The Zentraedi Rebellion

by Jack McKinney

  On the balcony, Wolfe keyed the public-address system. “Security to decontamination. Code red.”

  “Let me go!” Kimball was screaming, frothing at the mouth. “I’m burning up! What’s wrong with you people? How can you stand it? How can you—”

  The Packer suddenly went limp in the medic’s arms. The medic placed a device against Kimball’s neck, then quickly straddled him and began to pound on his chest. Rosen poked his head from the hatch but stayed put

  “We better get down there,” Wolfe said.

  “Not without suits,” Gillespie told him.

  An emergency medical team and four fully suited hulks from security hurried into the bay through an airlock. Max and Wolfe watched them work on Kimball for five minutes. Finally one of the medics glanced up at the balcony and shook his head.

  Wolfe looked grim. “Let’s see if Dr. Lopez learned anything from the crew,” he said, tapping Max into motion. Lopez, another Argentine transplant, was the base physician. “Looks like Kimball caught something from that particle cloud.”

  “Maybe not,” Max said. “The ride in was rough going. And everybody was stressed out to begin with.”

  Wolfe eyed him askance. “It’s coincidence that the one guy who flips out also happens to be the guy who took the brunt of the cloud?”

  “One of the guys. Rosen seemed all right.”

  “I knew Kimball pretty well, Max, and he wasn’t the type to stress out. It was something the Stinger released. The malcontents probably tried it out on the crew, then decided to bait us with the cargo plane. They put up just enough resistance to make us think it wasn’t a trap and to get us down on the ground. Dollars to donuts, the Scavengers are experimenting with a biochemical weapon.”

  Max offered a reluctant nod. “They’ve had Human help in growing food, locating crashed ships, and securing nuclear weapons. So why not some strain of biological left over from the Global Civil War.”

  “If that’s true, Lopez or someone should be able to identify it.”

  “Let’s hope. But what bothers me is that the group that downed me in the Congo mentioned something about attending a Scavenger meeting. They could be planning to distribute this stuff to other bands.”

  Wolfe gave his head a mournful shake. “Sorry you got yourself dragged into this, Max. I’m sure you’d rather be in Monument with your family.”

  Max was quiet for a moment; then he filled Wolfe in on Miriya’s disappearance. Wolfe listened without comment, until Max mentioned that she had gone to ground in the southwest of the Venezuela Sector.

  “You think there’s a connection between Miriya’s landing here and this biological or whatever it is?”

  “Do you know the name Seloy Deparra?”

  “Should I?”

  “No reason to, I guess. She was a Quadrano, like Miriya. Miriya and I thought she was dead, but I’m beginning to think she’s alive, and that’s why Miriya’s in the Southlands.”

  “And maybe this Deparra is tied up with the Scavengers, is that the idea?”

  Max nodded.

  Wolfe didn’t respond immediately. “You know, it’s funny,” he said at last. “My wife’s disappeared, too. Not that she’s gone missing or anything, but she moved out on me a month ago when I turned down a promotion and a transfer.”

  “Admiral Hunter told me about that,” Max said. “Between you and me, I think he’d like to enlist you in the REF.”

  Wolfe grinned. “I’d go to Tirol at the drop of a thinking cap. But I don’t feature spending the next couple of years locked up in that factory. I’d rather wait till the SDF-3’s completed, then sign on.”

  “Would your wife …”

  “Catherine.”

  “Would she be willing to go along?”

  “No way—even though ‘down to earth’ isn’t a term I’d use to describe her. But space, forget it.” Wolfe studied Max. “What about you and Miriya?”

  “We have a daughter to think of.”

  “Yeah. I have a son. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to handle being away from him if Catherine decides to return north, let alone if I’m upside.”

  Both men were silent few the rest of the walk to Lopez’s laboratory. The doctor, a small man with shoulder-length black hair, had been trying to contact Wolfe. He had identified the biochemical agent that had felled the crew, and possibly Kimball as well

  “It’s a virus,” Lopez said. “The etiology seems consistent with recent cases reported in Mexico: fever, rage, madness … Sometimes there’s a rash, such as I found on Captain Blake’s back; sometimes not.”

