The Zentraedi Rebellion

by Jack McKinney

  “For they covet what he has and they scheme to take that from him and flee this place for distant shores. They toil in secret, inching in on his safe domain. But I cannot stand aside; I will rob them of the honor of defeating him, even though I risk all that I have. That is as it must be, for the giant and I are linked by destiny.”

  With that, the film returned to a familiar scene. But Breetai was left with the nagging feeling that the Lynn-Kyle character had been talking directly to him.

  “I’m so glad you could come, Lynn,” Emil Lang told Minmei in the reception area of the Tokyo Research Center, taking her hand and kissing her on both cheeks. Minmei had a silk kerchief tied around her head, and was wearing a polka-dot sleeveless dress that was a bit lightweight for April.

  “How could I say no to you, Dr. Lang? After everything you’ve done for me.”

  Lang smiled and shook hands with Minmei’s manager, who wore an expensive knit suit and abundant gold jewelry. “Mr. O’Toole.”

  “Call me Sam, Doc.”

  “We had to be in Tokyo anyway,” Minmei said. “The Lorelei Network is launching next month, and they want me to do my first show from here.”

  “The Zentraedi network,” Lang said, nodding. “I’d heard that they’d signed you to do an interview show or something.”

  “More a talk show, Doc. But we’re working on a guest list, too. Zentraedi guests, that is.”

  Lang looked at Minmei. “I hope this doesn’t mean that you’re giving up on touring.”

  “Not on your life,” O’Toole answered for her. “That’s our second—well, okay, our third reason for being in Asia. We’re in the final stages of setting up a world tour to coincide with Minmei’s inaugural appearance on Lorelei.” O’Toole grinned at Minmei. “We figure she can do the talk show on live-remote from whatever city she’s playing at the time.”

  “Will you be the sole act, Lynn?”

  “Aside from the usual warmup bands. Unless you’ve found a partner for me, Dr. Lang.”

  Lang stared at her, then laughed. “Lynn, it’s funny you should say that …”

  He began to lead the two of them on a tour of the main floor of the center. When Lang wasn’t describing the goings-on in various labs, he and Minmei talked about old friends from the SDF-1 and Macross City, and the upcoming trial of Jinas Treng. She asked after Lazlo Zand, and Lang simply told her that he was busy with research, when in fact he had no idea where Zand was. Lang noted that Minmei avoided mentioning Rick or Lisa; he assumed that their engagement was the reason. She did, however, wonder if it would be possible for her to visit the factory satellite, and Lang promised to make the necessary arrangements.

  As they approached the staff room at the building’s northeast corner, Lang placed his right hand in the deep pocket of his white jacket and depressed the button switch on a coded transmitter. Seconds later a soprano voice was lilting from behind the closed door to the staff room.

  “Who is that singing?” Minmei asked.

  “The person I asked you here to meet,” Lang said. “My niece. She’s been working as a research assistant, but everyone here thinks she has a wonderful voice, and I was wondering if you couldn’t give her some advice on how to get started as a professional.”

  “Is she related to the Bernards?”

  “No, uh, the other side of the family.”

  Lang ushered Minmei and O’Toole into the staff room, where his alleged niece was sitting at an electronic keyboard, improvising melodies for several of the techs from cybernetics. O’Toole took one look at the center of attention and said, “Somebody pinch me, I think I’m dreaming.”

  “Uncle Emil,” the singer said.

  “I don’t mean to disturb you, Janice, but I know you’d never forgive me if I didn’t introduce you to—”

  “Lynn-Minmei!” the android said, shooting to its feet. “Oh, my God!” The techs had outfitted JANICE M in jeans and a top that made the most of its custom proportions. Just now, though, the techs were torn between who to watch: Minmei or their creation.

  “Lynn and Sam,” Lang said, “I’d like you to meet Janice Em.”

  “You have a terrific voice,” Minmei said.

  “Terrific,” O’Toole parroted, eyeing Janice blatantly. Five six, she weighed 110 pounds, and projected a kind of wan beauty, offset by large, deep-blue eyes.

  Janice adopted a demure pose. “I was just toying with some vocal lines.”

