Doomsday Read online

  "I just don't feel like singing," she said firmly. Kyle raised his voice. "And just why not?"

  "Because I don't think this place is safe with that Protoculture chamber here and because of what you did to Commander Hunter," she answered, not looking at him. "He is my close friend, you know. He saved my life."

  Kyle smirked. "You make it sound like it's a lot more than friendship, Minmei."

  "You asked me, so I told you:"

  "Take it easy," he said. "First of all, we're not in any danger. And second, it didn't hurt your flyboy any to have his feathers ruffled. It keeps him sharp."

  Minmei gritted her teeth.

  "Here they come, Mr. Mayor!" the veteran stagehand yelled.

  Two intense spots converged center stage, and Mayor Harding turned to Minmei proudly.

  "How 'bout that?"

  Kyle put on his best smile and stepped forward. "I think the whole place looks great, sir."

  The mayor beamed and started to say, "Thank you-" when a loud concussion rocked the theater. A second and third explosion followed in quick succession, violent enough to send them all reeling in the aisle.

  "What the-"

  "Quick! Outside!" Kyle ordered.

  No doubt a Minmei concert would have worked wonders in New Detroit, but how could Kyle have known that Khyron had made a previous booking?

  Immediately upon his return to New Macross, Rick was ordered to report to Admiral Gloval in the briefing room of the SDF-1. There he found the admiral, Exedore, Lisa, Claudia, Max, Miriya, and the infamous Terrible Trio-Sammie, Vanessa, and Kim-seated at the room's circular table. Rick made his report directly to Gloval, summarizing the events that had transpired in New Detroit.

  Gloval wore a look of despair. "I want to commend you for exercising

  good judgment, Captain," he told Rick after a moment. Then he gestured to the table. "I wanted you to be included in this. Exedore..." he said, sitting back to listen.

  The enigmatic Zentraedi inclined his head. "I have finished my research on the relationship between Protoculture and the Zentraedi," he began rather soberly. "My race..." Exedore's face appeared to blanch. "My race was bio-genetically engineered by the Robotech Masters for the sole purpose of fighting. Protoculture, the discovery of the Tirolian scientist Zor was utilized in both the initial cloning process and the enlargement of our physical being."

  Miriya gasped. "You're saying that the Masters created us? It can't be true, Exedore. I have memories of my youth, my upbringing, my training..."

  Exedore shut his eyes and shook his head sadly. "Implants, engrams...The Masters were clever to equip us with both racial and individual memories. But they neglected what is more important..."

  Gloval cleared his throat. "Exedore, if I may?..."

  Exedore gestured his assent, and Gloval addressed the table.

  "These people you call the Robotech Masters were extremely proud of their advanced and powerful civilization. Hyperspace drives and advanced weaponry were already a part of their culture. But soon after the discovery of Protoculture and the science of Robotechnology, they dreamed of ruling a galactic empire. And they decided to develop a police force to protect their acquisitions-the Zentraedi."

  The table went silent.

  "For hundreds of years," the admiral continued, his eyes finding Miriya and Exedore, "you secured worlds for them-these Masters you were programmed to obey. But this scientist, Zor, the very genius who designed and built this ship, was silently working at tearing down what his co-opted discoveries had unleashed. It was believed that he hid his secrets somewhere in this ship and tried to send it from the Masters' grasp.

  "And you, Exedore, and Miriya, Breetai, the old one you called Dolza, even Khyron, you were ordered to reclaim this ship at all costs-because

  without Zor's secrets the Robotech Masters won't be able to fulfill their dreams of empire. Without Protoculture, they will fall, as surely as their race of giant warriors fell. Confronted with emotions and feelings for the first time, the Zentraedi were powerless. For surely that race of perverted geniuses had no love left in their hearts. And they will be defeated for the very same reasons."

  Exedore looked up now. "Do not underestimate them, Admiral," he cautioned. He was impressed by Gloval's summary and evaluation, but the admiral spoke as if all of this was behind them, when in fact it was just beginning. "We Zentraedi no longer pose a threat to you, it is true. But believe me when I say this: The Masters are out there waiting, and they will not rest until that Protoculture matrix is theirs. Earth has been brought once to the brink of extinction by their power. Do not mislead yourselves by thinking that it can never happen again."

