The silk-and-linen corporate crowd that normally patronized the Tokonama had been told to keep away, and on arriving at the restaurant, Misa and Terry had noticed more than the usual number of Family enforcers and kumi-cho about, seeing to crowd control and security. That Kan Shimada was the city's undisputed oyabun didn't insure against people who wished him ill.
"A briefing was held at ALUCE, during which it was proposed that Wolff's ship be used against the Invid Sensor Nebula, of which Dana Sterling spoke," Kan Shimada continued. "The feasibility of disabling the cloud is still under discussion, but that dispute is irrelevant to my concerns about the ship itself."
Shimada took a sip of wine and patted his full lips with a cloth napkin. Seated at the opposite end of the table, Misa leaned slightly to one side, the better to see Shimada around an enamel vase full of freshly cut flowers.
"To come directly to the point, this ship poses a risk to our plans to open negotiations with the Invid. The waning power base of the Southern Cross aside, I am unclear as to the intentions of the surviving members of the provisional government. Were it not for the loyalty of the Global Military Police, the UEG could be toppled and we could be done once and for all with this pretense of a central bureaucracy. But as things stand, we are forced to deal with the likelihood of a refurbished government. And while Constanza and the others appear to be more levelheaded than their predecessors, we have no guarantee that they won't engage the Invid as
Leonard did the Masters—especially now that Wolff's ship has provided them with the capacity to do so."
Shimada's youngest son, Yosuke, refilled his father's glass with red wine. Kan took a sip and set the glass aside. "I see no harm in allowing Wolff—or whomever commands the ship—to carry out the Sensor Nebula mission. But I believe it will be in our best interests to make certain that the ship disappears soon afterward."
Miho Nagata's deep voice broke the silence that fell over the table. "Sabotage?" he said.
Shimada rocked his head from side to side. "I'm not sure we need to be thinking along those lines just yet. There are many groups that would leap at the chance of commandeering that ship—the chiefs of staff of the presently disaffected Southern Cross, to name but one."
"I would add the Zentraedi to the list," Miho said. "Our mole reports that the factory satellite is effectively dead in space."
"Yes, they should also be considered."
"What about the Starchildren?" Chosei offered.
Kan stroked his chin. For ten years, the Southlands cult had been seeking a means of moving its membership offworld. "Certainly."
"Do we know if the ship can fold?" Eiten asked.
"Wolff asserts that it can't," his father said. "But can Wolff be taken at his word? For all we know, he was dispatched by the REF to evaluate conditions in Earthspace and report back to Tirol. But let us assume for the moment that Wolff is telling the truth. Is there no way of reconditioning the ship's existing drives to render them foldworthy?"
Shimada directed the question to Gibley and his team, who were actually sporting suits—though of a late-twentieth-century cut.
"Louie Nichols, who was here with Dana Sterling, alerted us to several encouraging avenues of research," Gibley said. "But first we'd need to have a look at the ship's Reflex furnaces and spacefold generators."
Shi Ling glanced at Gibley and picked up where he left off. "Nichols is interested in investigating something he calls 'Syncron technology,' which
involves the generation of a singularity effect. The procedure was successfully employed during the war, and Nichols is of the opinion that, properly tamed, the effect can be employed to execute an instantaneous spacefold."
Shimada adopted a thoughtful pose. "Where is Nichols now?"
"In the Northlands," Gibley told him. "In a refugee camp just outside Monument City, staffed by the former members of the Sterling's 15th ATAC squadron."
Shimada looked at Miho Nagata. "Make contact with Nichols. Tell him that we are reconsidering the UEG's request for an assessment of our research into machine mind. Suggest to Nichols that we would like him to act as liaison between our technical teams and theirs, and gently hint that we have learned about the arrival of a star ship. Set the stage for eventual terms that would allow us to inspect Wolff's ship as a prerequisite to any bargain involving our findings."
"Hai," Miho said, bowing slightly.
