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This book is dedicated to the following people:
- Graham Bell and Brent Rolfe for being such good
sounding boards for my ideas;
- Ron Futcher and Christine Pascoe for the patient
reading of the original short story and subsequent
novel versions;
- All the people at Anime Australia for their
support. I couldn't have done it without you all;
and
- Widya Santoso and Lady Angela Menace-Rover
esquire, for the Night Music Squadron's legend and
their <Macross Memories>. May their creation
survive the holocaust of the savaged Earth.
Aubry Thonon
... the Yin and the Yang, the Good and the Bad, the Light
and the Shadow - for this is the crux of the matter, this
alter-ego of what we call Protoculture, the Entity known as
Neoculture.
Excerpt from PROTOCULTURE AND THE CHILDREN OF THE SHADOW.
CHAPTER 1
Exactly how did I come to the idea of the `Think-Cap`? Well,
when we first developed the Veritech Fighter, we thought we
could control its movements by manipulation of controls in the
cockpit. This theory crumbled very quickly as we tested the
first plane: its movements were jerky and it left a lot to be
desired in menoeuverability. What we needed was a device like
the human brain to put the finishing touches on the Veritech's
actions. From there we developed a helmet containing various
apparatus to record the brain's `thoughts` and transmit them
to the `central nervous system` of the plane. I believe the
term `Thinking-Cap` was first used by Admiral Hunter, while
still a civilian. It shortened to `Think-Cap` and the name
stuck amongst the pilots.
Dr. Lang, Interviews.
Hausthar C. Reneth gave the novel he was holding but a
nervous glance as he waited in his bunk. He was a boy of
about 17 years, normal height for his age (6 feet 2 inches),
short reddish hair and a body who although wasn't fat could
have done with a little more exercise. His eyes gave a lonely
feeling, a feeling most people picked up instantly. This
peculiarity awarded him very little friends and the fact that
he was shy of nature did nothing to help.
He turned over and wondered when the P.A. system would call
his name. Hausthar had been in training at the Robotech
Defence Academy for two years now and was waiting eagerly for
the final exam. Two years of hard drills and brain wrenching
theory on space and atmosphere flight contour and combat were
culminating in a combat simulation where luck somehow seemed
to enter the game.
Sitting up on his bed, he had just started reading again
when the P.A. hummed to life.
"Cadet Reneth, Hausthar C. Please report to the briefing
room for final combat simulation 5." The voice from the
speaker was calculated to send chills along a cadet's spine.
It did.
As he walked towards the simulation rooms, Hausthar went
into his meditation routine. To properly interface with a
Veritech Fighter there had to be no outside thoughts, no
interference within the pattern of thoughts of the pilot. Any
deviance would slow the Mecha's response and make you a
target.
Two steps from the Com-Sim door he heard a metallic voice
sounding from within, garbled beyond recognition. Hausthar
unstrapped his side-arm from its holster (Pilots are to wear
regulation gear during simulations, Simulation Rule No. 24)
and flattened himself against the wall. The doors were
automatic so he would have to fiddle with the lock and if he
were silent enough he could have surprise on his side. In a
flash he faced the door and charged in, the door opening in
front of him - and fell down, his foot caught on a wire
stretched inches from the floor.
"You have just been killed Cadet! One does not charge in
when one is expected you know. Or didn't you hear your name
being called out over the Academy's P.A.?" Hausthar looked up
to see a metallic figure looming over him like a vulture
waiting for its prey to die. He forced his eyes into focus
and recognised the semi-humanoid shape.
"Victor! What are <you> doing here?" he exclaimed.
"I am to be your Com-Sim examiner my friend. But let me
tell you; if you do as well in there as you did just now, you
haven't got a chance."
Victor was a six feet high android, a marvel of Robotech
engineering, created not two years ago. He was endowed with
the strange life-like qualities that all
Robotechnology-produced machine seem to achieve. As far as
Hausthar knew, Victor was a one-of-a-kind unfortunately, for
supplies had been redirected towards the construction of the
SDF-2. Victor worked for Dr. Lang, the Earth's discoverer of
Robotechnology. What his functions were, however, Hausthar
could only guess at.
Ever since they had met, Victor had looked after him, acting
like a brother to him and pulling practical jokes most of the
time. It had been a rather strange sight to see an android
set up a joke and laugh afterwards. Exedore, the Zentraedi
scientist, had explained that this came from the fact that
Victor used Protoculture technology. As to what Protoculture
was supposed to be, no-one seemed to have any idea - or they
weren't telling. For reasons unknown to Hausthar, only a
handful of people outside Dr. Lang's scientific team knew of
Victor's existence; a secret Hausthar seemed privy to.
Victor pointed towards the simulation cockpit. "If you will
enter the simulator, we will start as soon as possible. You
will be coming from 3 O'Clock high with regard to the enemy
target at a velocity of Mach 2. Your deceleration factor will
be at an initial 0. Objective: infiltration and destruction
of a Zentraedi Battle-Cruiser by any, repeat <ANY>, means
deemed necessary. You will be piloting a VF-1J with full
ammo-pack. Battle-pod density will be at maximum. Three
squadrons are there to assist you. Understood?" Hausthar
nodded. "Good. Now if you will wait a moment, someone else
is taking the test too." Victor entered the control room and
looked into the adjacent simulation area where another figure
was waiting by its machine.
Michele Cequor was not impatient by nature but the waiting
was gnawing at her nerves. She was a tall, slender girl, 16
years of age, with long, rust-coloured hair and light-green
eyes that wouldn't quit sparkling. Among boys her age she was
considered `dangerous` ever since she put one of their friends
in hospital after he had made a rather open pass at her.
A series of heavy footsteps behind her made her turn around
and face her examiner. Victor stepped into the pool of light
surrounding the simulator and greeted her. Michele replied in
kind as she jumped into the cockpit. She wasn't surprised to
see Victor, after all he had always been there for her
whenever she needed help. Especially since her parents had
died. She shook her head, banishing the thought.
Michele had already been briefed about the simulation and
Victor was now checking her straps. She understood the
meticulous care with which he did it. Series five simulations
were rough on you. Many a time had she come out of the
cockpit with bruises and she had heard of a couple of broken
arms from last year's graduates. This was as close to reality
as you could come (almost) without risking your life.
Victor finished his checks and closed the simulator's
canopy. Swiftly, he made his way back to the control room,
closed the door behind him and sat down in front of two
consoles, the chair straining under his weight. He flicked a
couple of switches and monitors came to life around him. He
particularly studied two sets of screens which would give him
an outside observer's eye-view of the simulations and an
interior view of the cockpits.
The lights dimmed within the confines of the simulator rooms
as he bent over a mike and signalled the start of the tests.
On his screen he saw the faces of the young pilots relax as
they made contact with their Mecha. With but a few moment's
hesitation both went into action, unleashing destruction in
their own, private little war.
Hausthar menoeuvered his Veritech close to the
Battle-Cruiser and searched for an opening while firing at
incoming Battle-Pods. The enemy's ships looked not so much
like machines as headless, featherless ostriches: oval spheres
from which hung pairs of reversely-hinged mechanical legs. He
looped to avoid incoming laser fire and released a pair of
heat-seekers at the Pod in front of him. He was just about to
target another when his plane shook from a direct hit.
Turning his head to inspect the damage, he saw a sizeable hole
in his left wing. In space it did not matter but it now ruled
him out from any atmospheric combat that might take place. He
swore and told himself to be more careful. Looking forward
again he relaxed, mentally reaching further inward to the core
of his Veritech Mecha.
It wasn't so much having trouble as not getting a break.
Ever since the simulation had begun, Michele hadn't had a
chance to search for an entrance into the Zentraedi Cruiser.
She blasted the few Pods that were on her side of the ship and
switched her plane to Guardian configuration. Her F-14
look-alike plane shuddered a little as the two engines swung
down to form legs, the exhaust splitting in two, becoming
feet. The ailerons folded inward and the tail assembly
flipped and came to rest on top of the main body. From the
back, where they had been positioned between the engines, two
rectangular pods moved to the side, swung forward and hands
slid out from their fronts to form two arms. The Veritech
hung there for a moment, a majestic hawk with arms, then
detached a high-powered GU-11 gun pod from its right forearm
and readied itself for battle. Already more Pods were coming
from over the Cruiser to do battle. The Guardian swung its
GU-11 towards them as Michele mentally reached in and sunk
into the technology that surrounded her.
Victor was quietly watching the simulations when an alarm
sounded - something was wrong with Hausthar's simulation. He
was about to request further information when a second buzzer
joined in, this time coming from Michele's console. What had
been deemed impossible was now happening: the simulations were
being tampered with. Victor reached for the phone and started
dialling.
Hausthar was in trouble - for a while now, he'd had a couple
of Pods on his tail and could not shake them off. He had got
himself to accept the inevitable when a sudden burst of
high-density depleted trans-uranic shells took out both
enemies at once. He turned around and saw a Veritech in
Guardian mode blasting Pods in every conceivable directions.
Taking advantage of the fact that the Pods were now more
interested in the Guardian than in him, Hausthar changed his
Mecha into Battloid. The plane mechamorphed to Guardian and
continued to change; the `legs` moved forward along the
cockpit as the plane split in half just before the wings. The
two parts folded as the wings swung back, forming chest and
back. A laser turret previously located under the cockpit
slid from its protective placing and rightened itself on the
`shoulders`, looking like a visored helmet. The Battloid
grabbed the GU-11 gun pod from its fore-arm and headed for the
Battle-Cruiser.
Michele had been eliminating Pods right and left, trying to
make her way towards the cruiser, when she encountered a
Veritech in need of assistance; whoever was inside was pursued
by two Pods and had tried to shake them, to no avail. She
back-flipped her Guardian and sent a burst of high-density
depleted trans-uranic tracers at the pursuers. The tracers
met their targets, ripping armor off the Pods and reaching
into the vehicles to their power plants. Both Pods
illuminated the sky with the light of their final doom. The
now-freed Veritech changed into Battloid and proceeded to
blast a portion of the Battle-Cruiser's armor away. It waited
outside long enough to look her way, as if making sure she was
all right, then entered the ship. Michele took this as an
invitation, fired her last pair of heat-seekers at an
approaching Pod and followed the Battloid into the ship.
Dr.Lang entered the control room running and proceeded to
sit down without asking a question; apparently he had been
briefed on the problem. His eyes gleamed with excitement.
Victor was not sure what to make of this. Dr. Lang was not
known for his emotional outbursts. In fact, nothing phased or
excited him apart from Robotechnology. For him to be this
restless it must have been very interesting indeed.
"I don't <believe> it! Victor, have you seen this? They've
broken into each other's simulations!" Lang's German accent
was strong during moments of stress and this was one of them.
"I never dreamed this would be the outcome of the project!
This... <this> is incredible!" Lang reached for the intercom
and requested for the transcript of the simulations to be
brought up to him as soon as possible. He leaned back with a
smug look on his face. For the first time in his existence,
Victor saw Lang smile at something that was not powered by
Protoculture. They both turned around and faced the monitors
where a battle of rare violence was unfolding.
Hausthar and the other Veritech (which had changed into
Battloid by now) made their way towards the engines at a
painfully slow pace. They were stuck outside a cargo bay with
Zentraedi troops shooting at them from inside and Battle-Pods
coming in from the rear. Hausthar looked towards the bay's
ceiling, changed to Guardian and unleashed a series of
missiles at the power circuits overhead. A chain of
explosions raked the cargo bay and shook the corridor in which
they stood, forcing the Battloid to hold on to an overhead
pipe. Hausthar peeked inside the bay and saw no movement. He
motioned the other Mecha to follow him and crossed the
now-devastated area to the door on the far side.
Michele watched as the Guardian beside her released a
contingent of missiles at the bay in front of which they had
stopped. She grabbed an overhead conduit as the floor moved
from underneath her feet and steadied the Battloid. The
Guardian urged her on and crossed the open expense of the
cargo bay. Michele followed it, allowing herself a look at
the dead Zentraedi. The aliens were fifty to sixty feet tall
and humanoid in build. In fact, if it wasn't for the height,
they could have passed off as her next-door neighbours. The
Veritech's Battloid mode had actually been created to handle
hand-to-hand fighting with those giants.
A nearby explosion shook Michele out of her daydream and
brought her back to the 'reality' of the simulation. The shot
had been fired by a group a Battle-Pods which had caught up
with them while they had been pinned down. Michele ordered
her Battloid to turn around and fired a shot at the electronic
lock on the door between them and the Pods. The door hissed
shut, breaking one of the Pods' laser cannon in two.
Michele's Battloid broke into a run and followed the Guardian
to the nearby engine room.
Hausthar watched in admiration as the Battloid accompanying
him got rid of a group of following Pods. <Not bad!> he
thought. <They're making these simulations more realistic all
the time. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that Battloid is
controlled by a real pilot.>
His train of thought stopped short as he found the door to
the drive room. The door was shut tight so a couple of
bullets made themselves acquainted with its lock. He left the
Battloid as a guard and went inside to try to overload the
engines. No sooner had he stepped inside that three Zentraedi
stepped from behind what looked like maintenance material and
showered the area he was occupying with lasers.
<Maintenance material? Wait a minute. Zentraedi don't know
how to maintain or repair any of their equipment.> He'd have
to talk to somebody about this! Hausthar dodged his Guardian
to the side and emptied his Gatling gun into the power
coupling of the engines behind the Zentraedi. The GU-11 made
the awaited buzzsaw sound as its gatling cannons peppered the
coupling until it ran out of ammunition. The coupling began
to glow with the light of uncontrolled energy. Hausthar did
not wait to see the result of his shots and retreated out of
the room as explosions began to resound within.
Michele had somehow sensed that the Guardian wanted her to
remain on guard outside the room. She heard shots being
exchanged within and suddenly saw the Veritech come through
the door as if its laser-punctured tail rudders were on fire.
She followed it down the corridor and arrived at a dead end.
With an unspoken agreement she let loose her remaining tracers
while the Guardian opened fire with its laser turret; the wall
could not take the combined beating and gave way. The air
rushed out to meet the vacuum of space, sucking out the two
Veritech Mecha at the same time. Both reverted to Fighter
configuration and kicked in their after-burners to gain speed.
<To Hell with fuel consumption!> thought Michele. <I've got
to get out of here!>
From behind her a bright light emerged as the
Battle-Cruiser's engines finally gave way to the on-rushing
flow of energy and exploded with a flurry of unleashed
Protoculture.
Hausthar's jet shook as it caught shrapnel in its belly,
warning lights telling him he had lost his left engine and
laser turret. The Veritech next to his waved its wings at him
in victory and returned to the SDF-1. Hausthar nudged his
plane into a low-consumption orbit towards the Fortress until
he could be picked up by the rescue operators.
CHAPTER 2
There was not a day during most of the First Robotech War
when I did not hear of a pilot's incredible escape from death
quoted as 'coincidence' or 'shear dumb luck' and that got me
thinking. So many 'coincidences' were happening that I
finally got around to interviewing Dr. Lang and the Zentraedi
Historian/Adviser Exedore on the subject. Their answers
talked of a Plan - not, as one might be excused to think, a
military plan, but rather one emanating from the Protoculture.
It was their belief that the Protoculture was able to shape
events much more easily than it did machines during
mechamorphosys, a term invented by Robotech Research to
describe the process of transformation of a Veritech. What
are the implications of this Plan and what is it working
towards? Exedore seems to think even the Robotech Masters,
creators of the Zentraedi race, do not know. Maybe we shall
find out if we ever meet with the Invids, rumoured to
literally thrive on Protoculture.
Jan Morris: Solar Seeds, Galactic Guardians.
Cadet Reneth went back to the mess hall where he met with
Michael Circle, one of his rare friends. Greeting him with a
wave of his hand, Hausthar sat down at an empty table, waiting
for Michael to join him. Michael was a tall, slim young man
with a life-guard's build and a smile that would let you know
everything was going to turn out for the best. He also was
the Academy's top scorer in the simulator and in social
events.
Michael sat on the chair opposite Hausthar's and had started
digging into his lunch when the results from the final exam
were posted on the master bulletin board screen. Michael
glanced down the list to his name and gave a <whoopee> as he
viewed his score. Hausthar had a look at it. Rather
impressive; Michael had good reason to be pleased. He shifted
his gaze downward to his name and froze as he reached it:
there, in blinking letters where his score should have been,
was a message from High Command. Slowly he read it out.
<Report to Dr. Lang at once.> What had happened? He hadn't
cheated on any of his tests, so why was he summoned by the
sacro-saint of the R.D.F.?
Michael was still grinning madly when he finally caught the
look on Hausthar's face. He turned around, saw the notice and
the smile vanished from his own. No-one, but no-one, was ever
called to Research unless something drastic had happened and
so far those who had gone there had never gone back to the
academy. Whatever the problem Hausthar had with Research it
was a big one, and Michael intended to make sure his friend
got away clean.
Hausthar sat in the waiting room, reading a technical
magazine relating the latest advances in Robotechnology,
trying hard not to look nervous - and failing at it. The
receptionist glanced in his direction over her glasses and
smiled. Most people had the jitters whenever they were called
to see Dr. Lang; his irisless eyes alone were enough to put
you off. But Dr. Lang seem to have a knack for making people
feel that Robotechnology was the Ultimate Science, and
theatrics was his best approach at it. Even so, Lang was
taking longer than usual with the person he was talking to
right now.
Hausthar was about to ask the receptionist to ring Lang when
the door to his office opened and a young woman with rust-
coloured hair walked out briskly, her face lit up by a joyful
smile. Lang followed her out of the office and spotted
Hausthar. "Ah, there you are. I am sorry about the delay.
Won't you come in?" The receptionist goggled at her employer,
hearing him apologising to someone. The outburst of concern
from Lang did nothing to calm Hausthar's nerves. He had heard
of Lang's legendary aloofness when it came to people; the fact
that he was now making an effort to be charming was unnerving.
Lang sat down behind his desk, took a file that was lying on
top of it and began to read out loud: "Cadet Hausthar C.
Reneth. Date of birth: Unknown, presumed to be around 1995.
Place of birth: Unknown, from the accent presumed to be North
American Continent. Found wondering in the Western
Wastelands, amnesiac, in September 2011. Amnesia was
accredited to shock. Both parents presumed dead. Entered the
academy in January 2012. Almost perfect scores on the
simulators during his stay. Nature: Shy. Recommendations:
Cadet Reneth is too non-violent of nature to make a proper
combat pilot. Suggest position in rear-echelon. Signed: E.J.
Maetseas, Academy Supervisor." Lang placed the folder back
down and looked at Hausthar with his totally black eyes. A
moment of silence passed before Lang talked again. "I had a
look at your last simulation, Cadet." Again a pause, making
Hausthar sweat more than he thought humanly possible. "I have
a proposition to make to you. How would you..." At that
moment, shouts of protests emerged from outside the office. A
cry of surprise echoed through the door, which was suddenly
flung open by a tall, smug looking, brown-haired Cadet.
<Michael>, thought Hausthar. What was he up to now?
"I'll apologise later to your secretary for tying her up,
Doctor." Michael had a gleam in his eyes, a gleam that
Hausthar had learned not to trust; it generally meant that he
was about to pull a joke on somebody. Michael stepped forward
and the office started to fill with scores of students until
only the area behind the desk was free of them, the Cadets
maintaining a respectful distance from Lang.
"We've come to expiate our sin, Doctor. Whatever it was, we
were all in on it. Right guys?" he shouted to the mob behind
him. A deafening chorus of <Yeah>s and <You're on>s erupted
from the group. Michael grinned that smile of his again. "So
what's it gonna be, Doc? You can't very well expel the whole
Academy." A smug look made its way past the smile on his
face.
Lang looked at the crowd in his office and smiled inwardly
as he spied the looks of concern on all the present faces.
"As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, how
would you like to become a part of Robotech Research? We are
currently looking for new test pilots." A wave of silence
swept the crowd as the words sunk in. All eyes were on a
baffled Hausthar who was still trying to make some sense of
the situation. After several tense seconds, his brain finally
gave signs of life.
"I accept." The shouts and cheers from his fellow students
set off half the earthquake alarms in the building.
As the last of the Cadets left the office, a side door
opened and Victor joined Dr. Lang in his office. "It is as
you predicted." To Victor this did not make sense. His
forecast had been that only Michael would turn up to defend
his friend.
"Yes my friend," said Lang "it is surprising. But no less
than is to be expected when you try to outwit the
Protoculture."
Victor turned towards the files on the table. "I see you
have transferred the other to the Skull Squadron. Is that a
wise move considering the importance you seem to attach to her
well-being? Surely you must know that the Skull is a
commando-like outfit, picked for all the dangerous missions.
Do you really want to endanger her so?"
"Victor, let it suffice to say that it would be going
against the Protoculture to do otherwise. She requested the
transfer and I gave it to her." He paused for a while,
sitting amidst his thoughts. "I have new orders for you
concerning these two. You will watch over them and report
their every actions to me and me only. I want to know where
they are at all times. And most importantly, they must never
meet or get to know of each other! Is that understood?"
"The order is understood, but not the motives. Surely there
can be no harm to the Shaping if two humans meet one another?"
"Ah yes, the Shaping... Let me show you something about
those two particular humans." Lang went over to a wall safe
and placed his hand on a touch-sensitive plate. A light
emerged from the safe's door and scanned Lang's left eye
before a soft voice finally said "Retinal scan positive. Safe
opened." A muted click sounded as the safe swung open. Lang
reached in and removed a thick dossier which he offered to
Victor.
"Here, read this."
Victor scanned the first page and let out an electronic
whistle of surprise. "So that's why you are so interested in
them. But what about the third?"
"The third one?" Lang paused, lost in thoughts. "He died
right after his 'birth'." He turned to face the panoramic
windows behind his desk. The Japanese countryside laid out in
front of him, his irisless eyes wondering towards Fujiyama,
lingering on the dormant volcano. He still found that memory
too vivid, even after all this time. "I consider it a
personal failure. The blame was entirely mine." His eyes
stayed fixed on the mountain, his thoughts away from
Robotechnology to his moment of failure. He never heard
Victor leave.
Michele knocked on the door of the flight commander's office
and cursed under her breath. She was perspiring heavily and
swearing against the air-conditioning which had been present
on the plane that had brought her here. Why couldn't they
have turned it off and let her get acclimatised with the
South-American climate? She waited for an answer to her
knock, then walked into the room.
The office was not especially large and the lack of windows
did nothing to help; windows were not particularly sought
after near the Zentraedi Control Zone - they had the nasty
habit of attracting Battle-Pods at night. All along the walls
were aerial photographs and military maps of the area around
the South-American Grand Cannon, a military base that had been
taken over by Zentraedi Malcontents. On the far end of the
room was a desk and standing around it were two figures. The
first one, obviously female, had green hair, what Michele
would have called a perfect body, and yet gave out an aura of
command and power. The second figure was that of a man with
blue hair, a person who would look right paper-pushing behind
a desk. Michele approached the woman.
"Corporal Michele Cequor, reporting for duty, Ma'am." She
gave a brisk salute and waited. Not being able to see the
woman's rank, she had decided against possible embarrassment
and not guessed it.
The woman with the green hair turned towards her with a
startled look on her face and answered her salute. A grin
appeared on her lips. "Good morning to you, Corporal.
However, I am not the commanding officer. The person you want
is Commander Maximillian Sterling." The woman's shoulder
finally fell into the pool of light generated by the room's
incandescent globe and a Lt. Commander insignia shone hard in
the semi-darkness of the office.
"Thank you Ma'am. Could you please direct me to him?"
The woman's grin expanded to a smile. "Certainly." She
gave the man next to her a push with her elbow. "Max?
There's someone here to see you."
The man looked up from the maps and pushed his glasses
further on his nose. He obviously had not heard a word of the
conversation which had taken place. "I'm sorry Miriya, what
did you say?"
"I said someone's here to see you." She pointed to Michele
who had, by that time, turned completely red.
Commander Sterling moved around the table and stared at her,
his blue-tinted glasses shining in the darkness. "What can I
do for you?" His voice was calm and soothing and his attitude
gave off an air of self-humility.
Michele was still red with embarrassment. "Corporal Michele
Cequor, reporting for duty, Sir." Her blood was beating
furiously in her neck. She hadn't been here for five minutes
and she'd already committed a blunder.
