Doomsday: The Macross Saga Page 23

  Exedore’s bulging, lidless, pinpoint-pupilled eyes were fixed on the projecbeam image of the wedding, too. “Your Excellency, if I am not mistaken, she is getting ‘married.’”

  They were standing in Breetai’s command station, overlooking the vast bridge of his colossal flagship. The flagship, nine solid miles of weapons, shields, and armor, was in a state of disrepair after its furious engagements with the SDF-1 and the RDF mecha. The transparent bubble surrounding the command station had been shattered; only jagged pieces of it remained around the frame.

  Zentraedi were warriors, not slaves or drudges; they had little taste for anything that smacked of common toil, and even less talent for it. Those prejudices were approved of and reinforced by their Robotech Masters; without the Masters, the Zentraedi would sooner or later find themselves without functioning tools of war.

  Exedore explained, “According to my research, it is a condition in which male and female Micronians live together.”

  Breetai was stunned. His harsh, guttural bass voice filled the command station. “Live together? Miriya Parino and this puny Micronian male?”

  “Correct, m’lord.”

  But for what reason? The towering Zentraedi warlord, master of a cloned race that didn’t know love, family, or sex, tried to imagine what the purpose could be, why male and female might conceivably desire such intimacy. But when he tried, he was assailed by waves of distaste and confusion, by nameless half-seen visions that made him physically ill. He shunted the images aside.

  Breetai lowered himself into his enormous command chair, still considering the import of the wedding. “It seems she’s taking this spying mission of hers very seriously. Perhaps more seriously than she should.”

  His first conclusion was that Miriya the dedicated fighter was simply undergoing the tremendous torment of such behavior to infiltrate the enemy and learn the perverse secrets of their obscene social practices. But Breetai saw something in Miriya’s face, something that made the towering commander doubt this analysis.

  It was like the three spies, Konda, Rico, and Bron, all over again. Breetai felt a certain dread. “Unless my senses deceive me, it would seem she’s enjoying herself in some peculiar fashion. Could it be that she too has found the Micronian way of life too enjoyable to resist?”

  Exedore answered, “It would appear, sir, that she cannot resist the charm of that Micronian pilot.”

  Breetai had seen kissing demonstrated when he captured Rick Hunter and Lisa Hayes. He shuddered, recalling the disgusting display, and wondered how any intelligent creature could bring itself to indulge in such baseness.

  But the lure of the humans was undeniable; scores of Zentraedi soldiers had secretly conspired to undergo micronization and had gone to live among their former foes. It was the first such mutiny ever to have taken place in the history of the warrior race. Part of the madness had to do with the young human female Minmei and the oddly hypnotic power called “singing” that she exercised.

  “Our forces may be in more jeopardy than we believed,” Exedore said. “What if the traitors who went over to the human side were not merely mental defectives, as we thought, but rather the first wave in a sea of such deserters?”

  Breetai rubbed his huge jaw, the one giant black eyebrow lowering. “It appears this ‘love’ business is a very powerful thing.”

  Exedore replied, “I’m afraid I agree with you, sir. It’s an emotional factor against which we Zentraedi have no defense. This ‘love’ could be used as a powerful weapon against us.”

  Breetai scowled at the image of laughing, joyous humans, of the radiantly happy Miriya and proud, smiling Max. “Weapon, eh?”

  “Yes. We must beware.”

  The intercepted coverage of the wedding showed them flashbulbs popping and people applauding as Max and Miriya cut their cake. The wedding cake was a ten-foot-high model of the SDF-1 in its knightlike Attack mode.

  Breetai, growling in his rumbling bass, watched the proceedings angrily. What was there about the blissful looks of Miriya and the Micronian that exerted such a fascination, such a deep pull, on him? He told himself that it was only a commander’s need to study a dangerous enemy, refusing to believe that he could feel such a thing as envy for the puny foe.

  At the reception, the master of ceremonies was calling for quiet.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, today is a very special day. It’s more than just a wedding celebration; it’s the bonding of two souls dedicated to the protection of our Robotech colony. I’d like to introduce the man who’s done so much to make this a unique occasion, the commander of the SDF-1, Captain Henry Gloval!”