Shimada's eyes roamed the table. "In the meantime, we must begin to rouse a craving for Wolff's ship, wherever possible." His eyes came to rest on Misa and Terry. "Have either of you ever had any dealings with the Starchildren?"
"Indirectly, sir," Weston said. "I met Kaaren Napperson—the cult's founder—about eight years ago, in Monument City."
Shimada nodded. "We have an operative among them. She will acquaint you with all you need to know about the Starchildren. Then I want you and Misa to undertake a trip to their colony in the Southlands." His determined gaze favored Terry. "I will see to it that your leave is extended."
Terry inclined his head.
"I suspect that the Starchildren will take a great interest in Wolff's ship. And even more in the fact that we could be convinced to fund an operation that would deliver the ship into their hands."
Shaved and showered in the hotel suite the UEG had prodded for him
in Denver, Jonathan Wolff gave half an ear to the TV news coverage of the parade in which he and his crew had been honored.
"Wolff performed heroically with the Sentinels," a male commentator was saying, "on one occasion rescuing Admirals Rick Hunter and Lisa Hayes Hunter in a star ship he skyjacked from Tirol; and on another, agreeing to stand trial for crimes he didn't commit, just to see that General
T. R. Edwards was brought to justice."
An attractive, fair-haired female commentator came on-screen. "The devilishly handsome commander of The Homeward Bound reports that the Invid swarm have been routed from every planet on which they've set foot— or is that pseudopod?—and that the Earth will be no exception."
"Should the Invid come, the Sentinels will be hot on their trail; is that the idea, Leana?"
Leana smiled for the camera. "That seems to be the long and short of it, Roger. So a word for you Invid out there, if you're listening: Jonathan Wolff is home, and he's going to be out there gunning for you . . ."
Dismayed by the portrait being painted of him, Wolff silenced the TV with a voice command. He had anticipated being swallowed up by the UEG's propaganda machine, but he hadn't expected to be recast as a savior. He supposed, to some extent, that the hero bit came with the territory, but that was no excuse for portraying the Invid as a swarm of killer bees.
With the collapse of the Southern Cross, his promotion to general seemed all but assured. The recommendations would have to come from General Aldershot and his command staff, of course, but given that they had all been die-hard Robotechs even before Global Military Police, he felt certain that he could count on their support. However, though they scarcely mattered in the big picture, he had no such faith in the members of the UEG. Just who was Constanza trying to kid, anyway, acting as if he and a handful of senators had run of the planet, when Japan, China, the Southlands, and most of Europe wouldn't have anything to do with them?
Wolff wasn't entirely clear himself on his reasons for withholding information about the fold capability of the ship. When the question had
been put to him, his survival instincts had taken over. It had struck him at the time that someone was going to have to return to Tirol to apprise Reinhardt, Lang, and the Hunters about the war with the Masters, and about the space-time disparities that plagued the Tirol-made ships. He had lied as a means of retaining some control over when that mission would be launched. As to who would command it, he was undecided.
Wolff moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, where his uniform was laid out. As he began to dress, he thought about Catherine and Johnny, who were due to arrive at any moment. He wondered if the flight from Albuquerque had
carried the televised parade, and whether they had caught any of it.
While buttoning his shirt, he realized that his hand was shaking, and he glanced at the suite's wet bar, with its tidy assortment of bottled brandies and liquors. Just one drink, he started to tell himself; then he came to his senses.
It was never one drink.
Regarding himself in the full-length mirror, he couldn't accept that twelve years had passed since he last saw them. Had The Homeward Bound, and the SDF-3 before that, entered some new space where time didn't exist? Otherwise, shouldn't his body betray the years? The crew and the members of the Wolff Pack felt as discombobulated as he did, though most of them hadn't left family behind on Earth. Hunter had chosen them for precisely that reason.