"Oh yes, we were warned about your coming. It seems you
consider yourself quite a good fighter pilot." Sterling's
smile seemed on the verge of neatly splitting his face in two.
"A friend of mine taught me that thinking is different from
doing."
The Lt. Commander's voice came from a seat near the far
corner. "Max, would you please stop teasing her?"
Michele's face was once again red, but this time from anger.
How could he doubt her abilities? "If you do not believe my
files, maybe a test...?"
"Yes, why not." Although Michele would not have thought it
possible, Sterling's smile increased again.
The base's simulation room was smaller than the one at the
Academy but otherwise looked the same. Michele strapped
herself in and gave the <Go> signal. A tech's voice resounded
in her ear. "We'll run a simple simulation: attack of a
Zentraedi renegade camp. Intelligence has it that the
renegades are armed with a Heavy-Artillery and a Tactical Pod.
Good Luck." Lights dimmed, the simulation began.
Michele was flying at low altitude over the jungle, her VF-
1A responding swiftly to her controls. She spotted a column
of smoke coming from below, slowed her fighter and
mechamorphed to Guardian, her Veritech hovering just above the
tree-top. She zoomed-in her external cameras towards the fire
and spent a few seconds spying on the fire's proprietors. She
counted two Heavy-Artillery and a Fighter Pod. Once more
Intelligence had failed to live up to its name. She kicked in
her external speakers and spoke in a firm voice.
"<Zentraedi. This will be your only warning. Stand clear
of the Pods with your hands up. Do not attempt to resist
arrest or face the consequences of your actions.>" Military
Protocol dictated the warning, Zentraedi up-bringing decreed
the response; as usual, the renegades paid no attention to the
threats and jumped for their Pods. Michele released two heat-
seekers which promptly dispatched one of the Heavy-Artillery
Pods and its pilot. The rest of the Pods started to
retaliate. Warnings echoed through the Veritech's cockpit as
shots came up from the jungle, originating from two Female
Power Armors which had laid hidden there. Too late to do
anything about it, Michele realised she had fallen into a
trap. The shots impacted on her Guardian, penetrating armor
and frying internal circuitry. Backups automatically came on-
line, but the damage had already been done; the Veritech
plunged to the Earth, its engines flamed-out. It hit the
ground with a deafening thud and laid there, unmoving.
Miriya looked at her husband and saw a frown on his face.
"Well, she's out cold. It'll be over in a minute." She
pointed to the console where Michele could be seen slumped on
her seat, her eyes closed. A trickle of blood emerged from
under her helmet where she had hit her head on the control
panel.
Max had already called the paramedics and was about to call
off the simulation when the technician cried out in surprise.
"I don't believe it! The Veritech's <reconfiguring!>"
Maximillian's eyes opened wide. "What about the girl?
What's her condition?"
The tech gave the screen a glance. "She's still out."
"Then who is controlling the plane?" enquired Miriya.
Once again, the tech turned to the console, punched out a
code and made a sound of consternation. "The computer says
<she> is Ma'am!"
The Battloid had finished its reconfiguration and now stood
above the trees' canopy. It dodged the shots fired at it by
the Fighter Pod, rightened itself and grabbed the GU-11
attached to its forearm. Swiftly taking aim, it pressed the
trigger of the auto-cannon. The Fighter Pod disappeared in a
bubble of fire.
The Female Power Armors hung back while the Heavy Artillery
Pod discharged its four missiles. The Battloid saw it had no
chance of avoiding all of them - counter-measures took out
two, a shot from the gun-pod destroyed a third but the
Veritech had to sacrifice its left arm to protect itself from
the fourth. The arm disappeared in a cloud of smoke and
debris.
The wings that formed the Battloid's back swung apart,
revealing sets of missiles; two metal streaks rose from them
on pillars of smoke and annihilated the offending Pod. Alarms
screamed for attention inside the Battloid as the internal
temperature rose due to a short-circuit in the engines. A
wail came from the radar as it registered a high-energy
reading from both Power Armors. The Battloid dropped to the
ground, but too late; one of the beams of energy emitted from
the Power Armors connected with its head, perforating the
armor and severing the servo-motors controlling the head's
laser gun.
Using its hand to position the laser, the Battloid fired it
at one of the Female Armors. The laser hit one of the Armor's
missile launchers, melting away the armor and raising the
internal temperature so fast the missiles contained within
exploded, reducing the machine to so much dust.
The last assailant fired a salvo of missiles and flew away.
The quickly aimed missiles exploded around the Battloid, but
one made its way to the left torso, ripping the internal
structure apart, causing more alarms to wail in the cockpit.
The Battloid raised its GU-11 gun-pod and fired at the
receding Zentraedi Mecha. Armor flew apart from the Power
Armor while the GU-11 started to melt from over-heating. The
heavy shells finally made their way to the engines of the
Armor and ruptured its primary power source. The pilot's cry
of rage was cut short by the ensuing explosion.
The Battloid fell back against a tree, smoke coming out of
the gash in its head, clutching its left side, adopting the
slumped position of its pilot.
Michele still hadn't moved.
CHAPTER 3
V.C.T.R.; J.N.C.M.; you guys just love to give us weird
initials, don't you? Have you ever thought what it would be
like to live with initials instead of a name? Hausthar called
me Victor, why don't you call her Janice Em?
Remark by android V.C.T.R."Victor"-1 to
the Research and Development Cyborg Team.
The entrance to the building was anything but obvious -
trees, bushes and the architecture did much to hide the front
door. Hausthar searched for a while, gave up and turned
towards the soldier patrolling the outside.
"Excuse me. Is this RDF Research?"
The sentry looked up and smiled. "Sure is. May I help
you?"
"Er... yes. Where is the front door? The path leads up to
nowhere."
"You're new, aren't you sir? Well don't worry, everybody
asks me the same question when they first arrive. You see,
the people in there have a rather strange sense of humour.
They've hidden the door with an Enhanced Video Emulation so
no-one'll see it. Just walk straight down the path and into
the wall." The guard gave him a salute and went back to his
post.
Hausthar walked to the wall, gave a last pleading look to
the guard, closed his eyes and stepped forward. He didn't hit
concrete, instead something <wush>ed and a stream of cool air
hit his face. Opening his eyes, he found himself in the
reception area of an office building. The door he had just
stepped through once again made its sound as it closed behind
him, still hidden from sight.
"May I help you?" The voice was soothing - if he hadn't
been so nervous, Hausthar might have enjoyed it. He was. He
didn't.
"Yes. I am looking for Dr. Lang. Where may I find him? My
name is Reneth."
The secretary who had been sitting behind the reception desk
got up and walked towards him. "Ah yes, you must be the new
test pilot. Nice to meet you Corporal Reneth."
Hausthar looked at her with a start. "I'm sorry, there must
be some mistake. I'm only a Cadet."
Once again, the secretary beamed her cheerful smile at him.
"Not since 1600 hours yesterday you aren't. Dr. Lang pushed
it through. You must be something special for him to go
through all that trouble."
"I'm not, I assure you. I'm just a pilot who nearly didn't
make it on his last simulation." Hausthar's mind was working
overtime. Once again Lang had shown human interest in him.
Hausthar pinched himself hard to make sure he wasn't a
Protoculture-powered android. His pinch drew blood. <At
least I'm human.> He turned his mind back to the problem at
hand.
"Where might I find Dr. Lang please?"
The secretary went back to her desk, typed a short sequence
into her computer and waited for the response. "He is in
Research Lab 19. If you'll take the elevator to the fifth
basement, it's the third door on the left, fourth corridor to
the right." Her hand was pointing to an empty wall. Looking
up again, she noticed the hopelessly-lost gaze on Hausthar's
face and explained. "The whole reception area is full of
E.V.E.s but if you look carefully, you will notice small white
signs on the floor. They indicate doors and elevators. You
want the elevator in the North wall."
Hausthar thanked her and walked up to the wall, placing his
hand up from where he'd found a mark. It disappeared into the
wall and the effect of seeing his arm cut off at the wrist was
almost more than he could endure.
"Why the cocky set-up?" he asked.
"Well, the R&D staff have a pretty weird sense of humour.
If you think it's strange, how do you think <I> felt when I
came back after one weekend to find somebody had remodelled
the entire building like this? Anyway, it doesn't extend into
the Lab area, so once you get into the lift there shouldn't be
any problems." She picked up a folder from the desk, gave
Hausthar a small wave and vanished through a wall.
Hausthar drew in a deep breath, walked through the wall into
the elevator, hit the button marked '-5' and fell back against
the rear of the lift. <This is too much!> He had expected
strange things to happen, but inside the labs, not in the
reception area!
The lift slowed to a stop and opened its doors. Hausthar
sighed with relief as he was confronted with doors. <At least
there isn't any of these blasted E.V.E.s down at this level.>
Hausthar wandered down the corridors, looking for the room he
had been directed to. He came to a halt in front of a door
marked "V.C.T.R. Maintenance Lab". As he tried the handle,
the door suddenly opened and a startled Hausthar found himself
in front of a tall mound of metal. It spoke to him.
"<Haust!> What are you doing here?" The voice was very
familiar - it reminded Hausthar of ...
"Victor? Is that you? What happened?" If what was
standing in front of him was indeed Victor, then someone must
have shoved a grenade in his insides - minus the pin.
"I'm here for my check-up, as usual. You didn't think I
repaired myself, did you? C'mon in, the more the merrier."
Hausthar entered the room and was treated to a sight he
would never forget. Victor's 'skin' was lying on a set of
benches at the far end of the room. All around were batteries
of electronic equipment of various sorts, none of which were
familiar to him.
"So this is where you come for your lube job?"
"Yes - apart from the fact that each of my <lube jobs>, as
you put it, costs over thirty thousand credits. All of
this..." he made a sweeping movement with what Hausthar could
only describe as his right arm "...and all these people are
here just to make sure everything ticks at the right moment.
All are here to make sure I am in the best of health. I get
the best mechanics for my joints, the best electronics experts
for my micro-chips... but I still can't figure out why they've
got medics on the team." His voice lowered so only Hausthar
could hear. "To tell you the truth, they turn me off before
the medics start on me, so I don't know what they do. I've
tried asking but I keep hitting a blank wall." His voice went
back to normal. "So - what are you doing here?" He sat back
on a tilt table and settled himself as the technicians went
back to work.
Hausthar looked for a while before answering. "I'm looking
for Dr. Lang. I was told he might be somewhere around here."
"Well, you got close. Actually, he's in the next room down
the hall. Listen, if he's waiting for you, you'd better
hurry."
Hausthar opened the door to exit, then turned around. "When
will you be finished?"
"None of your business, boy. I'll meet you in your room at
1900 hours - and try to be there, OK?"
Hausthar gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know where my
room is? I've only just arrived."
"Simple, organic brain! I reserved it for you. Nice room
in the west wing, overlooking the cliffs and the sea. Had
your things transferred there from the Academy already.
You'll love it. Now run along. Mustn't keep the Doctor
waiting."
Victor ushered Hausthar out and closed the door behind him.
Hausthar turned down the corridor and made his way to the next
door. Opening it, he arrived just in time to hear Lang
talking to a small boy.
The boy must have been five to eight years of age, with
blueish hair, and was wearing a body-suit with RDF insignias
pinned to it. Lang was crouched next to him, holding one of
those electronic kits which seem to fascinate kids that age.
"I've told you already, Scott. If it doesn't want to work
the way you want it to, bashing away at it won't help." Lang
was examining the breadboard on which the circuit had been
built, prodding several micro-chips which looked the worst for
wear. "You can't force experiments or people to conform to
your world view!" continued Lang. "The Universe just doesn't
work that way! Do you understand?" The small boy nodded and
kept on staring Lang in the eyes, apparently determined to
take all the Doctor could dish out in the way of lectures.
"Good. Now let's see what went wrong."
Hausthar thought this a good time to make his entrance. He
cleared his throat and stood at attention. "Cadet... er,
Corporal Reneth reporting, Sir!"
Lang looked up in surprise. He obviously hadn't heard
Hausthar come in. "Ah, Corporal. Welcome! Come in, come in.
I'd like you to meet my godson, Scott Bernard. Scott, this is
Corporal Hausthar Reneth. He'll be working with us from now
on."
Scott looked up and returned Hausthar's salute. He was the
only one who even bothered. Lang nearly smiled at this. "I
think I should warn you that protocol is not what it should be
around here. You must understand that we can't just drop
everything and return a salute every time someone walks in.
We're pretty informal on that subject."
"I'll try to remember Sir."
Just then, Lang noticed the still-present Scott, holding his
circuit board in his hand. He gestured to one of the female
staff. "Susan, could you please take care of Scott while I
look after Corporal Reneth?"
The tall, slender tech made her way towards the group, long
amber hair trailing in her wake. Lang made the presentations.
"Hausthar Reneth, I'd like you to meet Susan Bernard - my
niece and Scott's mother."
Hausthar started to salute, but remembered Lang's
instructions and offered his hand instead. Susan shook it
warmly. "Glad to have you on the team." she said sincerely.
She bent towards Scott, took his hand in hers, and led him
away to a bench on the other side of the room.
"Scott shows great potential as a pilot, but I'm afraid he
just doesn't have the patience to be a scientist." mused Lang.
Turning towards Hausthar, he beamed a smile. "Well, any
questions?"
"Well.." started Hausthar. "Now that you mention it... What
am I to do here?"
Lang gave him a startled look. "You mean they haven't told
you? Hah, bureaucratic baboons." He took Hausthar by the
shoulder and led him along the lab. "You are here to start
tests on new series of Veritechs and Ground Support Mecha."
"And why have I been promoted? Not that I mind..."
"That is easy to explain. It is an idea of Gloval's,
actually. To reward volunteers for their services."
Hausthar had stopped listening after the second sentence.
"Gloval? As in 'Admiral Henry J. Gloval'?"
"One and the same. You see, Henry... I mean Admiral Gloval,
thought that our present weapons might pale in front of the
Robotech Master's arsenal if it ever came doing to fighting.
So we have been commissioned to furnish new series of
Destroids and Veritechs. Let me show you."
Lang leaned towards a vid-screen and turned it on. He
punched a sequence of buttons while explaining. "The last
Zentraedi attack taught us that our Destroids aren't up to
shape, especially the M.A.C. IIs - we lost another one three
days ago. They're just too easy a target at short range.
Ah!" The vid-screen finally came to life, showing a picture
vaguely resembling a M.A.C. II. The picture rapidly changed
and a whole stream of Mecha were displayed whilst Lang
continued to talk.
"You see, although we may have the advantage of surprise, it
is a very thin one. So we have reconfigured the Destroids to
give them better defences in close-quarter combat. We have
also designed a new series of Veritechs. Here's the Logan,
the A.J.A.C., and a new ground-based Veritech, the Hover
Tank - none of which have been tested yet. That's your job
and that of the other pilots. It's up to you people to test
all these new Mecha and find their faults - and chances are
there will be a lot of them."
Hausthar was still staring at the screen where pictures of
high-tech helicopters turning into Battloids were quickly
replacing those of a plane barely taller than a man changing
to Guardian. This was followed by a Hovercraft Tank changing
to a two-legged gun turret and finally into a Battloid. The
shape of that last Battloid gave Hausthar the eery impression
that it was wearing tails.
"When do I start?" he enquired.
"First you'll have to settle in," answered Lang "then learn
the theory behind these new Mecha and have a couple of
sessions in the simulator so you know what they are supposed
to be like. You'll then try it on actual machines and tell us
where and when they differ from the simulations. You'll first
try out Research new pet Veritech - it's a replacement for
the VF-series Veritech... faster and more compact." He
suddenly seemed to remember something. "Have you got a room
yet?"
"Yes, Victor booked on for me. Even transferred my things
to it already."
A dark cloud briefly crossed Lang's face. He quickly
dismissed it with a smile. "Good, you'll settle in fast then.
The secretary will give you directions to your room. Please
come by my office tomorrow at 0900 hours. We'll finalise your
transfer then."
Lang turned around without further goodbyes and started
arguing with a technician as Hausthar left. The argument
echoed through the hall as he headed for the lift, Lang's
voice filling his mind.
"...And I'm telling you we <don't> need a personality system
check. Why put more hardware into it than is necessary?
There is no way J.N.C.M. will develop a relationship with her
other than the one we'll program it with!..."
As he turned the corner, Hausthar realised he was lost.
Where he thought the lift should have been was a long
corridor, with doors sprinkled in its walls. He heaved a
sigh, looked skyward in desperation and approached the first
door. His recent experiences had made him wary though, so he
first looked in to check if he was not about to interrupt an
experiment.
The room was large and dimly lit. The only source of light
was a spot shining from the ceiling onto a table in the centre
of the room. Upon that table was a small girl, still a baby,
her greenish-blond hair dispersed around her face. Her head
was covered with electrodes connected to an apparatus Hausthar
recognised immediately - it was the power source from a
Veritech. What was she doing wired to a Protoculture
Generator? As he was about to step into the room, a voice
resonated through the darkness, human but with a metallic
twang to it.
<Well Cochran? Any reactions?>
"No Dr. Zand. We haven't been able to get even a squeak out
of the Sterling girl. And we've been pumping her full of
Protoculture all day."
The voice that was Zand gave a thoughtful sound before
answering. <Increase the level by a factor of two.>
Cochran stepped into the light. "But sir, this could kill
her!" He immediately regretted his outburst. Hausthar saw
his eyes go wide, his breathing becoming irregular, his hands
clawing at his throat as if someone, something, was choking
him. The voice came from the darkness again.
<I said increase the level by a factor of two. Do you have
something against that?>
Cochran shook his head negatively in panic, his face
starting to turn blue. His knees had buckled but he had not
fallen.
<Good.> said the voice. <Just remember that.>
Cochran collapsed to the floor, his breathing coming back as
a painful hiss. After several seconds he got up, wandered to
the generator and turned a control. The hum from the
generator increased and a moan rose from the table.
Nobody noticed Hausthar as he closed the door and went in
search of a bathroom in which he could be sick in peace.
The first thing she was aware of as she came to was pain -
pain in her head, pain in her ribs, pain every time she drew a
breath. Her mind started to register other things beside the
pain... a regular beeping sound coming from her left, a slight
cool breeze and warmth on the right side of her face. She
opened her eyes and closed them just as fast - waves of pain
crashed around in her skull. She waited until they had
receded and tried again, this time slower. Her eyes slowly
focused on a blank area in front of them. <Wall>, she
thought. She slowly turned her head towards the warmth and
noticed a window through which sunshine was streaming.
Her mind swung into action as she tried to correlate the
different sights and sound around her. Awareness finally came
to the top. She was lying in a hospital room. Assuming she
hadn't been moved, she was still in a RDF base somewhere in
South America. She had been sent here to join part of the
Skull Squadron that had temporarily been placed under the
command of Max Sterling. Her name was... Her name was... Her
eyes opened wide in alarm as she realised she couldn't
remember. Her name was flitting in and out of her awareness,
taunting her with its information, but never giving it up.
She laid back once again with a sigh of despair.
The door opened and a nurse walked in, checked the
instrument panel next to her bed and beamed one of those
smiles that only nurses had been trained to give.
"Good morning Corporal Cequor. Nice to have you back
amongst the living." She proceeded to tidy-up the bed.
Her name! And with the name came a flood of memories.
Michele Cequor, Corporal fresh out of the Academy, had
challenged perhaps the greatest ace the RDF had ever known and
had wound up in hospital! The problem was, she couldn't
remember how. Fleeting images of Female Armors and explosions
wavered in her mind.
"How did I get here?" she asked nervously.
The nurse finished her chores and looked at her before
answering. "I really don't know what happened to you. They
brought you back from the simulation room with a couple of
broken ribs and a concussion. It was touch and go there for a
while but you looked like you wanted to pull through - and you
did!" She started for the door. "You'll be released in a
couple of days so enjoy the holiday. From what I hear, the
Skulls are being moved back to Macross in a week. See you
later." She closed the door behind here.
Michele looked at the ceiling and tried to get her memories
and feelings straight. The squadron was being recalled. That
meant she would be under the orders of this hard-head she had
heard about - what was his name again? Hunter, Richard
Hunter. He kept on having this on-again off-again
relationship with both the singing star Lynn Minmei and his
superior officer, Lisa Hayes. <What a jackass!>
She laid back and waited to be discharged. This was going
to be a long week!
CHAPTER 4
People have come to regard Protoculture as just another fuel
to burn, just another weapon to use. What they do not seem to
understand is that Protoculture radiates, sends out shock-
waves with its every use. The warriors using it do not seem
to realise that every time they fire a shot, someone out there
has his or her life thrown out of balance.
And I don't mean the person who gets his head blown off by
the shot!
Jan Morris: Solar Seeds, Galactic Guardians.
Michele was walking away from the hospital, trying very hard
not to break into a run. She hated the place. It kept on
reminding her of the price of failure in war. She made her
way over to the squadron's headquarter, knocked on the door,
waited for an answer and walked in.
"Corporal Michele Cequor, reporting for duty, sir!" Hadn't
she said the same thing just a week ago? Wasn't this the
start of a conversation that had led her to a hospital bed?
Her thoughts were cut short by the almost too cheerful voice
of the squadron's present commander. "Hello again, Corporal.
And how are we feeling today?" His voice was too syrupy for
her taste.
"Not too well, sir. I still don't know how I went with the
simulation. Nobody seems to want to tell me."
Sterling's smile left his face. "Well, let's just say you
showed me I was wrong. It was a rather, ah... interesting
experience to watch you at work. Are you packed?"
The question took her by surprise. "Er... Yes sir!
Actually it's more like I haven't yet unpacked. I spent all
of my time in the hospital."
"It doesn't matter. We've been recalled to join up with the
rest of the Skulls in New Macross. I'm sorry but nobody here
seems to need a wingman, so you'll just have to do by yourself
for a while. However, a friend of mine in Macross needs a new
partner. His last one tuned out during a recent attack by the
Zentraedi. Are you interested?"
"Yes sir! What's his name, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
Sterling's smile made a reappearance on his face. "you
may - Richard Hunter. Have you heard of him?"
<Oh no! Not him! Not the jackass!> She gulped as she
tried to keep her feelings hidden from Sterling. "Yes sir, I
have. Quite a bit."
"He's a good friend and a good pilot. A bit mixed up
sometimes, maybe, but the best there is! Besides me that is."
His smile grew and grew until Michele could no longer stand
it.
"We're leaving in half an hour Corporal, so have your
equipment stashed on board the transport plane and get your
Veritech ready. We won't be waiting for anybody." He gave
her a salute, waited for her to return it, and walked out the
door, leaving a very confused pilot behind him.
Simulations he'd seen, but never anything like the last set!
If these new Veritechs were anything like what he'd just
experienced, the Robotech Masters would very likely find
themselves overmatched.
Hausthar was back in his room, sitting in a chair on his
balcony, feet up on the railing. He watched the sun as it
drifted slowly towards the sea, its orange mingling with the
dark purple of the water, sending ripples of light which
danced and rolled with the smooth waves of the bay. Off into
the distance some pleasure boats were making their way back to
harbour before the night. Behind the dark sunglasses, his
eyes shifted upwards to the sun, squinting as they reached it.
Hausthar gave a short sound of surprise - he was vaguely
seeing three shadows, maybe twenty feet tall each, covered in
flowing robes whose soft, high collars resembled the petals of
a flower. The shadows drifted and shimmered, increasing their
wraith-like appearance. Hausthar closed his eyes, rubbed them
and looked again.
The shadows had gone.
<That's it>, he thought. <You're losing it. First shadows,
then voices, and then off to the loony-farm.> He decided he
needed a shower - a long, cold shower.
As he got up, something slipped from his top pocket and fell
to the ground. A letter. Hausthar picked it up and looked
at it. The letter was correctly addressed to his room. He
turned the letter around in hope of seeing who sent it. No
such luck - the letter didn't even have a return address. The
funny thing was, Hausthar didn't remember receiving it, much
less placing it in his pocket. He went inside, grabbed the
letter opener, and opened his mysterious correspondence. The
message inside was simple and to the point:
Meet me at the
Black Pegasus Club
at 1900.
Please come alone.
Ricky.
At least he now knew the name of the writer. But who was
this Ricky? "Well, whoever you are, you've got yourself a
date." he thought out loud. "But it's going to be on my
terms."
He folded the letter again and went to change.