  “Biological warfare,” Wolfe said.

  Lopez nodded. “Apparently so.”

  “Is there a vaccine or anything?” Max asked.

  “We don’t understand it well enough. I’ve sent my findings to the Center for Disease Control in Denver. They’ve been grappling for months trying to identify this thing. So much electronic data and paper documentation was lost during the Rain, there’s no way of telling if the virus is new or something that’s been around for a decade.”

  “Could it have been a weapon used during the Global Civil War?” Max asked.

  “Possibly. But, again, it’s a tedious process trying to identify it. Not everyone appears to be susceptible, and not everyone who contracts it dies. Witness the difference in Captain Blake and his copilot, Ms. Ramirez. And you two and Kimball.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Wolfe commented.

  “Perhaps. But just the same, I’ll want blood samples from everyone who took part in the raid on the malcontent camp. The virus has an extremely rapid incubation period—sometimes a matter of a few hours—so the sooner we have everyone tested the better. I’d also like your permission to quarantine the entire base until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “I can’t make that call. It’s up to Mayor Carson.”

  Lopez’s broad nostrils flared. “Then I’ll just have to deal with her.”

  In the private dining room of Monument City’s most elegant restaurant, Southlands President Wyatt Moran and UEG Senator Braxton Milburn sat with Lynn-Minmei and her new partner, Janice Em. Well into the main course, the two politicians were drinking with abandon, in celebration of the UEG’s as-yet-unannounced decision to ratify the so-called “Moran Plan,” which called for the immediate refurbishment of Sara and ALUCE bases and the construction of space-defense platforms similar to those that typified the ARMD series. As head of the Ways and Means Committee, Milburn had been influential in shepherding through the allocations.

  “It’s time thought was given to something other than the completion of the SDF-3,” Janice was saying in her unsettling monotone. “Even though my uncle would die if he heard me say that.” She was wearing a strapless lavender gown that Minmei had tried to convince her was too revealing—though Minmei’s own was shorter and cut even lower.

  “Dr. Lang was certainly our toughest opponent,” Milburn told her, tossing back a drink. “But I think he’s beginning to understand that the departure of the SDF-3 is going to create a defensive vacuum on Earth. What’s more, it’s important to have contingency plans in place in the event the ship doesn’t return on schedule.”

  “Which it won’t,” Janice said, sipping champagne from a long-stemmed glass. “Not with my uncle and Lisa Hayes at the helm.”

  Moran and Milburn traded stunned glances and laughed. “How refreshing to find a celebrity who isn’t wed to political correctness,” Moran commented.

  Janice stared at him. “Are you referring to my partner?”

  “Why, I—” Flustered, Moran cut his eyes to Minmei. “Lynn, I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “Just because she hosts the Love Line doesn’t make her an enemy of the politically incorrect.”

  “Janice, please,” Minmei said, showing an imploring look. “Let’s not turn this into a debate. Besides, I’m sure that Wyatt was only making conversation.”

  The android turned to the silver-locked
president. “Is that true, Wyatt?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Because I hate polite conversation. And I really do feel that Minmei’s involvement with the Lorelei Network amounts to a political statement.”

  “That depends on how you view the network,” Milburn said, suddenly interested. “The people who have labeled it subversive are the same ones who take offense when anyone talks about young people’s music being subversive.”

  Minmei was quick to speak. “I’m just trying to provide the Zentraedi with some entertainment.”

  “But they don’t hear it as entertainment, Lynn,” Janice argued. “You’re practically a religious icon to them. So your songs—even the show’s phone calls and interviews—constitute a kind of litany. You’re a major political influence on them, whether you like it or not Many Zentraedi would be lost without you.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Moran said drunkenly, hoisting his glass. “To found Zentraedi, wherever they are.” When Milburn didn’t raise his glass in return, Moran raised it for him. “Come on, Brax, we’re only having fun. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

  Minmei forced a smile and reached for her glass.