And yet, in spite of everything, it was wondrous to re-experience Earth after the dizzying artificiality of Haydon IV and the lunar sterility of Tirol. Too bad about Monument City—though he had never really warmed to the place. He did, however, want to visit Albuquerque and Cavern City, even if the latter had been overrun by some cult that called itself the Heal Earth Hajj.
But all that would have to wait until he got his land legs. Physicians at ALUCE had pronounced him to be in good health, but he didn't feel 100 percent. In fact, the closest he'd come to feeling shipshape was on the
shuttle trip down the well, during which he had gotten to know Max and Miriya Sterling's perky 18-year-old daughter, Dana, who had proved herself to be as able a warrior as her parents. Wolff remembered her as the girl who had carried the flowers at the Hunters' factory-satellite wedding, ages ago, but, oh my, how she had grown and filled out! Talking with her, he could almost forget that she was half Zentraedi—not that he held that against her, in any case. Why, even during the Malcontent Uprisings, some of his best friends had been aliens.
He was thinking of Dana when the door chime sounded, and his heart began to race. Giving a final downward tug to his tunic, he hurried to the door and threw it open, grinning like a kid, even through his initial shock. Catherine seemed as little changed by the years as he was, but Johnny . . . Where was the teenager Wolff had planned to pull into an embrace and clap on the back? Who was this sullen-looking man who had his father's black hair and his mother's sculpted features?
Catherine permitted herself to be hugged, but she returned none of the warmth he exuded. "You look wonderful," he said, stepping back awkwardly. And indeed she did: the mounds of red hair, the noble forehead and cleft chin . . . She was heavier by ten pounds, he guessed, and her eyes were encased in a network of fine lines that hadn't been there twelve years ago, but she was every bit as striking as she had been on the day they'd met.
Johnny stuck out his hand and said, "Hello, Colonel," in a tone that somehow blended hostility with sadness.
Wolff ushered them into the suite, took their bags, and offered them drinks from the wet bar, which they declined. Catherine sat on the couch, taking in the room. Johnny remained standing, with his hands thrust deeply into his trouser's pockets and his eyes lowered. The suite's air-conditioner hummed loudly.
"I thought long and hard about not coming," Catherine said after a moment. "But I decided it would be better this way. We were never good on the phone."
Wolff sat down opposite her, resisting an urge to reach for her hands.
"I'm glad you came. I would have gone to Albuquerque, but I'm scheduled for dozens of briefings."
"The price of glory," Johnny muttered.
Wolff glanced at him. "I didn't apply for the position as hero," he said, more strongly than he meant to.
"What do you want with us, Jonathan?" Catherine said quickly. She reached for her purse, lifted a cigarette from a flat case, and lighted it. "We watched the parade. We heard several news accounts of your exploits on Tirol and other places. We're very happy for you. You have exactly the life you dreamed of having."
Wolff watched her exhale a cloud of smoke; an athlete, she had despised cigarettes. "What I did on Tirol, I had to do. But I came home because I wanted to. Because I missed you—both of you—and I want to apologize for leaving."
Catherine's green eyes narrowed. "Why are you apologizing? You made a choice, Jonathan. You knew full well what you were doing."
He compressed his lips. "I made the wrong choice. I see that now."
She laughed her mouth empty of smoke. "You must be kidding. You think you can just come blasting back into our lives after twelve years? I'm sorry, Jonathan, but I don't see that there's anything left between us."
"There're my feelings. Or don't they matter?"
"Please," she said nastily. "Are you telling me that you're resigning from the REF?"
"Well, not right away," he said. "But after we resolve our differences with the Invid, then, yes, I'm prepared to resign, if that's what it'll take."
She shook her head in self-amusement. "You'll never be happy as a civilian. Look what happened when we moved to Monument City. You lasted four months before you applied for a transfer to the REF, because you couldn't stand the boredom of a desk job. And it's a good thing you did ship with the SDF-3, because the Masters took a long time getting here, Jonathan, and you would have been chomping at the bit."