The Black Pegasus Club was a high-class bar/cafe where most
of the Veritech pilots went after a hard day's flying. Today,
as usual, it was filled with pilots drinking their cares away,
hoping to drown their sorrows in the bottle... and as usual,
failing miserably. The room was dimly lit but was free of
that perverse low-hanging cloud of smoke normally pictured
with such establishments. This absence of smoke came from the
fact that very few Veritech pilots smoked, and those that did
never survived long - smoking slowed your reflexes and
mellowed your thought-processes, and in a Veritech this
combination spelled disaster.
A small band was playing a slow tune in the corner. It was
composed of all sort of musicians; the Dark Pegasus Band was
renown as an open band. Anybody could join in at any time -
as long as they played reasonably well.
Hausthar had chosen a seat in an alcove on the side opposite
the entrance. A series of Petite Cola bottles were stacked on
his table in the shape of a pyramid, a testimonial to how long
he had been sitting there. He had just finished placing his
most recent bottle at the apex when a voice broke through the
low murmur of the crowd.
"<Hi>! Sorry I'm late. Been waiting long?" A shadow
slipped itself onto the seat facing him and placed something
small on the table. "You wouldn't believe the trouble I had
getting into this joint. The security here is worse than at
RDF headquarters!"
Hausthar forced his sleep-weary eyes to focus on the shadow
in front of him and tried to make some sense of what they were
telling him. The first thing that struck him was the face -
<God she's cute> was a thought that came to mind instantly and
<How the hell did she get in a place like this> was another
that immediately followed.
The face reflected youth and was not unpleasant to look at.
A small knob of a nose was set in contrast by two deep-blue
eyes and by the not-quite-shoulder-length crop of pale-pink
hair that was tied back from her eyes by a red piece of
material. She was wearing a legless, heavy-tissue leotard
with a short-sleeved jacket that only came half-way down to
her waist. The leotard was light green in colour and the
jacket was light brown, offset with a large patch sewn just
above the left breast. Hausthar squinted to make out the
embroidery: three pink tri-petal flowers on the same stem
against a background of stars. He followed the arms down to
the item on the table: slender wrists, complete with light-
green sweatbands, were connected to hands holding a small
purse. The look was one of girlish seduction and how she had
managed to walk in without eliciting any cat-calls or whistles
was beyond him.
He hadn't realised how long he'd been staring until she
shook her hand in front of his eyes.
"Hello? Earth to Hausthar... Come in... Anybody home?" Her
face was giving a sincere youthful smile that Hausthar found
irresistible.
"Um... er... Sorry. May I assume that you are the one who
sent me the note?"
"You may - and you would be correct in your assumption.
Anything else?"
"Yes. How did you know where I was stationed? No civilian
is supposed to know about transfers to and from Research."
"Well now, if I told you everything there wouldn't be any
little secrets in our relationship, now would there?"
<Relationship?> What was she talking about? "Hum...
Yeah... Well, who are you?"
"Oh, did I forget to sign the note? My name is Ricky."
"Nice to meet you." Hausthar was feeling a trickle of cold
sweat making its way down his back. <This is crazy>, he
thought. <Either she is nuts or I am.> "Would you like
something to drink?" he proposed nonetheless.
"Yes, thanks. How about a Cola? And loosen up for God's
sake. I'm not going to eat you."
"I'm sorry, but I find it very difficult to relax in company
of a person I have never before seen in my life but who seems
to know everything there is to about me."
"Jeezus. You're a hard case, you know that? But if it's me
that's bothering you, I'll put you at ease." She stood up and
wandered over towards the band. Hausthar could faintly hear
her ask whether they knew how to play 'In My Heart'. The lead
musician nodded his head and turned around to talk to his
players. Ricky walked down the small stage towards a
microphone, flipped the echo switch on and gave a small nod to
the band. By this time, the room had turned quiet, waiting to
see what would follow.
The band opened with electric guitars, a piano and a
backbeat on the drums, setting the rhythm for the rest of the
instruments. The opening was short but alive with feeling and
the audience was already captured in its spirit when Ricky's
voice drifted through the music.
In my mind,
I had to try to make it on my own...
Sometimes it's hard to be alone.
In my mind,
My loneliness would never seem to end...
Something is happening
I don't understand...
A trumpet took a soft solo, a languid sound amidst the heavy
backbeat of the drums and the sharp sound of the piano and
guitars, while Ricky danced on the stage. She twisted and
turned, doing a half ballet, half disco routine and smiling at
Hausthar all the while. Slowly, she made her way back to the
mike as the band picked up.
In my heart,
I feel the heat
Of something burning deep inside of me;
I'll be the one that I could never be,
Now that I found you!
In my heart,
I realise -
'You ever loved me opened up my eyes.
You are the answer and the reason why.
... 'Living my love for you
In my heart! Music & lyrics (c)
appropriate people
The band continued with the music as Ricky sustained her
last note, gave a bow to a pleased audience and made her way
back to the table. Hausthar could not help but smile and join
with the crowd in applauding her performance.
Ricky sat down, panting slightly from exhaustion. "Well,
what do you think? Still uptight?"
Hausthar smiled. "I've got to admit you've loosened me up.
Now, how about that Cola?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Hausthar once again noticed
how her smile was enhanced by her dimples.
<If anything in this world is ever true>, thought Michele,
<it's that night missions are the worst!> Her Veritech was
making headway towards the Arkansas Protectorate, an area of
North America where the inhabitants had accepted the Zentraedi
as local government. Through the misty clouds that were
hanging outside her plane she could barely see the rest of the
squadron, and wondered whether or not they were really there
or just part of a delusion.
The group had just made landsight when the reality of the
world was brought back to her attention. "This is Skull Two
to all Veritechs. We've just received news of an attack on a
nearby town and have been ordered to help." Maximillian
Sterling was on the verge of yawning with boredom as he
informed his crew of their assignment. The Fighter jockeys
had a strict rule about life: Dying is sometimes unavoidable,
but loosing your cool is inexcusable.
A voice replied over the Tac-Net. "Aw Jeez! Zentraedi
<again>? Don't these guys ever learn?"
"Apparently not. So let's go find them and make them pay
for good ol' France." Maximillian never had forgiven Dolza's
armada for the destruction of his homeland and had centered
his vengeance on the Malcontents.
"Roger sir..." The voice held off for a few seconds as the
planes closed in on the town. "Got 'em! Radar contact
established, multiple paints. Radar signatures indicate two
Light Artillery Pods, one Heavy Artillery Pod, five Battle
Pods and a Cyclop Recon Scout. Computer also says we've been
scanned - they know we're here sir!"
"Thank you Corporal. Alright, listen up. Normal battle
plan." A few of the pilot sniggered at this - Normal Battle
Plan generally meant a free-for-all. "Hit whatever you can
but stay with your wingman!" Sterling's blue Veritech banked
hard, soon followed by the red of his wingmate and soulmate,
Miriya Sterling. The squadron split into groups of two,
leaving Michele on her own.
The pods had known they were coming and proved it by laying
down a barrage of firepower that took out three Veritechs
before anybody had time to react. The computers of the
surviving Veritechs immediately took note of the location of
the downed planes for later retrieval of the wreckages.
Michele chose one of the surviving Veritechs and took the
place of its missing partner. "You've just changed wingman,
flyboy."
A voice drifted on the Net. "I noticed my old one dropped
out on me. My name's Michael. What's yours?" Two Stilettos
left the underside of his wings and connected with a Battlepod
intent on the destruction of Skull Two. The Pod's armor
expanded, cracked, then finally gave way, like an overblown
balloon.
"Mine's Michele. Bandit at Six O'Clock - bank right." She
changed to Guardian mode, thrusters folding forwards, and gave
the engines all the power she could muster from the plane.
The Fighter shook as the engines decelerated the Mecha at a
rate well above the recommended limits. A Light Artillery Pod
surged past her and centered itself on her HUD. Michele
fingered the firing studd and felt rather than heard the
buzzsaw sound from the undercarriage GU-11. The pod tried to
imitate swiss cheese as the rounds impacted with it, but soon
gave up as its generator exploded, showering debris amongst
the countryside.
"Skull Two to Skulls Five and Thirteen. The Cyclop's making
like a banana. Stop it from splitting any further."
Michael acknowledged and both he and Michele turned their
planes around and went after the Recon Scout.
"Yo, Michael. I never went up against a Cyclop before.
What are they like?" said Michele jokingly.
"Think of a saucer with two compass attached to it on either
side. Also it's green and deadly."
"In that case I've got a visual on it. 11 O'Clock high,
trying to hide in the clouds."
"Well, here we go with the usual. <Zentraedi Pilot. This
is the first and only warning you will receive. Land your
craft and come out quietly or face the consequences.>
Michele, have you ever wondered which lame-brained idiot wants
us to say this every time? They never comply anyway."
"True enough Skull Five. Radar shows incoming missiles.
Lots of 'em. Activating ECM. How about a little covering
fire?"
"You've got it Skull Thirteen... Watch out, we've got a
survivor... Never mind, it just blew up of its own accord."
"How's a little pincer manoeuver sound to you? You take the
right, I'll take the left."
"Affirmative... Hold on a second, I've got a high-energy
reading coming from this baby."
"Same here."
"More missiles?"
"Radar paint says one medium range heavy warhead, but the
energy paint is totally wrong for it."
"Try to get a visual on it."
"<Skull Five, bank right! Bank right!> It's coming right
at you!"
"Got it Skull Thirteen... My God! I just got a visual on
it. Those bastards have attached a Reflex Generator to it.
Avoid contact at all cost. This thing can blow you to kingdom
come without even meaning to."
"Negative Skull Five, I can't shake it. Countermeasures are
not affective. Computer estimates thirty seconds to impact."
"I can't get to firing position in that time!"
"Don't I know it! I'll try to lure it away from inhabited
areas. At least neither of us'll do any damage when we go
up."
"Skull Thirteen, eject! Dammit Michele, get the Hell out of
your plane!"
"No can do, Michael. I'm sticking this one out. All I need
is just a few seconds more... Come on... Skull Five, I've
cleared the city. I'm going to ej..."
"Michele? Dammit Michele, answer!... <MICHELE!!>"
CHAPTER 5
We had an inkling of what would happen. I mean, all of us
had a different idea as to actually what, but we all agreed on
the fact it would be stupendous! After all, you can't subject
a humanoid body to such an amount of 'Culture without some
side effects.
Why weren't we sure? 'Cause it is rather hard to find
volunteers who'll agree to have a Protoculture generator
placed beside them and detonated at point-blank range.
Remarks attributed to a R&D technician.
Because you don't just pilot a Robotech ship, Rick; you live
it!
Roy Fokker, Skull Leader - deceased.
"Stop shouting! I can't hear myself groan!"
"Michele? Is that you?"
"Of course it's me, you idiot! Do you know of anyone else
who'd use this frequency?" The voice coming from the tactical
net was tired and drawn-out, with little stops and starts
between words as if the person on the other side was stifling
moans of pain.
"What's your status?"
"Don't know yet. I'm running an analysis program at the
moment."
Michael thanked the stars for giving him back this
particular wingman, grouchy though she may be. "What
happened? I lost contact with you for a good thirty seconds."
"I have absolutely no idea. Last thing I remember is the
missile closing in on my tail, a big white explosion, and me
panicking... Hold on, the analysis program has finished."
"How bad is it?"
"<Bad>. Both engines are dying on me, my left wing is
hanging on God knows how, visual communication is non-
functional, weapons systems are down, ditto for the radar and
visual systems. In other words, I'm a flying wreck. And if
you thought the hardware wasn't bad enough, I'm leaking
fluids."
"You mean you're bleeding?"
The voice that answered back was full of sarcasm. "Oh what
a novel way to say it. <Of course I'm bleeding!> How would
you feel if you'd just had a missile blow up your tail-pipes?"
"Ok, OK... You don't have to shout. Can you make it to New
Macross?"
"I'm blinder than a bat at the moment. Somebody'll have to
guide me in."
A smile crept on Michael's face. "No problem, I know just
the person." He switched to Skull Two's frequency and raised
Commander Sterling. "Excuse me sir, but we have a situation
on our hands over here. We request permission to leave the
mopping up to the rest of the group and a priority approach to
New Macross airfield."
Sterling's face flickered into being on the left commo
screen. "How bad is it Michael?"
"Skull Thirteen is barely able to fly sir. Most of her
electronics is down and the rest is ready to give."
"Permission granted Skull Five. Just you make sure she gets
back down in one piece or I'll nail your hide to my
thrusters."
Michael saw the smile on Sterling's face and responded in
kind. "Threat received and understood sir! See you back in
New Macross." He switched frequencies again and raise
Michele. "Yo, Skull Thirteen, we've been ordered back to New
Macross ASAP. Bank fifteen degrees port, follow my manoeuvers
and let's head home."
"Roger Skull Five. Beginning manoeuver... now!"
Both Veritechs banked, one with the grace of a ballerina,
the other like a hippopotamus doing the two-step. After-
burners flared into the night as both planes disappeared
beyond the horizon.
Hausthar's consciousness was struggling to get a grip on
reality. Blackness surrounded him, closing in on him from all
sides. He opened his eyes and quickly glanced around. His
head fell back just as quickly as he moaned in pain.
Headaches he'd had, but nothing on this scale. He opened his
eyes again and slowly made his way to a sitting position.
He was back in his room, that much was obvious. He wasn't
drunk, this was also obvious. So why did he have a headache
which would make aspirin manufacturers fight over his account?
And why couldn't he remember how he'd made it back to the
base? He got up, fought down a wave of nausea which surged up
and shuffled his way into the bathroom. Opening the cabinet,
he struggled with a pack of aspirins and swallowed a couple.
He sat down on the side of the bath and waited for them to
take effect.
<What happened last night?> Surely you couldn't get such a
headache from drinking Petite Cola, even if you <did> drink
over forty bottles. His thoughts went round and round inside
his head as the worst of the headache subsided. <Breakfast!
That's what I need! A good, solid breakfast to get back into
shape, even if it is...> His eyes labored to focus on his
watch... <four O'Clock in the morning!?> He walked out of the
bathroom, turning off the light as he did so.
Once he finally got to the kitchenette he started to cook a
couple of eggs and slices of bread, left them to boil and
toast respectively and stomped back into the living-room. He
spied the sofa, still half-hidden in the darkness, and made
his way towards it, with the resolute intention of falling on
top of it and forgetting all about the world. This resolution
quickly crumbled as he noticed a dark shape lying on the sofa
and several items of clothing in a pile next to it.
As he got closer, the dark shape became a blanket with a
head protruding at one end. Hausthar recognised the face. He
sat very gently next to her and looked deeply at the face
which was presenting itself. <Even in her sleep she has a
smile on her lips>, he thought. He brushed back a strand of
hair that was slowly making its way to her lips and turned his
attention to the pile of clothing next to the sofa. Shoes,
socks, headband and sweatbands were lying on one side of the
pile. On the other side was the jacket he had seen her with,
and in the middle was... <her leotard?!> Hausthar jumped up.
<My God, what is she wearing under that blanket?> He made his
way back to the bathroom, turned on the light, and for the
first time noticed that he himself had been walking around in
his underwear. <Oh this is great>, he thought. <What else
can go wrong today?> As if to answer his question, a strand
of black smoke and a pernicious odour twisted their way around
the door into the room. <Damn, my toasts!> He scrambled out
through the doorway.
New Macross Airport was the only airport for miles around.
Since there was close to no civilian flights, most of its
functions were military - which is why no-one was surprised
when a call came from two damaged Veritechs, including one on
the verge of disintegrating into its component parts.
"Lewis, what's their ETA?"
Lewis turned around towards the Chief Controller and flipped
through his calculations. "Approximately two minutes. We've
cleared runway five and placed all emergency services along
it. Unless it crashes into the city, we should be able to
save the pilot."
"Good. Just make sure you don't send them on a collision
course with the SDF." His eyes turned back to the middle of
Lake Gloval, a few hundred meters away from the tower. "I
always said it was a bad idea to build this airport so close
to this pile of junk that passes off for a Battle-Fortress."
Lewis did not respond - this was the third time this shift
he'd heard the complaint, ever since a plane had mistakenly
been diverted on a collision course towards the bridge of the
old Fortress.
"Planes on approach. Two Veritechs confirmed... Skull Five,
Skull Thirteen, do you read me?"
The speaker crackled into life as both pilots answered back.
"Skull Thirteen to Tower, request emergency approach."
"Roger Skull Thirteen, approach is clear on runway five.
There is no other traffic in the vicinity so don't worry if
you have to over-shoot and try again. Medics and firemen have
been placed all along the runway and are ready to assist you.
Do you copy?"
"Roger Tower, coming in. Heads up down there!"
Lewis looked out the window and saw a pile of junk make its
approach onto runway five. The pile of junk extended landing
gears and thus identified itself as Skull Thirteen. The Chief
Controller suddenly gave a grunt of surprise, dropped the
binoculars he was using and grabbed the nearest microphone.
"Skull Thirteen, abort! Abort! Your left landing gear is
not fully extended."
"Negative Tower, cannot over-shoot the runway. My engines
are about to go and my brakes just gave up the ghost. If I
don't buy the farm on this one Michael, I'll buy you lunch."
"You've got it." said the other pilot. "Just you make sure
you're in one piece for our date."
"As you wish. Attention Tower, this is Skull Thirteen on
final approach. I'm coming in hot so make sure your people
mind their heads when I land."
"Roger Skull Thirteen... and good luck."
The Veritech trembled as it descended onto the tarmac. Its
wheels cried out as the asphalt ripped away some of their
rubber. The jet started to slow down as the engines were
reversed. With the sudden loss of speed came the loss of the
balance that kept the plane upright - the left landing gear
touched the ground and folded back into the body of the jet.
Skull Thirteen seemed to hang in mid-air then dipped towards
the ground. Its left wing clipped the grass on the side of
the runway and the plane was flung in circles down the rest of
the runway, coming to rest a few hundred meters later.
Emergency crews were already drowning the plane in foam to
prevent a fire from starting whilst medics tried to open the
cockpit. The pilot was crouched inside, head resting on her
shoulder, eyes closed, blood seeping from her nose.
"Tower, this is Skull Five... How is she doing?"
"Tower to Skull Five. The medics are just taking her out of
the cockpit and into the ambulance. I can't see how bad it is
from here."
"Thank you Tower. Skull Five requesting approach vectors."
"Roger Skull Five, runway eighteen is clear for landing.
You have priority."
"Understood Tower. Warn the hospital I'll be over as soon
as I can. Skull Five on final approach."
Lewis transferred Skull Five to another controller and
turned towards the Chief Controller. "What do you think her
chances are Harry?"
"Difficult to say from here. I've seen people survive a
fall without parachute from a thousand feet. I've also seen
people die from tripping on the last step of a staircase. I'd
say it all depends on how strong her will to live is."
"Well, there's nothing more we can do about it." said Lewis,
pointing to the tarmac. "The medics just took her away. What
do we do with the wreck?"
Harry glanced at the runway. "Leave it where it is for the
moment. The runway's been scored so deeply it's unusable
anyway."
Lewis turned to his instruments and plugged his headphone
back in. A moment later he turned back in surprise and
gestured towards Harry. "Harry, I think you'd better listen
to this." He flicked a switch and the master speaker hummed
with power. A voice came through, a voice they had heard not
long ago.
"...C'mon guys, how about some service? My left side is
killing me and I've got hydraulics leaking all over my body.
Yo, Tower, can you read me?... Tower, this is Skull Thirteen.
How long are you going to leave me to rot in this sun? I know
I'm in bad shape but I ain't totalled yet. Can anybody hear
me?..."
Harry and Lewis looked at each other for a long time, then
turned towards the runway, towards a plane wrecked on it - a
plane that was complaining of lack of service, a plane that
was talking in its pilot's voice.
CHAPTER 6
I mean, what do you do with somebody whose brainwaves don't
register but whose body refuses to die? We didn't know. So
we decided to put her on ice, on observation. We hooked her
up to every apparatus you could name, and then some. And
still all they told us was she was brain dead. So you can
imagine our surprise when this happened!
Unnamed orderly at the New Macross Military Hospital.
The darkness was surrounding her, closing in on her from all
sides. She fought with it until she felt she would die,
suffocated by the impenetrable blackness. She finally gave up
and waited for something to happen. She didn't have to wait
very long.
"Hello." The voice was very soothing, very syrupy, almost
annoying. She looked about, trying to find its source.
"I said 'hello'. Are you so impolite as not to answer?" the
voice enquired.
Michele gulped before answering in a faltering voice.
"Hello."
"That's much better. Welcome Michele!" the voice boomed
throughout the darkness.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know all there is to know about you - including the fact
you seem to have an affinity for landing yourself in
hospitals." The voice chuckled. "You do not seem to be at
ease."
"I am claustrophobic. This darkness is smothering me."
"Ah! Well, this can be arranged." The lights came on
abruptly. Where she had been floating were now ceiling, floor
and walls. Two plush seats were waiting next to a chimney in
which sizzled a warm fire. "Please take a seat." Michele
tested the seat before she settled. It was real.
"Is this any better?" the voice enquired.
"Yes, much better thank you. Who are you?"
"Good! Abrupt and to the point, I like that. My name would
tell you nothing."
"Show yourself then." Michele cried out, searching the room
for the source of the voice.
"Oh, very well."
A shadow began to form on the seat in front of hers. The
shadow took form and substance nearly immediately. Michele
jumped to her feet and grasped at her hip for a weapon that
wasn't there. In front of her, straight out of a religious
book she had once read, was the Devil.
Hausthar had finally changed into his uniform and was
digging into a hearty breakfast when the sun decided to rise
and send its warm rays through the windows. Ricky stepped
through the door of the kitchenette, once again wearing her
leotard. She walked over to Hausthar and gave him a peck on
the cheek.
"Good morning! Had a nice sleep?" Try as he might to stop
it, her smile was growing on him.
Hausthar harumphed. "Yes... How did I get back here last
night? More importantly, how did you get in here?"
"Well, you were having such a good time at the club, when
suddenly your face went blank and you nose-dived into your
Petite Cola pyramid. A couple of the pilots there helped me
get you into a cab and it drove us back to the base. As for
my getting in, the guard threw one look at you and ushered us
in. When I looked back at him, he was busy dialling a number
on his phone. Happy?" She threw two slices of bread in the
toaster and sat on the chair in front of him.
Hausthar ate the last of his toast in silence and got up.
"Yeah, I s'pose. Listen, I've got flying duty today, so could
you close the door behind you when you leave." Funny how his
heart was cringing at the thought of her leaving while his
brain was all against the idea of her staying.
"Sure! Have a good time." She got up to retrieve her toasts
and turned to face him as he was stepping through the door.
"Please be careful." she said in a low voice. She briefly
looked him in the eyes, then went back to the table and
buttered her toast.
Hausthar looked at her, puzzled. He eventually shrugged in
defeat and closed the door behind him as he left.
"Are... are you the Devil?"
"Oh no." the Entity replied. "I simply took this image from
your mind. <Devil>, eh? I must admit I like his style!
Please, please, sit down. There is nothing worse than to
speak to someone who insists on standing up."
Michele slowly made her way back to her seat. She noticed
that the Entity was not completely there, that parts of It
were shadowy. As if reading her mind, the Entity spoke. "The
shadowy parts are the areas of this body whose descriptions I
could not properly get from your memory. Most annoying - I do
so hate messy solutions."
"You still haven't answered my question: how do you know my
name?"
The Entity looked surprised. "But my dear, I thought it
would have been obvious to you by now - I've read your mind.
I know all there is to know about you. For example, the red
tinge in your hair is real, you have a strong liking for your
new wingman, and you have a birth-mark on your..."
"All right, I believe you! No need to sprout personal
details. Don't you have any decency?"
"Mmm... no, I don't believe I have."
"Oh great! Which still leaves me in the dark. Who are you
and where am I?" Michele nearly shouted her last question.
The Entity gave a small sigh and dug into a non-existent
pocket. When It withdrew Its hand, It was holding two photos.
"I guess the best way to present myself would be to start with
the rest of my 'family'." It handed the first photograph to
Michele. It pictured a tall man, dressed in a long white
robe, with white hair and a white beard. A light shone around
his head in a halo, obscuring his feature. The effect was,
well, Godly. "Yes, I know what this looks like - you must
remember that I am trying to pull images from your memory and
imagination that will suit. And I am sure that this goody-
two-shoes egomaniac would enjoy being represented thus."
