Force of Arms

  Force of Arms

  By Jack McKinney 1987

  For Bonnie Bader, and her work on this project

  Part I:

  Showdown

  PROLOGUE

  In the 1990s, a global civil war swept across the planet Earth; few wanted this war, but no one seemed to be able to avert it. It absorbed all the smaller disparate wars, rebellions, and terrorist struggles in the same way a huge storm vacuums up all the lesser weather systems around it.

  The War was fought with conventional weapons for the most part, but by 1999 it was clear that its escalation pointed directly to an all-out nuclear exchange—planetary obliteration. There seemed to be nothing any sane person could do about it. By then, the War had a life of its own.

  As the human race prepared to die—for everyone knew that the final phase of the War would surely exterminate all life on Earth, the fragile lunar and Martian research colonies, and the various orbital constructs—something like a malign miracle happened.

  A damaged starship—a super dimensional fortress created by the dying alien mastermind, Zor—appeared in Earth's skies. It crashed on a tiny Pacific island called Macross. Its descent wreaked more havoc than any war: there was tremendous damage and loss of life and numerous natural disasters. The human race was compelled to pause and take stock of itself.

  Zor had served the evil Robotech Masters, but he had resolved to serve them no more and had hidden his ultimate secrets concerning Protoculture—the most powerful force in the universe—in the fortress. The Robotech Masters needed those secrets not only to conquer the universe but to protect themselves from the vengeful attacks of the savage Invid, a race of creatures sworn to destroy them.

  Thus, the focus of an intergalactic conflict came to bear on the formerly insignificant Earth.

  The super dimensional fortress was Earth's first inkling of the greater events taking place outside the bounds of human knowledge. Earth's leaders saw at once that the wrecked SDF-1 could be rebuilt and become a rallying point that would unite a divided human race.

  A ten-year project began, incorporating the brains and energies of the entire planet. But on the day the SDF-1 was to be relaunched to guard humanity from alien attack, disaster struck again. The Zentraedi—the Robotech Masters' giant race of ferocious warrior clones—struck, bringing devastation to the Earth in an effort to recapture the SDF-1.

  The desperate crew of the SDF-1 attempted a spacefold jump to get clear of the attack. Yet a miscalculation resulted in the ship's reappearance far from its intended destination: The SDF-1 and most of the civilian population of Macross Island were suddenly, transported out to the orbit of the planet Pluto.

  And so the long, perilous voyage back to Earth began. The SDF-1 battled for its life, hounded by the Zentraedi armada at every turn. Returning after more than a year, the crew found that it was no longer welcome on the homeworld—in the view of the ruling powers, they constituted too much of a danger to Earth's safety as well as the rulers' own authority.

  A renewed Zentraedi offensive resulted in horrendous casualties on Earth and reinforced the Earth leaders' determination to refuse haven to the SDF-1—even though it had waged the only meaningful resistance to alien invasion.

  So the great star battleship was forced to ride an orbit to nowhere, its crew and civilian refugees struggling desperately to stay alive. The Zentraedi continued to plot new war plans, determined to have the ship and the secrets of Protoculture.

  Alien agents were planted within the ship, reduced from their fifty and sixty-foot heights to human size. These spies found themselves strangely affected by the experience of human life as their long-dormant emotions were awakened by the sight of humans mingling and showing affection and in particular by the singing of Minmei—the ship's superstar and media idol and the mainstay of its morale.

  Upon their return to the invasion fleet, the spies' stories and souvenirs of their experiences among the humans led to the defection of a dozen and

  more of the Zentraedi and disobedience in the ranks of those who remained behind.

  Aboard the SDF-1, human life fell into patterns of conflict and emotion. Lieutenant Rick Hunter, fighter pilot in the Robotech Defense Forces, experienced constant confusion and turmoil over his love for Minmei and simultaneous attraction to Commander Lisa Hayes, the SDF-1's First Officer.

  This triangle formed the core of a larger web of loves and hates, the sort of human emotional blaze that the colossal Zentraedi found so bathing and debilitating.

