Doomsday: The Macross Saga Page 15

  Still unwilling to rule out miracles, Lisa checked the displays.

  “Uh, sorry, Skull Leader. Nice try, but it didn’t work.”

  “I copy that, Commander. Guess we’ve gotta speak to them in the only language they understand.”

  Lisa’s screen began to light up; the enemy mecha had opened fire. Skull and the other teams were engaging them. Radar blips began to disappear from the board, VTs and enemy paint.

  “Never say die, Rick,” she said softly into her mike.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  … But if such a contest existed, I would cast my vote without hesitation for Khyron—history’s principal man in the middle. Distrusted by Dolza, dismissed by Breetai, feared by his own troops, and now fixed upon by the “Micronians,” Khyron had moved into what might be called transparanoia (or better still, metanoia). He simply was all those things normal paranoid personality types delude themselves into believing: persecuted, grandiose, and essentially pivotal in the great scheme of things.

  Rawlins, Zentraedi Triumvirate:

  Dolza, Breetai, Khyron

  The Zentraedi flagship had self-sealed itself; an undetectable patch of green armor covered the damage done to its blunt nose by the ramming arm of the fortress—a design feature the Robotech Masters had engineered into the ships of the fleet. Would that breaches in command were so easily sealed, thought Breetai, and breaches in discipline.

  Just now he was pacing the floor of the observation booth, as always, under the analytical gaze of his misshapen adviser.

  Though limited in emotional range, the Zentraedi commander had run the gamut of available responses since the inception of Exedore’s plan to assault the SDF-1 right through to Khyron’s news of mass desertion among the ranks. Things had looked good early on: He had forced the Micronians to launch their so-called Daedalus Maneuver, their Destroids had been destroyed, and Regault squads had been successfully inserted into the fortress. There were indications of a massive battle having taken place in the population center inside the Robotech ship; the Micronians had recalled most of their fighters to deal with the threat, and follow-up transmissions on the tac net suggested that the Zentraedi had scored a decisive victory. Much to Breetai’s and Exedore’s surprise, Khyron’s Botoru teams had also infiltrated the enemy’s defense. Breetai had grown confident of a sure Micronian surrender. Zor’s Protoculture matrix would soon be his, and with it would come greater glory than any had hitherto known.

  But then word had been received from Khyron about the desertions.

  Breetai refused to believe it.

  “This must be the tremendous force the Robotech Masters have been speaking of,” Exedore said. “The legends have been most specific: Continued contact with Micronians is to be avoided at all costs. They are said to be in possession of a secret weapon which could ultimately destroy us, leaving this quadrant wide open for an attack by the Invid. I have long dreaded this day, m’lord.”

  Breetai expected no less; his advisor had been quoting the legends to him since that first day when the fleet defolded from hyperspace near the Micronians’ homeworld.

  “So you think I should have paid attention to those ancient warnings, do you?”

  “Perhaps, m’lord.”

  “And what of Commander in Chief Dolza, Exedore? What would we do about him?”

  “The question remains not what we would have done, Commander,” Exedore countered, “but what we will do about him.”

  Desertion had turned the battle around. Although Breetai had yet to formulate a clear picture of the events, Commander Khyron reported that he had been forced to take punitive measures against some of the Zentraedi troops. Soldiers had been abandoning their mecha and expressing a wish to live among the Micronians. Some sort of psychological assault had been launched against them—Khyron said that the deserters had referred to it as a “Minmei.” Obviously the perfected form of the weapon the Micronians had been experimenting with for at least a year by their own reckoning. Breetai recalled those early days: the low-frequency transmissions from the fortress which had so confused Exedore’s three Cyclops operatives, and later, the disturbing effects produced by the male and female captives. Subsequently there was the strange behavior of the returned spies and the trans-vids of that Micronian battle record and death ray demonstration.

  The secrets of Protoculture were theirs!

  Driven from the dimensional fortress, Khyron had since been pursuing a group of potential deserters, dispatching them one by one. He now had them regrouped and headed again toward the SDF-1 on a suicide run. Breetai, however, was having second thoughts: It was too late to undo any of his past mistakes, but he might yet be able to profit from this latest upset. Commander Azonia had informed him that Quadrono leader Miriya was still aboard the fortress. Surely she’d see to it that the deserters wouldn’t live long enough to do the Zentraedi any harm. And as for these few stragglers …

  “Tell Khyron to call off his attack,” Breetai now told his advisor. “We will remove all our troops from Micronian influence immediately.”

  Exedore bowed slightly. “And then, m’lord?”

  “Interrogate the deserters. You must see if you can determine the nature of this power the Micronians have exerted. We may yet find a way to resist their control.”

  “It shall be done.”

  Khyron had centered one of the Battlepods in his targeting screen. It would require only a glancing blow to the upper right of the sphere to bring the thing back into line. Mustn’t let them stray too far from the fold, he said to himself. All Micronian sympathizers have to stick together. He was just elevating one of the media’s handguns and bringing it to bear on the pod when Exedore raised him on the comlink.

