Robotech

by Jack McKinney

  Zor pressed his hands to his face, his heart filled with remorse for wrongdoings as yet unrevealed. And how different this felt than the angry mood he had found himself in earlier the same day!

  While he was on the way to the barracks from Nova’s post, on the Hovercycle she had requisitioned for his use, Dana had ridden up alongside him, full of her usual optimism and what seemed to be affection.

  “Have you remembered anything else?” she had asked him.

  He practically ignored her.

  “Why am I getting the silent treatment all of a sudden?” she had shouted from her cycle. “You’ve lost your recent memory, too? You’ve lost all respect for me?”

  It was as though something inside him was forcing anger against her, irrational but impossible to redirect.

  He had snarled at her. “I can’t stand the constant interrogation, Lieutenant….”

  “So! There you are!” he suddenly heard from across the workout room. Dana was standing by the door, impatient with him. “I thought you were going to wait for me in the ready-room. I’ve been looking all over this place for you.”

  Zor squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the anger begin to rise in him again, dispersing the sorrow of only moments ago.

  “I’m tired of this,” he told her, trying his best not to betray the rising tide. “Please leave me alone, Dana.”

  Dana reacted as though slapped.

  “I don’t want you bothering me anymore.” Something forced the words from his tongue. “And I don’t want my memory back either, understand?”

  “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” she said, standing over him now.

  Zor stood up and whirled on her. “I can’t take this whole situation! If your people want what’s locked up in my brain, tell them to operate!”

  Dana’s face clouded over. “You’re really hurting me,” she said softly. “I’m only trying to help you. I want us to keep being friends. Please … let me.” When he didn’t respond she risked a step toward him. “Listen to me, Zor. The past is the past. I don’t care what you did. I only know you as you are now. And I think one part of you feels as close to me as I feel to you.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to hold his gaze. “Don’t run away from this—we can win!”

  “No!” he said, turning away from her. “It’s over.”

  She took her hands off him and looked down at the floor. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it, then that’s it.” Then her chin came up. “But don’t come looking for me when you need help!”

  Dana pivoted through a 180-degree turn and started off, her nose in the air. The room felt unfocused, and it was almost as if she didn’t notice the large projection screen that had been positioned against the mirrored wall. Her foot slammed hard into one of the metal frame’s support legs and she cursed loudly. But that wasn’t enough for her. “You stupid thing!” she barked, and toe-kicked the tubular leg, knocking it free of the frame’s weighted foot. The frame began to topple backwards, thick lucite screen and all, and everything seemed to hit the mirrors at the same time.

  Instinctively, Zor had rushed forward, aiming to tackle her to safety; but two steps forward he caught sight of himself, reflected in each of the hundreds of mirror shards loosed from the fractured wall.

  Past and present seemed to coalesce in that moment: Dana’s frightened face became a dark silhouette, then transmutated into the visage of someone ancient and unmistakably evil.

  Zzoorrr … a disembodied voice called to him. There is no place to run. You cannot escape us, you cannot get away….

  Now a hand as aged as that face pointed and closed on him open-palmed, and suddenly he found himself running through the curved-top tunnels of some twilight world, fleeing the grasp of armed guardians, caped, helmeted, and curiously armored. A trio of threatening voices pursued him through that labyrinth as well, but ultimately he outran them, launching himself through a hexagonal portal and secreting himself in a darkened room, filled with a heavenly music….

  A green-haired woman sat at a harp, her slender fingers forming chords of light that danced about the room. He knew but could not speak her name. Likewise he knew that he had violated a tabu by visiting this place … those ancient ones who sought to control him, to keep him locked away and insulated; those ancient ones who sought to have him absorb a life he had not lived!

  Musica, the green-haired harpist told him….

  But he had already moved behind her now, his arm across her neck. The Terminators had caught up with him, and he meant to use her as a shield, a shield…. They will not kill her he told himself, as she quaked with fear in his arms. She is one of them.

  But the Terminators had armed their weapons and were taking aim; and although he had pushed her aside and fled once more, they had fired—fired at her….

