Invid Invasion: The New Generation Read online

  “Answer me, Marlene. I might not get another chance to ask you.”

  The command ship bridge was a tight, no-nonsense affair, with two duty stations squeezed between the wraparound viewports and four more back to back behind these. There was none of the spaciousness and calm that had characterized the SDF-1 bridge; here everyone had a seat, and everyone put duty first. It took something like the first sight of Earth to elicit any casual conversation, and even then the comments would have surprised some.

  “I’m so excited,” a woman tech was saying. “I can hardly wait to see what Earth looks like after all these years.”

  Commander Gardner, seated at the forward station of starboard pair, heard this and laughed bitterly to himself. He had served under Gloval during the First Robotech War and had been with Hunter since. His thick hair and mustache had gone to silver these past few years, but he still retained a youthful energy and the unwavering loyalty of his young crew.

  The woman tech who had spoken was all of seventeen years old, born in deep space like most of her shipmates. Gardner wished for a moment he could have showed her the Earth of forty years ago, teeming with life, wild and wonderful and blissfully unaware of the coming tide.…

  “What does it matter?” the tech’s male console mate answered her. “One planet’s the same as another to me. Robotech ships are all I’ve known—all I want to know.”

  “Don’t you have any interest in setting foot on your homeworld? Our parents were born here. And their parents, right on back to the first ancestors.”

  Gardner could almost hear the copilot’s shrug of indifference clear across the bridge.

  “Just another Invid colony, color it what you will. So this place is blue and Spheris was brown. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

  “Spoken like a true romantic.”

  The copilot snorted. “You get romantic thinking about the Invid grubbing around the old homestead looking for Protoculture?”

  Commander Gardner was hanging on the answer when the door to the bridge hissed open suddenly and Lieutenant Bernard entered.

  “Alpha Group is just about ready for launch,” Bernard reported.

  Gardner muttered, “Good,” and rose from the contoured seat, signaling one of the techs to turn on the ship’s PA system.

  “Most of you know what I’m about to say,” he began. “But for those who don’t know what this mission is all about, it’s simply this: Eleven years ago we became aware that the Invid Sensor Nebulae had located some new and apparently enormous supply of the Flowers of Life. The source of the transmissions turned out to be the Earth itself.

  “The Regess moved quickly to secure the Flowers, with the same murderous intent she demonstrated on Spheris and Haydon IV and a dozen other worlds I don’t have to remind you about. Nor should I have to remind you about what we’re going to face on Earth. It seems probable that the Invid decimated the 10th Division, but we number more than four times their strength.”

  Scott noticed that the bridge techs, eyes locked on Gardner and grim faces set, were giving silent support to the commander’s words. Marlene entered the bridge in the midst of the briefing, whispering her apologies and seating herself at her duty station.

  “Admiral Hunter has entrusted us to spearhead a vast military operation to invade and reclaim our homeworld,” said Gardner. “And I know that I can count on every one of you to stand firm behind the admiral’s conviction that we can lay the foundations for his second wave.” He inclined his head. “May God have mercy on our souls.”

  A brief silence was broken by the navigator’s update:

  “Earth orbit in three minutes, Commander. Placing visual display on the monitor, sir.”

  Everyone turned to face the forward screen. Orbital schematics de-rezzed and were replaced by a full view of the Earth. They had all seen photos and video images galore, but the sight inspired awe nevertheless.

  “It’s beautiful,” someone said. And compared to Fantoma or Tirol, it most certainly was: snow-white pole, blue oceans, and variegated land masses, the whole of it patterned by swirling clouds.

  A computer-generated grid assembled itself over the image as the command ship continued to close. At her station, Marlene said, “So that’s what Earth looks like … it seems so peaceful.”

  The commander called for scanning to be initiated, and in a moment the grid was highlighting an area located in one of the northern continents. Data readouts scrolled across an adjacent display screen.

  “Full magnification and color enhancement,” Gardner barked.