  “Sing them again,” Minmei said, walking over to the keyboard.

  Janice seated herself; her perfectly formed fingers played over the keys and she began to sing. Minmei gradually joined in, harmonizing with Janice’s melody. Lang and the cybertechs were the picture of restrained exaltation. O’Toole stood openmouthed in disbelief.

  “Do you have an agent?” O’Toole asked when Minmei and Janice were finished.

  Janice’s eyes edged ever so slightly toward Lang. “At the moment, Mr. O’Toole, I answer only to my Uncle Emil.”

  The woman introduced herself as Tan. Athletically built, she had thousands of facial freckles, lackluster red hair, and the furtive look of a sympath—an advocate.

  “How did you know where to contact me?” Zand asked her.

  Tan laughed. “Word travels, Professor. Let’s just say I heard about you from a guy who heard about you from a guy who heard you wanted to establish contact with the rebels.”

  “I never specified rebels.”

  “Maybe not. But you did say ‘unaligned alien groups,’ didn’t you?”

  Zand nodded. “What band do you represent?”

  Tan held up her hands. “You’re jumping the gun, Professor. You haven’t even told me what you’re after.”

  “I understand. It’s just that a man of my position …”

  “Sure, Professor. You don’t want to risk exposure. But stop worrying—from now on you’ll only be dealing with me. If I don’t have what you need, I’ll find the people that do. You won’t have to be personally involved in any of it.”

  Zand relaxed somewhat. After a glance around the small park that surrounded the shrine, he sat down beside Tan on the bench she had chosen as their point of rendezvous. They were only a few miles from the research center, but Zand felt as if he were hundreds of miles from Tokyo.

  “Now,” Tan said suddenly, “exactly what did you have in mind when you said you were interested in ‘alien artifacts’?”

  Zand reseated his dark glasses. “I’m looking for examples of Invid battlecrafts—any that may have been captured and taken aboard by the Zentraedi, and have since ended up on Earth.”

  Tan made an exaggerated show of surprise. “No wonder you couldn’t say over the phone. Here I was thinking you meant Zentraedi artifacts when you were talking about Invid stuff.” She shook her head. “But I’m afraid you’ve got me, Professor. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking.”

  “But you’ll ask around? Spread the word?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “What about Flower of Life?”

  Tan laughed in astonishment. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why not ask me for Khyron’s brain? Trust me, whatever Rowers there were died with him.”

  “Yes, but I’ve heard rumors about the Rower growing on Earth, and I know that some of Khyron’s troops still operate in the Southlands.”

  “You mean the Fist.”

  “Yes, yes, the Fist.”

  “I don’t know, you’ll have to give me a little time—”

  “What about a couple of liters of blood from a full-size Zentraedi?”

  Tan regarded him in wary puzzlement. “Giants’ blood? You should have thought of that before you had everyone in the Protectorate Micronized.”

  Anger contorted Zand’s features. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. It was those UEG fools.”

  Tan shrugged. “Maybe so, but the only full-size are on the factory, and you’d certainly have an easier time getting onboard than I would.”

  Zand worked his jaw. “All right. But you
will remember to inquire about Invid craft and the Flower?”

  “I’ll remember. Give me a couple of weeks.”

  “Two.”

  Tan shook her head in amusement. “Okay, two weeks.”

  Zand pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, scribbled a phone number, and handed it to her. “Call me day or night when you have something.”

  Tan glanced at the paper and pocketed it. “You can be sure of it, Professor.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  It has been remarked that old habits die hard. How else to explain the re-emergence of the corrupt fin-de-siècle World Unification Alliance as the equally corrupt Reconstruction Era United Earth Government, or the resurrection of the technophobic Faithful as the Church of Recurrent Tragedies? Rebirth would attend even the sinisterly wrought Lorelei Network when, in 2026, it reappeared as the EVE Network.

  Zachary Fox, Jr., Men, Women, Mecha: The Changed Landscape of the Second Robotech War

  “Hello, caller, you’re on the Lorelei Network.”

  “Minmei?”

  “Yes, this is Minmei, and you’re on the air.”

