Free Operation Chimera by Matthew S. Cox, Tony Healey Page A

teeth of a murderous Draxx so close their breath fogged a human’s visor. They never heard the last breath of a brother spent on a helmet-shaking scream, never stared at an expanding debris cloud in the heart-rending silence thereafter.
    Idealists, university students, socialites―what did they know.
    The tram stopped. Michael rose to his feet, tucking the case of mourning under his left arm. Brilliant white light flooded in from the doors as they slid open with a pneumatic hiss; a row of silhouettes in black funeral garb waited. Their number indistinct, parents, siblings, and children of the fallen waited. A dozen unreadable faces turned to look at him all at once.
    At what price, glory?

    Emma stood before a full-length mirror, checking to make sure that her dress whites were perfect in every detail. The only real difference from her duty uniform was a knee-length skirt that replaced the trousers. She fidgeted with her lapel, smiling at the lack of medals. Only a tour of duty ribbon for The
Manhattan
sat there. To hell with prestige, at least she made it home. She did what she had to do. The Draxx had been dealt a blow that would take them generations to recover from, and with the help of the Terran Union, it would be unlikely they could present a threat again.
    She closed the wardrobe door after adjusting her cap and left her room with the giddy bounce of a schoolgirl in her step. It had been too long since she’d seen her sister, Sarah. A pair of Milsec honor guard stood on either side of the door at the end of the corridor. It was already open, and neither man reacted to her approach. That was their way though. Small children could kick them in the shin and they would stand there, stoic as ever, not flinching.
    Inside, chairs were lined up in rows facing a podium. People filled the room: a few other pilots, family, friends, and family of friends. Emma stood up on her toes to wave over the crowd at her father, who stood near the front of the room in conversation with three other men. He didn’t notice her, focused on his words.
    She moved to the left to the edge of the room, moving past the periphery of the crowd toward the front. In the first row of chairs, she found Sarah sitting one space from the end, wearing an elaborate dark violet dress with white stockings, pouting at her gloss black shoes. A large blue-butterfly clasp held her long hair off her face. Emma smiled, remembering high school notebooks festooned with doodled butterflies. Sarah had no doubt worn that as a gesture to her. Her little sister didn’t seem too much different than the last time she had seen her. Given the expected length of the mission, it struck her as odd that the girl did not look any older.
    “Hey, kiddo.” Emma sat in the last seat.
    Sarah looked up, red around the eyes. “Hey.” Her pout deepened.
    “War’s over. We won.” Emma winked. “I’m home now.”
    “Yeah,” droned Sarah.
    Emma held her arms out. “Aren’t you happy to see me? Where’s my hug?”
    “I told you not to go.” Sara looked back down, making no move to embrace her sister.
    “Oh, come on.” Emma let her arms fall slack. “You can’t still be upset with me.”
    Someone in the back of the room burst out sobbing. Emma glanced, unable to find the source in the seated crowd. Sarah did not react. As she turned to look at Sarah again, her eyes caught sight of a large silver box behind the podium; a military casket. The lid was up, yet the person inside was out of sight.
    Chills spread through her body. She looked again at all the people, so many of her own family were here. Her breath stalled in her chest. On shaking legs, she stood, and tiptoed past her father to the display. A wisp of black hair drifted into view beyond the bare-steel casket edge, then clasped hands. The left one was obvious in its artificiality; a mortician’s prosthetic.
    Tightness squeezed her heart. The sound of Sarah breaking into uncontrollable tears made her turn back. Her