"That's done with," he snapped. "If it wasn't for the Invid—"
"You'd follow me to Albuquerque and play the happy husband?" She stubbed out the cigarette. "Has it occurred to you that I might have a life of my own now? What do you think I've been doing all these years—watching the stars for your return? Oh, I did, for a time. But I had a son to raise, and to send through school, and to keep out of the hands of the Southern Cross, and to keep safe from the Masters . . ."
Her voice began to break up, and Johnny laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, scowling at Wolff the whole while.
"And what about our age difference?" she continued after a moment. "You don't think that's going to be a problem? Because, you see, I heard from the wife of one of John Carpenter's bridge officers that you'd taken a liking to younger women."
Wolff swallowed. "I'm telling you, all that's behind me."
She stared at him. "Lynn-Minmei is out of your system, huh? Just a mad infatuation?"
"I came home for you, goddamnit."
Her look was pitying. "Well, then, I'm afraid you made another wrong choice."
"We suffered our eighty-first fatality just last night," Bowie told Dana, pacing nervously as he spoke.
"From disease?" she asked.
He stopped to glance at her. "Sure, if you can call homesickness a disease."
They were in the wood-paneled den of the cabin, a mom they had grown up in and was layered in memories, Angelo was there as well, while Sean and Louie were in Monument, securing supplies. Dana had only returned to the compound that morning, after more than a week of debriefing in Denver regarding her visits to Tokyo and the factory satellite. She had been there for the parade, though she hadn't had a chance to speak with Wolff afterward. She had found herself thinking about him, though, ever since their long conversation aboard the shuttle from ALUCE.
Jonathan really was the stuff heroes were made of, much more comfortable with the role than she recalled her father being. Even so, it hadn't been the easiest conversation to sustain. She had talked to Wolff—her pinup—so often in her thoughts, that she could scarcely bring herself to meet his gaze.
"The upper-forty is getting to be a regular boot hill, Dana," Angelo said.
Bowie nodded solemnly. His dark-brown face looked drawn. "We have to do something. I've been playing for them ten hours a day and it isn't making a difference."
"What's Musica have to say about all this?" Dana asked him.
"They want to go home, Dana, and that's all there really is to say. It's like we rescued them from the flagship just so that they could die here."
Dana thought about the Zentraedi females in the factory satellite, about whom the same thing could be said. When she had brought up the idea of arming them in advance of an Invid invasion, Aldershot, Fredericks, and Nova Sa
tori had practically laughed in her face—though they had tentatively agreed to have the iris gate repaired. In the wake of the unexpected arrival of The Homeward Bound, the depleted factory had lost any real significance. And unless Dana disclosed what the Zentraedi had said about the futility of attacking the Nebula, Aldershot and the members of Constanza's oversight committee would soon be turning their attention to the selection of a commander to head up that mission.
"We've got some serious decisions to make, Lieutenant," Angelo was saying.
She frowned at him. "Don't call me that."
Angelo snorted. "Well, for someone who claims to have resigned from the military, you sure seem to be taking on a lot of assignments. If you don't mind my saying so."
"I do mind your saying so, Angelo. I'm only trying to prevent us from making the same mistakes we made with the Masters."
"Is Colonel Wolff's ship going to be able to take out the Nebula?" Bowie
said.
Dana considered her response, then shook her head and recounted
what Tay Wav'vir had told her. Long before she was through, Angelo was bristling.
"Why are you keeping this from General Aldershot?" he demanded. "What, you'd rather see the Defense Force expend firepower than dash their hopes of throwing the Invid off track?"
Dana kept shaking her head. "I'm not sure I can answer that, Angelo. Aldershot probably isn't going to accept the word of a couple of atavistic Zentraedi, anyway. But if he does, and the mission is scrubbed . . ." She looked at Angelo. "I suppose it is a matter of not dashing their hopes."
Angelo smiled wryly. "Even though you don't believe the Nebula can be destroyed."
"Right. Even though I don't believe it."
Before the Invid Storm Page 9