Doomsday: The Macross Saga Page 5

  Following Rick’s lead, Max put his elbows on the rail and leaned over for a better look at the chopper. “You think it’s true about us being banished from Earth?”

  Rick nodded and straightened up. “They’ve pulled in the welcome mat. This ship is going to be our home for a long time to come.”

  “Then this might be the last time we get to see the Earth from the surface,” Max mused. “Guess we’d better enjoy the view.”

  The sun was setting. Rick stared into the orange glow; there was a finality to the moment too frightening to contemplate.

  * * *

  She was an attractive woman with pleasant features and a crop of long brown hair, but she carried herself stiffly and kept her officer’s cap pulled too low on her forehead. Besides, she had brought bad news.

  She turned around in the doorway to Gloval’s quarters and saluted. “I’ll let headquarters know the orders were received.” Two white-jacketed, blue-capped aides, brass buckles of their belts gleaming, registered looks of distaste and followed her down the corridor.

  The captain remained seated at the desk in his spacious quarters. A Defense Forces flag stood to one side of the desk in an area partitioned off by a tall bookcase and dominated by a large wall screen. Insignia carpets, bright throw rugs, and potted plants warmed the room; the leatherbound volumes and computer consoles lent just the right air of officiality.

  Gloval had the orders in hand. He lighted his pipe and leaned in to read through them. Yes, he said to himself, thinking about the female officer, the orders have been received. And she could tell those idiot generals back at headquarters that they were received in silence, completely under protest.

  It was unthinkable—expected but unbelievable nonetheless. The Council members didn’t have an ounce of pity in their hearts.

  Gloval got up and paced, then returned to the desk.

  What was he supposed to say to the people of the ship?

  Silently, he read: The United Earth Council hereby orders that you remove the dimensional fortress from any close proximity to the Earth. You are also ordered to detain until such time as this governing Council sees fit all civilian refugees onboard. Should you fail to carry out these orders to the letter, this Council will recommend to the Joint Chiefs of Staff—

  Gloval threw the papers aside in disgust. He responded to a knock on the door and bade Lisa enter. She picked up the note of anger and frustration in his voice and asked if there was anything wrong.

  Gloval had his back to her, smoke rising from his pipe like steam from an ancient locomotive. “Yes, there’s something wrong—as wrong as can be.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “But it’s just as we feared: We’ve been ordered to leave Earth immediately.”

  Gloval heard her sharp intake of breath, but she rallied quickly and offered to fix him a drink. She was a trooper all right.

  “After the explosion I expected the ship to be exiled. But to force fifty thousand innocent civilians to become refugees from their own planet—”

  Lisa handed him a Scotch on the rocks; she had fixed herself one as well.

  “I guess we should drink a toast to our last moments on Earth, Lisa.”

  “Perhaps we should drink a toast to the civilians instead.”

  It seemed an appropriate gesture; they raised their glasses and took long pulls of the expensive stuff.

  “These orders go into effect as soon as we’ve finished taking on supplies. That means we’ll be forced to break the news of our banishment to everyone just moments before we take off.”

  “Do you want me to announce it?” Lisa volunteered.

  “No, I’d better make the broadcast myself.”

  Lisa left to make the necessary arrangements. Gloval dropped down into his chair, took a deep breath, and punched for the bridge on his phone. Claudia informed him that loading was almost complete.

  “Now, listen to me carefully, Claudia,” he began. Sweat was even now beading up on his forehead; how would it be when he went out in front of the entire ship? “I want you to quietly begin preparations to move out.”

  “To where, Captain?”

  “I’ll have astrogation furnish you with the coordinates immediately. You see, we’re leaving Earth.”

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  It is no secret (nor should it come as any surprise) that humankind’s most noble impulses often surface during the most trying of times, that human spirit rises to the challenge when faced with adversity, that human strength is born from human failings … Is it any wonder, then, that the SDF-1 crew became a tighter family after the fortress had been exiled than it had been before?