  Breetai’s orders were relayed.

  “Isolate the deserters and lock them up?!” Khyron shouted into his communicator. “Exedore, are you mad? What next, if we let them get away with this?”

  “You have your orders, Commander.”

  Khyron slammed his fist down on the control console of the Officer’s Pod. “We might just as well surrender to the Micronians!”

  “Order your troops about, Commander. Commander Breetai has ordered me to employ the nebulizer if you fail to comply.”

  “And what about the deserters aboard that ship?” Khyron demanded. “Do you realize what damage they can do?”

  “Miriya will see to them, Commander.”

  Khyron was stunned. “Miriya? Miriya Parino is aboard—micronized?! Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

  “That is Commander Breetai’s prerogative,” Exedore said plainly.

  “Bah!”

  Khyron shut down the comlink. So this was how it was going to be, he said to himself. New lines were being drawn. And sooner or later he and Breetai were going to find themselves on opposite sides. A sinister smile began to surface. Let Breetai have his deserters, the infected ones. The illness would spread through his fleet like an epidemic, and Dolza would hear about it. With both Azonia and Breetai out of the way, Khyron would be put in command. Then the real purge would commence; and not just against the Micronians but against all those who defied the Zentraedi imperative!

  Human and Zentraedi mecha met head-on, crisscrossing silently in space at skirmish speed. The Veritechs held back their fire until the last possible moment, then unleashed a storm of missiles and gatling rounds at the Battlepods and triple-fins. Spherical explosions threw short-lived light against the night. Below them was the dark face of the Earth, undisturbed and unconcerned.

  Skull One’s retros flared briefly to bleed the fighter of velocity as ventral thrusters provided its lift, tipping the ship over so that Earth was now above Rick for a moment. Most of the pods had also doubled back but had yet to return fire. VTs from Vermillion and Blue teams were blowing them out of space like sitting ducks. And where Lisa had been expecting a kamikazelike attack, there was only a full-scale retreat. Rick moved to within striking distance of two ostriches, his front fuselage guns bl
azing, but the enemy refused to engage him; they simply rolled and showed him the red glow of their foot thrusters.

  “Certain reluctance out here or am I imagining things?” said Vermilion Leader over the tac net.

  “I copy that, V Leader,” someone added. “Skull One, do we pursue?”

  “Uh, affirmative, V Leader,” said Rick. “Let’s go see what they’re up to.”

  The Veritechs regrouped and boostered off after the retreating Battlepods. Rick was the first to spot the Officer’s Pod; it seemed to be taking aim at one of its own, herding the mecha back into formation with the rest. Rick hit his afterburners and homed in on it.

  He couldn’t hold the enemy officer in the reticle but had a good view of the ship on his forward scopes. It had to be the same one! Rick convinced himself. There were no telltale markings of any kind—it was easily as worn, scorched, and scratched as the rest of them—but that pilot seemed to have his own signature. And from what the defectors had divulged, the name attached to that craft would be “Khyron”—someone they seemed to fear above all else.

  Rick noticed two VTs from Blue making their approach against the Officer’s Pod. But Khyron was alert to their scheme and went after them in a frenzy, handguns blasting away, top-mounted cannon erupting in salvos of death. Both Veritechs sustained hits and disintegrated in the ensuing explosions.

  Meanwhile Rick was certain he had the drop on the pod. Distracted by the two fighters, his quarry had turned his back to him, all guns forward. But as Skull One sped in for the shot, the pod swiveled and caught sight of him. Rick launched three missiles regardless, but pulsed bombardment detonated the first, and the second and third fell to fratricide.

  The tables were turned all of a sudden. The pod had a good opportunity to tail Rick and slide easily into position for that lethal cone release, but in the interim, Khyron’s charges had escaped his control. So instead of jumping on Rick, the pod turned around to reshepherd its widespread flock.

  “They seem to be breaking off for good, Lieutenant,” said the Vermilion Leader.

  Rick breathed a sigh of relief before he went on the net. “Have your teams pull back to the fortress.” He then raised Max on the commo screen.

  “Scanners show warships along our heading, Skull One.”

  “All right, Max. Looks like they decided to go home, after all. Let’s do the same.”

  One by one the Veritechs retroed and began to reverse their headings. The SDF-1, reconfigured to Cruiser mode now, was waiting for them in the space above Earth’s sunny side.

  Later, Lisa met with Captain Gloval in his quarters. Ever since colonels Maistroff and Caruthers had walked out on the asylum session, she had been searching for some way to counteract their influence with the United Earth Defense Council. Should the UEDC leaders overturn Gloval’s ruling, there was no telling what might become of the defectors. For all anyone aboard the SDF-1 knew, Rico and his companions could possess some means of spreading the word, good or bad, back to the Zentraedi fleet. They had stated that there were ten other micronized soldiers in hiding. And perhaps those ten were prepared to engage in acts of sabotage if asylum was refused. Things hadn’t gone very well with her father the last time they met, but surely he would have to be open-minded now, in light of these recent developments and the new physical evidence of a possible link between humans and Zentraedi. She told Gloval as much.

