Invid Invasion: The New Generation Page 25

  Scott lost track of the Trooper, though, as the last Pincer Ship got on his tail and raked him with near-miss fire.

  Rand, standing up in the pit, wiped the dirt off his face and invoked an all-embracing line from one of his favorite prewar motion pictures, shaking his fist at the sky. “I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore!”

  Then he spotted the grounded Beta.

  Lunk and Annie had the young amnesiac back under cover. “Don’t worry,” Annie told her. “The Invid won’t hurt you, I promise! We won’t let them!”

  The Simulagent’s face was warm and slick with tears.

  Rand was studying the manual while he pulled on his thinking cap and warmed up the ship. He was trying to forget the fact that, except for a few hours in the Alpha under Scott’s tutelage, he had never flown at all.

  But the engines came up, deeper and more powerful than any Alpha’s engine. Although the Beta was light on sensor gear and countermeasures equipment and certainly less maneuverable than an Alpha, it was fearsomely armed.

  He was debating the best way to lift off when the heavy fighter rocked and nearly overturned. He saw through a stern monitor that a Shock Trooper had landed to take a swipe at it. Only the Beta’s reinforced Robotech alloy armor had saved it—and him.

  Rand grabbed the control grips, wrenched the stem back, and imaged the move to the receptors in the flight helmet. The Beta’s engines erupted; the Shock Trooper was knocked backward tumbling, cracking open, becoming a pinwheel of flame. The Beta arrowed away from the standing start, riding a column of smoke, fire, and ground-shaking thunder.

  Rand laughed to himself nervously. “Now! That’s what I call—huh?”

  The last Pincer Ship dove in at him, skimming annihilation discs from both shoulder mounts. He juked his ship inexpertly, trying to evade the Pincer, wondering if this was to be the briefest solo on record.

  Then he heard Scott’s voice, “Hold on, Rand!” These were the most welcome words he had ever heard in his life. Above and behind the Invid and closing in fast, Rand saw the Alpha launching a spread of missiles.

  The Pincer Ship dodged and juked like a demon, but one air-to-air got a piece of it. The knee juncture of one of the monstrous, crablike legs exploded. The Pincer cut in all thrusters and went off, tumbling and blasting across the sky like some erratic comet.

  Scott let it go, and fell in with Rand to try to talk him down. But there wasn’t time. The Beta was flying upside down. Rand held his breath, fought off the impulse to close his eyes, and went in for a landing.

  He managed to get rightside up at the last moment, but that was about all. The massive armor of the Beta got him through a landing that would have demolished on Alpha, or almost any other mecha. The ship skidded, punched completely through an empty troop carrier, skidded some more (while Rand recalled prayers he hadn’t thought about in years) and ended up penetrating the hull of a tanker. She finally came to rest in the shadowy main hold, lit by the few rays of sunlight that found their way in through hull punctures. She was nose-down but intact.

  Rand lay with his chin on the instrument panel, the rest of his body piled up behind, the operating manual on his head like an A-frame roof.

  A perfect landing. In the sense that I’m gonna be able to walk away from it. Or at least be carried.

  Extraction of the Beta and reactivation of the other Alphas took most of the rest of that long day. The team wanted to stay longer to get everything they could from the battlefield, but they didn’t dare; there was no telling when the Invid would be back. They gathered what supplies, ordnance, Protoculture, and equipment they could and prepared to move out.

  “Good fight,” Scott told them, meeting everyone’s gaze. But something showed in his eyes that hadn’t been there before: an awareness that people had their limits, and that those limits were not so confining as he had thought.

  Around them the Alphas were poised, noses almost touching the ground. The lower half of the Beta’s nose was swung open like a trapdoor, its pilot’s seat lowered for boarding. Lunk’s truck was loaded. The team watched Scott.

  “But as a result, we’re short on Protoculture,” he continued, “and we can’t risk another tangle with the Invid, at least not now, if we can possibly help it. Remember that. Rand, do you think you can fly that thing without killing yourself?”

