Devil's Hand

by Jack McKinney

  “Thank you, Rick.”

  “Go to sleep now,” he said, standing up and tucking her in.

  She was out even before Rick left the room, so she didn’t see the orderly who entered, or the astonished look Rick gave the bearded man. It was a look of recognition, but one tinged with enough disbelief to render the first impression false. But as the orderly studied Minmei’s sleeping form, he recalled how he had once protected her from giants and worse.

  In the room adjacent to Minmei’s, Dr. Lang was staring into Janice’s blue eyes. Her skills had certainly saved Minmei’s life, but why had Janice listened to Minmei in the first place?

  Their little stunt had destroyed all the plans he had taken such pains to set in motion; and coming as it did on the heels of the damage done to the fold generators and what that meant for the Expeditionary mission, it was almost more than he could bear.

  “Janice,” he said evenly. “Retinal scan.”

  Janice’s eyes took on an inner glow as she returned Lang’s all but forehead-to-forehead stare. But in a moment the glow was gone; her eyes and face were lifeless, and her skin seemed to lose color and tautness.

  “Yes, Dr. Lang. Your request.”

  “I want you to replay the events prior to SDF-3’s departure, Janice. I want to understand the logic of your decisions. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Dr. Lang,” Janice repeated in the same dull monotone.

  Lang laughed to himself as he listened. He had foreseen the possibility of such an occurrence, but to be faced with the reality of that now…That part of the android that was its artificial intelligence had actually developed an attachment, a fondness for Lynn-Minmei! The specter of this had been raised and discussed repeatedly by the Tokyo Center’s team, but in the end Lang had rejected the safeguards they had urged him to install, and suddenly he was face-to-face with the results of that uninformed decision.

  The android had taken more than a decade of intensive work; but when Janice took her first steps, all those hours and all that secrecy seemed justified. It was shortly after the destruction of New Macross that Lang had begun to think about teaming the android with Lynn-Minmei, and the singer had easily been convinced of just how important such a partnership might prove to Earth’s safety. But defensive harmonies aside, Lang had chosen Minmei because of her undenied access to political sanctuaries Lang himself could not enter, the Southern Cross apparat especially. So Lang was understandably thrilled to learn that Senator Moran had taken an interest in Janice, the young sensation some people were calling his niece, some his mistress. But what good was his spy to him now, stranded as she was along with the rest of them light-years from Earth.

  Lang uttered a resigned sigh as he reached behind Janice’s neck to remove the dermal plug concealed by her fall of thick hair. The plug covered an access port Lang could tap for high-speed information transference. He had the portable transfer tube prepared, and was ready to jack in. But just then Rick Hunter came through the door.

  Undetected, Lang dropped the tube behind the bed and voiced a hushed command to Janice. Hunter was staring at him when he turned from his patient.

  “Uh, sorry, Doc, guess I should’ve knocked first,” Rick said uneasily.

  “Nonsense,” Lang told him, getting to his feet.

  Rick looked back and forth between Lang and Janice; he didn’t know Minmei’s partner all that well, but he was aware of the scuttlebutt that linked her to Lang. Janice was offering him a pale smile now.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Homesick,” Janice said. “And less than shipshape.”

  “Well I don’t know what we’re going to do about your homesickness, but I’m sure some rest will help the way you’re feeling.”

  “That’s good advice,” Lang seconded. He switched off the lights as he and Rick left the room.

  “She’s…sweet,” Rick said, uncomfortable with the silence the two men fell into.

  At, the elevator, Jonathan Wolff stepped out from the car, managing a salute despite the two bouquets of flowers he carried. “Thought I’d try and cheer up our new passengers,” he said by way of explanation.

  Rick and Lang traded knowing looks.

  “Guess every SDF’s meant to carry civilians, huh, Admiral.”

  “Does seem that way, Colonel,” Rick said. “Minmei’s in room eleven,” he added, motioning with his chin.

  Wolff moved off down the hall, and Rick and Lang entered the elevator. “I think our dapper young colonel has more than good cheer on his mind,” Lang opined.