It handed over the second picture to Michele. It was rather
different from the first, though certainly just as surprising.
"This one is the third of our group. Whereas my 'brother' and
I live in a quite spiritual plane, this one can be found in
the physical world." Michele did not know what to make of the
picture - surely this had to be a joke! The Entity withdrew
the pictures and replaced them both in his pocket.
"To once again take analogies and names from your memory, I
am called Neo. The names of the other two are not important
at this point. Let's just say that we three represent the
perfect trinity of Good, Evil and Neutral." It shifted
slightly in Its seat. "So much for who I am. As for your
second question... " Neo pointed at her head. "We're inside
your brain. Or what's left of it at the moment."
"What do you mean <what's left of it>?" enquire Michele.
"It seems your medical people can't quite decide whether you
are dead or not. Your brain shows no sign of activity but
your body refuses to die. These simpletons should never have
graduated out of kindergarten!"
Michele's face had drained with the news of her physical
condition. Neo used the silence to once again dig into Its
non-existent breast pocket and pulled out a lit pipe. "I'm
sorry, I forgot to ask. Do you mind if I smoke?" Michele
shook her head, still trying to come to terms with the
revelation. "Thank you. Nasty habit, smoking, but I just
can't seem to get rid of it. I picked it up by studying one
of your kind. I believe you now him - Admiral Gloval.
Charming chap! I just wished he'd be a little more nasty
sometimes." It pulled on Its pipe in silence for a moment,
then suddenly brought it down.
"Aha, it seems you have a visitor." Neo pointed towards a
mirror which had just appeared above the fireplace. Michele
looked into it and saw herself lying in a hospital bed, with
all sort of equipment strapped to her. A shiver ran up and
down her spine.
The door to the room opened and one of the hospital's
doctors walked in backward, hands in the air, and bumped into
the nurse that was tending to the electronic gear. A voice
came from outside the room.
"Listen doctor, I said I was going in to see her, and go in
I damn well will!"
The doctor retreated even further into the room and a figure
appeared, holding a gun loosely towards him.
"Michael!" shouted Michele, half out of her seat. Michael
did not seem to notice her. "Michael?!... Damn it Michael,
answer me!"
Neo took another puff from Its pipe. "I'm afraid that he
can't hear you. As far as he's concerned, you are lying on
that hospital bed."
Michael had by then escorted both the doctor and the nurse
out of the room and locked the door shut. He came back and
sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Michele's prostrate
body. He reached out and took her hand, holding it tight.
"C'mon partner, don't quit on me now. Who's gonna save my ass
next time if you go?" He stooped over her body and brushed
back her hair into place, caressing her cheek as he did so.
Inside the other room, Michele gasped - she had felt Michael
squeeze her hand. She had felt him brush back her hair and
touch her cheek. Her hand went up to her face, to where his
hand had been, and for the first time in as long as she could
remember, Michele cried.
Hausthar walked up to the hangar where the new Veritech was
stored. He was supposed to test it today, to push its
envelope until it finally gave way. It was not a task he was
looking forward to.
"Hey, George - you in there?" He peered into the darkness
of the hangar and spied a shape moving towards him. George
was the main engineer of Research, and the two of them had met
the day after Hausthar's transfer. It hadn't taken long for
the two of them to realise they both enjoyed talking about the
new Mecha.
"Hausthar, long time no see." A tall man emerged from the
shadows of the hangar, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth - no
matter how modern the engines, they still managed to soil up
anybody tinkering with them. "I heard you were taking Alpha
One up for a spin today. I'll have my men prepare her for
you. She's a mean looking bitch. You think you can handle
her?"
Hausthar laughed. "I hope so. Don't mind telling you my
insides are in a knot. This is my first flight on an untested
ship."
"Don't worry - they nearly all make it back the first time
out."
"<Nearly?!>" Hausthar was gaping at him, trying to figure
out if George was being serious.
"Once you are up there" continued George "you won't have
time to worry." He slapped Hausthar on the back and went back
inside the hangar.
Neo looked at the girl in front of It, bent in two on her
seat, tears spilling from her eyes. "<Ahem.> I do believe it
is time to talk business."
Michele stopped crying and turned her blood-shot eyes toward
It. She sniffed a couple of times before answering. "What do
you want from me?"
"Your soul!"
Alpha One was the first prototype in a new series of
Veritech - it was smaller than the old VF-series, but still
not as small as the design team would have liked. Gone was
the old VF-14 look: Alpha One had two gigantic engines
occupying all of the plane's undercarriage and two smaller
engines up top, near the wings. Also a great departure from
the old VF design was the dropping of the laser weaponry and
the incorporation of internal missile launchers into several
areas the plane's body. Research had told Hausthar that by
the time they had the design perfected they would be able to
store between forty to seventy missiles all over the plane.
Included in the new design was a new version of the GU-11 gun
pod, the still-unnamed GU-XX. Hausthar wasn't too happy about
the lack of an energy-based weapon, laser or otherwise. His
main concern was what would happen to the pilot once the
plane's ammunitions had been spent. Research's answer had
been that if the Alpha had to stay in the fray long enough for
all its ammo to be used, then the armor and shields would
probably have given way long before. Not a comforting thought
for pilots.
But for this flight Alpha One would be going weaponless.
Hausthar's job was to push the prototype to its limits and
beyond, and hopefully survive when it finally snagged. As he
taxied the plane towards the runway, it occurred to him that
he had forgotten the routine visual check-up that was normally
part of the pre-flight operations. Neither had he checked to
see if they had packed his parachute.
The Tower gave him a green light on departure and Hausthar's
worries were left behind as the plane rocketed down the runway
and went ballistic a few seconds later. He reached the
testing corridor within a couple of minutes and started to
relay information to the control Tower. A voice came over the
tactical net as he finished, a voice hauntingly familiar.
"Hausthar? You have been given the green light. Start your
run."
Hausthar recognised the voice - it was Lang's. But Dr. Lang
never bothered to come watch the testing of new Mecha! What
was he doing here? Had Lang come for him? Why was he so
important to Lang? Hausthar's mind was full of questions as
he rogered the order and began to push the throttle forward.
The plane's twin main engines roared into life as power
reached them. The Veritech lurched forward and began to form
the well-known cone of noise as it approached Mach-1. Inside
the cockpit, Hausthar was reading off the instruments into the
Net, more to calm his nerves than for those listening.
"Mach one. Mach one point five. Mach two. Mach two point
five. Mach three. Slight buffeting starting to gain
intensity. Computer has just engaged secondary engines to
counter-balance. Mach three point five. Mach four. Heat
reading on the nose cone reaching maximum tolerance. Plane
controls are starting to rebel. Mach four point five... "
The plane gave a sickening lurch as an explosion occurred
somewhere down the left side of the body. Warning buzzers
filled the cockpit with their death songs. "Tower do you read
me? I have a malfunction in the port engine followed by
explosion and loss of compression. Hydraulic pressure to the
port control surfaces is dropping fast. Both secondary
engines and main starboard engine are locked at maximum.
Repeat, all remaining engines are locked at maximum. Over."
More buzzers filled the air of the cockpit. Hausthar didn't
even take the time to turn them off.
"We copy Alpha One. Initiate bail-out procedure."
"Roger Tower, bailing out." Hausthar reached for the
ejection handle and prayed that he wouldn't be smashed by the
plane's speed. He pulled on the handle.
"Tower, this is Alpha one. I have a malfunction in the
ejection mechanism probably due to previous problem. Can you
help?"
"Alpha One, do you have report of a fire in the port main
engine?"
"Roger that Tower, fire warning is on for port main engine.
Request procedure to dump this heap o' shit."
Hausthar heard several curses being said, then a voice
Hausthar did not expect to hear. "Hausthar, this is Victor.
Open your main computer console. We'll try to shut off the
remaining engines and have you bring the plane down by
gliding."
Hausthar reached for his emergency toolkit and pulled out
the appropriate screwdriver. He had the panel open in no time
at all. "Victor, main computer panel open, awaiting
instructions."
Lang's voice replaced Victor's. "Locate the starboard main
engine's fuel control chip and short circuit it by cross
connecting with any Delta circuit."
Hausthar took out a probe from the kit, located the
appropriate circuits and jammed it between them. Sparks
showered the cockpit in a brief display of pyrotechnics.
"Tower, this is Alpha One. Procedure accomplished and
engine shorted out. Secondary systems suffered damage from
procedure though."
"Got it Alpha One. Can you give us a list of the systems
that went down?"
"Systems include pursuit radar, starboard missile launchers,
mechamorphosys circuits and landing gear. I repeat, both
automatic <and> manual controls for the landing gears are
down."
Victor's voice sounded resigned. "Roger Alpha One. You are
going to have to ditch her into the sea. Can you give us a
relative position for touch down?"
"I think I'll splash down somewhere south of Tokyo Bay. I'd
estimate ten klicks or so."
"Got it Alpha One - we are sending a ship to pick you up.
God's speed."
Hausthar felt his throat close up - if Victor was going
theological on him, things must be bleak indeed. "Thank you
Tower. Out."
Hausthar's plane was beginning to break apart when it
finally reached the touch-down area. Buzzers were once again
filling the cockpit, warning him that he was either flying too
low or driving too fast. Hausthar felt a pang of regret as he
realised he might never again see Ricky. He didn't have time
to think anything more - the plane hit the water at well above
the recommended speed. It bounced several times across the
small waves and finally came to a bone-wrenching stop in the
middle of a wave. Before the next wave reached it, it had
disappeared beneath the surface, leaving nothing but a few
wreckages and an oil slick to mark the fact that a tragedy had
occurred.
"You want... my soul?" Michele asked incredulously.
Thoughts of Hell and Eternal Damnation filled her mind.
Apparently Neo had also picked them up for It was quick to
retort.
"No, no, no. Not like that. I think I have chosen the
wrong words. I desire your... co-operation. Is that better?
Yes, co-operation. I want you to join my cause and help me in
my fight." It was waving Its pipe excitedly.
"Let me get this straight. You want my help? But aren't
you evil?"
"Yes on both count. Although Evil is a very relative
concept. What might be Evil to you is perfectly normal to me.
May I also add that such help or co-operation, call it what
you will, would be rewarded with Power. Power such as you
have never dreamed of before - Power to destroy your enemies
before they can even sense your presence. This is the reward
I offer you. And all you have to do is follow my directives."
It leaned back into Its chair and started to pull on the pipe
again, filling the air around It with smoke.
Michele was looking at the mirror, watching Michael fuss
over her unconscious body, trying to bring her out of her
coma. For this was what she had decided was happening - she
must have gone into coma and was dreaming all of this.
"I'll need time to think about this." she told Neo.
Neo smiled at her. "Of course. Take all the time in the
world. I'll always be around if you need me. All you'll ever
need to do is accept me in." Neo stood up and approached her
chair, Its body towering above her. "Now it is time for you
to go back, Michele Cequor." It waived Its hand toward her
and she felt herself begin to dissolve
Michael was still stooped over Michele's body, oblivious to
the pounding on the room's door. He was pushing back more
hair from her face and brushing her cheek softly when he felt
two strong arms encircle his heck and pull him down. Warm
lips rose to meet his as Michele put all she had to offer into
their first kiss.
CHAPTER 7
Of course, in retrospect, it is very easy to see why this
had all happened. The changes in moods also become
understandable. But then again, everyone has 20/20 hindsight!
Why did I not understand? Why did I not realise that two such
crashes in so short a time could not be coincidental? We
might as well just shorten it and get back to the eternal
question - <Why>. In younger days I would have said that this
was the will of the Shaping and left it at that. How little
did I know then about it and about the person who had
unleashed it on an unsuspecting galaxy, this Haydon. Rem
keeps on telling me that the Haydon I imagine never existed.
He seems bizarre lately, as if a conflict is raging inside
him. It is that conflict which made me think back to those
days of trial-and-error. I can still hear him pacing in his
cabin, shouting "Leave me be! I didn't want any of this to be
thrust upon me! Why can't you leave me alone?" His
personality is changing, changing just like those of Hausthar
and Michele did - but, I fear, for the worse.
Dr. Lang; Diaries.
Ref: LDHT946-862.
Haydon Memorial Library.
This was starting to get monotonous - black on black
surrounded by black. What had happened to the colour scheme?
Hausthar looked around. This is not how he had imagined the
bottom of the ocean. And where <was> that rescue ship?
A light flared off in the distance, as if to answer him.
The rescue ship - at last! Hausthar waited for the light to
come closer. And waited. And waited still. It finally
dawned on him that the light was not moving.
"Hey, over here!" he shouted, not really hoping to be heard.
"Ah, there you are. For a moment there I thought I'd lost
you. You can come out now." The voice sounded middle-aged
and sure of itself - so sure in fact that Hausthar had popped
the seals on his canopy before remembering he was still
underwater. Surprisingly, he met no resistance when he tried
to open the canopy, and no water tried to force entry.
Hausthar jumped down from his Veritech. Something was
illuminating both him and the Mecha, but would reveal neither
ground nor sky, nor anything else for that matter. With no
other apparent options, Hausthar started towards the light he
had originally spied.
The light turned out to be a window, about three feet off
the ground, just hanging in mid-air. Looking through the
window Hausthar was confronted with a scene straight out of
nineteenth Century England. Horse-drawn carriages were making
their way down a street - Baker street, if the signs were to
be trusted - while people dressed for the part moved about
their business one floor below his. Hausthar gazed for a
while, then stepped to look behind the window, from the side.
No street presented itself, just the same impenetrable
darkness. He went back to the window and peered through - the
street was still there.
The sound of a violin drifted by from behind, the scratchy
sound of an instrument played very amateurly - it sounded more
like a fight between cats. Something tugged at the corner of
his mind. <A violin, Baker street. Then could it be that
this is..?>
"221b Baker street, my abode - exactly!" the voice echoed
behind him. Hausthar turned around and was confronted by a
tall, thin man dressed in light brown trousers and white
shirt, fighting with a violin in an effort to get music from
it. "Congratulations young man. Good deductions, even if
they were a little slow. I say, are you sure I'm supposed to
play this badly?" The man's eyebrows collided with each
other.
Hausthar gasped for breath as he tried to answer. "Er... No
sir... That is, I don't think so... That is, I can't
remember."
The man looked him in the eye for a moment then breathed a
sigh of resignation. "I was afraid of that." He positioned
the violin back on his shoulder and began to play - very badly
- a Minuet in G Hausthar had heard recently. "Do you know who
I am?" the figure asked.
By this time Hausthar had regained some of his sense. "I
know who you look like." he answered.
"Good! Very good! Never make any judgement until you are
certain you have all the facts. I made that mistake several
times myself you know." He stopped playing the violin and
placed it back in its case. "Now, down to business." The man
squatted down and a Victorian-era armchair appeared under him.
"Please, take a seat."
Hausthar noticed that a similar seat had appeared just
behind him. It looked real enough. He tested this theory by
sitting in it. "Are you really... him?"
"Sherlock Holmes? Oh, dear me, no! Not at all."
"Then why did you...?"
"Take his appearance? Elementary my dear Hausthar - I
needed something you would not be afraid of, and this seemed
perfect for my needs." He reached towards his left and took a
pipe from a table that had materialised under his hand. He
filled, then lit it whilst talking. "I also wanted to make a
good impression and I must admit I liked this personality.
Ah, the adventures Mr. Holmes had! But this is secondary to
my immediate problem." Holmes - or rather the person which
looked like Holmes - leaned forward in his seat. "You see, I
need your help."
"My help sir? How so?"
Holmes dug into his pocket, pulled out a photograph and
handed it to Hausthar. "Moriarty is on the loose again!"
Michele was re-arranging her pillows for the third time in
as many minutes. The Sterlings were supposed to arrive soon
and she wanted to make herself as presentable as possible.
<Damn those medics for not allowing me to get up!>
A surreptitious knock came from the door. At Michele's
beckon the door opened and both Max and Miriya Sterling came
through, Max bearing flowers. As usual, he was wearing his
smile, but Miriya was showing a look of concern.
"Hello Michele, how are you doing?"
Michele told herself to be cheerful and forced a smile to
appear on her lips. "As well as can be expected given the
circumstances, sir. Do you know why the medics won't release
me?"
Maximillian, busy putting the flowers into a vase, was
visibly startled by the question. His smile even flickered
off for a brief moment. "I don't know. But it really doesn't
matter, does it?"
Miriya stepped closer to the bed. "It's a pity you won't be
able to join us."
"Join you?" Michele looked up to Maximillian. "What is
going on Commander?"
Max gave out a small sigh. "First of all my rank of
Commander was only temporary - I am back to Lieutenant.
Second, what Miriya means is that we are going out into
space."
"Why? What's going on?" Michele's voice was on the verge
of tears.
"A Robotech Automated Factory has been discovered. It is
still manned by non-allied Zentraedi. The Skull and the Night
Music squadrons have been asked to investigate - we're leaving
this afternoon."
Michele's voice was frantic, two pearls of water forming on
the edges of her eyes. "But... but you can't leave me here!
You just <can't>. You have to take me along!"
Maximillian's smile had disappeared and his face was now
mimicking Miriya's look of concern. "The doctors feel it to
be in your best interest if you were to stay here a little
while longer. Rick agrees with it."
Tears now flowed openly on Michele's face. "But why? Why?"
Max stood there, not knowing what to say. Miriya stepped
forward, sat on the edge of the bed and placed her arm around
Michele's shoulders. "I know what you feel. It is the way I
felt when I gave birth to Dana. It is hard to spend your time
in bed when you feel you should be up there with your
wingmates. All you can do is grit your teeth and wait for
your time."
Michele gave a sob and buried her head in Miriya's shoulder
to weep in anger.
"I'm sorry Dr. Lang, I just can't seem to be able to do it
right."
Lang looked at the remnants of the egg, a shapeless mass of
clear and yellow goo. "It's okay Michele." He placed a new
egg on the ground. "We have plenty of spares. Let's try
again, shall we?" He stepped back out of the way.
A Mecha's hand extended itself from the Guardian and moved
towards the egg. Fingers the size of telegraph poles
surrounded the egg and moved in to pick it up. The shell gave
way and splattered its yolk and white.
"<DAMN!>" A metal-shod fist whizzed through the air and
impacted with the wall in frustration, threatening to bring
down the building. "Why can't I do this right?"
Lang came back into view, followed by several other
technicians and scientists. "It's all right my dear - after
all, you just came through a traumatic experience. Let's
forget about the eggs and concentrate on your memory for a
while."
The Veritech in front of the scientists mechamorphed from
Guardian to Battloid and sat on the floor with its back
against the wall. "What do you want to know?"
One of the personnel behind Lang opened a notebook. "Well,
how about your name for a start?"
"Easy. My name is Michele Cequor. Any more trivial
questions?" The Veritech shifted slightly to a better sitting
position.
"What happened just prior to and after the explosion?"
"Well, I remember being chased by the missile. I didn't
want both of us to blow up in the middle of the city, so I
lured it as far out as I could. I'd just cleared the city
when the explosion occurred. The next thing I know, Michael
is screaming in my ears, wanting to know what had happened and
what my status was. I told him the bad news and we got sent
off to New Macross ASAP. When we got there I managed to land.
I was surrounded by hundreds of medics and firemen - all these
people, and do you think they'd do anything for me? They just
left me there to rot on the runway until I complained and you
came along Dr. Lang."
The person with the notebook was writing frantically. A
woman close to him was next with the questions. "What about
during the explosion? What were your thoughts?"
Once again, the Mecha shifted uneasily. "I remember
panicking, thinking I was going to die and trying to fight it.
I could feel the computer reaching out in despair as its sub-
systems were dying out one by one. I remember mentally
grabbing hold of that part of the computer which was still
functioning and crying in helplessness. That's when I blacked
out." The Battloid's hand wiped its 'eyes' and grabbed hold
of its other shoulder, in a gesture of defenselessness.
"And what about your present condition?" asked the man with
the notebook. "What do you make of it?"
The Veritech grabbed its knees and pulled them in, like a
child searching for protection. "I don't know. I really
don't. Maybe I got merged with the Veritech during the blast.
Maybe I replaced the computer when it died. All I know is
that I am Michele - <I am alive!> So why am I being kept
inside this hangar? Where is my body Dr. Lang?"
Lang looked up past the pulled-in knees to the faceplate of
the Battloid and stared long and deep into it. "You are being
kept in surveillance because of the shock you have suffered.
The reason you are kept in this hangar is because there is no
hospital bed, or in fact hospital, big enough to fit you. As
for your body..." Lang paused. "We are still running some
tests on it to find out what happened."
The Veritech sat there silently. When it finally spoke its
voice contained a tremor that had not been there before. "I'm
sorry Dr. Lang. If only you knew what it was like. I wake up
every day and wonder why my eyes are over fifty feet from the
ground. I try to eat but have to remember to plug myself in
for a recharge instead. I just can't take it anymore!" The
Veritech's head lowered itself onto its knees and the Battloid
emitted strange short sounds, its shoulders raked by spasms.
It took Lang a good four seconds to realise the Veritech was
crying.
A head protruded at right angle from the door frame. "Are
they gone?" it asked.
Michele finished drying her tears and threw away the paper
handkerchief she had been using. "Yeah, come in Victor."
Victor squeezed his body through the door's frame and made
his way to her bed. "If you feel like you look, I wouldn't
want to be in your shoes - you look terrible!"
Michele sniffed. "I feel even worse. Not only did I stuff-
up on my first sortie, not only did I make a fool of myself in
front of my commanding officer, not only have I been ordered
to bed duties for an indefinite amount of time, but thanks to
this little accident I'll miss my first outing in space." Her
clenched fists relaxed slowly. "It's nice to see you again."
she admitted.
Victor made embarrassed little noises and overly shuffled
his feet. "Aw, shucks! 'Twas nothin' really." Testing a
chair for robustness he opted to sit on the floor next to the
bed, his head still at eye-level with hers. "I just couldn't
leave my little sister alone in a big hospital, now could I?"
Victor had been the one who had rescued Michele from the
wreckage of Macross City two years ago in the SDF-1. Ever
since, he had looked after the orphan girl as if she had been
his little sister, making sure she re-enlisted into the
Academy, and helping her through long nights of study. He was
the best friend she ever had, except for...
Michele shook her head. Now was not the time to think of
Michael. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
she enquired.
Victor shuffled his way towards the bed. "I am here to make
sure you recover that cute little smile I always enjoyed."
Michele's face fell even further. "I am sorry Victor, I
just don't feel up to smiling right now."
"In that case, I'll have to use extreme measures." He got
up to his feet and started to unbolt a plate from his arm.
Michele looked up in surprise. "Victor, don't you dare!
Not now! <Please!?>" A small mechanical arm unfolded itself
and extended towards the bed, reaching for her body. "Victor,
I mean it!" She tried to avoid the arm but was too slow. The
arm made its way up and down her ribs, finding well known
spots in its waves of tickles. "VICTOR!?! <Stop> it!!" She
was laughing hard by now, and was about to slide from the bed
when the arm retracted. The laughter abated.
"Thanks, I needed that."
"Always happy to oblige." Victor sat on the edge of her
bed. A straining groan echoed through the room for a moment
and then became a memory. "Now what's this I hear about you
and Michael Circle?"
Michele tried to subdue a new fit of laughter. "Now why did
I ever think I could keep this from you? How did you find
out?"
"I have my sources. Well, is it true?"
Michele leaned back, a smile reappearing on her face. "Yes,
it is. What do you want to know?"
"Everything!"
Laughter echoed through the thankfully empty halls of the
hospital.
Hausthar gazed at the picture he had been given. "Mo...
Moriarty?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I got into my role too much." Holmes sat
back and pulled on his pipe a couple of times before
continuing. "You see, a long time ago an alien scientist
discovered a way to produce a new, clean energy. He named it
Protoculture. I was, of course, very flattered that he had
chosen this name... but the Energy derived by this process has
nothing to do with me - or should I say it has everything to
do with me?" He blew smoke to the ceiling. "You see, there
has always been three of us - Good, Evil and Neutrality
keeping the balance. We had been dormant for several eons
when this discoverer suddenly awakened us. Not since Haydon
had taught the Invids how to use the Flowers had we seen such
an intellect." The man calling himself Holmes was looking
through Hausthar, into the past, reliving memories.
"Neo was the first to regain full capabilities, and used the
time it had at its disposal very well I'm afraid. You see, we
cannot act on the physical plane, not without great strain.