  Scott pointed toward the white-and-olive-drab Alpha. Rand scratched his cheek near one of his numerous bandages. “As long as we don’t have to turn right or left,” he allowed.

  “Improvise. Lancer, the Beta Fighter’s yours. Rook, the other Alpha, okay?”

  It was a VT with red-and-white markings. Rook wore a hungry, feline smile. “Just leave it to me.”

  They split up to get going. Annie and Lunk put Ariel into the truck.

  As the Veritechs took off and Lunk gunned his engine, a lone figure stood watching them from a distant ridge. The Pincer Ship, its right leg blown away at the knee, relayed what it was seeing to Reflex Point, and to the Regess.

  The wind whipped the Simulagent’s scarlet hair, as she rode next to Annie. “Reception is perfect,” the Regess’ voice came to the mutilated Pincer Ship. “Maintain surveillance.”

  The subsidence of the mountains around the Genesis Pit and the danger of increased Invid patrol activity in the wake of events at rendezvous point K made Scott wary; progress was slow in the next few days. Roads and bridges had been shattered, and mountain passes were filled by quake and avalanch.

  Time and again the Veritechs were forced to airlift the truck and its stores, until the Protoculture supply became critically low. Long-range aerial scouting missions were impossible; Invid patrol activity was too intense. At last the freedom fighters reached a mountain tunnel that a shifting of the Earth had permanently sealed.

  With the Veritechs’ remaining operating time drastically restricted, there was nothing to do but try to find a detour. A small town lay nearby, and the team members agreed to check it out as a first step.

  But first they had to be sure the aircraft were safe. They parked the fighters in a part of the tunnel that was undamaged, near the entrance, then donned Cyclone armor. The team used the power-assisted metal suits to move boulders and wall in the VTs for safekeeping.

  It was a strange sight—seven-plus-feet-tall gleaming giants lifting huge stones, in teams when the weight was extreme, but often alone, tossing them like medicine balls. After the task was completed, the team shed their armor so they wouldn’t attract any attention from possible Invid patrols or from informers. They set off toward the town.

  The one thing the team hadn’t brought was extreme-cold-climate clothing; they hadn’t counted on being forced to go so high into the mountains. As the Cyclones sped along, with Lunk’s APC bringing up the rear, Rand shivered, “I can’t s-stand it. I’m so cold!”

  “All the more reason for us to get out of here before the real winter weather hits,” Scott shot back.

  The town lay in a valley at the confluence of a number of different mountain tracks and streams that might promise a path through. Two other roads from the lowlands ended there, reinforcing Lancer’s contention that it was probably a jumping-off point.

  Once they were down out of the heights they were more comfortable. The town itself, named Deguello according to a hand-lettered sign on weather-silvered wood at its outskirts, was more prosperous than Rand would have expected. Apparently there was some hidden resource. A hidden prewar supply depot, perhaps? His Forager instincts came to the fore.

  The town was like a lot of others Rand and the rest had seen, a type Scott was getting to know. Stucco, tiled roofs, wrought-iron window bars, whitewash that had long since faded. Cracked plaster, drainage ditches that were mostly clogged. Still, somehow, there were some crops and meat and wares under the tattered awnings of the market stalls. Deguello was better off than many other places the team had seen.

  It was evident that medical attention was available, but none too sophisticated. Most clothing was
patched and frayed. This was a typical post-Invid settlement where virtually nothing was discarded; it was repaired, reused, recycled, cannibalized, or traded for something else. The day of the use-and-discard consumer society was nothing but a galling memory.

  There were normal, struggling people trying to keep their lives together and trying to function in a normal way, side by side with seedy types. The townspeople eyed the newcomers and their Cycs with cold interest. Rook automatically noted the weapons she saw: knives and chains and conventional firearms; prewar military and hunting arms; some police and homemade-type stuff. She didn’t notice any energy guns, which meant the team would have a tremendous edge if they ran into trouble.

  Let’s hope there’s no trouble, though, she thought. They look like they’ve been through enough.

  Just like everybody else on Earth.

