It was as prescient a comment as Rick had uttered in quite some time-although subsequent events would erase it from his memory-because Minmei happened to be walking up the very street Rick and Lisa had entered when they rounded the corner scarcely ten-paces ahead of her.
Minmei froze, sucking in her breath, as those haunting memories she had experienced in her room last evening returned. Seeing him now, practically arm in arm with this other woman, only strengthened her earlier longings and, worse still, reinforced her worse fears. What had she done?
"Oh, listen," she heard Rick tell Lisa. "I forgot to tell you-I put your picture in my album."
"You did? That was sweet."
Rick turned to Lisa and started to say, "I hope you don't mind, but I-" Then he saw her standing there.
The moment was full of real-life drama, but Minmei held the edge. She stood still long enough for him to hear her sob and see the tears; then she turned and ran.
Her performance wasn't lost on Lisa. But Rick was fully taken in, already chasing after her, calling for her to wait.
Why? Lisa yelled at herself. Why does she have to manipulate him, and why does he fall right into it, and why am I chasing him now when he's chasing her?
Rick and Lisa were right behind Minmei when she turned the corner, but all at once she was nowhere in sight.
"How could she have disappeared so quickly?" Rick said, looking around.
Lisa was out of breath. She had figured-correctly, in fact-that Minmei was hiding in one of the storefronts up ahead.
She was about to suggest they try a different direction, when a thunderous bass voice suddenly yelled: "I said shut up!"
Rick and Lisa turned. Towering above the building situated diagonally across the intersection from them, two Zentraedi workers were faced off in an argument. The red-haired one stepped forward and threw a sucker punch, catching the second across the jaw and dropping him to the street with a ground-shaking crash.
"Come on!" Rick said, hurrying toward the fracas.
By the time Rick and Lisa arrived on the scene, the red-haired Zentraedi was straddling his opponent, pummeling the other's face. A third Zentraedi, obviously allied with the winner, stood smiling off to one side. Tommy Luan was cowering on the sidewalk nearby.
Rick braced himself and stepped forward. "Stop that fighting right now!" he yelled. "Stop it, I said!"
The mayor, supporting his injured wife, ran to Rick's side from across the street.
"Commander! Thank goodness you're here!" "What's this all about, sir?" Rick asked him.
"They were threatening to kill us! Then this one showed up, and they started arguing-"
"I can't live here anymore!" bellowed the red-haired Zentraedi, pinning his opponent to the street.
Luan, encouraged by Rick's presence, stepped forward to address the giant. "I told you-I understand your problem, but you have to be reasonable about-"
"Be quiet, fatso!" the former warrior said, getting to his feet. "I'll squash you, got it?!"
Luan and his wife hid behind Rick.
"Tell him not to get angry about it, Commander."
Just then the streets began shaking with a recognizable thunder. Civil defense sirens blared as four Excalibur MK VIs took up positions on either side of the Zentraedi, their twin-cannon arms raised. Bipedally designed relatives of the MAC II cannon, the mecha bristled with gatlings and were capable of delivering devastating volleys of firepower.
Rick wasn't sure what he was going to say next, but the sudden arrival of Robotech mecha on the scene was a booster shot to his confidence.
"The authorities are here. Now will you stop fighting?"
The upper gun turret of the lead Excalibur slid forward, and the mecha's commander elevated himself into view.
"Zentraedi!" his small but amplified voice rang out. "Stop! We've got you surrounded!'
The giant who moments before had been flat on his back got up and stepped out of harm's way, leaving the red-haired one and his cohort center stage. Rick, recognizing the voice of the mecha commander, cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted: "Dan! Hold it!"
Dan looked down from his cockpit seat, surprised to find Rick in the middle of this. "Commander! What happened here?"
"Let me handle this," Rick told him.
Dan gave a verbal aye-aye, and Rick moved in angrily to confront the giants.
"Now, you listen to me, and listen good! I know life with us is hard for you, but the authorities want to help you with your problems-if you'll give them the chance."