  Marlene leaned in to study her screen. The forward monitor was displaying an angry red image, not softened in the least by Earth’s inviting cloud cover. She knew what this was but asked the computer to compare the present readings with those logged in its memory banks. She sensed that Scott was peering over the top of her high-backed chair.

  “That’s it, sir,” she said all at once, her screen strobing encouragement. “The central hive. Designation … Reflex Point,” Marlene read from the data scroll. “Picking up energy flux readings and multiple radar contacts … waiting for signature.”

  Gardner glanced over at her briefly, then turned his attention forward once again. “I want visuals as soon as possible,” he instructed one of the techs.

  “Shock Trooper transport,” Marlene said at the same time.

  Gardner’s nostrils flared. “Prepare to repel.”

  Techs were already bending over the consoles tapping in commands, the bridge a veritable light show of flashing screens.

  “Two minutes to contact,” the navigator informed Gardner.

  “All sections standing by …”

  “Auto-astrogator is off … Ship’s shields raised …”

  Marlene flipped a series of switches. “Net is open.…”

  “All right,” Gardner said decisively. “Issue the go signal to all Veritechs.”

  “One minute and counting, sir …”

  The commander turned to Scott.

  “It’s up to your squads now, Lieutenant. We’ve got to get through their lines and set these ships down.” Scott saluted, and Gardner returned it. “Good luck,” he added.

  “You can count on us.”

  Marlene had turned from her station, waiting for him to walk past. As he leaned down to kiss her, she smiled and surprised him by placing a heart-shaped holo-locket into his hand.

  “Take this with you,” she said while he was regarding the thing. “It’s my way of saying ‘good luck.’ ”

  Scott thanked her and leaned in to collect that kiss after all. Resurfaced, he found Gardner and the techs smiling at him; he gave another crisp salute and rushed from the bridge.

  “ ‘Good-bye, sweetheart,’ ” one of the techs stationed behind Marlene mimicked not a moment after Scott left. “ ‘And here’s a token of my undying love.’ ”

  Marlene poked her head around the side of the chair. Marf and one who liked to be called Red were laughing. “Knock it off,” she told them. She was used to the razzing—personal time was hard to come by aboard ship, and Scott’s open displays of affection only added fuel to the fire—but in no mood for it right now.

  “What’s the matter, Marlene?” Red said over his shoulder. “Don’t you know that absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

  She swiveled about in the cushioned seat and hid her face in her hands. “I don’t know how it could,” she managed, suddenly on the verge of tears.

  “Don’t let them get to you, Marlene,” one of her supporters at the forward stations called out while Red laughed.

  Come back, Scott, she prayed. I’d give my life to keep you safe.

  • • •

  Gardner’s command ship was actually one of the fleet’s many transport vessels—delicate-looking ships that resembled swans in flight, with long, tapering necks and thin swept-back wings under each of which was affixed a boxcarlike Veritech carrier.

  Scott, his body sheathed in lime-green armor, was strapping himself i
nto one of the Veritechs now. Twenty years had seen only minor changes in armor and craft. Lang’s Robotech design team had maintained the “thinking caps” and sensor-studded mitts and boots that were so characteristic of the first-generation VT pilots. Armor itself had become somewhat bulky due to the fact that these third-generation warriors were involved in ground-assault missions as often as they were in space strikes; but there was none of the gladiatorial styling favored by Lang’s counterparts in the Army of the Southern Cross.

  “The main engine and boosters are in top shape, sir,” a launch tech perched on the rim of the Veritech bin told Scott before he lowered the canopy. “Good luck and good hunting.”

  Scott flashed him a thumbs-up as the canopy sealed itself. “Thanks, pal,” he said over the externals. “I’ll be seein’ you Earthside.”

  Flashes of green and red light from the cockpit displays played across the tinted faceshield of Scott’s helmet as he activated and engaged one after another of the Veritech’s complex systems. “This is Commander Bernard of the Twenty-first Armored Tactical Assault Squadron, Mars Division,” he announced over the com net. “Condition is green, and we are go for launch.”

  “The flight bay is open,” control radioed back to him. “You are cleared for launch, Commander.”