  As the group pulled into the town’s main plaza, a man stirred and lowered his smeared plastic cocktail glass, looking them over, adjusting his much-worn wraparound shades. The grungy kerchief tied around his head and his thick black beard made him look like a pirate. He was wearing ratty brown shoes with no socks, threadbare khaki pants, and a grimy camouflage shirt, of the same fabric as his headband.

  Scott dismounted first. Everyone knew that the plan was to look the town over and get some kind of handle on the local situation. They parked their cyclones and the APC without concern; in this postwar world, anyone with a vehicle had the sense to booby trap it, and their nonchalance would be the most eloquent kind of proof that it would be wise not to meddle with the gleaming mecha.

  Annie was pressing the idea that they all go shopping at the market. Scott was about to approve her expedition—it was as good a way to misdirect any watchers’ attention as anything else he could come up with—when the man who had seen their arrival approached.

  “Well, howdy there, folks.” He kept his distance, as it was wise to do in greeting new people. Still, Scott could smell the odor from his body and from his mouth of broken yellow-and-black teeth.

  The days of cosmetic dentistry and TV-hyped, brand-name personal hygiene were all over, and the beaten-down Human race was showing it. But people could be divided between those who still made the effort, with homemade soaps and pig-bristle toothbrushes, and those who had simply reverted to a medieval way of life and thought.

  “Thinkin’ about takin’ a trip?” the man said. Lunk, looking on, wondered if Scott intended to try to convince people that the team just happened to be up here on a pleasure jaunt. Or perhaps gathering daisies.

  “Them mountains is crawlin’ with Invid, y’know.” Scott and Rand looked at him and said nothing. “Yeah, there’s an Invid fortress smack-dab in the middle of that range; not even a rat could get through. But there is a map that’ll show you a secret route. And it’ll only cost you—”

  He pulled an ancient pocket calculator. It was a solar-powered model that had been more of a novelty than a work tool before the wars, but was very dear in these days when batteries were scarce.

  He squinted at their Cyclones, keying buttons. The calculator beeped with a final sum which he showed them. “—this much!”

  Scott recoiled from the figure, payable in gold. “But—we haven’t got that kind of money!”

  The man looked the Cycs over. “Well, there’re those in this town who’ve been known to do some barterin’ and tradin’. Them fancy machines might do—”

  “Forget it,” Rand said flatly.

  The man was about to argue, but stopped when he saw the look in the Forager’s eye. “Have it your way, m’friend. But all the high-tone highway hardware in the world ain’t gonna do you no good if you’re stuck here. And I’ll tell you one thing: Paradise is waitin’ fer you, right on the other side of them mountains.”

  He turned to go. “Look around; see if I’m not telling you the straight gospel. If’n you change your minds, you can find me right over there, most any time.”

  “Without that map, we’ll never get through the mountains! We’re stranded here!” Annie said, close to tears.

  “Within arm’s reach of the Invid,” Scott added. “Rand, you shouldn’t have been so quick to refuse to bargain.”

  Rand made a sour face. “It’s lucky for you you’ve got a Forager along, Lieutenant Bernard. You think somebody with a map that valuable would be lounging around in the street, looking like that?”

  “Rand’s right,” Rook added. “Maybe there’s a map, but it’s not very likely that that pig has it. Why d’you think he was so anxious to cut a deal right away, before some other con artist could get to us?”

  “It’s a pretty good bet that this friendly little community is crawling with every kind of sharpie there is,” Rand said. “The way I see it, our best bet is to split up, take a look around, and try to get the feel of the place.”

  Scott nodded in agreement. “All of you be careful. Is everyone armed? Lunk will stay here and guard the vehicles. Annie, you stick close to him, got that?”

  Lancer said, “I’ve heard one or two things about this place.” He was removing a pack from his Cyclone. “I want to check them out, but it’s something I’ll have to do alone.”

  Soon the team was setting off in various directions, hoping Deguello held some hope for their survival.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Mom wasn’t surprised at the way things were. I think she found grim irony in the fact that the one-percenters were in the majority at last.