  From the log of Captain (later Admiral) Henry Gloval

  In their dark and dank hideout deep within the bowels of the dimensional fortress, the three Zentraedi spies sat down to their last Micronian meal; soon they would attempt an escape that would end either in their deaths or in a successful rendezvous with the ships of the main fleet. The three—Rico, Konda, and Bron—agreed that their mission would have been judged superlative had they only been able to leave the fortress to reconnoiter the Micronian homeworld; but oddly enough, few of the Micronians had been allowed to disembark. Nevertheless they were pleased with what they had managed to amass over the course of the past three months by Micronian reckoning. The operational Battlepod which they had been lucky enough to obtain was ready for flight, crowded now with the results of their many forays into Macross City in search of espionage booty, Micronian artifacts, and, well, souvenirs—two video monitors, a few tables, a refrigerator, a grand piano they had smuggled home in pieces, disc players and discs, candy and foodstuffs, and, of course, a wide assortment of Minmei dolls and paraphernalia.

  Bron, as always, had prepared the meal.

  “Something called beef stew,” he explained.

  “Smells terrific,” said Konda, purple hair now below his shoulders.

  Metal plates and bent silverware in hand, the three agents, looking unwashed and shaggy, their clothing soiled and threadbare, were seated on short lengths of cowling and empty cans around a blazing liquid-fueled camping stove, currently crowned by a large, lidded stew pot. Rico had switched on the portable CD player; Minmei’s “Stagefright” was filling the little-used storage room with pleasing sounds.

  Rico put aside the device that would alert them to the rearrival of the Zentraedi fleet and said, “Listening to Minmei helps my food go down better.”

  “She makes everything better,” Konda seconded.

  Their spirits were high, ebullient; even Bron, who managed to burn his hands while removing the stew pot from the flame. As always. He placed a coffeepot on the stove and sampled a bit of the day’s fare.

  “What about my cooking, boys—do you think it’s improved some?”

  “Yeah,” said Konda, straight-faced, “it takes me over an hour to get indigestion now.”

  Bron’s response was equally low-key. “That is better. It used to take you fifteen minutes.”

  “When he first started cooking, I used to get sick just thinking about it!”

  Rico broke up, and his comrades joined in. The coffee, meanwhile, was boiling away, running down the sides of the pot and adding sizzle to the fire.

  But Bron grew serious all of a sudden. “To be honest, I’m going to miss this Micronian food.”

  The subject broached, other disclosures followed.

  “Well, I hate to admit it, but you’re right—me, too.”

  “And that’s not all. I’ve been thinking, I’m gonna miss a whole lotta things—like happy people, music—”

  “Yeah, the music. The thing I’ll miss most is hearing Minmei sing every day.”

  The corners of Bron’s mouth turned down. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “And you remember those females we met that one time?” Konda poured himself a cup of coffee. “Dancing was fun.”

  “Yeah, that Kim was really something else,” said Bron, the enthusiasm returned. “She had m
e laughing almost all day!”

  “And that girl Sammie,” Rico was quick to add, hand to his face demonstrating a Micronian gesture he’d observed. “When she spotted us with the Minmei doll … ‘My heavens!’” He mimicked Sammie’s voice.

  They shared a good laugh, but again the mood deteriorated.

  “Yeah … And you remember what we heard that Micronian talking about—about trying to put an end to the war?”

  “That frightened me,” said Rico. “Without war we’d have no reason to live!”

  “Maybe,” Konda answered him. “But I kinda feel like I understand what the Micronian was talkin’ about.”

  Rico reached out and touched the gravity-wave indicator beside him on the floor. “It’s hard to believe that by tomorrow morning we’ll all probably be back in uniform.”

  “Yeah …”

  “I can hardly wait …”

  Claudia Grant also found herself breaking out in a cold sweat as she relayed the captain’s orders to the bridge crew.

  “Takeoff?” said Vanessa. “You mean to say all those rumors about leaving are true?”