We have to use agents to do our work. When necessary, we can
use the Energy derived from the Flower of Life to act swiftly
and decisively, but it is a drastic measure which requires the
agreement of us all. My agents were the Invids, at least
until I slumbered - without my guidance some strayed to the
other side. Neo took control of the scientist's race and had
them remove the pollinators, small dog-like animals with a
rather high intelligence, from the Invid orchards. This
enraged the Invids, creating more converts. Slowly I was
loosing my flock, balance could no longer be kept. I had to
try to make amends, to restore it. Thus came the Robotech War
as you know it."
"And did you win?" Hausthar asked.
"Yes and no. I won the first match, barely. But you know
what they say - best out of three, It's not over until the fat
lady sings and all that. I am afraid your Earth will become a
battlefield for more physical and psychic wars before balance
is once again restored. I can already feel my nemesis working
against me. He has prepared re-inforcements and is about to
send them a signal flare."
"How?"
"Your forces are on their way to capture a Robotech
Automated Factory and bring it to Earth. When the Factory
defolds into Earth orbit, the displacement in the Energy will
pinpoint the Earth to the Robotech Masters and come they
will."
"But can't you stop it?"
"How I have tried! But my agents believe they are acting
for the benefit of all concerned."
"So? What has that got to do with it?"
"My boy, haven't you been listening to anything I have been
saying? We, I, do not exist! We are merely the psychic
projections of the actions being done in the physical world.
Every time someone commits 'evil' in your world, Neo becomes
stronger and more apt to shape events to its own choosing.
And the same thing applies to 'good' and me. Our powers
depend on the application of the Energy derived from the
Flower. That is why I cannot stop your forces - they truly
believe in what they are doing! They think it is the best
course of action. Little do they realise that the
spacefolding of the Factory will attract the Masters to Earth
like moths to a flame. Except that in this case, I'm afraid,
<they> will be the flame that will bring Earth's demise."
Holmes turned towards the window, visibly annoyed. "Isn't it
possible to have a conversation without being disturbed?" he
shouted.
Hausthar, taken aback by the abruptness of the comment,
looked through the window and was surprised to see the
interior of a hospital room. In the bed was a figure, so
covered with life-support systems that it was hard to tell its
gender, much less its identity. The door to the room opened
and a man in overalls shuffled in, obviously not at ease.
Hausthar immediately recognised him.
"George!" he cried out. The man in the hospital room did
not even start, as though the words had not reached him. In
fact, he was moving towards the bed.
George looked at the figure in the bed and sighed deeply.
"They tell me there's a chance you can hear me. They also
tell me you might not make it out. So I just have to tell
you... I'm to blame for your accident." He paused and cleared
his throat a couple of times before going on. "You see, one
of my mechanics was working on your engine, bolting back a
panel that had been removed for maintenance, and he decided to
take an early lunch. By the time I came back, you were
already gone." George's head hung low. "The bolts were not
properly tightened and must have hit the engine with enough
force to rip it to shreds."
A loud sniffle was heard in the room. George took out a
handkerchief and wiped his nose, his face flowing with tears
of self-recrimination. "If I'd only checked and made sure,
this wouldn't have happened! If you ever come out of it, I'll
try to make it up to you, I really will!"
He replaced the handkerchief in his pocket and stood there,
arms limp. "I got to go. I'll see you later, eh?" Walking
towards the door, he opened it and stood in front of it. He
turned one last time towards the bed and said "Goodbye
Hausthar."
Hausthar was so shocked he never notice George's departure
nor the closing of the door. "<Hausthar?!> You mean that's
me under there?"
Holmes was quietly puffing smoke into the air. "My boy, you
will recall I never said anything on that subject. But now
that you raise the point, yes it is you." Hausthar was still
staring through the window, eyes locked on the figure in the
bed. "This brings me back to our earlier conversation -"
continued Holmes, "I need your help." Hausthar was oblivious
to all but the hospital bed and had not responded.
"HAUSTHAR!"
Jumping in alarm Hausthar stammered "Yes... er... my
help... How so?"
Holmes was once again smiling. "You are repeating yourself
my friend," he pointed out, "but it does not matter. What I
require is your help to stop the possible catastrophes which
might follow the arrival of the Factory in Earthspace. I
cannot do it myself." Hausthar opened his mouth as if to
reply but was promptly cut off. "Now I realise this is not a
decision to be lightly made, so I will give you time to think
about it. I shall therefore send you back whence you came.
But first..." The violin magically reappeared in Holmes'
hands. "I have a symphony or two I would like you to listen
to." The languid sound of the wooden instrument filled the
air.
When Hausthar finally awoke, he was instantly aware of
several factors - first of all, most of the life-support
equipment had been unplugged from his body. Second, his left
hand had been placed onto his chest. And third, something was
laid upon it. Remembering the headache which had greeted him
when he had last woken up, he moved his head very carefully.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the low ambient level of light.
His hand had in fact been placed on his chest and the
perpetrator of that action could now be identified - sitting
on a chair at his side was Ricky. She had gathered his left
hand in both of hers and was now sleeping with it under her
left cheek, head resting on his chest.
Hausthar smiled lightly and raised his right hand to her
head, feeling the silky smoothness of her hair, running his
fingers through them. He thought back to that morning he had
found her asleep on his sofa and a warm feeling engulfed his
chest. He continued to caress her hair for a while before
finally falling asleep with his hand still resting upon her
head.
CHAPTER 8
How do you make the difference between a Mecha and a human?
Both require fuel of some sort; both think and reason; both
can be hurt and both can die. And if that wasn't enough, here
we were against a machine with goddamn <feelings>! You can't
win against that you know. Turing must be smiling in his
grave.
R. & D. Lab Technician.
And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times.
Late 20th Century song.
The metallic footsteps resounded heavily throughout the
garden. A sixty feet tall shadow fell over the bushes as the
Mecha walked past them, deep in conversation with the human
accompanying it.
"I understand why you would want to keep my body for
observation Dr. Lang, but why can't I see it now? Your
technicians say I have recovered completely from the
incident."
The man next to it harumphed and looked towards the sky,
never ceasing to walk down the path. The sky was the dark
blue that only could be seen on a cloudless day. Staring at
it was like staring through infinity itself. And in that blue
sky hung a warm yellow sun, witness to so much destruction
upon the planet it shone over. It took Dr. Lang a while to
get his ideas through the wall the beauty of this place had
established in his mind.
"Please understand: although your 'body' has recuperated, we
are not sure what psychological factors remain from your
ordeal. It is not everyday that we can talk to someone who
survived what you experienced. It could well be that seeing
your body would upset your mental state. We have no way of
knowing how you will react. This is entirely new to us... so
we would prefer to be cautious about it."
The Mecha bowed its head in recognition of the inevitability
of Lang's words. Both continued to walk down the path which
wound itself around the gardens in the institute, watching
nature unfold itself amongst the bushes that were hiding the
surprises the next turn of the path would offer. They came to
a field of grass interspersed with wild flowers. This garden
was the pride of the Institute in a world where most of nature
had been destroyed in the Zentraedi Rain of Fire which had
annihilated most of the wildlife, both plants and animals.
Lang sat on a bench situated in the middle of the green and
gold field, and beckoned the Mecha to lower itself beside him.
<It is hard to think of the cruel world which lurks behind the
walls of this garden when one is surrounded by such beauty>,
thought Lang. <Why must the human race, ANY race, have such a
penchant for war?>
"How goes your training Michele?" he suddenly asked, shaking
the feeling which was overcoming him, a feeling he hadn't felt
for so long... <ever since that first trip amongst the remain
of the crashed SDF-1>, he reflected.
"Very well Doctor, I am quickly learning to adapt to this
new situation..." The Mecha paused a few seconds. "Aren't
these birds lovely? I do so love their songs..." Two
compartments opened on each side of the Mecha's thorax,
revealing sensitive loudspeakers. Both instruments hummed for
a moment, then burst into life with a re-creation of the
bird's song, perfect down to the last note. The speakers
repeated the call as the nearby birds flew down to find the
source of this song, finally perching themselves on the
shoulders of the machine and joining it in its joyous
exclamation of music.
The Mecha lowered its right hand and extended a waldo from
its forearm, reaching down with it to pick a flower. Another
waldo quickly followed it and soon the Mecha was holding a
bouquet, offering it to the birds who quickly rummaged through
it, searching for bugs within the yellow petals and green
leaves of the plants.
"Sometimes, if I concentrate enough, I can feel the feedback
from the things I pick up. I can actually feel the fragility
of the plants I just picked. Maybe this isn't so bad... but
still, I will feel better when I'll have rejoined my body."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore
Michele." remarked Lang.
"I'm sorry Doctor, it just slipped out. It's just that I
feel something has happened to my body, something... Oh well,
I suppose you're right. 'Better off not talking about it. I'm
not really in such a hurry to see it. After all, it's not as
if it's about to get up and walk out on me, is it?"
Michele was fuming. Ever since she had gotten out of the
hospital, all she had been faced with was paperwork. Signing
release forms at the hospital, signing in at the base, proving
to the commanding officer that she was fit for duty (more
paperwork), getting allocated a room, a new Mecha...
paperwork, paperwork, <paperwork>. All these pieces of paper
were dancing around her mind in such a disorderly fashion that
she couldn't remember the contents of the last form she had
signed. If someone had presented her a contract, she would
probably have bought five hectares in the Wastelands without
realising it. Luckily, Michael was helping her.
Picking up both her bags Michael winked at Michele, grabbed
a pamphlet with the base's map and timetable, prodded her up
the stairs to the second floor and guided her to a room near
the end of the corridor, in the north wing of the building.
He dropped the bags and gave her one of his infuriating grins.
"Would you believe that the Private in charge of room
allocation gave you the room next to mine by mistake?" He
didn't wait for her to answer but fished out a key from his
pocket and started to open the door. "Wouldn't it be
surprising if it had... Why yes, there it is... A common door.
Now isn't <that> a coincidence!"
Michele grabbed the bags and smiled at him as she closed the
door behind her. "If there is one thing I have learned it's
that nothing happens around you by coincidence. I suppose it
is coincidence that you took sick just long enough to be able
to get a room next to mine in the hospital? Or that virtually
every flowershops' bouquets found their way into my room by
accident? Or that..."
"All right, I'll confess, I'm guilty of all charges." He
smiled at her and went to open the window drapes. The view
from the window gave onto a panoramic display of the SDF-1 and
SDF-2 resting back-to-back in the middle of Lake Gloval. The
sun, already starting to set, was perfectly centered between
the gigantic 'tuning forks' which were the fortresses' Main
Guns. He stared awhile at the sight of the red-orange globe
as it descended behind the megalithic figures in the lake.
Just as it disappeared beyond the horizon, Michael heard a
rustle of clothes behind him and turned around. Michele was
finishing taking off her uniform in the middle of the room.
"Ah... Er... I think I'd better leave... "
Michele looked at him with a languorous smile. "I was
hoping you could spend the night here" she softly said.
"Yes, well, I seem to have left my pajamas in my room..."
blurted Michael.
Michele's lips met his as she grabbed him around the waist
with one hand and started to undo his buttons with the other.
"I was hoping you would say that." she whispered.
There was a light ruffle as the last of her clothes slowly
fell to the ground.
His whole body was still slightly sore from the endless days
in the hospital bed, but at last he was free... <well, as free
as one can be in the Armed Forces anyway>. Hausthar's heart
jumped with joy as he once again stood in front of the
Robotech Research and Development building. He entered the
premises, waved at the secretary and promptly walked into the
'wall' leading to Lang's office. He was just about to knock
on the door when voices within made him pause.
"... But General Leonard..."
"There are no 'but's, Lang! This plane of yours is off the
project. The council has finally seen it my way and has
ordered you to start testing and production of the new Hover
Tanks and AJACS. You wouldn't go against council directives,
would you?"
"Well no, I... "
"I didn't think so! This is Dr. Lazlo Zand. He will be
your assistant in this project. It seems he shares your
admiration for this <Protoculture> of yours."
Hausthar recoiled at that name. <Zand>. It was the same
name he had heard days ago in one of the underground
laboratories. He was the one who had ordered that green-
blond haired child to be hooked up to a Protoculture
Generator.
"I hope you two will enjoy working together. Goodbye Lang."
Hausthar moved away from the door as it opened. Two figures
walked out of Lang's office: a bald, fat man dressed in a
brown Southern Cross Army uniform and a short wizened person
whose facial features seemed to be hidden from Hausthar by a
constant mist around his face. Both disappeared down the
corridor.
Lang stood by the doorway, watching their shadows retreat in
the distance. "Politicians!" he snorted. Hausthar's presence
suddenly came to his attention. He studied him for a moment
before speaking once again. "Glad to see you are out of the
hospital. I'm sorry if this seems a bit rude, but could you
come back some other time?"
There again was the politeness Lang was such a miser with.
<Why is he so polite with me?> thought Hausthar. He
nonetheless stuttered a yes and watched as Lang retreated into
his office, the door closing noiselessly behind him.
He had turned around and was about to make his way down the
corridor when a sudden feeling of warmth spread like a wave
from his lower abdomen across his chest. With this feeling of
warmth came a shortness of breath which hit Hausthar with
surprise. He wasn't feeling pain... in fact the feeling was
rather pleasant, as if he'd just had an... He shook his head
and tried to clear his mind from this line of thought. His
breath slowly returned to him.
Michele laid on her back in the rather large bed in her
room, her breathing slowly going back to normal. She turned
to look at Michael who was lying beside her, watching her,
caressing her hips. She slid on top of him and embraced him
with all the passion she could muster from her soul.
The Mecha bay was a noisy place to be: work was always in
progress around the clock. Servo-motors whined as damaged
Veritechs struggled to mechamorph under the watchful eyes of
the technicians. Hausthar stopped and glanced around until he
had spotted the person he was looking for. Getting closer, he
tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, George! You got a minute?"
The overalls straightened out and revealed George's
features. His face lit up as he recognised the person who had
called him. "Hausthar! Man, am I glad you're out of
hospital..." He stopped and eyed his friend suspiciously.
"You <were> discharged, right?"
"Yep, all nice and official." replied Hausthar. He glanced
at the Mecha George had been working on.
"She's all repaired and ready to go. Even painted her with
your colours: Light blue with light brown trimmings."
Hausthar walked around the Alpha, his hand gliding along its
metal skin, his mind replaying the moment of the crash, trying
to file it away, trying to forget it.
"When is she going up again?" enquired George.
"There's been a slight change of plans." admitted Hausthar.
"Oh. What happened?"
"She's going to be moth-balled. They think she's too
dangerous." Hausthar said. He continued to eye the jet as he
walked around it, inspecting it.
"<WHAT?> That's outrageous! She's about as safe as they
come." shouted George.
"Shush... You know that and I know that... But they don't.
Which is why you are going to find a nice, secluded hangar for
this baby and moth-ball an empty shell in its place. I want
to be able to finish testing her without their knowing it.
Can it be done?"
George's face was grinning happily at him. "Does the sun
rise every morning? It'd be criminal to put this plane on the
shelf. Hangar D is empty, and I'll fiddle the paperwork so it
remains that way. Even smuggle a few spare parts and
equipment in there for the check-up."
"What about ammunition for the live-ammo testing?"
"Are you kidding? I sometimes tell myself that the only
reason Zentraedi aren't able to walk out with all the ammo
they want is because they are not allowed <in> in the first
place. Apart from that, they'd never be caught. You worry
about making sure nobody realises you're flying a plane that's
supposed to be moth-balled, I'll take care of the rest."
"Thanks for the help." A clock on the wall gave out a short
buzz, causing Hausthar to automatically look at his watch. "7
O'Clock!" he exclaimed. "Jeezus! <Ricky!> I forgot about
dinner! Listen George, I gotta go, fast. I'll see you
tomorrow." He scrambled for the door without waiting for an
answer, leaving a surprised George behind him, scratching his
head.
"Well, well, well." George muttered to himself. "She must
be one hell of a girl for <him> to be in such a state."
In a hangar especially designed for it, a Battloid was
having a hard time falling asleep. It shifted restlessly on
its specially designed bed. It didn't really need a bed to
sleep, it could have slept on the floor, but the
psychoanalysts had decided it would be better for its mental
health to have as many 'normal' things around it as possible.
And it had worked; just the act of lying on a sixty feet bed
usually sent the Mecha into something akin to human sleep.
But this time it was not working right.
The Battloid tossed and turned on its bunk, trying to catch
that elusive sleep. Brief bursts of memories flashed through
its mind in its half-asleep state. Missiles pursued it
through a landscape even Picasso would have had a hard time
understanding. Energy crackled through its imaginary body as
the missiles surrounded it, blocking off all escape routes.
It had prepared itself for the worst when a face appeared in
front of it, fending off the missiles, offering a shield to
their blasts. And with the face came a name from deep within
its memory. <Michael>, it thought. <I must find Michael.>
It struggled against consciousness a while longer before
finally surrendering to the black abyss of a restless sleep.
Ricky had been waiting at the restaurant for a little over
half-an-hour when Hausthar finally arrived. It was a small,
friendly establishment located on the fourth floor of an old-
style building near the centre of Tokyo.
Hausthar grabbed the seat opposite hers and slumped into it.
"I'm sorry I'm late" he apologised "but I had some business to
take care of at the base."
"It's all right." replied Ricky, placing her hand gently on
top of his. Hausthar's heart skipped a beat. "I'm just glad
you're here." Her eyelids lowered slightly, accentuating her
schoolgirl look.
"So am I." He stared at her for a while, time forgotten,
until someone cleared their throat next to him. He looked up
to see what looked like a waiter waiting to take their orders.
The newcomer confirmed his suspicions.
"May I take your orders?" he uttered in perfect waiter
fashion, flipping open a small book.
"What do you recommend?" asked Ricky.
"The lasagna is particularly delicious tonight, miss."
answered the waiter, removing the top from his pen.
"We'll have two lasagnas with a bottle of red wine." said
Hausthar.
"Very well sir." replied the waiter and walked off towards
the kitchen, taking two more orders on the way. He had barely
made it to the swinging doors when an explosion sent him to
the floor.
Hausthar looked up just in time to see a ball of fire engulf
the tables closest to the kitchen door, instantly incinerating
those seated around them. A secondary explosion resounded
outside the restaurant's front door, remnants of another
fireball burning through it. Hausthar searched for Ricky and
found her sprawled on the floor. He stood up to help her to
her feet. A flaming support beam speared through the chair he
had been seated in a fraction of a second earlier. More
pieces of the ceiling rained about him as he heard the
frightened screams of patrons running for the fire exits. He
picked up Ricky's inert body before realising that the fallen
beam had blocked his only escape route - he was surrounded by
fire. Frantically he searched for an opening in the wall of
flames. He caught sight of a window behind the waving
curtains of fire. He struggled to get a better glimpse of it;
something snapped in his mind. He felt a gust of wind
originate from it and blow in a straight line between him and
the window, extinguishing the flames.
Ricky's voice came to him through his stupor. "<RUN!>" He
reacted automatically, racing for the window. Another
explosion resounded behind him, sending Hausthar and Ricky
flying through the window, falling to the ground. In his
state of panic it took Hausthar several seconds to realise he
had yet to hit the pavement, and that in fact the speed of his
fall had dramatically reduced. He hit the pavement with a
heavy thud and immediately tried to get back on his feet.
"What the... ?"
A hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him up from the
sidewalk, urging him along the street towards a cab waiting at
the corner. "What happened? <What happened?>" repeated
Hausthar, staring at Ricky's face.
"I can't tell you." she answered, tears streaming down her
face. "I can't tell you. Let's just go home." She hailed the
cab and waited for it to arrive.
CHAPTER 9
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?
Late 20th Century song.
The taxi pulled in front of Research's main gates and let
two figures out before departing again. The two figures
passed by the guards without being challenged and made their
way towards a building in the compound. Neither talked until
they had reached Hausthar's room and closed the door behind
them.
"What was all that about?" demanded Hausthar, making an
obvious effort to keep his voice down. "By all rights, I
shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't have been able to make my way
through the flames and I certainly should not have survived
that fall. <So what the Hell is going on?>"
Ricky was sitting on the couch, looking at her feet, not
daring to raise her head. Hausthar threw his hands up in
desperation and switched on the television in time to catch a
news bulletin about the disaster.
" ...ill no idea on how the fire started, but firemen have
ruled out malicious intent. So far no survivors have been
found as the blaze still rages here in down-town Tokyo, but
witnesses say they saw two figures thrown from the
restaurant's fourth-story window as they tried to escape the
flames. No bodies have been found outside the restaurant so
police are dismissing this account..."
Hausthar turned off the sound and faced Ricky, forcing her
to look at him. Tears were still streaming from her eyes as
he asked her once more, desperation in his voice. "What
happened Ricky?"
"It happened too soon." she answered through her sobs. "You
weren't supposed to awake until I was finished with you."
Hausthar's thoughts were stopped by the shock her words
produced in him. "What do you mean 'until you were finished
with me'?" he asked, sitting down in a chair opposite the
couch. "What were you supposed to do to me?"
Ricky fought down the sobs as she answered his question. "I
was sent to train you, to help you along the way, to try to
make you understand what was about to happen to you. But this
accident triggered off your powers before I had a chance to
explain them to you."
"My powers?" Hausthar said queasily. "I don't have any
powers."
"Yes you do." she replied. "Thanks to your genetic make-
up, you have been granted the power of control over certain
energies. I was sent to try and teach you how to use them
without harm, and I have failed."
Hausthar's mind was becoming quite numb by the minute.
"What genetic make-up? I don't even know my parents."
"That's because you don't have any. You're a clone,
Hausthar! Part of Earth's first experiment at generating
life. Your mother was an artificial womb and your father was
an undifferentiated cell on which your scientists
experimented. You are part of Earth's first Clonal
Triumvirate! That's why you have the Power."
Hausthar slumped into the chair. "A... a clone? Bu.. But
that's impossible, I have memories. I'm a human being, with
feelings, and emotions!"
"You were 'born' a little over a year ago" insisted Ricky
"in a laboratory in this research facility. These memories
you have were impressed upon you as part of your in-vitro
training. The only real memories you have are those of the
past year."
By now Hausthar was gazing blankly past her shoulder,
through the glass door into the night. "You said I was one of
three. Who are the others?"
"I... I'm not allowed to say." admitted Ricky.
"What about the cell donor? Whose cell was it?"
Ricky paused a moment before answering softly. "Lang... It
was Dr. Lang's cells they used for the genetic manipulation."
Hausthar continued to gaze through the window, showing no
signs of life. "I'm sorry Hausthar. You weren't supposed to
learn about all this until I'd finished training you and..."
"Who sent you?" he interrupted.
"I... I can't... " stammered Ricky.
Hausthar insisted. "Who sent you?"
She lowered her head to avoid his gaze as she replied "You
met him when you had your accident a few days ago."
Hausthar emitted a low growl as anger flooded into him. He
got up and briskly walked back and forth along the length of
the room, finally stopping to smash his fist against a door-
jamb. "A pawn!" he roared. "I am meant to be a pawn!" His
fists repeatedly smashed against the wall. "To answer to
someone's whims and fight for him in his power-play? I am no
servant! I am not a clone! I am a human being!" he exclaimed
as he threw open the door and disappeared down the corridor.
Ricky jumped from the couch and ran after him, shouting his
name. She caught sight of him as he rounded a corner but by
the time she herself reached it, he had vanished from the
corridor. She called out his name several times, not caring
about the building's other inhabitants, but to no avail - the
only reply she heard was the sound of her heart. Collapsing
against a wall, she slid down to the floor. "I love you!" she
murmured as she buried her head in her hands and wept.
Hausthar stopped running once he had left the building and
lost himself in the labyrinth that was Research. He walked,
not caring where, until he found a bench hidden by a grove.
Dejectedly, he sat on the bench and threw his head back,
staring at the stars and the moon. His eyes caught on to the
bright body that orbited the Earth just slightly under the
moon. This was 'Little Luna', a Robotech Factory captured by
the R.D.F. a couple of days ago in a daring raid against the
remaining Zentraedi forces in this quadrant. Hausthar gazed
at it for a long time before speaking.