  Rick felt his jaw. “Doesn’t he have a wife and coupla kids back home?”

  “Ask him.”

  Rich shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”

  A second debriefing was held later that afternoon. In addition to those who had attended the earlier session were Commander Vince Grant, Brigadier General Reinhardt, Wolff, Lang, Breetai, and Exedore, along with various squadron and company commanders.

  Photo images and schematics filled the room’s numerous screens this time; the crew was still on standby alert, and the ship would shortly reposition itself for an orbital shift.

  Lang at last revealed that two of the spacefold generators had been destroyed during the assault. He explained that a fold might still be possible, but there was no guarantee the fortress would emerge in Earthspace, and anything short of that was unacceptable. The twelve-member Plenipotentiary Council had voted to withhold this information from the crew. But it was therefore imperative that the Masters be contacted as soon as possible.

  “The Invid presence might prove a blessing in disguise for us,” Lang continued. “Because if the Masters are indeed being held captive on Tirol, the Expeditionary mission could well be their salvation.”

  Lang called up an image of the Fantoma system on the main screen. Like Uranus, the planet had been tipped on its side eons ago. It had an extensive ring system held in check by shepherd satellites, and numerous moons of varied size and surface and atmosphere.

  Tirol was the third moon, somewhat smaller than Earth, and the only one with an hospitable atmosphere. It was, however, a somewhat desolate world, barren, with much of its topography muted by volcanic flows. Just why the Masters had chosen to remain there with half the galaxy at their disposal was a question Lang had recently added to his long list. In a matter of days the moon would enter Fantoma’s shadow, which could complicate things considerably.

  “Surface scans and intensity traces have given us the picture of an almost deserted world,” Lang added as a closeup of Tirol came up on the screen, “except for this one city located close to Tirol’s equator. I have proposed to the general staff that we begin here.”

  Rick stood up to address the table. “There’s evidence the city’s seen a lot of nasty action lately, so we’ve got to assume the Invid have a strong presence down there. I think our best move is to drop the GMU to recon this entire sector and ascertain the Invid’s strengths. The SDF will be holding at a Lagrange point, so you’ll have all the backup you need in case we’ve underestimated their defensive capabilities. Any questions so far?”

  The men shook their heads and grumbled nos.

  “Has everyone received the new authentication codes?” Rick directed to Grant and Wolff.

  “We have, sir.”

  “I’ve asked Lord Exedore-” Lang started to say when. Breetai interrupted him.

  “Exedore and I have decided that my troops should accompany Commander Grant’s ground forces.”

  Rick regarded the Zentraedi with an appraising look. “You’re not required to become involved with this, Commander Breetai. You’re not under our command…”

  “That has nothing to do with it, Admiral. You seem to forget that I have walked this world.”

  Rick smiled. “I haven’t forgotten…Grant, Wolff, do you have any problems with this?”

  Vince shook his head and extended his hand to Breetai. “Welcome aboard, Commander.”

  “Well, that’s settled,”
Lang said, getting to his feet again. “I have one thing to add. It concerns the Invid ships.” Perspective schematics of a Pincer Ship took shape while he spoke. “Their central weakness seems to be this scanner that looks like some sort of mouth. So direct your shots there if it comes to that.”

  “And I hope it won’t,” Rick interjected. “It’s possible that our initial confrontation was a misunderstanding, and I don’t want us going down there like liberators. This is still a diplomatic mission, and you are only to engage if provoked.” Rick shot Edwards a look. “Is that understood?”

  “Affirmative,” Wolff and Grant answered him.

  “All right, then,” Rick said after a moment. “Good luck.” And I wish I could be down there with you, he said to himself.

  The dropship hangar bay was the scene of mounting tension, tempers, and liveliness when the word came down to scramble. Men and women ran for gear and ordnance while the massive GMU rumbled aboard the ship that would take it planetside. Jack Baker was among the crowd, Wolverine assault rifle in hand as he lined up with his teammates for a last-minute briefing. Like the rest of them he had missed yesterday’s EV action, but stories had spread among the ranks of an engagement with some new breed of XTs, who flew ships that resembled giant one-eyed land crabs. And now the GMU had been chosen to spearhead a ground assault on the Robotech Masters’ homeworld. Jack would still have preferred piloting an Alpha Fighter with the Skull, but under the circumstances this op was probably the next best thing to that.