  The world was blood-red. Someone was calling his name….

  Dana was struggling beneath him; he had collapsed over her, shielding her from the glass but pinning her to the floor.

  “Musica …” Zor heard himself tell her, as she helped him get up. “When I first saw her, she was playing this beautiful music. Then I used her as a shield…. I didn’t think they’d kill her, but they did!”

  Dana was staring at him, her eyes wide. “No, Zor, they didn’t,” she tried to tell him. “Bowie saw her—alive! It must have been a dream—”

  Zor was up and walking away from her, fixed on his angry reflection in the shattered mirror.

  “I have no memory,” he declared, his azure eyes narrowed. “I’m an android. I did kill Eddie’s brother, I’m certain of it.”

  He rammed his right fist into the mirror; then his left, tossing off Dana when she tried to restrain him. Again and again right and left, he punched and whaled at the broken glass, ultimately exhausting himself and reducing his hands to a bloody pulp.

  “My god!” he howled. “The Robotech Masters! They must control me completely!”

  Dana was leaning against his back, her hands over his shoulders, sobbing.

  Zor’s nostrils flared. “There’s only one way to defeat them—I must destroy myself!”

  “No,” Dana pleaded with him. “There’s always hope….” She caught sight of the fresh blood dripping down the mirror and reached out for his hands. “Your hands!” she gasped. She pulled her kerchief out and wrapped it around his right, which appeared far more lacerated than the left. “Androids don’t bleed,” she said to him between sobs. “You’re Human, Zor—”

  “Without a memory? Without a will of my own?”

  She wanted to say something, but no words came to her.

  “I’m sorry, Dana,” Zor told her after a moment. “I’ve said some terrible things to you….”

  “Let me help you,” she said, looking into his eyes.

  Zor pressed his forehead to hers.

  Later, Zor marched determinedly down the halls of the Ministry, closing fast on the office of Rolf Emerson. Dana’s help would be invaluable, but there were things he was going to have to do alone. To start with, he needed every scrap of information that was available on the Masters, on their fortresses and science of bio-genetic engineering, and Emerson was the only one who would have access to this.

  At the office doors, he stopped and tried to compose himself; then lifted his bandaged hand to knock. He could hear voices coming from the other side of the door.

  But something arrested his motion: answering the call of an unknown force, he stood silent and motionless at the threshold, eyes and ears attuned to a kind of recording frequency.

  “But it’s reckless for Leonard to press an attack now, General,” Zor heard Rochelle say. “We aren’t prepared.”

  Rolf Emerson said: “I know, but what can I do? Leonard has most of the staff on his side. I’d hoped this wouldn’t happen. I’d hoped to use Zor as a bargaining agent…. But instead, it’s come down to all-out war.”

  For several minutes Zor listened at the door, while Emerson and Rochelle summarized the general staff’s hastil
y coordinated attack plans. Then he turned away and walked stiffly down the corridor, his original motivations erased.

  Unobserved at the far end of the corridor, Angelo Dante watched Zor leave; tight-lipped, the sergeant nodded his head in knowing confirmation.

  The neuro-sensor implanted in Zor’s brain now transmitted a steady supply of visual and auditory information, filling the flagship holo-sphere with new images that both troubled and enlightened the three Masters.

  “Notice how the clone’s rage interferes with our attempts to manipulate his behavior,” Bowkaz pointed out, commenting on Zor’s blood match with his own reflection. “This is worrisome.”

  “But even so,” Shaizan countered, “the use of the clone goes well—even better than we had hoped.” Emerson and Rochelle’s exchange of attack plan data underscored the solitary image of a chevroned doorway. “It is interesting, though … the Micronians continue to delude themselves with plans of attacking our Robotech fortresses.”

  “I must say they have courage,” said Dag.

  Shaizan squinted at the holo-sphere’s lingering transignal.

  “One simple truth remains for the Micronians: we will annihilate every one of them. Annihilate them.”

  “Annihilate them,” Bowkaz repeated.