  Maria Bartley-Rand, Flower of Life: Journey Beyond Protoculture

  Lunk was deeply engrossed in his gearhead window shopping. It was a great chance to examine some leftover war machinery. Annie put up with it for as long as she could and then, while he was on a mechanic’s creeper under an APC like his own, she slipped away to check out Deguello for herself.

  She was surprised at how much lowland food and other goods were available in this mountain outpost. Maybe somebody had discovered an emerald mine or something?

  The fact that most of the people living in Deguello were from somewhere else wasn’t so unusual; the first two Robotech wars and the Invid conquest had set most of the world adrift. And the fact that the team was in what had once been South America didn’t really mean that much anymore, either. All nations were long since extinct; all cultures had been thrown together. Everyone was engaged in the struggle for survival.

  But what struck Annie was strange was that so many folks seemed to be waiting for something. She saw people holding furtive negotiations in taverns and alleys, and others marking time in the square, looking this way and that as if expecting someone. Annie also noticed that people were selling or trading their personal possessions in return for gold or gems—apparently the only currency that counted here.

  In some ways, it reminded her of a romantic oldtime motion picture that was one of her favorites, but there was no Rick’s Café in Deguello, although she prided herself on looking just a little like a young Ingrid Bergman, when the light hit her just right, though Lunk and the others scoffed.

  Still, it was nice to dream; her dreams were the only things she really owned.…

  She scuffed her sneaker at a bit of garbage that lay on the pitted cobblestone sidestreet, aware that many eyes were following her. Brother! I’ve been in some creepy places in my time, but this one takes the booby prize. What a slimebucket zoo!

  She was thinking that while watching a coughing, apparently tubercular man shuffling along and gagging in to a disgusting-looking rag. She was so distracted that she bumped right into somebody.

  “Hey, ya little geek, why’n’cha watch where yer goin’?”

  He was definitely one of the Bad Boys, a snake-lean, rat-faced guy in a dark, greasy jumpsuit open to his shrunken waist. There was a scorpion tattoo on his cheek. He wore a chain belt of massive links, and a blue Chicom Army-style cap, with a red bandanna tied around his thin left bicep. He had werewolf sideburns, a sawed-off 12-gauge side-by-side (a popular weapon in Deguello) in a shoulder rig, and th
ere were fishhooks stitched to the knuckles of his fingerless black leather gloves.

  Her street instincts resurfaced, and she realized that she had been traveling in the charmed company of Robotech heroes for so long that she had forgotten how vulnerable she herself was.

  Uh-oh, Annie thought. It was her considerable luck that he merely clapped a hand down on her cap and shoved, to send her stumbling, arms thrashing. But quick hands caught her, saving her from landing on her derriere in the gutter.

  “You should be more careful, little boy.” She found herself looking up at a clean-cut, handsome face—a young man who couldn’t be more than eighteen or so. He had big blue eyes, wavy black hair, and a blinding smile.

  She squirmed to break free of his grip. “I am not a little boy! What’re you, blind? I’m a woman!”

  He let her go, surprised, plainly upset that he had hurt her feelings. “I’m terribly sorry! Forgive me. Um, my name is Eddie.”

  She took a closer look at him and noticed that he resembled—let’s see …—James Dean! Only nicer! He was a dreamboat in a white T-shirt and a leather jacket!

  She swayed toward him, almost melting. “Oboy! I, I mean, I’m Annie! Eddie’s my favorite name! You can call me Mint!”

  She vaguely recalled that she was supposed to be on a mission of espionage and derring-do. “Um, d’you live up in those mountains, by any chance?”

  He chuckled; she sighed. “No, Annie. Only the Invid live up there. But beyond them is Paradise.”

  Her eyes were the size of poker chips. “You mean all that stuff is true?”

  He nodded, pointing at the distant mountains. She thought he was as beautiful as a hood ornament. “Paradise is a city that was set up by the old United Earth Government and the Southern Cross Army, so that if there was an invasion or a catastrophe, the Human race would be able to go on. A kind of New Macross, I guess you could say.