  Nevertheless, the Zentraedi imperative was battle, and battle it would be. The aliens deployed a million-plus ships in their armada, restrained from all-out attack only by their need to capture the SDF1's Protoculture secrets intact.

  Breetai, commander of the invasion force, moved in his own intrigues against two of his rebellious subordinates: Azonia, the female warlord, and Khyron the Backstabber, psychotic demon of battle.

  But the Robotech War proved to be far more complex than any of them—Zentraedi or human—could have ever imagined.

  Dr. Lazlo Zand, On Earth As It Is in Hell: Recollections of the Robotech War

  CHAPTER ONE

  I guess Max was the most conspicuous example of the growing war weariness and hunger for peace. As the top VT pilot, he was revered by all the aspiring hot-doggers and would-be aces.

  When he came back from a mission, his aircraft maintenance people would always stencil the symbols for his latest kills on the side of his ship; that was their right. But like a lot of us who had been in the eye of the storm for too long, he began avoiding the jokes and high-fives and swaggering in the ready rooms, barracks, and officers' club. He was still top man on the roster, but it was plain that his attitude was changing.

  The Collected Journals of Admiral Rick Hunter

  "Ya ain't so big now, are ya, ya freakin' alien?" the big bruiser said, shaking a scarred fist the size of a roast in his face.

  Well, no, he wasn't. Karita had been a Zentraedi soldier some forty feet tall. But now, having been reduced to the size of a human and defecting to their side in the Robotech War, he was only a medium-build, slightly less-than-average-height fellow facing three hulking brawlers eager to split his head wide open in a Macross alley.

  Even as a Zentraedi, Karita hadn't excelled at combat; his main duty had been tending the Protoculture sizing chambers, the very same ones in which he had been micronized. The situation looked hopeless; the three ringed him in, fists cocked, light from the distant streetlamps illuminating the hatred in their faces.

  He tried to dodge past them, but they were too fast. The biggest grabbed him and hurled him against the wall. Karita dropped, half-stunned, the back of his scalp bleeding.

  He cursed himself for his carelessness; a slip of the tongue in the restaurant had given him away. Otherwise, no one could have told him apart from any other occupant of the SDF-1.

  But he could scarcely be blamed. The wonders of life aboard the super dimensional fortress were enough to make any Zentraedi careless. The humans had rebuilt their city; they mingled, both sexes, all ages. They lived lives in which emotions were given free expression, and there was an astonishing force called "love."

  It was enough to make any Zentraedi, born into a Spartan, merciless warrior culture with strict segregation of the sexes, forget himself. And so Karita had made his error; he had gone into the White Dragon in the hopes of getting a glimpse of Minmei. He didn't realize what he was saying when he let slip the fact that he had adored her since he had first seen her image on a Zentraedi battlecruiser. Then he saw the hard looks the trio gave him. He left quickly, but they followed.

  During the course of the war, everybody aboard had lost at least one friend or loved one. The Zentraedi, too, had suffered losses-many more th
an the SDF-1, in fact. That didn't stop Karita and the other defectors from hoping for a new life among their former enemies. Most humans were at least tolerant of the Zentraedi who'd deserted from their invading armada. Some humans even liked the aliens; three of them, former spies, had human girlfriends. But he should have known there would be humans who wouldn't see things that way.

  The three closed in on him.

  One of the men launched a kick Karita was too dazed to avoid. It was not so much a sharp pain he felt as a tremendous, panic-making numbness. He wondered woozily if his ribs were broken. Not that it mattered; it didn't look like his attackers were going to stop short of killing him. They didn't realize that they had picked on one of the most unmilitary of Zentraedi; given a different one, they would have had more of a fight on their hands.

  One of them drew back his heavy work boot to kick Karita again; Karita closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. But the sudden sound of shoe leather sliding on pavement and the thud of a falling body made him reopen them.

  He looked up to see one of the assailants down and the other two turning to face an interloper.