  There was plenty of applause even though people were still passing around cake and freshening up their champagne after the several toasts that had been drunk.

  Gloval stood up, decked out in his dress uniform, laden with medals, braid, and campaign ribbons galore. Rick, who knew the captain a little better than most people there, got the impression that they were going to find out why he had spared nothing to turn the wedding into a major occasion.

  Gloval spoke. “Well, to begin with, I extend heartfelt congratulations to Max and Miriya. This wedding carries with it a great historical significance.

  “As you all know, Miriya was a Zentraedi warrior who destroyed many of our ships. She comes from a culture that we have grown to fear and hate.”

  Oh, no! Rick thought. What could Gloval be thinking of? Miriya sat rigid as a statue, staring down at her plate. Max was white. The gathered guests were listening in stunned silence.

  “It is the Zentraedi who have caused our present situation,” Gloval pressed on. “They alone prevent our return to Earth—our homes and our beloved families.” One hand was balled into a fist now. “It is they who have caused injury, destruction, and endless suffering!”

  “Captain, please!” Max burst out, just at the same moment that Rick yelled, “Captain!”

  Gloval forged ahead. “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Why is he choosing this time to remind us of these terrible things?’ I remind you of them, ladies and gentlemen, because we must learn to forgive our enemies.”

  His image and his voice went out over screens throughout the fortress—in the barracks, the lounges, the giant monitors in the public squares of Macross City. “Not blindly, not out of ignorance, but because we are a strong and willing nation. We cannot blame the Zentraedi for their inexplicable lust for war. They have never known another way of life, and it has been their only means of survival.”

  All through the battle fortress, people gazed up at the screens in amazement—some with burgeoning hope, others with growing antagonism.

  “Nor can we condemn individuals of that society for the mass insanity of their leaders. Instead, we must look to their good nature. As you may know, dozens of Zentraedi defectors are now aboard the SDF-1, having been reduced to human size. They have made a request to stop the fighting, and I believe it is a genuine request.”

  He turned to indicate the newlyweds. “The blood of these young people was tested before the ceremony. Zentraedi blood was found to be the same as human blood.”

  That started murmurs and whispers in the reception hall; in the ship and the city at large, it ignited a thousand arguments and marked a turning point in human thinking.

  In the White Dragon, the Chinese restaurant belonging to Minmei’s uncle Max and aunt Lena, Mayor Tommy Luan and some others had come over to watch the ceremonies on television. They heard Gloval say, “There is no reason why we cannot coexist in peace. Let this occasion represent a future where all people live in harmony.”

  Cheers and applause were rising, evidence of the general hunger for an end to war. Gloval held his hands up to silence it. “Please, let me speak a moment longer.”

  Voices in the background were heard, saluting Gloval for his leadership, courage, and convictions. In the restaurant, Mayor Tommy Luan nodded his head and wiped at a tear. “Captain Gloval is truly a man of peace. A great man.”

&nb
sp; There were others in the ship who didn’t feel the same way, others who smashed bottles in the street or shook a fist at Gloval’s image. There had been so many losses, so many deaths, and so much suffering since the aliens’ first attack that the hunger for revenge would not die easily.

  Gloval had anticipated that, of course. “All of us have lost loved ones, and it will be difficult not to harbor ill feelings toward the Zentraedi. But somehow we must overcome these feelings! We must stop this senseless destruction.”

  Far beneath the surface of the bleak Alaskan tundra, in the lowest levels of the United Earth Defense Council’s headquarters base, Admiral Hayes pointed a remote unit at the TV, and it went dark.

  He turned to his daughter and spat, “He’s crazy! I don’t understand Gloval talking about peace at a time like this!”

  Lisa was quick to spring to Gloval’s defense, both because he was her former commanding officer and because he was inarguably right. “Father, it’s the only way to avoid our own destruction! If we don’t start talking peace, it will mean the end of this planet, and not even you would want that!”