  Scott gave a start as bay doors throughout the carrier retracted. The cloud-studded deep-blue oceans of Earth filled his entire field of vision. The sight elicited a sense of vertigo he had never experienced before; it was difficult for him to comprehend a planet with so much water, a liquid world that offered so little surface.… But Scott was quick to catch himself.

  “Mars Division attack wing,” he said over the net, “let’s do it!”

  The Veritech lurched somewhat as the bin conveyers began to move the fighters toward the forward bay. Scott saw that the grappler pylons that would convey the mecha from belt to vacuum had already attached themselves. He readied himself at the controls, urging his body to relax, his mind to meld with the VT systems. In a moment he felt the grapplers release, the fighter drifting weightlessly, before he engaged the thrusters that bore it away from the transport carrier.

  “All right, look alive,” Scott said as his wingmen came alongside to signal their readiness. “Once we join up with the main formation, I want eyes open and hands on the trigger.” Earthspace was filled with mecha now, some two thousand Veritechs in a slow descent over a silent world. Scott heard Commander Gardner’s voice over the com net.

  “All wing commanders maintain loose battle formation.… prepare to break off for individual combat at the first sign of enemy hostility. It shouldn’t be long in coming.…”

  It is unlikely that many of the men and women who made up the Mars Division (so named by Dr. Lang to convey a sense of attachment to Earth and its brethren worlds) recognized the uniqueness of their position: Their invasion represented humankind’s first deliberate offensive against an XT force. Up to that point Earth had always been on the defensive, counterstriking first the Zentraedi, then those giants’ Tirolian Masters, and lastly (and unsuccessfully) the Invid themselves. In this sense the day was a red-letter event, if not the turning point Hunter and numerous others had all hoped it would be.…

  Scott was one of the first to see the enemy ship; it was below him at nine o’clock, surfacing through Earth’s atmosphere at an alarming rate. An Invid troop carrier, one of the so-called Mollusk Carriers.

  “Here they are,” Scott said to his wingmen, gesturing with his hand at the same time. The clamshell-shaped fortress was yawning now, revealing an arena array of Invid Armored Scout mecha. “Fall in on my signal.”

  When Scott looked again a split second later, an Invid column launched itself and was locked in on an ascent to engage, the ships’ crablike hulls and pincer arms a gleaming golden-brown in Sol’s intense light. “Yeah, I think we’re gonna see signs of hostility,” Scott muttered to himself as his squadron dropped in to meet the enemy at the edge of space.

  At Scott’s command the pilots of the Twenty-first thumbed off flocks of heat-seeker missiles, which streaked into the ascending column. Short-lived explosions of violent light blossomed against Earth’s blue and white backdrop. The VTs continued their silent descents, loosing second and third salvos of red-tipped demons against that horde which had overwhelmed their world. And countless Invid mecha flamed out and fried, but not enough to matter. For every one taken out there were three that survived, and those which broke through the line of fire began to strike back. Scott knew there were creatures inside each of those ships—huge bipedal mockeries of the Human form, with massive arms and heads that resembled elongated snouts.

  Unlike the enemy forces of the First and Second Robotech Wars, the Invid relied on numbers rather than firepower. True, the Zentraedi had a seemingly endless supply of Battlepods and an armada of ships four million strong, but by and large the war was fought in conventional terms. Up against the Masters this was even more the case, with the number of mecha on both sides substantially reduced. With the Invid, however, humankind encountered a horde mentality to rival any that nature had produced. And true to form, whether army ants or swarms of killer bees, the Invid carried a sting.

  As Scott and the others knew from their previous encounters, initial fusillades were what counted most. Once separated from its column, the individual Invid ship was blindingly maneuverable and often unstoppable. In close it favored two approaches: ripping open mecha with its alloy pincer claws and embracing a ship and literally shocking it to death with charges delivered by the ships’ Protoculture systems. Scott saw both variations of this occurring while he did his best to keep his own fighter out of reach.