"You and me both, Little Luna. It seems we are both to be
abducted by people we know not, to be used in a fight we care
nothing about. We are both pawns in this game, <toys of
destruction!>"
Michael stood in front of the Colonel's door, waiting to be
let in. He was wondering why he had been called so early in
the morning - what was so important that it had to be done at
3 O'Clock in the morning?
The door finally opened, allowing him to enter. Inside the
office was the Colonel, his aide and a third person who needed
no introduction to Michael. "Dr. Lang! Sir! What are you
doing here? Has something happened to Hausthar?" he
exclaimed. The Colonel harumphed his disapproval. "Oh. I'm
sorry sir." Michael saluted and came to attention.
The Colonel's aide turned towards him and explained.
"Nothing has happened to your friend, Corporal. Dr. Lang here
has asked for you specifically." Lang rose from his seat and
turned just in time to see Michael try and stifle a yawn.
"I'm sorry sir," apologised Michael "but I've had a rather,
er... busy night."
Lang gave a small smile. "It is me who should apologise. I
keep on forgetting there is a 17 hour difference between here
and Japan. But in fact it is because of your, as you said,
busy night that I am here to see you. I need your help,
Corporal."
Michael looked at him questioningly. "How may I be of
assistance to you Dr. Lang?"
"We've had a rather bad case of shell-shock in Tokyo lately.
No, no, it's not your friend Reneth. What we need is someone
to talk to our patient, to humour it, er... her. It seems she
will not be quiet until she's seen you."
"Excuse me sir, but let me try to get this straight. You
got me up at three in the morning to talk to a shell-shock
patient?"
"A very special patient as you will see." replied Lang.
Michael gave out a small sigh. "Very well sir. I'll do
it."
Lang turned towards the Colonel. "Do you mind if I borrow
him for a while? I'll return him as soon as I've finished."
The hangar was guarded by four M.P.s in full gear. Lang
showed them his identification and they immediately began to
open the heavily-barred door.
"Let me try to soften the shock a bit. This is not your
average patient we have in there." started Lang.
"Why?" joked Michael. "Hospital beds too small?"
"You could say that. Remember though, no matter what you
see or hear, I want you to humour that patient. We do not yet
know what might happen if she goes crazy, but given her
condition, it would not be pretty." The guards opened the
door and saluted. "Well then, if you do not have any other
questions, I suggest we go in."
The inside of the hangar was dimly lit, leaving only small
areas lit by yellow globes. In the far corner, Michael could
see a big shadow against the wall, surround by slightly
smaller ones. From the vicinity of the shadow, a voice
emanated.
"Michael, is that you?"
"Michele?" queried Michael, looking around for her. "What
are you doing here?"
"They were kind enough to bring me here from Japan to see
you." replied the voice.
"From Jap...?" started Michael.
Lang interrupted him and turned towards one of the guards.
"I think you'd better hit the lights." The guard moved
towards the nearest wall and fumbled a bit in the dark.
Bright lights came on, illuminating a gigantic chair in which
was seated a Battloid. Michael strained to find Michele, but
could not see her. The Battloid stood up and walked towards
him, extending a waldo.
"Michael," said Michele's voice, coming from the Battloid
"It's so nice to see you again."
Michael shook the waldo, a little dumfounded. He glanced at
the Battloid, trying to understand why it looked so familiar.
Recognition finally came and his mouth opened in consternation
as understanding set in.
The apartment was in complete darkness as Hausthar walked
in. He briefly glanced around but found no signs of Ricky.
Moaning softly he sat down on the couch and tried to
understand how he was feeling. He felt betrayed, hurt, but
above all he felt a sense of loss, as if a part of him was
missing in some way. Surely this could not be attributed to
Ricky's disappearance? After all, he had only known her for
less than a month!
He kicked his shoes off and laid on the seat, hands behind
his head, trying not to think about the cold hand that was
gripping his heart. He lounged there for several minutes,
staring at the darkened ceiling, until a restless sleep
finally took him.
" ...in a big hangar like this one, only it had more
furniture. I've been cooped in there for over two weeks. So
yesterday morning I told them that if they didn't let me see
you soon, I would go on strike and not participate in any more
of their tests." droned the Veritech. It suddenly realised it
had been speaking for the last thirty minutes without letting
her listener place a word in. "Oh! I'm sorry Michael. It's
just that it's been so long since I've talked to somebody I
knew before this accident happened."
Michael smiled a feeble smile. "It's all right Michele, I
understand perfectly. I guess I'd feel that way too if I'd
been prodded and pushed by strangers for so long."
"It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact
that they wouldn't let me see my body in the hospital." A
thought crossed the Battloid's mind. "Say, you wouldn't have
seen it, would you? After all, you are my wing-man."
"Well... I guess... Yes, I have..." stammered Michael.
"How is it doing? Is it all right? No permanent damage I
hope?" it asked anxiously.
"No." Michael answered. "It's doing fine. It's in great
shape. Best I've ever seen."
The Battloid seemed happy about this news. "Good. I guess
I don't have anything to worry about then." It was about to
continue with the conversation when Lang came up to them and
intervened.
"I am sorry to interrupt, but it is getting rather late.
I'm afraid Corporal Circle has to go back to his duties."
"Oh." said the Mecha dejectedly. "I s'pose you have to
then." A trace of sadness was evident in its voice. "Will I
be able to see you again?"
"Sure," answered Michael "any time you want."
Lang walked up to the Battloid and looked it in the eye.
"You need some rest too, Michele. Why don't you try to sleep
a bit while I walk the Corporal back to the office?"
"Very well Dr. Lang." replied the Veritech as it once again
returned to its gigantic chair.
"Doctor Lang," asked Michael as it left them "why is it
carrying a GU-11?" In fact, the Battloid was not only armed
with its GU-11, but Michael had noticed it also had a full
complement of heat-seeking missiles on its wing pylons.
Lang cleared his throat before answering. "It complained
that it felt naked without them. It started to go hysterical
on us after a couple of hours, so we armed it with a full
weapons complement. It's been quiet ever since." Lang gently
grabbed Michael's arm and started towards the exit, pulling
him along. "I'm afraid I have some other news for you, but
you may not like it."
Michael stepped through the door into the cold night air of
the outside and turned towards him. "What now?"
"Well... " started Lang "we ran some psychological tests on
her." He pointed towards the hangar with his thumb.
"And?"
"And it seems it's in love with you." Lang let out abruptly.
"<WHAT?>" shouted Michael. "You can't be serious. I have
enough trouble keeping up with the <human> Michele, but a
sixty feet tall can of sardine..? I'd never survive the
relationship!"
"We totally agree with you, but it thinks of itself as
human. So do many of our experts. They've even started to
refer to it as 'her'. What we need... " Lang never got to
finish his sentence - a dark shadow was approaching from the
base, calling out to them.
"Michael. I was told I'd find you here. Why'd you leave in
the middle of the night?"
"<MICHELE?!>" cried Michael. "What are you doing here?
Didn't they tell you to..." He never finished either. A loud
screech came from the hangar as its door was forced open from
the inside. The tall figure of the Battloid stepped through
the opening and rightened itself before speaking.
"Did you call me Mi..." it started to say when it caught
sight of Michele. It stiffened as its sensors registered the
identity of this newcomer. "Who... Who are you?" it demanded.
Michele was struck dumb by the question. "Corporal Michele
Cequor. Who are you?" she responded.
The Mecha took a step forward, emitting bizarre sounds.
"This cannot be. You cannot be me. I am Michele Cequor."
The Veritech's computer fought against the data its sensors
were sending it. swaying slightly, it took a few more steps
towards the base's runway, its voice garbled by electronic
noises. It finally turned towards the group of humans and re-
iterated its plea. "You cannot be real. You must be an
imposter." it wailed.
"I am Corporal Michele Cequor, service number 879-554871,
attached to Skull Squadron under the orders of Lieutenant
Richard Hunter." replied Michele in a daze.
A warning came from one of the guards as it spied movement
coming from the Mecha. "HIT THE DECK!" came the shout as all
responded to the cry.
The Battloid's wings swung apart, showing four pylons
covered with missiles. It held its head in its hand as it
shook it, trying to resolve the conflict that raged within.
Finally, it fell to its knees, arms akimbo, shouting to the
sky. "<NOOO!>"
Red light flooded the area as twelve streaks of smoke rose
from the wings into the night sky.
The missiles flew up for five hundred meters, then turned
around and returned whence they came. The explosion deafened
those present as the twelve carriers of death impacted with
the Battloid, reducing it to dust, sending shrapnel hundreds
of meters away.
As the witnesses stood up and brushed the dust from their
faces, there were some who swore they had heard a sound still
hanging on the wind after the roar...
The sound of someone weeping.
CHAPTER 10
Through good times,
And bad times,
I'll be on your side forever more
'Cause that's what friends are for.
Late 20th Century song.
We are the Night Music - Search, Attack, Destroy. We are
not under your command. We bring the war to the enemy.
R. Sopwith, commander of the Night Music Squadron.
Lang's reaction to the destruction of the Battloid had been
a mixed one. Search teams combed the runway all day, picking
up the pieces of a mecha which had committed suicide. By
nightfall, Lang and his team were on their way back to Japan,
carrying with them a handbag's worth of electronic components
that had been salvaged from the wreckage. Needless to say
that two pilots got the talk-down of their life.
"Shee-<eet>!" exclaimed Michael as he closed the office door
behind him. "You'd think the Colonel was holding us
personally responsible for this incident."
Michele leaned against the wall, hands behind her head.
"Well... we were... sort of." She still couldn't understand
the sudden impulse which had made her search for him in the
middle of the night, precipitating the Battloid's suicide.
"So what do we do now?" she asked, eyes half closed as she
looked at him.
"I do believe we have some unfinished business to take care
of." replied Michael, nodding his head towards their quarters.
Michele giggled. "You cad!" she murmured as she took hold
of his hand and urged him towards the door.
Waking up to an empty apartment was not really a harrowing
experience, but remembering why it was empty nearly had
Hausthar decide to call in sick and spend the rest of the day
in bed, feeling sorry for himself. The final decision was
made for him as his quarter's door opened to let someone
through.
"Good morning Corporal." said a metallic voice. Hausthar
looked up and saw one of Lang's waiter-droids standing next to
his bed. "The doctor regrets that he is not here to give you
your assignment in person" continued the droid "but he had
urgent business in the States. The doctor should be back
later today. Until then, you are required to remain in
contact with Research. That is all." The droid opened a
small compartment in its cylindrical body and an electronic
pager landed on the bedside table. The droid bowed slightly
and departed, closing the door behind it.
Hausthar picked up the pager and looked at it. <So>, he
thought, <I'm given the day off.> He got up and walked over
to the phone, pager in hand, and dialed a number from memory.
"George? Hausthar. Have you completed our little
transaction?... Good. Listen, I'll be along in half an hour.
Do you think you can get her ready by then?... Yes, with full
load. I want to take her up for a test run... Thanks." He
returned the handle to its cradle and went back into the
bedroom to change.
Hangar D was a structure of metal built at the furthest end
of the base. Looking at it, no-one would suspect that it was
in use - rust flaked from its walls, abandoned oil-drums
littered around it. Inside, however, was the latest in
Robotechnology - a newly repaired prototype Alpha Fighter.
Hausthar walked around it, visually checking it out whilst
George ran the electronics through their paces.
Probe in hand, George was checking the response in the
Alpha's right support thruster. "Hey, Haust! How're you
gonna get this baby off the ground without the controllers
getting suspicious? This plane ain't exactly inconspicuous."
Hausthar emerged from the underside, where he had been
checking the intakes. "I've got a friend working there. He
told me what to say to get clearance. My only trouble will be
to get up in the air as fast as possible before someone
decides to check me out visually."
"Guess you know what you're doing." George's head
disappeared inside the cockpit only to reappear a second
later. "Are you sure you want this gadget in here? It ain't
exactly regulations you know." His hand was holding a
cassette-player for Hausthar's inspection.
"Yeah, I do. It's been done before, hasn't it?"
"Are you kidding? There was only one other in the R.D.F.
with a cassette-player hooked to his internal systemry... and
he never came back from the attack on Dolza's command ship."
"Well I don't intend on going MIA like Commander Sopwith, if
that's what you mean."
George sighed and started opening the jet's console panels.
"What's the big idea anyway? You get bored listening to the
tac-net or somethin'?"
"Sopwith was the R.D.F.'s greatest ace. This is my way of
remembering the anniversary of his disappearance. So get on
with it will you?"
"All right, all right. Getting on with it." grumbled
George. Sounds of an electronic drill came from the cockpit
and filled the air in the hangar's closed environment.
Michael and Michele were duking it out, exchanging cannon
fire, missiles tearing up the skies as they sought to reach
their targets. Michele's grey Veritech went Battloid and
tried to get a bead on Michael's light-green Guardian as it
went into a spin, trying to evade one of the mavericks she had
launched at him. Michael's Guardian suddenly changed
direction by ninety degrees upward just as the missile was
going to reach it. The maverick didn't have time to follow
and flashed past the Mecha as Michael brought his GU-11 to
bear on it, emptying most of his clip into it before it
finally ruptured.
Without letting a moment slip by, Michael went ballistic to
evade the cannon-fire Michele was directing his way and
mechamorphed to Battloid. Letting go two AMRAAMs, he followed
them in, using their smoke-trail and radar paint to hide.
Michele destroyed both missiles but could not react fast
enough to dodge out of Michael's way - the two Battloids met
in mid-air, metallic collision sounds echoing through the
battle-field. Falling from the sky, the two mecha wrestled,
Michael getting the upper hand just as they crashed onto the
ground. Before Michele could react Michael attacked with
devastating results, his Battloid's foot smashing her mecha's
right leg to pieces. Warning sirens resounded as the Battloid
went down on one knee. Michael moved in for the kill, GU-11
aimed at pilot's cockpit. The smug look on his face
disappeared as he registered a quick movement from the downed
Veritech. The last thing he saw were five Sidewinders
screaming towards him before the world went black.
Victory sounds emerged from the <Battloid Attack!> machine
as the 3D screen disappeared from between the two players. A
stylised Rick Hunter jumped out from the cockpit of a grey
Veritech and received a kiss from a very recognizable
representation of singing star Lynn Minmei. Michael grunted
in disgust as his score showed him ranked as 20th on the best
50 players list. "Care to go it a second round?" smirked
Michele, entering her name in the top place on the list.
Michael was saved the embarrassment as a well-known voice
resounded near them. "Congratulations on a good game, both of
you." Michael looked up to see the Sterlings leaning against
the wall next to the machine. Both pilots stood up and
saluted their commanding officers.
"Thank you Sir." said Michael. "May I ask how long you have
been watching?"
"Long enough to see some interesting moves." replied Miriya
Sterling. "It's the first time I've seen anyone use their
missiles as a smoke and radar screen."
"Thank you Ma'am. But surely you must have done better."
"I don't know. My first game against Max is not one I'm
likely to forget. He literally thrashed me."
Maximillian Sterling was starting to blush. "Miriya, I
don't think they want to hear about this."
"Oh, yes we do." blurted Michele. "Please tell us more
about this, Commander."
"Well," started Miriya "it's a long story and we are awaited
somewhere else..." She paused, thinking. "Why don't you come
with us, then I'll be able to tell you about it on the way."
"But we wouldn't want to intrude..." stammered Michael.
"Nonsense!" interrupted Max. "I'm sure you'll be welcomed,
so let's not hear another word about it." He hesitated for a
moment. "Anybody knows where we might get a taxi around
here?"
"This is Alpha X-ray 250, requesting clearance."
"Tower to Alpha X-ray 250. I'm sorry, but we don't seem to
have any flight plans from you."
Hausthar breathed in deeply before answering. "Affirmative
Tower. I have override clearance. Clearance code Delta
Foxtrot 5."
The voice from the tower paused a few seconds, making
Hausthar sweat. Finally, the confirmation was given. "Tower
to Alpha X-ray 250, Research and Development clearance code
confirmed. You are cleared for take-off on runway 36."
Hausthar nudged the throttle along its tracks, taxied to the
runway and finally pushed the throttle to the maximum. The
Alpha screamed down the length of the runway, attaining take-
off speed within a few seconds. Hausthar pulled on the stick
and the jet aimed for the sky, leaving the confines of gravity
behind. Switching to navigation radar Hausthar plotted a
course out of Tokyo, towards the Washingtonian Wastelands.
Changing frequencies on his radio, Hausthar selected a
secured band and contacted George. "George? I've taken off
without any worries. How's it going back there?"
The radio crackled a few times before the answer came
through. "It's going fine. Nobody realised what plane you
were flying. Are you still gonna go through with it?"
"I guess it's the only way to show these idiots that this
plane is flyable. I don't think they'll have much against it
if it manages to fly around the world without a hitch. I
should reach the coast within the next half hour if my speed
holds up."
"Where do you plan on going next?"
"After I reach the coast I'll use New Macross' beacon to aim
for New Detroit, then on to York, New London, Delhi, and I
should be back home before the evening meal."
"Got it. See you then. Out."
"Out." Hausthar turned the radio off and concentrated on
his flying. Soon, he reached the limit of the ocean and
reached to place a tape in the cassete-deck. The haunting
sounds of <Ride of the Valkyrie> filled the cockpit. In front
of him, the sun was reaching for the sky on its never-ending
cycle of night and day.
The house was located on the outskirts of New Macross, away
from the hustle and bustle of the city. A knock on the door
by Max Sterling and the door opened, revealing an attractive
young lady of about his age with short blonde hair. "Max,
Miriya! Thanks for coming." She noticed the group behind the
two. "Who are your friends?"
Max stepped aside, introducing his crew. "These people are
Corporals Michele Cequor and Michael Circle." He turned
towards them. "I'd like to introduce a very good friend of
mine, First Lieutenant Jennifer Colquhoun. She went through
training with me and Ben."
Lieutenant Colquhoun moved to the side, letting them enter.
Taking care of their jackets, she led them inside to join the
group of people waiting there and introduced them. "This is
my brother, Charles..."
A young man extended his hand towards them. "Call me Chas."
he said, smiling broadly.
"... and this is Sergeant Verndt." The other person stood
up, a tall figure looking ill at ease in the company of the
new-comers, his light hair clashing with the bright brown of
his eyes. "Verndt is a Zentraedi who defected at the same
time as the others. He was assigned to the Night Music as a
Veritech Pilot."
"I'm glad to meet you." said Verndt, extending his hand,
uncertain. <I know how you feel>, thought Michele. <A
stranger amongst strangers.> She took his hand and shook it
warmly.
"I'm glad to meet you too Verndt." she said sincerely with a
smile on her face.
Jennifer Colquhoun reappeared from the next room with two
extra seats and offered them to Michael and Michele. They
took the extended chairs and sat next to the Sterlings.
Michele leaned towards Maximillian and asked softly "What are
we doing here?"
Max turned towards her and answered "We are here to remember
lost friends and honour those of us who didn't make it through
the war. It's a tradition in the Night Music."
A warm fire sparkled and snapped in the fireplace.
The Alpha was making its way towards New Macross, preparing
to sling-shot towards New Detroit when the fight erupted below
it. Fireballs reached for the sky, forcing Hausthar to dodge
hard to starboard. Looking downward he saw a small human
settlement under attack from two Zentraedi Pods and a
Zentraedi foot-soldier. Checking his armaments, he
mechamorphed to Guardian and dove into the fire-storm. The
first salvo of missiles erupted all around the Zentraedi foot-
soldier, ripping the flesh from his bones, instantly killing
him. The second salvo totally missed its mark, exploding
harmlessly as the Battle Pod jumped clear. The second Pod, an
Officer's, fired its particle cannon at the Alpha, puncturing
the armor, frying internals, severing power circuits. Power
readings in the cockpit dropped by half as Hausthar drew a
bead on the Tactical Pod, obliterating it under a shower of
bullets from the Veritech's GU-XX.
The Officer Pod wasted no time retaliating with a couple of
Armor-Piercing missiles, damaging the Veritech's power core,
reducing power even further. Hausthar started to panic,
sensing Death moving in from the sidelines. His alpha waves
jumped in and out of sync with the Veritech, causing it to
respond erratically to his commands. In his mind, Hausthar
was screaming in anger and fear... and something snapped.
He felt as if he was drinking alcohol, but not with a glass
or a bottle - It was as though the alcohol was being pumped
down his throat at high pressure, burning his throat, his
stomach, his entire body. He screamed in pain but the flow of
hurt would not stop.
Max Sterling stood up, facing the group and the fire-place,
holding his glass in his upraised hand. "To those of us
facing the horrors of war daily."
Hausthar screamed as energy crackled around his Guardian.
The Veritech re-configured into Battloid, holding its
'stomach' in pain as luminescent snakes twirled around it. On
the verge of blacking out, Hausthar shouted in pain, wishing
the hurt to go away. The energies around the Veritech
coalesced into a ball and shot upwards into the atmosphere,
rapidly disappearing from sight.
The Officer's Pod's pilot swore as the power was
mysteriously drained from his mecha. Without pausing to
think, he popped the seals of his canopy, jumped out and
downed the enemy Battloid with a punch, surprised by the lack
of response from its pilot. The Zentraedi took no notice of
the slowly-opening missile launchers as he pummeled the mecha
and ripped one of its hands off.
Charles Colquhoun stood up next and raised his glass. "To
those of us who didn't make it. To Richard Stoner, Ben
Dixon... and all the others who died so we could be here to
remember them."
Hausthar felt himself slip into unconsciousness. All around
him, the only sights and sounds were those of a Zentraedi
Renegade destroying the Alpha with his bare fists. In pain,
slowly, he tried to reach the HOTAS, hoping he was not too
late.
Jennifer was the last to toast. "To Ralph Sopwith." The
empty glasses were thrown into the fireplace, all but hers.
They flew a parabolic course, smashing against the brick wall,
the shards falling towards the fire that would erase all
traces of their existence.
A rumble warned the Zentraedi that something was wrong. He
had about half a second to ponder the subject before the
missiles hit him at point-blank range, penetrating his armor,
exploding inside his body, sending shrapnel over the
countryside. The Veritech disappeared within the eruption of
flames that followed the thunder of the explosion.
The power-ball still flew upwards in what seemed a random
fashion; three shadowy figures looked from their hiding place,
nudging it along the way. The ball left the atmosphere and
flew straight towards the mecha factory that laid in orbit
around the world. It connected and entered the power grid,
shorting circuitry. All around the factory, warnings were
sent as machinery shut-down one by one. Figures ran about,
putting out the fires and cutting power before new ones
erupted.
A tall figure dressed in a blue coat and white captain's hat
looked at the mess in front of him. He turned towards the
gnomish shadow next to him. "How bad is it, Exedore?" he
asked.
The Zentraedi paused before answering. "I'm afraid it may
be much worse than first thought, Admiral Gloval. We might be
down permanently." he answered.
"I see." growled the visitor. Both were aware that no-one
present could repair the alien automated systemry that had
fried. The factory was now no more than an orbiting scrap-
yard.
CHAPTER 11
Midnight Blues -
So lonely without you.
Late 20th Century song.
Whoever said "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to
have loved at all" was a complete <jerk>.
Remark attributed to Michele Cequor.
"... Disobeying orders as you did is inexcusable! That
plane was supposed to be moth-balled, like its partner, but
thanks to you it is now a piece of junk." Doctor Lang was
pacing the length and breadth of the office as he was
bellowing at Hausthar. "It's a miracle you came out of there
alive. By all rights you should be dead."
"Yes..." smirked Hausthar, his voice full of sarcasm "I seem
to have a knack for avoiding death lately."
"Your actions were inexcusable, irresponsible and
unforgivable. You acted with the responsibility of..."
"Of a fourteen month-old clone?" interrupted Hausthar.
Lang stopped dead in his tracks and looked him in the eyes.
"What did you say?" he enquired.
"I said 'a fourteen month-old clone'. Isn't that what I am,
Doctor?" Hausthar stood up from his seat and moved towards
Lang.
"How... when did you learn of this?" asked Lang.
"About two days ago. It now makes perfect sense: lost
family, found wandering in from the Wastelands, no memories,
no friends that go back more than a year. The perfect set-
up!" Hausthar was gritting his teeth in an effort to stop the
anger from flowing out. "What I want to know, Doctor, is
<why>? Why did you do this? What reasons can you have for
toying with someone's life as if you were God?"