  He suddenly looked pained. “Lisa!”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him, “but you must stop the Grand Cannon operation immediately!”

  Admiral Hayes stubbed out a cigarette and avoided his daughter’s gaze. “Plans for use of the Grand Cannon are already set. There’s nothing to be done about that now.”

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  I heard someone next to me saying something about a marriage literally made in the heavens. I held my tongue and was glad no one took the obvious bait, to mention a honeymoon in hell. I silently said my chants for the newlyweds and for us all.

  Jan Morris, Solar Seeds, Galactic Guardians

  Gloval still held his audience transfixed.

  “Each and every citizen must develop a responsible attitude toward the efforts for peace. We must learn greater tolerance and meet this challenge. I’m not proposing we lay down our arms but rather that we extend the hand of friendship.

  “There is a chance for a peaceful solution, and we must make it come to pass. As Max and Miriya, here, have done.

  “The Zentraedi are a strong and intelligent people. Let this ceremony stand as a symbol of our desire for peace. We must emulate Max and Miriya: They are the heroes of today and our hope for tomorrow.”

  It took a moment to realize he was finished, as Gloval turned to let the newlyweds retake the spotlight. Then all at once the cheers and applause were deafening. Streamers and confetti showered around the SDF-1 cake, and everybody was hailing Max and Miriya and blessing their union.

  The crowd hailed Gloval as well, and friendship between human and Zentraedi. The Terrible Trio threw themselves into the arms of the three onetime Zentraedi spies—Vanessa to the husky Bron, little Sammie with Rico, and Kim embraced by purple-haired Konda. The joyous crowd called out toasts and salutes to peace.

  Gloval hoped that it had been enough—hoped that the commitment and the determination would still be there when the cheering had stopped.

  The headquarters of the Zentraedi supreme commander, Dolza, hung like some titanic hive in the blackness of space. It was the size of a planetoid, an armored moonlet so immense that Breetai’s flagship and hundreds of thousands more like it could fit within. Around it, the Zentraedi Grand Fleet was assembling, a force so incredibly vast as to dwarf even Breetai’s armada.

  Dolza, the Old One, largest of his race, paced within his headquarters. Standing at attention before him were his assembled subordinates. Dolza stopped pacing and looked down at them.

  “We can no longer permit this condition to exist. It’s becoming a significant threat to Zentraedi power. It seems that we have underestimated the powers of these Micronian vermin.”

  In the end, it seemed Breetai’s trusted adviser Exedore was right: The ancient Zentraedi warnings against any contact with Micronians had been handed down for good reasons, though the reasons had been unknown until now.

  A race that could subvert the Zentraedi, make them violate their warrior code—a race that could weaken them so with talk of love and peace! Dolza had seen that it was a threat infinitely more dangerous than the ravaging Invid, that it was something that could end Zentraedi greatness forever, at a single stroke, unless something was done immediately.

  “The battle fortress has become too dangerous to continue to exist. Even though it means destroying so many of Zor’s secrets and losing valuable knowledge, you are ordered to totally annihilate the SDF-1. The Grand Fleet will soon be mustered and prepared to set forth.”

  The subordinates smote their chests with their right fists, roaring in unison. “Ho!”

  Then, Dolza thought grimly, we shall incinerate the planet Earth and end this threat once and for all.

  At the reception, there was the roll of a snare drum, and the master of ceremonies brought out Lynn-Minmei. Rick Hunter sat with his arms folded across his chest and didn’t know what to feel.

  She was even more beautiful than the first time he had met her—a black-haired, blue-eyed stunner with a naturally winning stage presence. She wore a gold lame gown cut high on her left hip.

  She took the microphone; the crowd was eating out of her hand before she even opened her mouth. Minmei paid lavish compliments to the newlyweds, then broke into one of her biggest hits, “To Be in Love.”

  Rick recalled the first time he had heard it, marooned with Minmei in a deserted portion of the SDF-1, lost and seemingly doomed. He had fallen in love with her there and had thought she felt the same.

