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  “Where they have been known to roll soldiers who wake up bleeding in some alley!” Nova snapped. “If the army didn’t need every ATAC right now, I’d let you think that over for a week in the lockup!”

  Nova was forcing the harsh tone in her voice. What she actually felt was closer to amusement than anger. Any minute now Dana would try to intervene on Grant’s behalf; and Grant was bound to foul up again, which would then reflect on Dana. Nova smiled inside: it felt so good to have the upper hand.

  Bowie was stammering an explanation and apology, far from heartfelt, but somehow convincing. Nova, however, put a quick end to it and continued to read him the riot act.

  “And furthermore, I fully appreciate the pressure you’ve all been under, but we can’t afford to make allowances for special cases. Do you understand me, Private?!”

  The implication was clear enough: Bowie was being warned that his relationship with General Emerson wouldn’t be taken into account.

  Dana was gazing coldly at Bowie, nodding along with the lieutenant’s lecture, but at the same time she was managing to slip Bowie a knowing wink, as if to say: Just agree with her.

  Bowie caught on at last “I promise not to do it again, sir!”

  Meanwhile Nova had turned to Dana. “If Lieutenant Sterling is willing to take responsibility for you and keep you out of trouble, I’ll let this incident go. But next time I won’t be so lenient”

  Dana consented, her tone suggesting rough things ahead for Bowie Grant, and Nova dismissed her agent.

  “Shall we finish our coffee?” Nova asked leadingly.

  Dana thought carefully before responding. Nova was up to no good, but Dana suddenly saw a way to turn the incident to her own advantage. And Bowie’s as well.

  “I think it would be better if I started proving myself to you by taking care of my new responsibility,” she said stiffly.

  “Yes, you do that,” Nova drawled, sounding like the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Later, walking back to the barracks, Dana had some serious words with her charge.

  “Nova’s not playing around. Next time she’ll probably feed you to the piranhas. Bowie, what’s wrong? First you louse up in combat, then you go looking for trouble in town. And where’d you steal a valid pass, by the way?”

  He shrugged, head hung. “I keep spares. Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any friction between you and Nova. You’re a good friend, Dana.”

  Dana smiled down at him. “Okay … But there’s one thing you can do for me….”

  Bowie was waiting for her to finish, when Dana’s open hand came around without warning and slapped him forcefully on the back—almost throwing him off his feet—and with it Dana’s hearty: “Cheer up! Everything’s going to be fine!”

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  I wish someone would call time out,

  They’re welcome to disarm me,

  We are the very model of

  A modern techno army.

  Bowie Grant, “With Apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan’

  THIRTEEN, ROLF EMERSON SAID TO HIMSELF WHEN HE HAD completed his count of the staff officers grouped around the briefing room’s tables. The tables would have formed a triangle of sorts, save for the fact that Commander Leonard’s desk (at what would have been the triangle apex) was curved. This was also a bad sign. Ordinarily, Emerson was not a superstitious man, but recent developments in world events had begun to work a kind of atavism on him. And if Human consciousness was going to commence a backward slide, who was he to march against it?

  “This meeting has been called to discuss strategic approaches we might employ against the enemy,” the supreme commander announced when the last member of his staff had seated himself. “We must act quickly and decisively, gentlemen; so I expect you to keep your remarks brief and to the point” Leonard got to his feet, both hands flat on the table. His angry eyes found Rolf Emerson. “General … go ahead.”

  Emerson rose, hoping his plan would fly; it seemed the only rational option, but that didn’t guarantee anything, with Chairman Moran holding Leonard’s feet to the fire, and Leonard passing the courtesy along down the chain of command. Brief and to the point, he reminded himself.

  “I propose we recommence an attack on the fortress … but only as a diversionary tactic. That ship remains an unknown quantity, and I think it’s imperative we get a small scouting unit inside for a fast recon.”

  This set off a lot of talk about demolition teams, battlefield nukes, and the like.

  Rolf raised his voice. “Gentlemen, the goal is not to destroy the fortress. We have to ascertain some measure of understanding of the aliens’ purpose. Need I remind you that this ship is but one of many?”