  Max Sterling didn't look like the conventional image of a Veritech ace. The brilliant Robotech Defense Force flier was slender, wore blue-tinted aviator glasses-with corrective lenses-and dyed his hair blue in keeping with the current fad for wild colors.

  This young RDF legend looked mild, even vulnerable. In a time of crisis, Max Sterling had risen from obscurity to dazzle humanity and the Zentraedi with his matchless combat flying. But that hadn't changed his basic humility and self-effacing good-naturedness.

  "No more," Max told the assailants quietly. The bully on the ground shook his head angrily. Max stepped between the other two, went to Karita's side, and knelt, offering his hand.

  Minmei's Aunt Lena had watched the ominous trio follow Karita when he left the White Dragon; it took her a few minutes to find Sterling, so Max said, "Sorry I'm a little late."

  This bookish-looking young man who held the highest kill score of any combat pilot in the ship offered the Zentraedi his hand. "D' you think you can stand?"

  The attacker Max had floored was back on his feet, eyeing Max's RDF uniform. "You have two seconds to butt out of this, kid."

  Max rose and turned, leaving Karita sitting against the wall. He took off his glasses and dropped them into Karita's limp hand.

  "I guess there's gonna be a fight here, so let's get one thing straight: In case you missed the news, this man isn't our enemy. Now, are you going to let us by or what?"

  Of course not. They had looked at Karita and automatically thought, We can take him! And that had decided the matter. Now here was the pale, unimposing Max, and their assessment was the same: We can take him, too. No sweat.

  So the one Max had knocked down came at him first, while the others fanned out on either side.

  Max didn't wait. He ducked under a powerful, slow haymaker and struck with the heel of his hand, breaking the first one's nose. A second

  attacker, a thick-bodied man in coveralls, hooked his fist around with all his might, but Max simply wasn't there. Dodging like a ghost, he landed a solid jab to the man's nose, bloodying it, and stepped out of the way as he staggered.

  There wasn't much fighting room, and Max's usual style involved plenty of movement. But it didn't matter very much this time; he didn't want to leave Karita unprotected.

  The third vigilante, younger, leaner, and faster than the other two, swung doubled fists at him from behind. Max avoided the blow, adding momentum with a quick, hard tug so that the man went toppling to his knees. Then Max spun precisely so that he had his back nearly up against the first attacker and rammed his elbow back.

  The man's breath rushed out of him as he clutched his midsection. Max snapped a fist back into his face, then turned to plant a sidelong kick to the gut of the one in the coveralls. The incredible reflexes and speed that served him so well in dogfights were plain; he was difficult to see much less hit or avoid.

  Karita had struggled to his feet. "Stop!"

  The three attackers were battered up a bit, but the fight had barely started. Max Sterling wasn't even breathing hard.

  "No more fighting," Karita labored, clutching his side. "Hasn't there been enough?"

  The first man wiped blood from a swelling lip, studying Max. Indicating Karita with a toss of his head, he said, "Him and his kind killed my son. I don't care what you-"

  "Look at this," Max said quietly. He displayed the RDF patch on his uniform, a diamond with curved sides, like a fighting kite. "You think I don't understand? But listen t' me: He's out of the war. Just like I want to be and you want to be."

  "But we're never going to have peace unless we put the damn war behind us! So drop it, all right? Or else, c'mon: Let's finish this thing."

  The first man was going to come at him again, but the other two

  grabbed his shoulders from either side. The young one said, "All right-for now."

  Max supported Karita with his shoulder, and the three stepped aside to let them pass. There was a tense moment as the pilot and the injured alien walked between the attackers; one of them shifted his weight, as if reconsidering his decision.

  But he thought better of it and held his place, saying, "What about you, flyboy? You're goin' out there again to fight 'em, aren't ya? To kill 'em if ya can?"

  Max knew that Karita was staring at him, but he answered. "Yeah. Maybe I'll wind up killing somebody a lot like your son tonight. Or he'll wind up killing me. Who knows?"