  The WorldPhone connection was interrupted by brief static. Then: “… name is Karita, and I just wanted to say that I’m a big fan.”

  “I’m glad you enjoy my songs, Karita. And I’m glad for the chance to talk personally with you and all Zentraedi who have learned to appreciate the joys of music.”

  It was her first call and she was nervous, but the cameras didn’t seem to be capturing her inner agitation. On the monitor screen she appeared calm, confident, warm, accessible—all that the network chiefs were expecting of her. “Remember that the Zentraedi aren’t so much fans as worshipers,” one executive had thought to point out. “They’re going to be satisfied just seeing you and talking to you. So in a sense, it won’t so much matter what you say to them, as how you look when you say it.”

  Which explained why wardrobe had selected such a short shirt, and why the hair stylist had insisted on making the most of her bangs.

  “I’ve been a follower of yours since the War, Minmei,” the caller was saying. “In fact, I was a charter member of the fan club that Rico and Konda started on Commander Breetai’s flagship. I held a position onboard as sizing-chamber operator. I know Rico, Bron, and Konda personally. Well, I knew them, anyway.”

  “You haven’t seen them for a while?”

  Some of the excitement left Karita’s voice. “Not in a long while. We can’t all be lucky enough to be living like celebrities in Monument City.”

  “I’m sure you have a fine life just where you are.”

  “You think so, Minmei? You think I have a fine life? Maybe you want to hear about my life since I left Monument.”

  “I’d be very interest—”

  “I could see that Monument wasn’t going to be worth a damn once everyone from Macross started relocating. I’ll never understand why they couldn’t have just built another city for themselves and left Monument to the Zentraedi. But I suppose we should be grateful for the year of autonomy we enjoyed. After all, we’re the defeated ones. We’re fortunate even to be alive, isn’t that so?”

  Minmei tried not to sound flustered, but she wasn’t comfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “I think that all of us are fortunate to be alive.”

  “Yes, of course that’s true. And a lot of Humans have had to suffer the rigors of deprivation in the aftermath of the Rain. But I wonder how many of them have ever been denied food or been chased by an angry mob. I wonder how many of them know what it’s like to lack the skills necessary for survival, to be a needful thing wherever one goes, just another mouth to feed—another alien mouth to feed. To be blamed for every strike the malcontents have launched against the Human race—”

  “My guest today is going to be addressing just those issues, Karita,” Minmei cut in, her voice quivering with urgency. “He was the head of a construction battalion in the Protectorate, and he has a lot of interesting things to say about the plight of the jobless and the homeless, and about the malcontents—”

  “More talking,” Karita said, full of invective. “Another voice to spew the UEG party line that civil rights for the Zentraedi will be reinstated as soon as the uprisings are put down. How easy for your guest, or for Rico or Exedore or Miriya to talk from their cozy homes in Monument or on the factory satellite about the plight of their comrades. Well, I think it’s just a pack of lies, Minmei, it’s just a pack of Human lies—”

  In the studio control booth, the show’s producer drew a finger across his throat and opened the microphone that fed into Minmei’s earbead. “I had to dump that one, Lynn. But pretend he’s still on the line. Fake an upbeat good-bye, and we’ll go to a song.”

  Minmei looked into the camera. “Uh, thank you for being so forthright, Karita. We certainly do have a lot of work cut out for us if we’re to solve these problems. And solve them, we will. Uh, please feel free to call us again sometime soon.” She smiled and forced a sigh. “I think we’re off to a good start. And we’ll return right after this song.”

  A live version of “To Be In Love” played behind concert footage filmed in Portland in 2013. Momentarily free of the camera’s scrutiny, Minmei threw a panicked look at the control booth. “Are they all going to be like that?”

  Behind the glass partition, the producer made a calming gesture. “Don’t worry, we’ll screen the next few callers.”

  Minmei took a moment to collect herself. When the music video ended, she faced the camera, awaiting the producer’s on-air signal. “Welcome back to the Love Line. That was the first song I wrote, and it’s still one of my favorites. Now, I see we have another caller waiting. Bagzent,” she read from an off-camera computer display screen, “you’re on the Lorelei Network.”

