webs of stars.

“One half,” Hardy declared.

“All systemsss optimal,” Lieutenant-Commander S’lestra said.

“Thank you. Bring us up to three quarters,” Driscoll ordered. He let go of the handhold now, certain there wasn’t anything about to send him falling on his ass. “Keep pushing her until she’s at full speed. Tenth increments.”

“Aye.”

Subtle creaks and groans murmured through the carrier’s hull from the increased stress from the engines.

She’s having a good stretch is all,
Driscoll thought to himself.
Working the knots out.

Some small amount of give in the hull was expected―indeed, necessary. Especially when a starship happened to be as big as the
Manhattan
, and carried what she carried.

“We are now at full speed,” Lieutenant Hardy announced.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Commander Teague said with a smile.

Driscoll politely dismissed the comment. “Okay. Frank, what is the reactor output?”

The reply was instantaneous. “Currently eighty-percent.”

“Take it to one hundred, and redirect the additional output to the engines.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Although against guidelines, the manifolds were intended to take a maximum of one hundred and fifty percent output for a duration of eighteen hours before they would start to degrade due to heat. Frank would be aware of that. Could there be anything the
Manhattan
’s sentient AI
wasn’t
aware of?

“Reactor now at one hundred percent.”

The
Manhattan
rumbled around them for a moment or two, then settled back into a steady rhythm. Horizon Station would no longer be a mere speck, were they to look back. It would be indecipherable from the rest of the darkness. A smudge against the cosmos.

“Increase to one hundred and thirty percent,” Driscoll ordered the ship’s AI.

“Please repeat.”

“Frank, increase output to one-thirty,” Driscoll said. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, Captain. Increasing. “

The level of vibration increased, yet Driscoll appeared unfazed by it. “Commander, please report our status to Fleet Command. Tell them the ship has performed as expected, there are no major issues. We are now proceeding with the mission.”