  Max put Karita into a cab and sent him to the temporary quarters where the defectors were housed. He didn't have time to go along; he was late for duty as it was.

  Waiting for another cab, Max gazed around at the rebuilt city of Macross. Overhead, the Enhanced Video Emulation system had created the illusion of a Terran night sky, blocking out the view of a distant alloy ceiling. It had been a long time since Max or any of the SDF-1's other inhabitants had seen the real thing. He was already defying the odds, having survived so many combats. The EVE illusion was nice, but he hoped he'd get to see the true sky and hills and oceans of Earth again before his number

  came up.

  Elsewhere on the SDF-1, two women rode in an uncomfortable silence on an elevator descending to a hangar deck, watching the level indicators flash.

  Commander Lisa Hayes, the ship's First Officer, wasn't at ease with many people. But Lieutenant Claudia Grant, standing now with arms folded and avoiding Lisa's gaze as Lisa avoided hers, had been a close friend-perhaps Lisa's only true friend-for years.

  Lisa tried to lighten the gloom. "Well, here I go again. Off for another skirmish with the brass."

  That was certainly putting the best face on it. No previous effort had convinced the United Earth Defense Council to either begin peace negotiations with the Zentraedi invaders or allow the SDF-1 and its civilian refugees to return home. Lisa had volunteered to try again, to present shocking new evidence that had just emerged and exert all the pressure she could on her father, Admiral Hayes, to get him to see reason and then persuade the rest of the UEDC.

  Claudia looked up. They were an odd pair: Claudia, tall and exotic-looking, several years older than Lisa, with skin the color of dark honey; and Lisa, pallid and slender, rather plain-looking until one looked a little closer.

  Claudia tried to smile, running a hand through her tight brown curls. "I don't know whether it'll help or not to say this, but stop looking so grim. Girl, you remind me of the captain of a sinking ship when he finds out they substituted deck chairs for the lifeboats. It's gonna be hard to change people's minds like that. Besides, all they can do is say no again."

  There was a lot more to it than that, of course. Admiral Hayes was not likely to let his only child leave Earth-to return to the SDF-1 and the endless Zentraedi attacks-once she was in the vast UEDC headquarters. Neither Claudia nor Lisa had mentioned that they would probably never see each another again.

  "Yeah, I guess," Lisa said, as the
doors opened and the noise and heat of the hangar deck flooded in.

  The two women stepped out into a world of harsh worklights. Combat and other craft were parked everywhere, crammed in tightly with wings and ailerons folded for more efficient storage.

  Maintenance crews were swarming over Veritechs damaged in the most recent fighting, while ordnance people readied ships slated for the next round of patrols and surveillance flights. The SDF-1's survival depended in large part on the Veritechs; but they would have been useless if

  not for the unflagging, often round-the-clock work of the men and women who repaired and serviced and rearmed them and the others who risked their lives as part of the flight deck catapult crews.

  Welding sparks flew; ordnance loader servos whined, lifting missiles and ammunition into place. Claudia had to raise her voice to be heard. "Have you told Rick about the trip, or have you been too busy to see him?"

  Busy had nothing to do with it, and they both knew that. Lisa had concluded that her love for Rick Hunter, leader of the Veritech Skull Team, was one-sided. By leaving the SDF-1 on a vital mission, she was also almost certainly giving up any chance of ever changing that.

  "I thought I'd call him from the shuttle," she said.

  Claudia exercised admirable restraint and did not blurt out, Lisa, stop being such a coward! Because Lisa wasn't-she had the combat decorations to prove it, medals and fruit cocktail that any line officer would respect. But where emotions were concerned, the SDF-1's competent and capable First always seemed to prefer hiding under a rock someplace.

  The shuttle was near the aircraft elevator-air lock that would lift it to the flight deck. Lisa's gear and the evidence she hoped would sway Admiral Hayes and the others at the UEDC were already aboard. The crew chief was running a final prelaunch check.