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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.