  Gloval absorbed this silently. "Are there any questions?"

  "Are the people of Earth...are they Protoculture?" Miriya asked, full of concern as she looked at Max. There was Dana-how could they explain Dana!

  Gloval said, "I know what you're thinking, Miriya. But no. You see, we go back millions of years. And the Zentraedi..."

  "But how can you explain that our genetic structures are nearly identical?" Max wanted to know.

  Exedore spoke to that. "Nearly identical. Nearly identical. What is most plausible is that our genetic...stuff was cloned from the Masters themselves. They are, after all, er...Micronians like yourselves. Look for a similarity there, Lieutenant Sterling, not among the Zentraedi."

  Max shook his head in a confused manner. "But I don't see that it matters any!"

  "It doesn't," Miriya said, putting her hand over his.

  "Then it must figure," Lisa pointed out, "that the people of Earth and the people of Tirol did have a common ancestry."

  "I no longer believe that to be so," said Exedore. "A coincidence, I'm

  afraid."

  Rick's eyebrows went up. "A coincidence!? But Exedore, the odds on that have to be nothing less than...

  "Astronomical," Lisa finished.

  Gloval snorted. "And the odds against our coexisting together?...They might be even greater."

  "So the truth is," Exedore concluded, "that although our races are similar, they are not identical. My race, the Zentraedi, were Protoculturally devoid of everything save for the bio-genetically engineered desire to fight. We were nothing but toys to our creators-toys of destruction. "

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I had wandered into an inviting, friendly-looking house that sat flush with the street, thinking it would be a shortcut to Rick (who was speeding away in his Veritech). The house was filled with antiques from the last century, and I was running around touching everything. But then when I remembered Rick and began to search for an exit, I couldn't find a way out! I started opening doors only to find more doors behind them, and more doors behind those, and more doors!...I woke up more frightened than I've ever been in a long time. It was more frightening than real life.

  From the diary of Lynn-Minmei

  Kyle, Minmei, and Mayor Harding reached the theater's main entrance in time to see the descent of Khyron's airborne assault team.

  They fell upon the city like a storm loosed from hell itself, resembling deep-sea divers and Roman gladiators in their powered armor. Civil defense Destroids were already in the streets, pouring missiles and transuranic slugs into the skies. An Excalibur MK VI, its slung cannons blazing, caught two enemy projectiles, which blew it off its feet, continuous fire from one of the cannons holing storefronts all along the avenue. Nearby, a Spartan was faring better, having taken out two of the enemy raiders with Stilettos launched from the mecha's drumlike missile tubes. But it too fell when one of the Zentraedi, easily as tall as the Spartan and better equipped to maneuver, barreled into it, sending the thing reeling back against the facade of the exposition theater, sparking out as it collapsed to the street, missiles dropping from one of its shattered drums.

  Kyle and the others pressed themselves deeper into the theater's doorway, shivering with fear, as cries for help rang out from the demolished Spartan.

  "Our worst fears are realized!" yell
ed Harding.

  Minmei clutched Kyle's arm, eyes shut tight, mouth wide in a silent

  scream.

  Khyron's troops were bent on nothing less than extermination; they had had two years to work up to this, two unrelieved years, just waiting for an opportunity to make the Micronians pay for all the hardships they had been forced to endure. Now all the tension and hatred left them in a frenzied rush, with New Detroit left to reap that violent harvest.

  Everything was a target, and no one was spared-Human or citified Zentraedi.

  "Fight to the end!" the Backstabber yelled into his comlink. "Find that chamber! No sacrifice is too great for a cause dearer than life itself!"

  Still, the Earth forces would not surrender; courage and valor were the words of the day, although few remained by battle's end to sing the praises of those who died.

  A Gladiator went hand to hand with one of the alien berserkers, dropping the Zentraedi with a left uppercut when its own cannons were depleted of charge, only to have the downed enemy blow it to smithereens with a blast from its top-mounted gun.