  Leonard quieted the table. Twice, Emerson had said alien as opposed to enemy, but he decided to address that some other time. Right now, the major general’s plan sounded good. A bit risky, but logical, and he stated as much.

  To everyone’s surprise, Colonel Rudolph concurred. “After all, what do we know about the enemy?” he pointed out.

  Leonard asked Rolf to address this.

  “We have tentative evidence that they’re Human or nearly Human in biogenetic terms,” Emerson conceded. “But that might only apply to their warrior class. We do know that the Robotechnology we’ve seen them use is much more advanced than ours, and we have no idea what else they’re capable of.”

  “All the more reason to recon that ship,” Rudolph said after a moment.

  There was general agreement, but Colonel Rochelle thought to ask whether a team really could penetrate the fortress, given the aliens’ superior firepower and defenses.

  “If it’s the right team,” Rolf answered him.

  “And the Fifteenth is the one for the job,” Commander Leonard said decisively.

  Emerson contradicted warily: it was true that the 15th had had some remarkable successes lately, but it was still a relatively untested outfit, and there were some among the team who certainly weren’t qualified for the job….

  But Leonard cut him off before he had a chance to name names, which was just as well.

  “General Emerson, you know the Fifteenth is the best team for this job.”

  There was general agreement again, while Emerson hid his consternation. Dana and Bowie had entered the military because that was where they were needed, and a stint in the service was expected of all able-bodied young people. Emerson had encouraged Bowie to enter the Academy, because Dana had already decided to and because Emerson was well aware that that was what Bowie’s parents would have wanted.

  It was just bad luck that a war had come along. Perhaps it would have been better for Emerson to renege on his promises to the Grants, to have let the kid go off and study music, play piano in nightspots … maybe that way Bowie might have been the last piano player cremated by an alien deathray, or might have survived while the rest of the Human race hurled itself onto the pyre of battle to stop the invaders.

  But Emerson didn’t think Bowie would see things that way. Bowie had seen the invaders at far closer range than Emerson, and Emerson had heard and seen enough to know that Earth was in a win-or-die war.

  Still, the idea of putting the 15th out on the tip of the lance yet again went against Emerson’s sense of justice and of military wisdom; this was a commando job, not a tank mission.

  Commander Leonard was well aware of Emerson’s relationship to Bowie Grant; but promises or no promises, Bowie was a soldier, end of story. Leonard wasn’t spelling all this out for everyone in the room, but Rolf had picked up the commander’s subliminal message.

  Rudolph and Rochelle also understood Rolf’s predicament, but they, too, were resolute in their decision: it had to be the 15th.

  “I suggest we prepare an options list,” Emerson told the staff, “a variety of plans and mixes for the forces involved.”

  Leonard seemed to consider that. He addressed Colonel Rudolph: “Get together with the ATACs’ CO and hammer out one scenario using the Fifteenth.” He
ordered Rolf to get the G3 shop to begin assembling alternatives.

  Emerson acknowledged the order, relieved. But as the meeting broke up, Leonard pulled Rudolph aside, waiting until Emerson was gone.

  “Colonel, I’m directing you to present this mission to the Fifteenth ATAC and Lieutenant Sterling as an order, not a proposal. We can’t waste time dawdling.” And I can’t waste time arguing with my subordinates, nor can I risk Emerson’s resigning just now. My neck’s on the block!

  Rudolph snapped to smartly. “Sir!”

  The commander continued in a confidential tone. “We must put aside Rolf’s personal matters and get on with the war.”

  * * *

  “What d’ya think—that I’d volunteer us for this mission?” Dana said to her squad after the orders had come down from Headquarters. “Somebody has to recon that fortress—”

  “And we’re that somebody,” Sean finished for her. “HQ wants to know who it’s fighting.”

  “They’ll be fighting me if this keeps up,” Sergeant Dante threatened, clenching his big hands and adopting a boxer’s stance.