  He looked down the long line of mecha pilots waiting to board the dropship and spied Karen Penn just as she was donning her helmet, blond hair like fire in the red illumination of the hangar.

  “Karen!” he yelled, waving and hoping to get her attention above the sound of alert klaxons and high-volume commands. He was tempted to give it one last try, but her helmet was on now and he knew he wouldn’t be heard. He did, however, lean out of line to watch her rush up the ramp.

  At the same time, he peripherally caught sight of a captain taking angry strides toward him.

  Hurriedly, Jack tucked his chin in, steeled himself, and muttered a prayer that the line would get moving.

  “Just what the hell was that all about, Ensign!” the captain was yelling into his face an instant later. “You think this is some kind of goddamned picnic, bright boy! You’ve got time to wave to your friends like you’re off on some cruise! Well, let me tell you something, you deluded piece of space trash: it’s no picnic and it’s no cruise! You got that, you worthless little sublife protein! Because if I see, you stepping out of line again, you’re going to be sucking vacuum before we even hit!”

  Jack could feel the woman’s spittle raining against his face, but told himself it was just a cooling sea spray washing over the bow. The captain continued ranting for a while longer, then gave him a powerful shove as the line suddenly jerked into motion.

  Oh well, he reminded himself, the worst she could do was chew him out, which didn’t amount to much considering there were things down there waiting to kill him.

  In another part of the hangar, Minmei was saying thank you to Jonathan Wolff. A personal note from Admiral Hunter had gotten her past security, and now she and Wolff were standing by the broad and flattened armored bow of the dropship. Several Micronized Zentraedi were gaping at the singer from a respectable distance, but Breetai soon appeared on the scene and hurried them to the ship with some harsh grunts and curses.

  “I just had to thank you before you left,” Minmei was saying. “Janice wanted me to tell you the same. You saved our lives, Colonel.” She vaguely remembered him from the wedding; but then she had met so many men during those few hours…Still, there was something about Wolff that caught her attention now. Maybe it was the mustache, Minmei told herself, the man’s swashbuckler’s good looks and tall, broad-shouldered figure. She wished she had chosen some other outfit to wear. The RDF uniform just wasn’t cut right for her shape.

  Wolff didn’t seem to mind it, however. “Actually the honor could have gone to anyone,” he said, showing a roguish grin. “But I was lucky enough to volunteer.”

  Minmei liked that. “Janice and I were just trying to get a better look at the fortress, and all of a sudden…well, you know.”

  Wolff’s eyebrows arched. “Really? That’s strange, because I had your flight recorder checked, and it seems you two actually flew directly into the vortex of the ship’s spacefold flash point.”

  Minmei’s face reddened. “Well, whatever happened, I’m glad about it now.”

  “Me, too,” Wolff said, holding her gaze.

  Suddenly Minmei went up on tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the corner of the mouth. “Be careful down there, Colonel.”

  Wolff reached for her hand and kissed it. “Can I see you when I get back?”

  “I’d like that, Colonel-”

  “Jonathan.”

  “Jonathan.” She smiled. “Take care, Jonathan.”

  Wolff turned and was gone.

  “That little fool,” Lisa said after Rick told her about Minmei. They were alone in a small lounge not far from the bridge. “What was she trying to do, get herself killed?”

  “You have to see it from her side,” Rick argued. “She felt like everyone she cared about was leaving her.”

  Lisa regarded him suspiciously. “No, I don’t have to see things from her side. But I’m sure you were understanding with her, weren’t you? Did she cry, on your shoulder, Rick?”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do? You know I’d send her back if we could.”

  “I wonder,” Lisa said, folding her arms.

  Rick made a conciliatory gesture. “Whoa…Look, I don’t like where this one’s going. She’s here and there’s nothing we can do about it, okay?”