  Another of Khyron's elite paused before a parking lot simply to incinerate the vehicles and huddled groups of Humans inside.

  "I'm getting high reflex-activity readings," Khyron announced, his suit displays flashing. Locaters were helping him zero-in on the exposition hall. "All troops converge on my signal immediately!"

  Minmei and Kyle, wrapped around each other in the theater's entrance alcove, watched as enemy troops made for the hall, the streets vibrating to the crash of their metalshod boots.

  What have I done?! Kyle asked himself, close to panic.

  Inside the hall, the RDF sentries received word that the first defenses had been overrun; the enemy was headed their way. A battloid raised its chain gun at the sound of pounding on the hall's foot-thick steel door. The three-member crews of the Gladiators readied themselves.

  Mayor Harding had left Kyle and Minmei and rushed to the basement of the building. He and an unfortunate office worker were looking in on the

  hall and sizing chamber now, a Permaglass shield the only thing separating them from fire, as the door was suddenly blown open and Khyron's troops poured in.

  One of the Gladiators stepped forward to engage a Zentraedi, spitting harmless machine gun fire into the face of its enemy as the two of them grappled. Khyron's soldier got hold of the mecha's face plates, swung it clean off its feet, and sent the hapless thing crashing through the buildings reinforced concrete wall.

  The second Gladiator was similarly engaged, one-on-one and winning his close-in fight...until a Zentraedi appeared without warning overhead, blasting his way through the ceiling and descending on the mecha forcefully enough to split it wide-open, crown to crotch.

  All this time, the Battloid was emptying its gatling against a Zentraedi wall of armor. When the pilot saw the Gladiator take that terrible overhead blow, he ran his mecha forward, autocannon raised high like a sledgehammer, only to receive a paralyzing spin kick to the abdomen by an enemy with eyes behind its head.

  "That finishes it!" exclaimed the mayor, turning away from the carnage. "We've lost the sizing chamber!"

  "Chances are, no matter how much they are exposed to Humans, the Zentraedi are still a war-loving race," Exedore told the admiral after the session. He, Gloval, and Claudia had walked together from the briefing room to one of the fortress's enormous supply holds.

  "But many of your people have discovered an entirely different kind of life here on Earth, Exedore," Gloval argued. "You shouldn't be so...hard on yourself."

  "Admiral Gloval's right," Claudia added. "Many of your people supported peace as soon as they were exposed to the possibility, and most still do."

  "I agree that many want it," Exedore countered, unmoved by their obvious attempts to put him at ease. After all, it wasn't a question of feeling

  this way or that way about it; it was simply a fact: The Zentraedi were warriors. Exedore wondered sometimes if Humans didn't carry the emotional mode too far. "It's just that I now worry about those who still want to fight. Surely you understand that, Admiral."

  "Yes," Gloval admitted, lifting his pipe to his lips, uncertain where this discussion was headed.

  "Doesn't it seem strange, then, that no matter how far even superior civilizations have progressed, there never seems to be a solution to the problem of aggression and warfare?"

  "How true, my friend."

  "That applies to Humans, too," Exedore continued. "In fact, there is no known species in the whole of the Fourth Quadrant that has ever turned its back on war."

  "Regrettably so," Gloval said.

  A comtone sounded, and the admiral reached for a handset, grunting yeses and nos into it, his nostrils flaring. He recradled it with a slam and barked at Claudia:

  "Find Hunter immediately!"

  Claudia stepped back somewhat. "Sir?" "Zentraedi have attacked New Detroit!"

  "A toy of destruction," Rick was repeating to Lisa. "That's what he called himself, right?"

  The two of them were standing in one of the SDF-1s open bays, twenty feet above the shimmering lake, staring into orange and pink sunset clouds.

  "Genetically programmed for fighting...it's pretty sad. " "If you ask me, it sounds a lot like us," said Lisa.

  Rick frowned at her.

  "Aren't we always fighting?" she asked him. "That's not fair, Lisa."