  The primaries of the 15th were grouped in their barracks ready-room, trying to find someone to blame for HQ’s directive. Dana had already had it out with Colonel Rudolph, citing all the action the team had seen lately, their need for R & R, the sorry state of their ordnance and Hovertanks. But it all fell on deaf ears: when the supreme commander said jump, you jumped. With or without a chute.

  “Hey, Sarge, I thought you wanted to keep fighting,” Sean reminded him.

  Dante glared at him. “I just don’t like being used like a pawn in Leonard’s game of ‘name the alien.’ We’ve gotta go out there and risk our lives to save their reputations.”

  “How literary of you, Angelo,” Dana said sharply. “What the heck does reputation have to do with any of this?” She gestured out the window in the direction of the downed fortress. “That ship is at least a potential threat. What are we supposed to do—turn it into an amusement park ride?”

  “How are we even going to get in?” Louie Nichols thought to ask.

  The team turned to regard the whiz kid of the Southern Cross, waiting for him to suggest something. With his gaunt, angular face, top-heavy thatch of deep brown hair, and everpresent wraparound opaque goggles, Louie came closer to resembling an alien than Dana herself. Some members of Professor Cochran’s group actually believed that Louie had patterned himself after the infamous Exedore, the Zentraedi Minister of Affairs during the Robotech War.

  “It’s difficult enough analyzing their technology. But getting inside their ship … How are we supposed to pull that off?”

  Angelo looked at Louie in disbelief. “Get in? How are we gonna get out, Louie, how are we gonna get out?! I don’t think you realize there’s a chance we may not return from this mission alive.”

  Sean made a wry face. “Pity … she’s gonna miss me when I’m gone.”

  At the same time, Louie exclaimed, “Gone?!” Bowie asked, “Isn’t that a song?” and Dana said, “Knock it off.”

  Sean acknowledged the rebuke with a bemused smile. “You’re right,” he told Dana. “This mission is more important than my miss. What’s it matter, right? We’re tough.”

  “That’s the right stuff,” Dana enthused. “And there’s no other way to pull this mission off but to, well, to just do it!”

  The sergeant was nodding in agreement now, wondering where his earlier comments had come from. If Dana the halfbreed could get behind it, he could, too.

  “All right,” he said rallying to the cause. “We’ll make them rue the day they touched down on this planet.”

  The 15th had a little over twelve hours to kill, and sleep was out of the question. Dana had her doubts about giving anybody permission to leave the barracks, but realized that keeping them cooped up would only give them time to ferment and perhaps explode. She issued “Cinderella” passes—good until midnight—along with dire threats about what Nova’s MPs would do to anybody who screwed up in town or came back late.

  Sean left to visit a good friend who found prebattle good-byes aphrodisiac. Louie Nichols sat down to tinker with his helmet video transmitters. Angie nursed drinks and cigars in the dark privacy of his own quarters. And Bowie Grant insisted on treating Dana to the finest beers to be had in Monument City.

  Twenty minutes later, Dana and Bowie were lifting frosted, conelike pilsner glasses of pale, foamy beer and clinking them together in a toast to better times.

  Bowie contorted his face for a clownish look. “I figured it was the least I could do after what you did for me yesterday.”

  As Dana lowered her glass her hand brushed something that he had slid over to her.

  “What’s this?” It was a gorgeous little blossom of delicate red, hot pink, and coral, and tones in between. “A flower?”

  “An orchid, Dana. For good luck.”

  She pinned it ceremonially onto her torso harness, near her heart. “You’re sweet, Bowie. And maybe too sensitive for this line of work. What d’ya think?”

  Bowie drew a deep breath. “Well, I prefer music to space warfare, if that’s what you mean. You know this wasn’t my idea.”

  Dana looked hard at her handsome friend, thinking back through years of peaceful and playful memories, back to when their parents were still on-world—when her memory of them was still alive….

  She debated for a moment, then it occurred to her—as it did more strongly with each action she fought in—that for her, Bowie, the 15th, the Human race, tomorrow might be the last, for any or all of them.