  Moran snorted a laugh in Milburn’s direction. “You’d think the man had stock in Lorelei, he’s so serious about it.”

  Over the rim of her glass, Janice trained her eyes on the suddenly fretful senator, analyzing his expression, recording his every move. Dr. Lang would have much to evaluate.

  The Cavern City cabbie, a Zentraedi, had the car radio tuned to the Lorelei Network. Minmei’s “Sight and Sound” was playing: a minor and seldom heard post-War effort, at once martial and romantic. Max and Wolfe were in the back seat.

  “You like her songs?” Max asked.

  “They’re not my taste. But I think she’s a fascinating woman. You know her pretty well, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say well, but, yeah, from the SDF-1 and Macross City.”

  “What does Miriya think of the Lorelei Network?”

  “Same as I do: that it’s patronizing and manipulative.”

  “I remember listening to Minmei’s first show—when every other call was from a malcontent. I thought for sure she wouldn’t be back for a second one.”

  Max laughed through his nose. “That’s the thing about her—her faith in the future never flags.”

  Wolfe’s expression turned brooding. “I could use a dose of that. But until they can bottle it, I’ll have to settle for scotch.”

  They were on their way to a downtown bar called The Chasm, an off-base gathering spot for the Pack. Mayor Carson, skeptical of Lopez’s theories about the virus and wishing to avoid a panic, had refused to quarantine the base. And since both Max’s and Wolfe’s blood tests had turned out negative, they had decided to make the most of the few remaining hours of what had been a grueling day.

  The Chasm was dark, noisy, narrow, and crammed full of RDFers. A couple of enlisted-ratings gave up their table for Max and Wolfe, and the two officers sat down and ordered drinks. Conversation entailed yelling into each other’s ears. Not six feet from them, an argument was building at the bar.

  “Who do you think you are, telling me I can’t have another drink?” a scruffy-looking civilian was saying to the bartender. “I’m a regular. What I drink pays your salary. So if I say I want a drink, you give me a drink.”

  The bartender, a sturdy man with a thin mustache, took it good-naturedly. “Juan, who gave who instructions about cutting you off? I’m only doing what you asked.”

  Juan glared across the bar. “And why’s it so hot in here tonight? You too cheap to turn on the air conditioner?”

  “It’s on.” The bartender leaned his elbows on the bar. “Maybe you should just—”

  Before he could get the words out, Juan had shoved him backward into the mirrored wall behind the bar. Glass shattered, shelves collapsed, and bottles of liquor crashed to the floor.

  A bodybuilder in shorts and tank top came up behind Juan and took hold of his arm. “All right, amigo, time for you to go.”

  “More orders!” Juan said, his face beaded with sweat. “I don’t have to take orders. I’m not a goddamned soldier.”

  Juan’s sudden, sloppy right cross was easily evaded by the bouncer, but it managed to connect solidly with the jaw of a swarthy, bearded man standing at the bar. More surprised than hurt, the unintended victim returned a powerful left that Juan slipped under, leaving it nowhere to go but straight into the face of the bouncer, who fell back onto Wolfe and Max’s table.

  “You didn’t need to stage this for my benefit,” Max said, sluicing his spilled drink from his lap as he was backing away from the collapsed table.

  “Nothing’s too good for a guest,” Wolfe told him, annoyed but transparently excited by the prospect of an all-out brawl.

  Max put a hand on his arm. “Wait a minute. Maybe this isn’t run-of-the-mill madness, Jon.”

  Wolfe took a long look around the bar. Vicious fights were breaking out in all corners. “On second thought, we better call for the MPs.”

  They began to edge their way to the exit, dodging some blows, taking others, and finally stumbled out the door onto Chasm Street. The brawl, too, had spilled outside, though military police vehicles were already on the scene.

  “The one sitting at the bar,” Max said while gently fingering a split upper lip. “Was he sick or only drunk?”

  Wolfe didn’t respond. He was looking past Max, at something on the opposite side of Cavern’s downtown canyon. “Too fast,” he said at last. “It’ll never make the turn.”