  “Let’s be realistic. We caused an entire city to be wiped out.” Kim’s hand was at her mouth, as though trying to stifle the truth.

  Sammie looked over her station innocently. “We weren’t responsible—it was the barrier overload. Blame it on the Zentraedi.”

  “But we shouldn’t have been there,” Kim argued.

  “The captain was thinking of the civilians, Kim—”

  “What’s going to happen to them?” Vanessa broke in.

  Claudia was on tiptoes, throwing switches to activate the overhead monitors at her and Lisa’s stations. She turned around, a hint of impatience in her voice. “Since they’ve already been declared dead and nobody on Earth wants to accept them, I guess they’ll stay with us. Now, hurry up with those final checks; we’re running out of time.”

  Sammie struck a daydreamer’s pose at her console. “Lisa’s father is a bigshot in the United Earth Council. Maybe if she sent him a message, he’d hold up our orders until we figured out—Oh—”

  Claudia, hands on hips, was standing over her.

  “Don’t you think about suggesting that to Lisa, do you understand? As an officer aboard this ship, she knows her duties. Now, see to it that you carry out yours!”

  * * *

  Lovers watching the skies that night thought they were viewing an unannounced solar eclipse. The full moon wore a diamond ring of brilliant light. But wait … an unannounced solar eclipse? The sun had set over four hours ago!

  Amateur astronomers were similarly puzzled, as were seismologists and sailors; graphs and gauges were going wild, and Earth’s oceans were rising to dangerous heights … But there were a few scientists scattered across the planet who recognized the phenomenon; they’d witnessed these gravity-wave disturbances once before, a little over two years earlier. But where that initial event had brought awe, the present event brought terror.

  To three beings on the planet, however, the event was little more than a signal.

  “That’s it!” said Bron, deactivating the transceiver. “Let’s move out!”

  The agents were already inside the Battlepod, strapped in and alert. They ran the pod ostrichlike across the hold, metal hooves loud against the floorplates, echoes granting them an illusory sense of company, stopping a few feet short of the exterior hull. Bursts from the mecha’s twin lasers concentrated blue-white energy on the hull. The steel glowed red, then white, slagged, and began to fall away; flames leapt forth, and the small hole enlarged. Within minutes there was an enormous breach, large enough to accommodate the pod’s passage into the cool Pacific night.

  Foot-retros eased the pod into a controlled descent; it plunged several hundred feet into the ocean, the thrusters carrying it scarcely half a mile from the fortress to a coral outcropping.

  Rico raised the mecha to its feet and initiated a series of booster commands. Thruster flame shot forth from the cockpit sphere as it disengaged from its bipedally designed undercarriage. The three micronized agents were airborne and on their way home.

  Had there been a little less preflight commotion aboard the dimensional fortress, perhaps some tech or sentry would have noticed the hole that the agents burned in the hull; but as it was, ship personnel had just enough time to complete their own assigned duties let alone check up on someone else’s station. And the bridge was by no means exempt from this frantic pace, especially when radar informed them of interspacial disturbances emanating from beyond the moon.

  Lisa was already on the bridge and the captain was just making his crouched entry when the reports began to pour in.

  “… We’re not sure, but it appears to be the fallout from a massive number of hyperspace-fold operations,” Gloval heard someone from radar report.

  “Gravity-wave disturbance from the moon,” said Vanessa, slender fingers flying over the keyboard to bring schematics to the threat board.

  Gloval was standing over her, anxious. “Are they certain it is a fold?”

  “It’s more severe than that, sir,” she told him. “It appears to be multiple folds!”

  “Can you estimate the number?”

  “Trying …”

  “Wait!” said Sammie, and all eyes turned to her. “Maybe they’ve come in peace this time.” Blank stares of disbelief grounded her hopes. “Right,” she said, swinging around to her console, “probably not.”

  That same male voice from radar announced an unidentified object flying directly over the ship.