  Bowie had been making mistakes lately in a very uncharacteristic way. Dana was no shrink and she couldn’t take away all Bowie’s resentment of the military; but the way she saw it, it would be good for all concerned if he let off a little steam on some piano keys.

  “So go find some piano in an on-limits place and play for the people,” Dana said suddenly. “And quit gaping at me like that!”

  Bowie’s eyebrows beetled. “Don’t put me on about this, Da—”

  “I’m not putting you on. Just remember: I gave Nova my word; I’m responsible for you. Don’t mess up or we both take a fall. And sign back in at the barracks before midnight, read me?”

  “Roger that,” Bowie said, and was gone.

  Feeling a good two kilos heavier after knocking back several more glasses, Dana (Bowie’s gift orchid boutonniered to her uniform) returned to the barracks compound, left her Hovercycle in the mecha pool, and elevatored to the 15th’s quarters. She looked in on Louie, but decided not to take him from his gadgeteering, and made for the ready-room, where she found Angelo nursing a drink in the dark, silently regarding the distant fortress, a black shape all but indiscernible from the ridgeline’s numerous stone outcroppings and buttresses.

  The sergeant sat with his arms folded, legs crossed, a sullen but contemplative look on his face. He was unaware of Dana’s presence until she announced herself, asking to speak to him for a moment.

  “About tomorrow’s reconnaissance mission,” they said simultaneously. But only Angelo chuckled.

  Dana had serious issues on her mind now, the success of the mission, the safety of her team. With a bit of luck Bowie would land himself in the brig and she would be able to scratch him from her worry list. Sean and Louie presented no problems, and either of them could handle the squad’s grunts; but that left Angelo Dante.

  “I know this doesn’t have to be said but once,” Dana went on. “But … I know I can depend on you, Angie. Just wanted you to know.”

  “Same here, Lieutenant. Don’t worry; we’re gonna kick some alien butt.”

  It was typical of Angelo to put it this way: at the same time he was deferring to her and questioning her command abilities. Alien was directed at her; the sergeant’s unmasked attack on her mixed ancestry. But she had lived with the “halfbreed” stigma for so long that it hardly fazed her anymore. Who on Earth hadn’t lost someone to the Zentraedi wars? And with all of her mother�
�s people aboard the SDF-3 or the Robotech Factory Satellite now, she was in effect the unofficial scapegoat of the unspeakable crimes of the past. If only Max and Miriya had foreseen this; she would have preferred death to the purgatory of the present.

  “I’m aware of my responsibilities,” she told Angelo. “But I just wanted to say that this mission will fail even before it gets under way unless you and I can begin to trust each other.”

  She took the small orchid from her lapel, reached across Angelo, and dropped it in his Scotch and soda.

  “Hey—”

  “Tropical ice,” she smiled down at him. “A little good luck charm for you, Angie—a peace offering. Do you like it?”

  “I guess …” the sergeant started to reply, sitting up in his chair. But just then someone threw on the overhead lights. Startled by the intrusion, he and Dana swung around at the same moment to find Nova Satori and Bowie centered in the wide doorway.

  “I put you in charge of Bowie and this is what happens?” Nova said, as the entry doors slid shut.

  Dana met them halfway, sizing up the situation quickly and rehearsing her lines. She had certainly anticipated the arrival of these two, but not Bowie’s disheveled appearance. His uniform was soiled and one of his cheeks looked bruised.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him. “What’s going on here?”

  Bowie wore a distressed look, more genuine than yesterday’s.

  “I guess I did it again,” he answered contritely.

  “I ought to throw you both in jail,” Nova scolded Dana. “He was in a barroom brawl.” The lieutenant looked like her namesake, ready to incinerate whatever was in close proximity.

  This time Nova herself had caught him red-handed, following him from the café and waiting until just the right moment to walk in on him. And now she had Dana just where she wanted her: of course Nova would agree to release Bowie to her custody once again, but this time there would be a price to pay—a first look at the results of tomorrow’s recon operation for starters. With rivalry increasing daily between Leonard’s army intelligence and the Global Military Police, it was the only way Nova could count on getting the real dope.