  Max swung around to follow his gaze. The monorail was speeding toward a station platform at a point where the elevated line jagged slightly to the southwest. And Wolfe was right: it was not going to hold the curve.

  The mecha that rescued her from a vine-strangled tree she had climbed to escape the New Unity had the torso and arms of a Gladiator, the cockpit module of a Veritech, and the legs and foot thrusters of a Battloid. The buxom pilot was named Kru Guage.

  “You were never lost, Miriya Parina,” Kru had said over the hybrid’s external speakers.

  Miriya had lowered herself from a limb slick with dew into a giant, gauntleted hand. “Maybe not, but your timing could have been better. Some of our comrades are in need of hospitality training.” She showed Kru the shackles on her wrist and the welts the bits of molten chain had left on her arms and face.

  “If you mean the New Unity, I have already informed them that you are our invited guest.”

  “Did you by any chance tell them my name?”

  “I saw no reason not to.”

  Miriya tried to imagine Ranoc Nomarre’s reaction to the news. “Is Seloy Deparra a member of your group?” she asked as she was clambering into the cockpit.

  “A member? Seloy Deparra is the leader of the Scavengers.”

  Miriya had turned it over in her mind for most of the two hours it took to reach the Scavengers’ cloud forest camp. That Seloy was alive was one thing; it was quite another that she had allied herself with the most bloodthirsty of the malcontents. But Miriya decided she would reserve judgment until she had heard her friend out. In the rare moments she wasn’t preoccupied with Seloy, she thought about Max, who would be searching for her by now, and about Dana. How much more strain could her bond with her daughter endure before it was damaged beyond repair? Miriya trusted that the Grants would do all they could to explain things to Dana. Perhaps they would know enough to seek Zand’s help—assuming that the abduction hadn’t disabused the professor to all Zentraedi.

  Once in camp, Kru Guage purposely refrained from raising the mecha canopy until they had reached a house that was set slightly apart from the rest and commanded a view of the steep-sided river valley. Miriya estimated that there were a hundred women in the camp, many of whom had emerged from huts and lean-tos to observe her arrival. From more than a few came shouts of “Hajoca!”

  Seloy was waiting inside the house, dressed in jungle fatigues
and an olive-drab T-shirt. She was thinner by fifteen pounds, and the humid air had frizzed her red hair; but she had lost none of her statuesque beauty, and her skin had remained white despite years of exposure to Earth’s golden sun.

  “Par dessu, Miriya Parina,” she said, thumping her chest.

  Miriya returned the salute, resisting an impulse to embrace Seloy as Human males and females were wont to do. “Why have you waited three years to contact me?” she asked finally. “Max and I thought you were dead.”

  Seloy almost smiled “The people who were seeking us in Brasília are seeking us still. For your sake as well as our own, it was better you believed us dead.”

  “Us? Then Hirano is also alive?”

  “Alive, and probably taller than your Dana. Unfortunately, he has his father’s looks.”

  “Who is the father, Seloy?” Miriya chanced the question.

  Seloy shook her head. “That must remain my secret.”

  “If you care about your son, how could you enlist in the Scavengers?”

  “Precisely because I care about him—about his future. Brasília taught me that Humans and Zentraedi will never be able to coexist. The differences in our innate composition make us natural enemies, and where two enemies inhabit the same territory, one must be eradicated by the other. My wanderings eventually put me in touch with Zentraedi in whom the Imperative continues to burn, and ultimately with a group of women whom you shall meet in good time. Together we developed the Stingers, which male and female bands have deployed to such advantage all over this world. Eluding Humans has taught us how to think like them, to plan ahead and to employ the terror tactics they have used against us.”

  Miriya chose her words carefully. “I hope you haven’t brought me here to enlist in the fight, Seloy.”

  Seloy planted her hands on her ample hips. “What if I have?”

  “I’ll refuse. I’ve chosen a different path from you.”

  “Yes, I’ve monitored you on that path over the years. Speaking to the media, railing against injustices …”