Lang sat down heavily at his desk. "I suppose 'how' doesn't
really matter anymore, now that you do know. It was to be our
greatest achievement, the creation of lives exactly like ours,
human in every respect. So we created you. You were grown
in-vitro for a couple of months, then brought to the real
world. We took great pain to make sure no-one would know who
you really were: we implanted false memories into your mind,
we made sure your past history was untraceable, your Academy
records were forged to make it look as though you had
transferred in half-way through the course. It was all worked
out perfectly." Lang slumped in his seat.
"But why, Doctor?" insisted Hausthar. "<Why?>"
Lang looked him in the eye. "Look at me Hausthar. Take a
good look. People talk of me as the new Einstein, as somebody
who is not to be understood. Respected, feared perhaps, but
not liked. I, too, consider myself human. Do you know how
hard it is to relate to someone when all they can think of is
the fact that your eyes do not have irises, that you are not
like them. But I am. You asked me why I did what I did... I
wanted to know what it was like to be a father. Is that so
hard to understand?"
"You did not have the right to make me a freak!" howled
Hausthar.
"Is that how you consider yourself?" countered Lang.
"Biologically created or genetically engineered, what is the
difference if the end products cannot be differentiated? You
are as human as I am, as human as the next."
A cynical laugh came from Hausthar. "Not quite, Doctor. I
have learned a lot since." His face fell. "Who are the
others, Doctor Lang... <Father>." He spoke the last word with
as much cynicism as he could muster.
"I am not allowed to..." started Lang, when he stopped
short. All over the office, the lights were fading, turning
off one by one. The only source of radiance was centered
around Hausthar - whips of light snaked around him, alive in
their power, ominous in their presence.
"Tell me!" Hausthar insisted, oblivious to the light's
presence.
<My God! When did he ever...> Lang studied the effect
surrounding Hausthar as he answered. "The first is named
Michele Cequor. She's assigned to the Skull Squadron."
"What about the second?"
"... It's Victor." admitted Lang.
The words hit Hausthar with enough force to render him numb.
The luminescent effect around him faded and died as the light
came back on. "Victor?" he repeated.
"Yes. He was the first we tried to revive. Something
happened, we're still not sure what, and his body started to
deteriorate. We were able to save the brain and transfer it
to the shell of a prototype android. We re-worked the
prototype to allow for life-support and that's how he came
into being." He stood up and walked over to Hausthar, placing
a hand on his shoulder. "Even though he has a metallic body,
he is as human as you and I... son."
The two Veritechs swooped through the air as their pilots
tried to out-fly one another in friendly competition.
Michele's grey jet did a complete loop and found itself on the
tail of Michael's light-green Mecha.
"Bang! You've just been shot down, Corporal." said Michele
over the Tac-Net. "You should watch your rear more often."
"Sorry." apologised Michael. "Guess I've been watching
yours too much."
"I don't mind," laughed Michele "but I think the Commander
won't be too happy if we bring these planes back full of
holes."
"Nah! Commander Hayes's never happy anyway." replied
Michael. "How about lunch in New Detroit?"
"Isn't it outside of our area? You know who patrols the New
Detroit sector."
"So what? I can't help it if Hunter's gonna be where we
want to eat. So what do you say?"
Michele didn't even take time to think. "You got yourself a
date, mister." The Veritechs rose and banked as they made for
New Detroit.
Victor watched through the window as Hausthar left the
building. It was not until the figure had disappeared that he
finally spoke. "Did you tell him?"
Lang sighed as he looked up from the papers he was reading.
"He knew already." he admitted. "I did nothing more than
confirm his suspicions. Although I must say that you took the
news much better when it was told to you."
"May I remind you, Doctor, that the only reason I know what
I am is because you were careless enough to let a certain
dossier of yours fall into my hands. I am certain you would
have been quite happy to let me go through life not knowing."
accused Victor.
"I guess it's true." answered Lang.
Victor turned back towards the window, pensive. "Theirs not
to make reply; Theirs not to reason why; Theirs but to do and
die."
"What was that?" queried Lang.
"A poem from the Nineteenth Century. It talks about an
absurd military order. And even though those that were to
carry it out knew it was suicidal, the order was still
obeyed."
Lang leaned back in his seat, staring at the sky through the
window, thinking back to the war against the Zentraedi,
thinking of Hausthar and Michele. "How appropriate."
Hausthar was sitting at his booth in the Black Pegasus,
gazing at the glass of vodka in front of him, debating whether
or not to drink it. A shadow fell over the glass.
"Hausthar?"
He glanced up and saw Ricky standing next to him. "So.
What now? Am I supposed to roll over and beg? Or do I go out
and crawl up to whoever's in charge?" A hurt look came across
Ricky's face. "Sorry." he apologised. "I guess it was
uncalled for."
"It's all right," replied Ricky in a small voice, sitting
down next to him "I understand what it is like to be used. I
am in the same boat you are..." She breathed in deeply before
continuing. "My real name is Muriel. I was part of the
civilian contingent carried on the SDF-1. I 'died' during the
assault on Dolza's command-ship, when a stray missile
destroyed the bunker I was in. It nearly killed me."
Tears started to appear in the corners of her eyes. "With
the ship's gravity turned off, I drifted until I made my way
to the engines. The last thing I remember clearly is one of
the engines opening up like a gigantic maw, and something that
looked like a gigantic crystalline model of an atom." She
sniffed before continuing.
"Everything's a blur after that. I think I remember some
sort of rectangular bath-tub, filled with green goo. When I
came to again, I had changed into what you see. Not that I
mind..." she tried to joke. The attempt fell flat. "I chose
the name Ricky for myself. And I soon learned that I was able
to do things the average person could only dream about -
controlling the Power generated by Protoculture. I was
scared, I didn't know what to do."
She looked up straight into Hausthar's eyes, her voice
revealing the strain of her emotions, eyes brimming with
tears. "Then I saw three shadowy figures appear in front of
me, and they told me I was to teach you how to use these
powers I had. I can't begin to tell you how glad I was that
there was another like me... that I was not a freak..." she
broke down, crying.
<A freak>, thought Hausthar. <I know how you feel>. He
reached over and pulled her close to him in an effort to
comfort her. She buried her head in his arms and wept.
Michael and Michele had been eating in a restaurant just
outside the New Detroit airfield when the attack began:
several Male Power-Armors swooped on the city, opening fire
indiscriminantly on civilian and military targets alike. As
things were, they were the only RDF personnel in New Detroit
at the time, so the newcomers had pretty much the run of the
city.
A short dash across the road brought the pilots to their
Mecha and soon the air was filled with laser-fire being
exchanged. Michele looked to her left, towards the city's
council building, and saw several Zentraedi workers enter it,
destroying surveillance cameras on the way.
"Michael, take a look at four O'clock and tell me what these
bozos are doing."
Michael glanced quickly over his shoulder and swore. "Damn,
they're going for the Protoculture sizing chamber. We can't
let them get their hands on that thing." The chamber was a
Robotech device allowing the Zentraedi to artificially alter
their height from sixty feet-tall giants to human-size and
back. Not something to allow to fall in the wrong hands.
"Problem is, if we stop chasing these Armors, they'll start
firing at the city again."
"Way ahead of you on that one." responded Michele. "Skull
Thirteen to SDF-2, do you read?"
The screen in front of her rezzed to life as SDF-2 Control
responded. "SDF-2 to Skull Thirteen, Commander Hayes
speaking. What is your problem?"
"We have a Malcontent attack on New Detroit - three Male
Power Armors and several Zentraedi on foot, full sized and
micronised. We can take care of the Armors but it seems that
the others are trying to take possession of the Sizing Chamber
that's stored here."
"Roger Skull Thirteen. Concentrate on the Armors, we are
sending help on the way. SDF-2 out." The screen de-rezzed,
once again showing tactical information on the fighting.
Michael's face appeared on one of the side screens, eyebrow
cocked questioningly.
"So, what are we to do?"
"The usual." replied Michele. "We go down there and wrestle
with the Armors and try not to get our asses kicked. Which
one do you want?"
Michael looked at his screen before answering, studying the
information on it. "You're better at stunt flying than I am,
so I guess I'll leave the slippery one to you and take on the
other two. Just make sure you don't take too long and leave
me stuck with all the work."
Both Veritechs peeled off, running after their own quarries,
lasers unleashing megawatts of energy. Michele flew after her
target, dog-tailing it as it twisted and turned in an effort
to evade her.
Hausthar was feeling a little silly, standing in the middle
of the park, head facing the sky, eyes closed in meditation.
Ricky was standing next to him, in the same position, talking
him through the exercise. "Image the world around you, as you
remember it. Let your mind flow through that creation of your
thoughts. Let it wander, don't try to force it to go
anywhere. Just let it flow with the wind. Now think of
energy, of Protoculture. Relax."
Hausthar did as he was told and gasped in surprise as a
crystal clear picture of the surrounding area appeared in his
mind. All over the picture, waves of force flowed through,
like a rolling sea. He let his mind wander towards the origin
of the waves and found himself in a place whose details
shivered, forbidding any clear identification. In front of
him was a brilliant light, brighter than anything he'd ever
seen, but still allowing him to look straight into it. He
concentrated on it and felt the light gathering force. The
light suddenly sprang towards him and would surely have hit if
a shadow hadn't come between it and its target, jarring
Hausthar out of his concentration. "What happened?" he
gasped.
"I had to stop you." explained Ricky "You were about to tap
into a generator. And I don't think you're ready for that
sort of power."
Hausthar sat down next to her on the grass, leaning on one
hand. "So what can I do with that power?"
Ricky looked at him with a frown. "I don't know what <you>
can do, but theoretically it is possible to create energy
shields, power-balls, power javelins, and so forth. You can
also totally drain a generator in a matter of microseconds and
shape it at will. Theoretically you have total control over
the Protoculture Energy. In practice, however..." She
shrugged. "Personally, I have yet to be able to create a
shield, although I'm quite good at generating power-balls.
They come in handy for disrupting power-grids."
"Isn't it possible to kill with this?"
"I don't know, I never tried. What you do is disrupt the
power-connections in your target... you short-circuit it in
other words. I suppose that if you poured enough power into
it, you could kill someone."
"And what about this Protoculture and Neoculture business.
How do I know which I am using?" he enquired.
Ricky sighed. "I thought I'd already explained that one.
There are no such entities, just reflections on how you use
the power. You know the saying 'total power corrupts
totally'? Well you have control over ultimate power -
Protoculture. How you use it is up to you, but it is
intoxicating. Once you have used it, you long to use it again
and again. Those that give in to that craving do not care how
or why they use the power. That's when they start to slide.
A shadow falls over their hearts and minds. They care about
nothing else - they become children to the Shadow. And pretty
soon, the power starts to eat them up from the inside. They
begin to use more and more of it, as often as possible and
their bodies just can't cope with that much power."
Ricky pointed towards the fountain next to them. "Your body
is like that fountain: with the right amount of water at the
right pressure, it all goes well, and it looks pretty. But if
you put too much water in it, or if you increase the pressure
to much, it becomes destructive to the fountain and deadly to
both it and those around it. That's what ultimately happens
to all of us, the power burns us up. But if we use as little
of it as possible, we can die of old age before that happens.
Children of the Shadow, however, care not about what happens,
they only see what is in front of them, what the power can
give them. They burn twice as bright... but for only half as
long."
Two lovers walked by, intertwined. Hausthar heard Ricky
sigh as she stared at them. "Do you know how much I crave for
a normal life again? To be able to love someone without
wondering if tomorrow will be the day I burn up? To be able
to hold someone tightly without fearing that they'll discover
who I am and hate me for it?" She sighed again. "But that's
my lot, and now that I've drawn it I must make the best of
it."
She laid back on the grass, staring at the sky before
speaking again. "Just promise me that you will fight the
urge, that you won't give in to it? Please, it'd mean so much
to me."
Hausthar looked at her longingly as he answered "I promise."
Michele dodged in and out of the Armor's laser fire. She
released a couple of missiles, but the pilot of the Armor
evaded them with ease. Her commanding officer chose this
particular time to remind her he existed.
"Skull One to Skull Thirteen. How are things going over
where you are?"
<The usual perfect timing, commander.> Michele avoided an
incoming particle-beam before answering. "Just the usual,
Lieutenant Hunter; Malcontents trying to make off with a piece
of Robotechnology. We've got the Mecha pretty well handled,
but we can't go after those on foot."
Hunter rogered her report before continuing. "We'll be
there in five minutes. Can you hold out that long?"
Who does he think we are, thought Michele. A bunch of
amateur? But it was Michael who answered first. "I think we
can manage, Sir. But we'll still be happier when you do show
up."
"I roger that." said Hunter. "ETA four minutes, see you
then." His face disappeared from their screens.
Michele's thoughts turned back to the fighting at hand just
in time to see the Power Armor engage her in hand-to-hand
combat. She mechamorphed to Battloid, GU-11 still strapped to
her right fore-arm. The Armor's pilot tried to get her in a
half-nelson, but she slipped from his grasp and power-punched
the Mecha's sensors.
The Battloid's right hand and fore-arm disappeared into the
enemy Mecha. The pilot had barely enough time to realise that
the thing tearing through his console was the enemy's GU-11
before the gattling emptied most of its rounds into his face.
The Armor falling towards the ground lifelessly, Michele
disengaged her Battloid's arm from the useless Mecha and
searched for her wingman. A shout for help brought her Mecha
around.
Michael was in trouble - his Veritech shot in several
places, it had been grabbed by the remaining Armors and was
being carried away at great speed.
"<MICHAEL!>" cried Michele. "What's going on?"
Michael's voice was resigned as he spoke. "They shot my
engines. And the self-destruct mechanism is down as well.
Wonder who the little sod is who didn't devise a fail-safe on
this thing. Michele, I've got worse news - my mechamorphosys
circuits are intact... and I can't get to them."
Michele gasped at the news. It was a long-standing order of
the RDF not to let the circuits permitting the Veritechs to
change mode fall into enemy hands, no matter what the cost.
"I'm going to shoot. Eject!"
Michael laughed, a laugh that ended in a wet cough. On the
screen, Michele saw him spit blood. "I've got more bad news.
I got shot through the seat - can't eject. Probably wouldn't
survive if I did... " He paused as he wiped the blood from
his chin. "Michele, I want you to destroy my Veritech."
"But Mic..."
"<No buts!>" interrupted Michael. "You know the orders. No
intact circuit must fall into enemy hands. Now shoot!"
Michele shook her head, trying to dismiss this reality as a
bad dream, tears rolling down her cheeks. <I'll always be
around if you need me>, a voice echoed through her mind. She
screamed. "<MICHAEL!!>"
The pilots of the Armors panicked as their power readings
faded into nothingness. The three Mecha hung in the air,
holding one another in a sick parody of a hug. A flash of
light appeared from the helpless Veritech - it grew outward
into a ball, encompassing all three Mecha. The ball of light
suddenly disappeared, revealing the war machines untouched...
then a gigantic explosion ruptured all three at the same time,
shrapnel raining to the ground.
Michele landed her Battloid, jumped out and searched the
debris, hoping against hope that Michael had survived. She
wept openly as she rummaged about, sobbing his name into the
wind.
"Michael..."
Up above, four Veritechs screamed through the sky... the re-
inforcements had finally arrived.
CHAPTER 12
The weird thing was, I had been training for over two months
with Ricky. And I was getting good, if a little sloppy. Then
along came this young woman and she flattened me! This is not
something I was prepared to forgive and forget, no matter who
the other person was.
Hausthar C. Reneth, DIARIES OF A BROKEN HEART.
Give me five good reasons as to why I should let you live.
Michele Cequor.
The base's psychoanalysts had told her she needed a holiday
and had packed her off to the Antarctic Base in way of rest.
Her posting there had been termed '...temporary, until you
feel better.' This had been over three months ago, in
September. It was now late December, a cold day with snow
beginning to fall from grey clouds onto the streets of New
Macross. Michele's plane started its approach to the airbase,
passing over the top of the old SDF-1 and the newly-built SDF-
2, two gigantic monoliths back-to-back. Michele gazed at the
two Dimensional Fortresses, wondering when she would have a
chance to experience the wonders of a deep-space mission.
The transport plane landed and proceeded to unload its
passengers at the military air-terminal. Michele grabbed her
bags and walked out briskly, feeling an urge to be re-united
with her Veritech fighter, to loose herself in the technology
it represented, to forget about... <Michael>. She fought down
a welling of tears and quickly wiped her nose before meeting
those that she knew awaited her.
Miriya Sterling waved at her, trying to get her attention.
Michele moved through the throng in an effort to get to her,
gave up, and followed a parabolic course instead. Miriya
greeted her warmly.
"Good to see you again Michele. How was your time at the
Antarctic base?"
"Fine, thank you Ma'am." responded Michele.
Miriya looked Michele over, feeling something was not right.
She could not put her finger on it until she looked into her
eyes. A queer feeling overcame her as she did so - Michele's
eyes were dead, reflecting none of the life one would expect
to see. <It's as though she herself has died>, thought
Miriya. "Max is waiting for us." she finally said out loud.
"He's keeping the engine warm. It's quite chilly outside."
Michele gazed at her, showing no emotion. "Not as cold as
the Antarctic Ma'am." <Not as cold as I feel inside.>
For over two months now Hausthar had been training with
Ricky, honing his skills in this new-found power. He was
sitting in a secluded corner of a public park in New Macross,
concentrating on this new exercise. A shimmering screen
appeared in front of him, light appeared and took on a
physical form, like the outline of a hemisphere. Ricky
watched a moment more, then threw a rock at him. The
projectile flew towards Hausthar but bounced off the wall of
light and came to rest a few meters away.
Ricky walked over to Hausthar and sat next to him. "You're
getting better, your shield was stronger this time. You still
seem to have trouble controlling the aspect of the energy
though. I felt the wall slipping into a power-lance for a
second before the stone hit it."
Hausthar sighed and leant back onto the grass. "So sue me.
It's not exactly easy you know - two months ago I couldn't
even light a match on purpose. At least now I am able to
control when I use the power."
"You'll never be able to totally control its coming and
going." warned Ricky. "Sometimes it pops up without being
solicited. The trick is to learn to take action quickly when
it does occur." She laid beside him, head on his chest.
Time passed as they watched the sky and listened to the
birds, savoring each other's company. Ricky was first to
break the silence. "Hausthar, why did Doctor Lang bring you
to New Macross? And why did he bring that infernal plane with
him?"
Hausthar laughed. "I think he's going to make a last ditch
effort at having the Alpha placed back at the top of
Research's agenda. As for me, I guess he decided it was time
to introduce me to the scientists here. Think of it - Lang
presenting his son, the clone. If this stunt doesn't give him
more clout with the council, I don't know what will. People
say Lang doesn't understand normal people. That's where they
make a terrible mistake: he is the best I have seen at bending
people's will to his decisions. The perfect chairman, the
ultimate spokesperson. Too bad he's a scientist, he'd make a
good plenipotentiary."
"We've kept it in perfect condition for your return."
Miriya explained. "We were sure you'd want to use it again."
Michele stepped pass her and walked over to the grey
Veritech, resting her hand onto it. "Thank you very much. I
appreciate it."
Max took a step towards her. "Michele... Ballistic's been
studying the wreckages for three months now, and they still
can't figure out what happened. They say it was obviously an
explosion but aren't able to detect what sort of explosive was
used. What happened out there?"
Michele pressed her fore-head against the plane's cool metal
skin, a sharp contrast to her fevered brow. She thought back
to Michael's final words, to her reaction. She closed her
eyes as the hurt flooded in. "I... I did it. I caused the
explosion."
"What?" Max and Miriya both gasped at the same time.
"If you check, you'll find that the two Armors' Protoculture
Generators were drained and that Michael's exploded. I made
it happen..." Tears flowed from Michele's eyes. "He kept His
promise. I swore allegiance to Him and He gave me the power.
And I used it to destroy the Mecha." The hand that had been
resting on the Veritech clenched into a fist. "But I wasn't
able to save Michael. With all this power at my control I let
him die."
Miriya stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You said 'Power'. What power...? <Protoculture?> Is that
why the Armor's generators were drained?" she inquired.
"Yes." sobbed Michele, her body shacking with the sorrow
that was sweeping through her. Miriya pulled away, realising
there was nothing she could do, that Michele was best left
alone with her grief. She stepped out, followed by Max, and
paused outside.
"Do you think what I think?" she asked him.
"You mean about what Dr. Zand said?"
"Yes. You heard what Michele said happened. And if it can
happen to her, what about... ?" She left the question
unfinished.
Max reflected on the subject a while before finally
answering. "I think Zand is right. This expedition to the
Fantoma system might cause the same thing to happen to her. I
think it best if we left Dana on Earth."
Hausthar looked at Victor incredulously. "You mean to tell
me you didn't flip out when you learned who you were?"
Victor gave a small electronic laugh. "Unlike you, some of
us have got a head on their shoulders. And anyway, I never
considered myself human, did I? So it came as no great shock
to learn that I wasn't an android either. Thank you." This
last remark was directed towards Ricky who had presented him
with a glass of orange juice. She sat down next to Hausthar,
allowing Victor to continue. "Lang's got it right; what does
it matter if you were born or artificially created? It's how
you feel inside that counts! Look at the Zentraedi - they're
no better off than you are, yet they consider themselves a
race in their own rights. And they have the right idea. A
difference that makes no difference is no difference. I think
you should learn to live by these words. If you cannot
differentiate between two things, then their sources, where
they are from, does not matter - they are the same when it
comes down to it."
Hausthar leant back pensively, his arm around Ricky's
shoulders. "I don't know... It's not the fact that I wasn't
born, it's that I was duped. They tried to make me think I
was something I wasn't." Ricky placed her head on his
shoulder in support.
Victor stood up. "I can see I'm not going to change your
mind easily." He flexed his arms as one would flex tired
muscles. "Care for a stroll down the river-side? Maybe I'll
be able to make you see some sense with Nature on my side."
Michele was flying patrol over New-Macross, keeping an eye
out for Zentraedi Malcontents. <What a way to spend Christmas
Eve>, she thought as she imaged her Veritech through a turn.
The sky over the city was grey, promising snow without
delivering it. Switching channels, Michele picked up the news
broadcast on MBC-Macross. It seemed the only thing worth
reporting was the disappearance of singing sensation Lynn
Minmei. As far as police was concerned it was a fugue. Her
manager on the other hand had been quick to spread the story
of a romantic escapade, using the media for some cheap
publicity. Michele smirked, knowing that before long Minmei
would appear on the doorstep of Lieutenant Hunter's
appartment, seeking his help as she always did in time of
trouble.
Her thoughts were cut short as alarms sounded through her
cockpit: rising from the river were several Battle Pods led by
a white and red Officer's Pod. She dove over the river, past
the wreck of a Zentraedi troop-ship that had crashed in the
middle of it. As she cleared the top of the space-craft,
energy beams raced towards her craft, holing it in several
places, causing alarms to wail as the Jet shuddered.
"Damn!" she exclaimed, fighting against the bucking craft.
She looked at the river-side and saw the Battle Pods climbing
onto the bank. As she steadied the craft into a semi-
controlled descent, she realised she would crash in the middle
of the industrial complex the Pods were now starting to
surround.
The three of them had been walking the length of the river
bank when the fire-fight had started. Victor immediately
radioed SDF-2 Control, asking for backup while Hausthar left
Ricky under Victor's care and ran towards the complex that was
seemingly the target of this attack.
He was half-way to his destination when he realised he
didn't have anything to defend himself with should he be
involved in the fighting. He had just decided on turning back
when he spied a Veritech making a forced landing in the middle
of the warehouses. Knowing he couldn't leave a fellow pilot
fight his way out alone, Hausthar voted against retreating and
plunged headlong into Hell.
Michele landed her plane between two of the gigantic storage
sheds, popped open the canopy and jumped out. She got clear
just in time; a Female Power Armor swooped down and holed the
Veritech through, causing it to explode. Michele stepped from
her hiding place and concentrated on the receding Mecha.
Hausthar heard an explosion on his left and rounded the
Hangar in time to see a red-haired woman stare upwards at the
sky. He looked in the same direction and saw a Female Power
Armor flying away. Just as he recognised it, Hausthar felt a
psychic wind gathering forces in the immediate vicinity. The
wind released its fury and the Power Armor disappeared in a
ball of light, never to be seen again. <She has Control!>
thought Hausthar as he turned to face her. <Then this has got
to be...> "Michele." he called out loud.