  “Yeah, Minmei. I just wanted to respond to some of the things said by your first caller.”

  Minmei gulped, but managed to say, “Go ahead, Bagzent.”

  “I just wanted to tell him—what was his name? Karita? I just wanted to tell him that if he’s after inner peace and freedom, he’s looking in the wrong direction. Freedom isn’t about where you live, or how well you live, or even how you’re treated by your fellow creatures. You find freedom by surrendering yourself to Wondrous Spirit and accepting that you’re a part of something bigger than Earth or the Sol system or the Fourth Quadrant of the galaxy.

  “Wondrous Spirit knows that I’ve done shameful things in my lifetime. During the War, I destroyed a lot of Veritechs, in space and on the surface of the planet you know as Mars. And after the Rain, I aligned myself with Khyron and participated in his raids on Detroit. Just these past two years I’ve taken part in the capture of the Grand Cannon, and I’ve led Stinger attacks on convoys everywhere from the Venezuela Sector to Mato Grosso.

  “I’ve taken hundreds of Human lives, Minmei. But I recently made a choice that’s made all the difference in my life: I denied the Imperative. I chose life over what most Zentraedi would consider an honorable death. And when I did that, Wondrous Spirit took me in and forgave me for all my past crimes. Now, each day I rejoice in the sights and sounds and smells of the world Wondrous Spirit brought into being. This is what Karita has to learn if he wants to be free. This is what all Zentraedi need to learn, whether they’re on the factory, or Micronized residents of the Protectorate, or armed hostiles aligned with one of the malcontent bands, such as I was. Love life. Love the world for what it is. Love Wondrous Spirit.”

  Bagzent hung up, and Minmei gave her head a slight shake, as if snapping to. “Um, thank you, Bagzent, for those … uplifting words.” She glanced briefly at the control booth to find the producer beaming and nodding his head. “Now let’s go to … Tomina, from Australia. You’re on the Lorelei Network.”

  “You silly creature,” a raspy feminine voice began. “You’ve got no more intellect than one of those squeeze toys fashioned in your image during the War. Many a male Zentraedi fell prey to your big eyes and
your child’s voice, but the Quadrano knew an imposter when they saw one. And as for ‘Bagzent’ and his ‘Wondrous Spirit,’ let me say that he’s typical of the brainless clones and Flower addicts that comprised Khyron Kravshera’s Seventh Mechanized Division.”

  Minmei struggled for something to say. “Miriya Parina was a Quadrano, wasn’t she? Maybe you know—”

  “I didn’t call to talk about Miriya Parina or any other hajoca Zentraedi. And I definitely didn’t call to waste my time talking to you.” Tomina paused for a moment. “But I do have a message for Doctor Lang or any RDF officers who might be listening. They should be advised that the Claimers have recently come into possession of something that belongs to them, and we’re going to keep this thing until satisfactory terms of exchange can be arranged.”

  “Please, Tomina,” Minmei said, “not another nuclear bomb.”

  The woman laughed. “No, Minmei, not a bomb. Something even more powerful: a Professor Lazlo Zand.”

  Minmei stared into the camera, slack-jawed. “I don’t understand—”

  “We’ve abducted him, you pathetic excuse for a female! And we’re going to kill him if the RDF won’t meet our demands.” Tomina forced a laugh. “Zand won’t be as lucky as you and Kyle were when the Backstabber grabbed you. The Claimers have no such weaknesses. We’ll be in touch soon.”

  Minmei stared openly at the control booth. “Go to a song, go to a song!” the producer was yelling into her ear.

  “Put that away!” Seloy ordered the brown-haired Scavenger holding the WorldPhone. She gestured to the TV monitor on which a music video of Minmei’s “Stagefright” was running. “And zero that thing before I smash it to pieces.”

  The six Scavengers inside the thatch-roofed hut hurried to comply. Outside, a sonorous rain was drenching the cloud forest camp, and the air inside the hut was superheated.

  “You don’t see what they’re doing with this satellite network?” Seloy told them. “They’re tracing the calls to their point of origin. Operatives of the RDF or the Southern Cross are probably already moving on Bagzent and Tomina Jepp. Idiots!”