  Gloval turned to Lisa. “Do we have any fighters on patrol?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Radar again, Captain. Our monitors show a large alien vessel moving toward Earth from lunar space. It appears to be on a collision or rendezvous course with the object we’ve been tracking.”

  Gloval studied the schematic and ordered Lisa to move all Veritech groups to condition yellow at once.

  “Picking up a second wave of gravity disturbance,” said Vanessa. She gasped as new readouts filled the screen. “I calculate the number of enemy ships to be in excess of … one million.”

  Gloval narrowed his eyes and looked over at Lisa, as if to say: Yes, your reports to the Council are now verified. Gloval wanted to see those generals live to eat their words.

  “I don’t think it matters how many ships the enemy brings in,” said Claudia confidently.

  “But a million of them …” said Sammie.

  “We’ll never be able to outmaneuver them,” added Kim.

  But Claudia remained undaunted. “We beat them before, and we’ll beat them again.”

  Gloval’s thoughts were still focused on the Council. He was certain they were monitoring this latest move by the Zentraedi, and yet there was no word from them.

  “Then we’re completely isolated,” he told the crew.

  “Why?” Sammie wanted to know.

  The time had come to let them know the truth. Gloval realized that his life for the next twenty-four hours would be filled with many such moments. And yet he couldn’t help but ask himself what would happen if he did nothing to counteract the present threat. Had the Zentraedi been pushed beyond their limit? Were they ready to hold the Earth hostage? What did they want, and what would the fools who governed the Council do if Gloval refused to acquiesce to either group’s demands?

  But Henry Gloval was simply not built that way.

  “I guess you might as well know,” he began. “The Council has decided that the best way to protect the planet is to use the dimensional fortress as a decoy. We have been ordered to draw the aliens away.” He let that much sink in while he moved to the command chair and sat down; then he added:

  “This ship and its passengers are considered expendable.”

  Although Mayor Tommy Luan had at one time expressed concern that Macross had little in the way of newsworthy stories, there was now enough daily news to run morning and evening editions. There wasn’t a man, woman,
or child in the city who hadn’t heard rumors to the effect that the Ontario Quadrant subcommand had withdrawn its offer. Then there were the further exploits of Minmei—whew! had that idea ever exploded far beyond his plans!—and, lately, those of her cousin and costar, Lynn-Kyle—one to keep a close eye on for several reasons. And of course the disagreements, quarrels, and fights two months of imposed confinement and stress had unleashed. And tonight Captain Gloval himself was planning to address the entire ship, as rare an event as had occurred thus far.

  Gloval and Lisa had left the remaining preflight preparations to Claudia and the crew, exiting the bridge only minutes after the Zentraedi had made their reappearance. Gloval could simply have raised the ship and delayed the address until they were in deep space, but he wanted it behind him. He had no idea what the enemy’s next move was going to be, and he planned to ask the residents of Macross for their cooperation and support no matter what course of action he might be forced to take.

  They had arrived at the Macross Broadcasting System studios only moments ago, interrupting a live special starring Minmei and Lynn-Kyle. The two cousins, along with Lisa Hayes, stood off to one side of the center-stage podium just now. There were three cameras trained on Gloval; the lights were too bright and way too hot. He was already perspiring under his blue jacket and white cap. He had opted against using the prompter or cue cards, for effect as well as because of failing eyesight. One of the engineers leading the quietly mouthed countdown threw him a ready sign, and he began:

  “This is Captain Gloval speaking, with a very important announcement that will affect the lives of everyone aboard this ship. Since our return to Earth, as some of you may already know, I have made numerous appeals to both the United Earth Defense Council and the governing bodies of several separatist states for permission to allow you to disembark and resettle wherever you might choose. I’m certain that you are all aware by now of my feelings regarding your continued presence aboard the fortress. Be that as it may, time and again my appeals have been turned down, for reasons that must remain undisclosed for the present. However, I always felt that progress was being made on those requests, until in light of recent events I have been forced to entertain second thoughts about the Council’s position.”