  “Annihilate them!”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  “A-JACs, my butt! They’re nothing but goddamned Protocopters!”

  Remark attributed to an unknown TASC pilot

  THE UNITED EARTH GOVERNMENT FLAG FLEW HIGH OVER THE copper-domed Neo-Post-Federalist Senate Building. Inside, Supreme Commander Leonard addressed a combined audience of UEG personnel, Southern Cross officers (Dana Sterling and Marie Crystal among them), representatives of the press, and privileged civilians, from the podium of the structure’s vast senatorial hall. Behind him on the stage sat General Rolf Emerson, Colonels Rochelle and Rudolf, and the Joint Chiefs-of-Staff.

  “We fully realize there has been much debate over the advisability of a preemptive strike against the alien fleet at this juncture. These concerns have been taken into careful consideration by the High Command of the Armed Forces. But the time has come to put an end to debate, and to unite all our voices behind a common effort.

  “Proto-engineering has completed the first consignment of the new Armored Jet Attack Copters, henceforth designated as A-JACs. These will form the nucleus of the first assault wave. Your corps commanders will have your individual battle assignments.

  “I know there isn’t a single soldier in this hall today who isn’t painfully aware of all the hazards that will certainly arise during the course of this mission, and there are still some who would advise against its undertaking. But the High Command has determined that we now have the capability of dealing a devastating blow to the enemy, and to do nothing in the face of this advantage is to admit defeat!”

  Leonard’s speech received less than enthusiastic support, except from certain members of the general staff and the militaristic wing of Chairman Moran’s teetering legislature.

  Emerson and Rochelle scarcely applauded. Leonard, the two had decided, was a megalomaniac; and the attack plan itself, utter madness.

  Afterwards, in front of the building, where the press was all but assaulting Leonard’s silver chariot limo, Marie Crystal maneuvered through the crowds to bring her Hovercycle alongside Dana’s, just as the 15th’s lieutenant was engaging her own mecha’s thrusters. Though it was the first time the women had seen each other in several weeks, the reunion was hardly a happy one.

  “Guess who’s been assigned to the first wave?” Marie taunted her sometime rival. Recently given a clean bill-of-health by the med center staff, she had been reassigned to active duty and reunited with her tactical air squadron.

  “Well aren’t you the lucky little hotshot, Marie,” Dana returned in her sarcastic best. “You’re through licking your wounds, huh?” Dana never had paid her that visit—not after what Sean had reported of Marie’s continuing quest for a scapegoat.

  Marie’s cat’s-eyes flashed. “Believe me, I’m completely recovered,” she told Dana, with a sly grin. “I never felt better in my entire life. But I think it’s just awful that the Hovertanks won’t be seeing any action this time around. Guess you’ll be able to get some training done while we’re gone—heaven knows you need it.”

  Dana let the remark roll off her back. “To be perfectly honest, I’m really not too unhappy about being grounded,” she said in an off-hand manner. “You pilots’ll have your hands full.”

  Marie sniggered. “It won’t be that bad. At least this time we’ll have a commander who knows what she’s doing. Know what I mean?”

  Dana frowned, in spite of her best efforts not to. “Oh, why don’t you lose that line?” she snapped at Marie. “When are you going to realize that it wasn’t my fault?”

  Marie laughed, proud of herself. “Don’t worry, I forgive you,” she said, twisting the throttle and joining the exiting throngs. “So long,” she called over her shoulder.

  Dana was tempted to send some obscene gesture her way, but thought better of it and reached down to reactivate the thrusters. No sooner had she armed the switch than Nova Satori wandered over.

  “Make it brief, Nova,” Dana began. “I have to meet Zor in fifteen minutes and he always starts worrying if I’m late.”

  Nova never had a chance to confront her face-to-face on the medical center stunt, and Dana was in no mood for an argument now. It had been settled officially, and she was willing to let it rest. Although Nova probably didn’t see it that way.

  “Zor’s the very person I wanted to speak to you about.”

  “Well?” Dana said defensively.