The young woman swung around and looked at him before
answering. "Who are you? How do you know my name?" A wave
of hate emanated from her, making Hausthar gasp for breath.
"My name is Hausthar." he answered. "I am your brother."
He had expected to catch her off guard with this remark, but
instead he was surprised as she burst laughing.
"I was told I'd face you one day... Hausthar. I warn you,
do not stand in my way. I'll kill you if I must." She raised
a hand towards a Power Armor that was flying overhead and
drained its generator, prompting it to crash into the river.
Whips of energy snaked around her, adding to the conviction in
her words.
Hausthar felt the burning power contained within her and
took a step back, unsure of what to do.
The red-and-white Officer's Pod looked around, obviously
searching for something, its pilot impatient. "What are you
doing Grel?!" the pilot called out to another Pod. "You're
leading us around in circles!"
A Battle Pod came to attention under the verbal abuse. "The
Protoculture has got to be here somewhere, My Lord," explained
the Pod's pilot. "My agents..."
"Your agents are idiots!" raged the first pilot. "Now
listen to me: your incompetence may end up costing you your
life! Now find it!" The Officer's Pod gestured its cannons
in a threatening manner. It was not for nothing that its
pilot had been nicknamed 'The Backstabber'.
"Why do you have to kill me?" asked Hausthar. "Have I done
something to hurt you?"
Michele glowered at him. "He told me you'd try to stop me.
I doubted Him. But it looks as though He was right once
again. You are the danger Hausthar. You are the one who
rendered the Robotech Factory inoperative. You are a menace
to Humanity."
Hausthar was sweating bullet, trying to find a way to avoid
the conflict that was sure to follow. He tried to reach into
a generator to charge up but found his way blocked. He gave a
gasp of surprise.
"You didn't think it would be this easy, surely." laughed
Michele. "What, were you expecting me to let you tap into a
generator and then fry me? Think again."
The two of them faced off like gunslingers from the old
West.
Frustrated by his second-in-command's inability to locate
the Protoculture storage facility, Khyron the Backstabber had
left his Mecha in search of it himself. Armed with nothing
more than an autocannon, the sixty feet tall Zentraedi walked
down the alleys between the Hangars. His long-time affinity
with the Invid Flower of Life had given him a special bond
with its offspring, Protoculture. He entered a storage area,
following the strong emanations that were coming from this
location, apparently oblivious to the drama outside the
structure. Khyron reached down to remove a tarpaulin,
revealing the Storage Matrix. The Matrix was cylinder-like,
easily half his height and perhaps twice his weight, and
contained the Protoculture needed to power his failing Battle
Cruiser. He grabbed the Matrix and heaved it onto his
shoulder, straining under its weight. He hauled it back to
his Officer's Pod and attached it to the Pod's clamps,
securing it for transport. Stepping into the cockpit, Khyron
powered-up and blasted his way out of the complex.
Hausthar had been wondering what to do to save his life when
an Officer's Pod flew in-between Michele and him, raising up a
dust-storm. The Pod disappeared over the buildings, its
pilot's voice booming over its external speakers. "Attention,
Micronians! Khyron the Destroyer wants to wish you a Merry
Christmas, and I send you a special greeting from Santa Claus.
May all your foolish hollow-days be as bright as this one!..."
Hausthar didn't have long to wonder what was meant by that
last statement - all over the city, explosions resounded,
sending fireballs into the sky. Behind the settling dust,
Michele spoke to him. "It seems I am needed elsewhere. This
is your lucky day Hausthar. I have not the time to kill you
today." The voice faded as Hausthar heard the footsteps of
someone running. By the time the dust had completely settled,
Michele had disappeared.
" ...It appears as though Khyron had one of his micronised
warrior disguised as a Santa Claus, placing bombs all over the
city by giving booby-trapped gifts to children on the
streets." Victor was pacing up and down the room, relaying
his information to Hausthar and Ricky. "To make matters even
worse, Khyron escaped with enough Protoculture to power-up his
Battleship and report to the Robotech Masters about the
location of the SDF-1. If the Masters ever hear of this,
we'll have another inter-galactic fight on our hands."
"Excuse me," interrupted Ricky, "but it seems we have
another more important problem on our hands: Michele."
"What do you mean?" asked Hausthar.
"You told us that Michele had drained a generator of its
power, but hadn't used it? That means she is walking around
like a charged-up battery waiting to explode, and the
slightest thing can set her off. Your problem is not Khyron
and his battle-cruiser, your problem is a woman walking around
with enough energy to destroy the Northern Hemisphere!"
CHAPTER 13
History recorded the last moments of the SDF-1... or so
everybody thought. Because if it was the complete coverage,
why did the SDF's main gun misfire so badly? Why did the
magnetic bottling of its energies give way in such a
stupendous way? I tell you there must have been other factors
involved that day than simply a shooting match between two
Battle-Cruisers.
Exedore, as quoted in Lapstein's Interviews.
I just keep burning love...
Late Twentieth Century song.
"In a way, she is right." concluded Ricky. "With your
inexperience at handling Protoculture, you're as big a threat
to humanity as she is - so it may be she has decided that to
save the Earth you must be destroyed."
"Thanks for the words of comfort." replied Hausthar. They
were both sitting outside a small cafe in New Macross,
watching the grey sky, trying to find a solution to the
dilemma they faced. "So what do we do about her?"
"I wish I knew." sighed Ricky. "Normally, we'd just home in
on her power emanations... I tried that this morning." she
continued quickly as Hausthar opened his mouth to speak.
"Nothing. She seems to be able to block me as if I were a
child." Hausthar closed his mouth, looking dejected.
"The next move is up to her then." he reflected.
Standing atop a hill just outside town, Michele smiled as
she jumped down from her plane. She'd had to steal this new
Veritech, red tape would have demanded another week before she
was assigned a new one. It didn't matter anymore - after
today, her mission would be over, one way or the other. Neo
had warned her of his trickiness, but she had doubted Him.
And then, as if to prove that He was always right, Hausthar
had somehow managed to set off explosions in the centre of New
Macross, forcing her to let him live, knowing her Oath would
make her run to help the civilians.
She snorted in disgust at Hausthar's choice of tactics. If
he so enjoyed involving civilians, she wanted to see how he
would react once the tables were turned. <It's time to flush
out the rats>, she thought. Behind her, still on the other
side of the horizon, a Zentraedi Battle-Cruiser made its
approach towards the city and the two Fortresses lying in the
lake at its centre.
Michele sensed its approach - its commander was taking great
pains to ensure he would not be detected. She wondered if he
knew that the flight path he was following would not hide him
from the city's radar defenses. It did not matter - Michele
let out her breath in a long, drawn-out sigh and concentrated
on the cruiser, bending the radar signals beamed in its
direction, rendering it invisible to the city's defenses.
She smiled.
The first wave of missiles struck the industrial complexes,
sending shockwaves throughout the city, smashing windows.
Hausthar picked himself up off the floor and looked about -
all around him was chaos, people fleeing towards shelters.
Ricky stood next to him and grabbed his arm with both her
hands, seeking not to loose him in the confused throng that
was amassing.
The message reached them without interference, as if spoken
into their ears by someone standing next to them. <Hausthar!>
He looked around but could not see who had uttered the
words.
"Telepathy." Ricky shouted over the sounds of panic.
"Michele must be trying to get in contact with you."
Hausthar closed his eyes and concentrated on the name.
<Michele? Is that you?>
<How clever of you to hide in a crowd where I can't shoot
you.>
<Where are you, what do you want with me?>
<You are dangerous, Hausthar. You proved it to me
yesterday. So I'm challenging you - and to make sure you
won't refuse the challenge, I helped someone pass the city's
defenses. If you want to stop him, you'll have to fight me
first.>
Hausthar blinked in surprise. <Who? Who did you let pass?>
The answer came as the voice faded away - <Khyron.>
"If Khyron has managed to slip in, then the entire city is
doomed." said Ricky. "And there's nothing we can do about
it."
"Yes we can..." seethed Hausthar, his hands clenched into
fists, "We can take up her challenge."
The guards at the base's hangar were entrenched as waves
upon waves of missiles buffeted the area. In the middle of
the destruction, one of them spied two figures running towards
the bunker, weaving their way past the explosions. He shouted
to the soldier nearest the door to open it and both figures
burst through a second later. The soldier who had opened the
door closed it behind them and smiled. "You're lucky to have
made it this far."
Hausthar brushed the dust off his leather jacket and looked
him in the eyes. "How are the Veritechs in there?"
The guard looked at Hausthar in surprise for a moment, then
reached for his gun, pointing it towards him. "How do you
know about the Veritechs? No-one but Lang's supposed to..."
His protest was cut short as he heard a commotion behind him.
Turning around, he barely had time to see the other guards
falling to the ground before being stunned by an energy bolt.
Hausthar opened the door leading to the hangar and rushed
in, tripping several alarms along the way. He did not worry
about them - by the time anyone was in any shape to respond he
would be far away. He raced past several prototypes, his
subconscious registering their presence - AJACS, Logan, Hover
Tank - and made a bee-line for the new Alpha prototype. He
jumped into the cockpit, keying in the warm-up sequence,
sending control codes to open the hangar's automatic doors. A
sharp whistling sound came to him over the Alpha's low
throbbing. Seconds later a Logan in Guardian mode hovered
over to him. The Logan looked like an ancient row-boat with
arms and legs and was barely taller than two man.
"Ricky?! What are you doing? You crazy or something?" he
shouted over the Net.
Ricky's face appeared on his commo screen, donned with the
Veritech's thinking-cap. "You didn't really think I was going
to let you go out alone, did you? And anyway, you'll need a
back-up out there to watch your tail." The automatic door
opened in front of them. "Well?" she asked.
Hausthar sighed. "All right." He brought the throttle to
full and sped out of the hangar, closely followed by Ricky.
The battle outside had reached new heights - Battle Pods,
weapon depleted, were making suicidal runs at Veritechs trying
to keep the Zentraedi Cruiser from reaching the SDFs.
Hausthar and Ricky plunged into the chaos, avoiding stray
missiles and staying out of the line of fire of the
combatants. Hausthar checked his weapon display and grumbled.
"They didn't load any missiles on this thing - I've only got
the GU-XX. What about you?"
Ricky looked down and read the displays. "No missiles
either," she told him, "but my energy gun is fully loaded."
She banked right to move out of the way of a falling Pod. "I
still can't locate her."
Looking out the cockpit, Hausthar searched the skies. "Then
we look until we do find her."
The battle raged around them and prevented them from finding
Michele. Hausthar and Ricky were about to give up when the
grey Veritech swooped out of the sky and shot at Ricky's
Logan. The Logan took several hits in the wing as it darted
forward to place itself out of the Veritech's line of fire.
Hausthar turned his Alpha skyward and rocketed towards the
Jet, GU-XX gun pod blazing, sending H.E.A.T. rounds to the
target.
Michele brought her Mecha around and was about to retaliate
when a spear of light flashed between the opposing parties.
Taking its roots from Khyron's Battle-Cruiser, the beam
extended until it reached the mid-section of the SDF-2,
released its hold on Khyron's ship and seemingly retracted
into its target. An eternity passed where nothing happened -
the SDF-2 stood as rigid as ever within the lake, its 'face'
turned towards its aggressor. Finally it could hold no more
and let the energy have its way. Fire and explosions gushed
from its side as secondary blasts made their way up and down
the Fortress. The force of the destruction shook and moved
the battleship - it started to list, collided with the wreck
of the SDF-1 and laid there, mortally wounded.
Shouts of despair filled the Tactical Net. Hausthar
listened half-heartedly to the damage report, not wanting to
face the possibility that this might be the day the Zentraedi
Malcontents would finally win. The SDF-2 had suffered a major
hit and was now so much scrap metal, the control room was
virtually destroyed, as for the guns... a voice cut in, full
of disdain. "Well, <brother>? Are you ready to face me? Or
do I help Khyron once more?"
Hausthar fought down a shout of anger and turned on the
commo screen. Michele's face coalesced into existence. He
looked into her eyes and saw no pity in them, only
determination to finish what she had begun. Nevertheless, he
still tried to reason with her. "You are wrong about me,
Michele. I am not evil, and neither do I believe you are.
Why do you want to kill me? What purpose could it serve?"
"You are dangerous, too dangerous to be allowed to live...
Neo told me you were responsible for Michael's death..." She
failed to hear Hausthar's gasp of dismay. "I didn't believe
Him at first, but your actions yesterday proved that I was
wrong, that I should have trusted Him."
Hausthar realised that Michele was slowly breaking under the
strain of the energies in her, that her psyche had focused on
the Shadow side of the Protoculture as an external entity. He
tried to make use of that fact as he banked his plane to face
hers. "You are still wrong. The only difference between us
two is that Neoculture offers and delivers quickly, but Its
price is often too high to pay. It is the way of deceit, of
treachery, of lies. Is Michael alive? Is he to be
resurrected by my death? What were you asked for in return
for your power? Look at yourself - you only think of
destruction. You are loosing what is left of you to the
Shadow."
"You do not know what you are talking about, Hausthar." The
voice was full of sarcasm. "I was good all my life, and I
still am. But if I have to stray slightly from the path to
help the world and kill you, I will do it gladly. You know I
am the best, and it was given me to know about you, and your
plans - and that you and I were clones."
Ricky's face appeared next to Michele's on Hausthar's
screen. "I can't believe this! It's the most advance case of
pre-cognition I have ever seen - either that or a very strong
telepath. We can't kill her."
"In case you have yet to notice" responded Hausthar "she
doesn't seem to share the same feelings about me." He
switched back to Michele. "I still do not believe you made
the right choice. The Shadow is blocking your mind to the
Light." <I'm starting to sound like a B-grade sci-fi movie>,
he reflected.
"Enough! It is high time we finished our business. I
challenge you to a duel - your will versus mine, no holds
barred. Then we will know who was right and who was wrong."
Ricky spoke again, her face distorted with worry. "Haust?
Are you sure you want to... ?"
"Yes Ricky... Very well Michele, I accept your challenge."
The three Veritechs lowered themselves to a patch of ground on
the banks of Lake Gloval, by the shadow of the Fortresses.
<Inside the wreck of the SDF-1, power readings were making
their appearance. On the bridge of the broken-down Fortress,
the newly re-assembled crew prepared for their defender's
final battle. A race against time was being fought as
Khyron's ship slowly swung around for a better angle.>
They formed a triangle with Ricky's apex closest to the
lake, facing each other like duelists from an old western-
style movie. None dare make a move to break the mood and thus
precipitate disaster. The silence was broken by a Veritech
fly-by; three Veritechs - black and white, red, and blue -
flew off to intercept Khyron's Battle-Fortress.
Ricky was the first to break the stand-off. Reaching
outward, she connected with her Logan's Protoculture
generator, pumping it for all it was worth. The energy snaked
between her and the ship as the transfer was being
effectuated. As soon as the generator was drained, Ricky held
her arms straight, hand clasped together, fore-fingers
slightly apart and pointing at Michele - her fingers became a
scaled-down re-creation of the SDF-1's main gun, energy
flickering from one digit to the other. In a brief display of
fury, the energy left her fingers and leapt towards Michele.
It never reached her; left arm extended to concentrate her
will, Michele had stopped the powerball barely a meter from
her body. She reshaped it into a lance and sent it whence it
came.
Hausthar's heart sank as he saw that Ricky hadn't realised
what had happened. His voice screamed into the chaos that was
surrounding them. "Ricky! <No!>" His warning came too late -
the lance of light buried itself in Ricky's left shoulder and
disappeared from view. Her knees buckled as she ever-so-
slowly fell to the ground.
<Orders had come from the bridge, the old fortress was re-
activated. Unaware of the tragedy unfolding near it, the SDF-
1 fired its engines and slowly climbed to the sky as a small
figure next to it fell down. Commander Hayes asked for a
status report and searched the skies for a black-and-white
Veritech.>
"<RICKY!>" Hausthar's rage and feeling of emptiness could
not stop her from reaching the ground in a small heap, her
face turning deathly pale.
Hausthar turned his attention back towards Michele. Try as
he might, he simply could not generate a powerball the way
Ricky had. Michele, however, did not seem to have such
problems. Reaching outward to a shot-down mecha, she pumped
what was left of its generator to create a small ball of
energy and hurled it towards him. Hausthar dove for cover
behind a pile of rubble as the ball hit the ground where he
had stood just a few moments before.
<On the bridge, conversation was running wild. Claudia
Grant looked up from her console and called out "Main gun is
in ready position. Energy reading at present... niner-five-
zero." Her face turned anxiously towards the figure standing
at the console on her left.
"The admiral was right -" answered Commander Hayes "that's
only enough energy for one shot, so make it a good one."
Preparations continued as Khyron's ship closed in, spewing
forth death in the shape of laser beams.>
Hausthar had already had to dodge a second powerball before
making it to relative safety. None of the Veritechs that were
left had enough power in them to help him. He relaxed and let
his mind enter the alpha state. Quickly, methodically, he
searched his surroundings with his mind, looking for
Protoculture to use for his defence.
<Deep within the SDF-1's massive sealed engines, an
intelligence sensed the search. The battle on the shore of
Lake Gloval played a very small part in the overall Shaping of
things, but the players were major participants. Following
decisions made eons ago, the intelligence followed its path;
lowering the shield it had maintained for so long, the
Protoculture contained within the engines allowed itself to be
discovered.>
Hausthar connected with a source of Protoculture and began
the drain. Concentrating it in front of himself, he stepped
out into the open. As soon as she saw him, Michele sent
another powerball his way - the powerball roared as it flew
towards him, finally crashing on the Protoculture-generated
shield in front of its target. Hausthar felt his shield
weaken as the powerball sapped its strength.
<The radar operator on the bridge turned towards the
captain's chair. Vanessa's voice was cool with confidence.
"Admiral Gloval, Khyron's ship is centered in the computer
reticle sir."
Gloval did not even bother to raise his head as he yelled
"<Now>, fire!">
Knowing the powerball would break through his shield
otherwise, Hausthar reached deep into the Consciousness and
the power he had tapped and took out another great chunk of it
to consolidate his shield.
<On the bridge of the SDF, controls started to beep for
attention, sending warnings out to the crew. Claudia checked
her instruments and gasped, a tremor in her voice.
"Instruments show power dropping."
A small voice came from the back of the room as one of the
techs answered. "Reflex engines are losing power."
Vanessa looked at Gloval, a plea in her eyes. "Sammie's
right - the gun's magnetic bottling is giving way."
Gloval listened and shook his head in understanding. They
all knew what would happen when the bottling finally
ruptured.>
A second powerball had joined the first and was slowly
making progress through his shield. Hausthar panicked,
reached out into the contact he had made and drained as much
as he dared from the power-source.
<Kim's voice wandered through the bridge as the tech slumped
in her seat, resigned. "It's gone." They waited for the
inevitable to happen.>
<The energies that had been building around the SDF's main
gun coalesced into a spear of blinding light. The power-web
surrounding it solidified for an instant - then the twin booms
of the gun blowtorched.
A nearly hemispherical flash of power encompassed the gun,
destroying its electronics, stripping the plating off its
surface, melting the infrastructure. A bolt of energy leapt
from the hemisphere and wavered towards Khyron's ship.
Without the guidance of the magnetic bottling, the shot went
astray and only grazed the cruiser's left side instead of
holing it from end to end. The wounded cruiser belched fire
and smoke from its side but kept on coming, sights centered on
the SDF-1.>
As the SDF-1 fell back into the lake, its twin booms falling
apart like ashes from two spent cigars, Hausthar was knocked
off his feet by the quake. Both powerballs were released from
the shield and whizzed harmlessly past his head. Anger filled
Hausthar's mind - anger for the thousands of millions of
people killed by the Zentraedi, anger at being a pawn in a
game of galactic chess, and most of all anger at the thought
of having lost Ricky. He gathered his shield into a wall of
energy ten feet across and concentrated on it. Just as
Khyron's ship was closing in on the SDF-1's bridge, so was
Hausthar projecting his shield towards Michele. Just as the
SDF did not have time to react, neither did Michele understand
the tactic until too late - the energy from the shield
enveloped her as the two great ships collided with one
another.
The last thing Hausthar remembered were explosions as the
ships crashed into the ground, and a searing pain as the heat
from the blast reached him. When the darkness came for him he
welcomed it, his last thoughts being for Ricky.
EPILOGUE
Another Christmas night,
Another chance for us to make everything
Turn out alright.
We must bring back the joy
Which lights up children's eyes
Whenever they see a toy -
Thus is the Peace which we must make,
If not for us then for our children's sake.
From Lynn Minmei's "Look Up".
Hausthar came to much later, his head throbbing dully, A
quick glance gave an appraisal of the situation - the SDF-1,
SDF-2 and Khyron's Cruiser were lying in a smoking heap. A
medical team was going through a nearby pile of rubble,
administering aid to those who needed it, giving novocaine to
those beyond help. Choppers had landed nearby, bearing the
familiar red cross. Another had touched ground slightly away
from the others and bore the Robotech Research and Development
logo on its side. Two faces hovered above him. By a sheer
act of will he forced them into focus. Lang and Victor's
features revealing themselves.
"What happened?" His mouth felt like lead.
Lang turned towards the wreckage of the Fortresses, his
voice filled with sarcasm. "We won."
"Most of the crew of the SDFs were killed" explained Victor
"including Lang's niece. He is still looking for his godson."
Thoughts swam in Hausthar's mind. "Ricky... How is she?"
"We don't know." answered Victor. "We've only just arrived
and the Doctor insisted on reviving you first." He helped
Hausthar to his feet and guided him towards the place where
Ricky laid in a heap. He let go of him and went to look at
Michele's body.
Hausthar looked at the face he'd come to love. A cold hand
gripped his heart as he noticed the pale face, the blue lips.
"Ricky?"
Her lips moved, the voice very weak. "Haust?... Sorry I
couldn't be... of more help to you. Who won?..." Her eyes
looked deep inside his and the cold hand tightened its grip on
his heart.
"Nobody did Ricky. We all lost something today." Tears of
frustration and anger came to his eyes and mixed with those
from his grief. He brushed her hair away from her face and
caressed her cheeks, wishing for the colour to return to them.
He held her tightly to his chest and whispered "Please don't
leave me. I love you Ricky." Tears were running down his
cheeks unchecked.
A small hand grabbed the back of his neck and he felt his
head being pushed downward. "I love you too, you big dummy."
Her soft lips met his and parted, kissing him passionately.
"Can we go now?"
Hausthar broke from the embrace. "Don't get me wrong, but
aren't you suppose to be dying?"
Ricky smiled weakly. "No, but it came close." She pushed
him away slightly to reveal her left shoulder - beneath the
burnt fabric was a gaping wound, blood slick around it. "That
lance knocked me down, that's all. 'Though I'm really going
to die if we stay here too long. I'm going to freeze to
death!"
At her last words Hausthar finally realised it was snowing
and that a small coating of snow had covered the ground. The
wound, the cold and the fact Ricky wore only her leotards
accounted for the pale face and blue lips. He pointed a
finger at her. "If you ever play a dirty trick like this on
me again I'll..."
Ricky laughed and kissed him again. "You'll come running to
save me again." She smiled the smile he loved so much and hid
her face in his chest. "I love you, you know."
Hausthar applied a patch to the wound, binding it before
they got to their feet and walked to where Victor was
kneeling. Victor looked up and packed away the instrument he
had been holding. "Looks like her brain really packed it in
this time. All I get are readings more suitable for a five-
month old. She's literally living on automatics. What did
you <do> to her?"
Hausthar looked at the body that had once contained the mind
of his sister. "I panicked. I focused the shield and sent it
straight at her."
Ricky looked at him and squeezed his hand in support. "It
must have completely scrambled her brain. I'm sorry..."
Victor got to his feet and emitted a short electronic groan.
"Anyway, she's a job for the medics now. There's nothing more
we can do for her." He walked away towards the chopper where
Lang was waiting with his godson, not wanting to look back at
the chaos behind him.
Hausthar stooped to retrieve Michele's body and held it
tight, tears flowing down his face. No matter what anybody
said, no matter whose it was, he still hated taking a life,
any life. He cried as he thought of the chances he had lost,
of the times he'd never had with his newly found and newly
lost sister.
A lithe arm slid itself around his waist and squeezed it.
"Come on Haust... Let's go home." Ricky nudged him towards
the city and he followed, bearing Michele's body in his arms.