  “You know I’m right, sir. When we granted asylum to those defectors, we changed this whole conflict. We’re defending their desire to adopt our values. If I don’t go to Earth and line up some support, we might very well be ordered to send them back.”

  Gloval had his back to her while he listened. But now he swung away from the starfield view out the portside bay and faced her. He was skeptical.

  “Our dealings with the Council have proved less than satisfying so far. What makes you think you’ll be able to convince them now?”

  “I’m not promising anything, Captain. But we do have new evidence on our side. If I can just get my father behind us.”

  “That’s a very large if, Lisa.”

  “The results of Dr. Lang’s lab tests should be enough to reopen a dialogue with the Council if nothing else. The Zentraedi race and the human race are essentially the same. They could be our long-lost brothers and sisters. If that isn’t compelling enough, I don’t know what is.”

  “You’re determined to make this work.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m aware of what you said after the session—that you’re no longer going to let the Council dictate to this ship—but I would hate to see things go in that direction. No matter how disaffected the civilians are, Macross will never be the same after that attack. They have to be disembarked and resettled on Earth. What can we do otherwise? Search the galaxy for some hospitable world? If we still had our fold generators that might be possible, but given the speeds we can attain … I don’t have to tell you this, Captain.”

  Gloval waved his hand dismissively. “You’re right to say it. I need to hear it sometimes.”

  Lisa perched herself on the corner of his desk. “We’ve been lucky. But how much longer can this go on? Even if the Zentraedi never achieve a decisive victory, they’re going to succeed in whittling us down to nothing. Our stores are not inexhaustible. And God knows, our Defense Force isn’t inexhaustible. And no matter what the Council proclaims—no matter what they threaten us with—this ship is not expendable. We are the only thing that stands between the Zentraedi armada and the Earth itself.” Lisa motioned out the bay to the stars. “They have over one million warships out there! We’re losing sight of that because we’ve been lucky and they’ve been foolish. But even in the best of winning streaks luck has an uncanny way of reversing itself. We have to come to terms with the Council and the Zentraedi. I think the appearance of the defectors is the first step in that process, and they took it. Maybe we’ve already done our part by offering asylum, but I’m convinced we have to go further. I’ve got to get to my father before Maistroff and Caruthers get to him.”

  Gloval tugged at his mustache. “It could be risky, Lisa.”

  “How, sir?”

  “Because your father wants you off this ship. And if we lose you now …”

  She smiled at him. “You have Sammie, Captain. She’ll get the hang of it.”

  Gloval snorted. “Sammie will someday make a proper First Officer, but she lacks your overall knowledge of this fortress. You are needed here, Lisa.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, lowering her gaze. “But this war must be stopped. Let me try this approach, Captain. I promise you I won’t let my father prevent my return.”

  Gloval nodded and exhaled loudly. “All right, you have my permission. But think carefully before you decide to disobey any orders from the Council. Remember who and what you are, Lisa.”

  She stood up sharply and saluted him. “I’ll begin working on a joint report tonight and have a draft for you in the morning.”

  Gloval stood up and extended his hand to her. “You’ll leave as soon as possible.”

  Lisa was already formulating her report when she left the captain’s quarters, experimenting with wording and editing, choosing the phrases and approach that would work best with her father. She was so wrapped up in this process that she got halfway to the bridge before realizing that she was supposed to be headed to her barracks. Turning around, she became preoccupied with a different train of thought: It was possible that she might never set foot on the bridge again. Captain Gloval was right; her father wanted her off the SDF-1, and he would try to make good his demands this time—especially after hearing the news she was bringing. She could hear him now: What?! Aliens aboard the fortress?! A-and Gloval’s granted them political asylum? A-and you expect me to allow you to return to that ship of fools?!

  This started her thinking along the line of “last thoughts”: This might be the last time she walked this corridor, the last time she slept in her quarters, the last time she saw her crewmates—Claudia, S
ammie, Kim, Vanessa … and Rick. What would Rick say if he knew she was leaving?

  Had Lisa walked directly to the elevator, she would have had an opportunity to ask him in person, because the lieutenant had stepped off a moment before she arrived. And it would have been doubly interesting considering that he had been wondering how she might react to his asking her out to dinner.

  But fate operated along the same lines then as it does today, and her autopilot wrong turn along the corridor had erased all chance of a meeting. Dinner would have to wait—for quite a while if the truth be permitted at this stage of the narrative. And not onboard the SDF-1, either. Events were about to take a twist everyone had feared but no one had dared anticipate. The war was about to escalate. Death was about to gain the upper hand. Rick and Lisa would meet again, but against a landscape that would overshadow any joy such a reunion might ordinarily bring.

  FOR GABRIELA “GABBY” ARANDA

  FORCE OF ARMS

  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.