  Her wonderful voice took the notes with a sure, sheer beauty, caressing the words, taking the crowd under her spell.

  Rick saw Miriya take Max’s hand shyly. The three alien ex-spies were hugging the bridge bunnies. Konda and Bron and Rico had initially been won over to the human side by that same voice, that same face.

  Claudia was trying not to cry; she had done a good job controlling it since Roy was killed, but Minmei’s voice had something mystical about it. Rick saw moisture on Claudia’s cheek.

  Rick looked out the viewport to the emptiness of space. Roy, his best friend, was gone—and Ben Dixon and how many hundreds, how many thousands upon thousands of others? The losses had been terrible.

  Deep under the frozen Alaskan ground, Lisa had turned the ceremonies back on. She watched Minmei work her magic and despaired of ever being able to compete, of ever being able to win Rick’s love. How can I? She’s so beautiful; her singing—it’s like a kind of miracle.

  The broadcast was also intercepted by the armada as it swam like a school of a million bloodthirsty deep-sea creatures in the depths of space. The great warships, bristling with weapons, spiny with their detection and communication gear, prowled hungrily.

  In his command station, Breetai looked up at the image and heard the music. “This woman has a voice that … can make a man feel sorrow,” he said slowly, heavily. Exedore looked at him worriedly.

  Just as Minmei was about to start another song, a priority signal replaced Minmei’s image. One of Dolza’s staff officers looked down at him.

  “Commander Breetai, forgive this interruption, but I bring you top-secret orders from Commander in Chief Dolza.”

  Breetai shot to his feet, hand outflung. “Hail, Dolza!” He shook off the effects of Minmei’s siren song.

  “You are ordered to begin a full-scale assault on the SDF-1,” the officer informed him. “There are to be no survivors whatsoever, no matter what the cost. That is all.”

  He disappeared, and Minmei was singing once more. “Well, Your Excellency?” Exedore asked softly.

  Breetai stared up sadly at Minmei’s image. “It grieves me that the time has finally come. I do not look forward to this task at all, Exedore. That may sound strange, but it’s true.”

  And the haunting beauty of Minmei’s voice put that same heavy sorrow in him once more, until he willed himself to reach out and shut it off.

  Loyal, insightfu
l Exedore looked at his lord with concern. Half a dozen times he almost spoke of the fear and apprehension that those words, coming from Breetai, put into him. But in the end the small, slight giant held his peace.

  But Breetai did not have the only receiving equipment in the fleet. Everywhere in the teeming warships it was the same: Clusters of huge, hulking warriors had gathered around to watch and listen to Minmei—and had heard Gloval as well. The first sounding of the alert signals, the call to arms and to glorious Zentraedi warfare, had touched off more dissent than they had ever experienced before.

  “I don’t want to fight,” growled a much-decorated pod commander. He was staring at something tiny that lay in the palm of his hand as though examining his own heart line. Another PC, standing near, tried to get a look at whatever it was; but the first closed his fist.

  He did it carefully; he didn’t want to damage the tiny Minmei doll that lay there. Bron had given it to him before he and the others defected, seeking shelter and an uncertain future among the humans. The PC had listened to the doll sing until the batteries were all but exhausted. He couldn’t explain its appeal … or the power of Minmei’s music over him … or why he was unwilling to go out and destroy the SDF-1 when his former comrades in arms were aboard.

  The harsh Zentraedi language had few or no words for these concepts, but that didn’t change the PC’s feelings.

  All around them, colossal warriors raced to don combat armor, seize weapons from the racks, grab gear, and get ready for the great assault. The decks thrummed under their massive iron-shod feet.

  The second PC opened his palm to the first for an instant. They had been thinking the same thing, for he held another of the tiny souvenir Minmei dolls. He closed his fist again. Opposing the war felt much different, sparked a higher flame of hope, when each realized that the man facing him felt the same.

  “It’s as though I’m going to be fighting against my own people,” the second PC said, struggling to put his thoughts into the limited Zentraedi battle tongue.