  “The GMP appreciates all you’ve done to help him regain his memory, but we feel there are some areas that only trained professionals can—”

  “No!” Dana cut her off. “He’s mine and I’ve promised to help him. These professionals you’re so proud of will probably make a vegetable of him, and I’m not about to let that happen!”

  “Yes, I understand your feelings, Dana,” Nova went on in her even voice, “but this case requires some in-depth probing of the subject’s unconscious mind.” Nova glanced at her clipboard, as if reading from a prepared statement. “We’ve called a certain Dr. Zeitgeist, an expert in alien personality transference to—”

  Dana put her hands over her ears. “Enough! You’re giving me a monster migraine with all this psychobabble!”

  Nova shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s out of your hands, Dana. I’ve been assigned to supervise Zor’s rehabilitation—”

  “Over my dead body, Nova! All he needs is a little Human understanding—something you’re in short supply of. Leave him alone!” Dana said, wristing the throttle, hovering off, and almost colliding with an on-coming mega-truck.

  “Dana!” the GMP lieutenant called after her. She’s completely lost her objectivity, Nova said to herself.

  “I could just scream sometimes!” Dana said, bursting into the 15th’s ready-room.

  Cups of coffee and tea slipped from startled hands, chess pieces hit the floor, and permaplas window panes rattled on the other side of the room.

  “What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant?” Angelo said, leaping to his feet.

  “Nothing!” she roared. “Just tell me where Zor’s hiding himself!” Dana’s angry strides delivered her over to Bowie. “I thought I told you to keep an eye on him!”

  Bowie flinched, stammering a puzzled reply and leaning back not a moment too soon, as Dana’s fist came crashing down on the table in front of him. “I can’t depend on you for anything at all!”

  “Cool your thrusters, Lieutenant,” Sean said calmly from the couch. “The patient’s fine and we’re keeping tabs on him, so simmer down.”

  “Well, where is he, Sean?” Dana said quietly but with a nasty edge to her voice.

  Sean simply said: “He’ll be back in a second,” bringing Dana’s back up once again.

  “I
didn’t ask you for a timetable of his comings and goings, Private,” she barked, hands on her hips. “I want to see him!”

  “I think he’d rather you waited….” Sean suggested, as she made to leave the room.

  The ready-room doors hissed open. “Just tell me where he is.”

  “Men’s room: straight down the hall, first door on the right.”

  Dana made a sound of exasperation, while everyone else stifled laughs.

  “Any word on assignments from the war council?” Corporal Louie said, hoping to change the subject.

  Angelo folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, do we finally get permission to take care of the enemy this time or do we get held back again?”

  Dana walked into their midst. “Well, if you really must know, the Supreme Command in all its infinite wisdom has decided to …” she let them hang on her words, “… keep us in reserve, of course.”

  Dana kicked Sean’s legs out from under him as she paced past him, forcing him into an involuntary slouch before she exited the ready-room.

  “This is getting kinda monotonous,” Sean said with a grunt.

  Angelo slammed his hands together. “Typical! Whoever makes these stupid decisions oughta be shot!”

  Sean extended his legs, crossing his ankles on the table. “It’s a crazy idea anyway. I’m telling you, the supreme commander’s going nuts. He knows it’s hopeless to try a frontal assault.”

  “The application of brute force is strategically wrong,” Louie added, opposite Sean at the table. “We must fight with our intellect … By developing Robotechnology we stand a chance.”

  Time would prove him right, but just now Angelo Dante wasn’t buying any of it.

  “Forget all this machinery!” he counseled. “If they’d just give us a crack at ’em, we’d knock ’em outta the sky!”

  * * *

  Dana went up to her private quarters in the loft above the ready-room, the recent encounters with Marie and Nova replaying themselves in her memory; but these were the reworked and edited versions, now scripted with the things she should have said. She had convinced herself that Nova’s spiel was nothing more than a transparent attempt to keep Zor all to herself. And that Marie would undoubtedly try to get her greedy little hands on him, too, once they met—which Dana planned to keep from happening.