  "I wasn't trying to be...Just making a point." "Oh, yeah?"

  "Rick! Lisa!"

  They turned together to find Claudia striding toward them.

  "I'm glad I found you two," she said, out of breath. "Zentraedi forces have attacked New Detroit!"

  Rick's eyes went wide. "Forces?! What d' ya mean? Who-malcontents?" Claudia shook her head. "Not from the sound of it. Their communication signal was lost about ten minutes ago, but one of our recon ships spotted the fighting. It looks a coordinated attack. At least a dozen

  Zentraedi in power armor. "

  Lisa watched Rick go livid. He clenched his fists and cursed.

  "Rick, it's not your fault!" she said quickly, reaching for him. But he was already through the doorway in a run.

  "Who?!" Lisa demanded of Claudia. "Who?!"

  The reinforcements from New Macross arrived on the scene too late. Rick, in Skull One, had a bird's-eye view of the battle's aftermath: fire, smoke, and several square blocks of total devastation. New Detroit's central avenues were torn up and cratered; civil defense mecha lay smoldering in the streets, while rescue crews worked frantically to free trapped crew members. The area around the exposition hall was unrecognizable. The main buildings had been reduced to rubble.

  Rick blamed himself.

  It had been his assignment to secure the Protoculture chamber, he told himself, but he had let Kyle and those easily influenced Zentraedi take charge.

  Below him now, cranes and bulldozers worked to haul a damaged Excalibur MK VI to its feet; the mecha's twin cannons had been blown from the body. Elsewhere, the hulk of a Gladiator was being towed from an intersection; it looked as though it had been split down the middle by an ax.

  Though Rick was shouldering the blame, he couldn't very well charge himself with the attack, and this was what began to concern him. The only incident that approached the level of destruction here was the raid on New

  Portland some weeks ago. There, renegade Zentraedi had broken into one of the armories, commandeered three Battlepods, and indulged themselves in a brief orgy of terror. But that was the isolated case; most often, the trouble was confined to fighting-the recent fistfight in the streets of Macross was a perfect example. But now, within twenty-four hours, there had been two major raids.

  The recon pilots who had witnessed the attack saw no battlepods; Zentraedi power armor, they said. Rick thought about it: Many of the warships that had crashed on Earth had been stripped of weapons during Reconstruction two years ago. But of course it was possible that a band of outlaw giants had chanced upon a ship and found the pow
er suits...but what would they want with the sizing chamber? A blow for independence? Furthermore, the attack on New Detroit had been too well coordinated: It was purposeful, nothing like the sprees of random violence Exedore was worried about-the resurgence of the Zentraedi programming.

  Rick found himself thinking about the Zentraedi's raid on Macross City, when it was still located in the belly of the SDF-1. As he looked over New Detroit, he began to feel that there was something familiar about this patterned ruination, almost as if it bore the earmarks of someone thought to be dead-someone whom the Zentraedi themselves had feared...

  While Rick was dropping the Veritech in for a closer look, searching for an uncluttered stretch of street to put down on, Kyle and Minmei were preparing to flee the city. The black sports car, which had been parked near the theater entrance, had miraculously survived the destruction, and Kyle was behind the wheel now, twisting the ignition key and cursing the thing for not turning over. Above the sleek vehicle towered the lifeless body of an Excalibur, spread-eagle in a death pose against the theater facade.

  "You crummy no-good pile of junk!" Kyle shouted at the car, pumping the accelerator pedal for all it was worth.

  "Hurry, Kyle!" Minmei yelled from the street. "They might be coming back!"

  "I'm doing the best I can!" he told her angrily.

  Minmei was wringing her hands and pacing, a victim of fear and self-torment. Like Rick, she was blaming herself for the tragedy.

  I could have stopped Kyle, and none of this would have happened! How could I let him do that to Rick?! If I had just stepped in when Rick looked at me like that...

  The sports car's engine fired, and Kyle hurrahed.

  "Minmei, get in! Let's go!" She was either in shock or lost in thought, he decided, because he wasn't getting through to her. "Minmei!" he tried again.