  Veritech and crabship were going at it across the field, Mars Division troops and Invid mecha in deadly pursuits and dogfights, crisscrossing in the upper reaches of the stratosphere amidst tracer rounds, missile tracks, and laser-array fire from the command ships. Scott saw one of his team taken out by a claw swipe that opened the Veritech tail to nose, precious atmosphere sucked from the fractured canopy, the pilot flailing for life inside. In another part of nearby space, several Veritechs floated derelict after loveless Invid embraces.

  Scott realized the hopelessness of their situation and ordered his squadron to reconfigure to Battloid mode.

  Mechamorphosis, or mode selection, was still controlled by a three-position cockpit lever, along with the pilot’s mecha will, which interfaced with the fighter’s Protoculture-governed systems. But where all parts of the first-generation Veritechs participated in reconfiguration, the augmentation packs and energy generators of the Armored Alphas (essential for the space and ground missions that typified the Expeditionary Force) remained intact during the process. The forward portion of the craft telescoped to accomplish this, arms unfolding from behind the canopy while radome and cockpit rotated up through a 180-degree arc, now allowing the underbelly laser turret to become the Battloid’s head, and the underbelly rifle/cannon to become the weapon that was grasped in the mecha’s right hand.

  Thus transformed, Scott’s squadron fell in to reengage the Invid, blue thrusters bright in Earth’s dark side.

  Meanwhile, a second wave of Veritechs was launched from the transports to respond to another column of Invid approaching swiftly from Delta sector.

  Scott’s displays flashed coordinates and signatures of the second Mollusk Carrier even before he had visual contact. He ordered his team to form up on his lead and throw themselves against the column. Once again heat-seekers found their marks and took out scores of Invid ships; and once again orange hell-flowers blossomed. But reinforced, the Invid launched a frenzied counter-strike. Shock vessels broke through the front lines and went for the transports themselves in suicide runs and massed charges. Particle beams, disgorged from bow guns, swept like insecticide through their ranks, annihilating ship after ship.

  Scott’s team regrouped and gave chase to any that survived, blasts from the VTs’ beam-guns blowing pincers to debris and holing carapaces. St
ill, Scott could hear the death screams of the unlucky ones piercing the tac net’s cacophony of commands and reactions. VTs and Invid ships drifted from the arena, locked in bizarre postures, obscene embraces. Here, an Invid pincer was apparently caught in the canopy of the ship it had ensnared; there, another held a VT to itself, exchanging lightning flashes of death.

  Scott, sweat beading up across his forehead, was in pursuit of two Invid ships that were closing in on Commander Gardner’s transport; he had heard Marlene’s terror-stricken call for help only a moment before and had one of the enemy ships bracketed in the beam-gun’s sights now. He fired once, shooting a hole through its groin, and smiled devilishly as it disintegrated in a brief burst of crimson light. The second Invid, its pincers raised for action, was moving toward the bridge viewports. But fire from Scott’s cannon decommissioned it before it attained striking distance.

  “Saw two, swatted same,” Scott told Marlene over the com net, a confident tone returned to his voice. The Invid were falling back on all sides.

  “Good job, Commander,” Gardner congratulated him before Marlene had a chance to speak. “Signal your team to begin their atmospheric approach. Our thermal energy shields are already seriously drained.”

  “Roger,” said Scott, at the same time waving the beam-gun to signal his wingmen. “We’ll escort you through.”

  Scott saw the transport’s thrusters fire a three-second burst, realigning the ship for its slow descent. He sat back and punched up orbital entry calculations on the data screen, fed these over to the autopilot, and returned his attention to wide-range radar. Suddenly Marlene was on the net again, alerting him to a unit of bandits moving against him at four o’clock. He glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed them even as their signatures were registering on the mecha’s radar screen.

  “I see them,” he answered her calmly.

  Scott permitted the half dozen Invid to close in, enabling his onboard targeting computer to get a fix on all of them. It was a calculated risk but one that paid off a moment later when the Battloid’s deltoid compartments opened and each launched a missile that homed in on its target. Scott boostered himself away from the silent fireworks and rechecked the screen: There was no sign of enemy activity.