  Lisa looked at him for a moment, then stepped in to lean her head on his shoulder. They hadn’t had a chance to say two words to each other for more than twenty-four hours, and their comfortable bed was beginning to feel miles away. They were both exhausted and still a little stunned by the events that had transpired since they’d gone off to work!

  “Is it the honeymoon you hoped for?” Rick asked, holding her.

  She let out her breath in a rush. “It’s the nightmare I wished we’d never have to live through.” She pulled back to gaze at him. “We came here to sue for peace. And now…”

  “Maybe that doesn’t exist anymore,” Rick said, turning to the viewport as Tirol loomed into view.

  In the nave of Tiresia’s transformed Royal Hall, Obsim listened patiently to the computer’s announcement. A flash of synaptic sparks danced across the brain section’s fissured surface, strobing orange light down at the scientist and a group of soldiers who were gathered nearby. For the past several periods the starship had been trying to communicate with Tirol, but Obsim had elected to remain silent. If indeed they had come in “peace,” why were they equipped with such a mighty arsenal of weapons? More confusing still, their ship and mecha were Protoculturedriven, a fact that linked them beyond a shadow of a doubt to the Masters’ empire.

  And now they were sending one of their transport dropships to the moon’s surface, just as he had guessed they would.

  “Tell the Command ships to prepare,” Obsim instructed his lieutenant. “And have your units stand by for a strikeship assault.”

  “And the Inorganics, Obsim?” the lieutenant asked. “Will the brain reactivate them now?”

  Obsim came as close to smiling as his physiognomy allowed. “In due time, Enforcer, in due time.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I suppose I should have been surprised that it didn’t happen a lot sooner. Rick never believed that he was cut out to command, and I can remember him already trying to talk himself into resigning his commission when work first began on the SDF-3. I wanted to get to the bottom of it, but he didn’t want my help. Basically he didn’t want to hear his fears contradicted. So I was left to puzzle it out like a mystery, and I was convinced that both Roy Fokker’s death and
Rick’s continuing “little brother” attitude had a lot to do with his behavior.

  Lisa Hayes, Recollections

  It was an historic moment: the dropship’s arrival on Tirol marked the first occasion humankind had set foot on a world outside the Solar system. But it was business as usual, and that business was war.

  The GMU rumbled down out of the dropship’s portside ramp onto the moon’s barren surface, and within minutes Wolff was shouting “Go! Go! Go!” into the Hovertank cockpit mike as his Pack left the mobile base. Their landing zone was at the foot of a towering black ridge of impossibly steep crags; but soon the Pack was moving across a barren stretch of seemingly irradiated terrain. The massive GMU dwindled behind the twenty-unit squadron as they formed up on Wolff’s lead and sped toward Tirol’s principal city-Tiresia, according to Breetai. It was late afternoon on Tirol.

  The Hovertanks were ground-effect vehicles; reconfigurable assemblages of heavy-gauge armor in angular flattened shapes and acute edges, with rounded downsloping deflection prows. In standard mode, they rode on a cushion of self-generated lift, but mechamorphosed, they were either Battloid or guardian-squat, two-legged waddling mecha the size of a house, with a single, top-mounted particle-projection cannon.

  Wolff called up the GMU on the comlink for a situation report, and Vince Grant’s handsome brown face surfaced on the mecha’s cockpit commo screen. A defensive perimeter had been established around the base, and so far there was no sign of activity, enemy or otherwise. “You’ve got an open channel home,” Vince told him. “We want to know everything you’re seeing out there.”

  Wolff rogered and signed off. There were no maps of Tiresia, but bird’s-eye scans from the SDF-3 scopes had furnished the Pack with a fairly complete overview. The city was laid out like a spoked wheel, the hub of which appeared to be an enormous Cheops-like pyramid. Eight streets lined with secondary buildings radiated out from the center at regular intervals, from magnetic north right around the compass. Nothing came close to rivaling the pyramid in size; in fact, most of the structures were the rough equivalent of three stories or less, a mere fraction of the central temple.