The red-haired Zentraedi, clutching his sackful of valuables once again, went down on one knee to answer Rick, equally confident and angered.
"Wait a minute!" he growled. "If your government is so worried about us and so concerned about our welfare, why don't they let us go out and be with our own people where we belong?"
"Uh, well, that's-"
"I am a warrior, understand?"
"Well, what about it?" asked the second Zentraedi threateningly. "Bagzent wants to fight-can you help him?"
"I'm good with my fists, and I can handle practically any weapon," continued the one called Bagzent. "So what do you say? Can you help? Speak up, I can't hear you...Well?...Are you gonna help me or not?"
The scene was turning ugly again. Mayor Luan, his wife, and Lisa sensed it and began to back away. The CD mecha shifted slightly, their guns traversing somewhat.
At the corner, unseen, Minmei gasped.
"Well," Rick began, "we have no firm guarantee you won't band together and attack us again. If you want to-"
"Huh!" Bagzent grunted, tiring of the game. "If you can't help-me solve my problem, then what's the point in saying that you or your government will talk about it?" All at once his right hand had moved forward. "Micronian!" he uttered in disgust, flicking his forefinger.
Rick took the full force of the movement. The Zentraedi's log-sized forefinger caught him full body, from knees to chin, lifting him off his feet and tossing him a good ten feet through the air. Dazed and bloodied, he landed solidly on his rump at the clawlike foot of one of the Excaliburs.
Startled gasps went up from the humans pressed together on the street corner, but those were not as bothersome to the Zentraedi as the sounds of weapons being leveled against them.
"On my signal," said Dan. "Blast 'em!"
The two Zentraedi backed away, suddenly afraid. Gatlings were ranged
in.
"Wait," one of them pleaded. "Don't shoot."
Rick shook the pain from his body, struggled to his feet, and raced back
to the center of the arena. He raised up his arms and shouted to Dan again, "Hold your fire!" Then he held his face up to to Bagzent, blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Bagzent snarled. "Listen to me, Micronian," he started to say.
"No! You listen to me," Rick interrupted him. "We've given you
sanctuary and this is how you repay us?!"
The corners of Bagzent's mouth turned down. "I'm sorry," he grumbled-not apologetically, but as if to say: I'm sorry it has to be this way.
Bagzent and his companion turned and began to walk off, but the third Zentraedi stepped forward now, calling to them.
"Come back! You'll regret this! When we first came here, you thought their culture was a great thing-you were so impressed by Minmei's songs."
The Zentraedis stopped for a moment as if considering this, then continued their heavy-footed retreat.
"Stay and give it one more try!" the third was shouting. "It's worth the effort, isn't it? We've come so far, we can't give up now!"
When he realized his words were having no effect, he added: "Stupid cowards! Come back!"
Concealed from Lisa and the Luans, Minmei brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her sadness and terror. When she could no longer contain herself, she fled.
Lisa was at Rick's side now, watching the Zentraedis move stiffly away. "They're getting more and more dissatisfied," said Rick, spitting blood.
>
"We're gonna have to do something."
"I wonder...what'll they do after they leave here?"
"I know one thing," the mayor interjected. "Whether they survive out in that wasteland or not...we're responsible."
Rick spun around, angry and confused to find yet another sympathizer in his midst. But the mayor stared him down.
"That's right, Rick," Luan said knowingly. "We haven't heard the last of this."
CHAPTER FOUR
The mythologies of numerous Earth cultures identified north and the arctic regions with evil and death. I don't believe it was convenience or coincidence that led the militaristic heads of the Earth council to construct their ill-fated Grand Cannon there; nor do I think that Khyron just happened to land his ship there. As water seeks its own level, so does evil seek its own place.
Rawlins, Zentraedi Triumvirate: Dolza, Breetai, Khyron
The mile-long alien cruiser lay buried under ice and snow, with only its igloolike gun turrets visible above the frozen, howling surface. No squad of Air Force personnel would come to investigate this one, nor would any human-chain prophylactic magic circle be formed to contain its evil intent. It was too late to watch the skies...
In the observation bubble inside the ship, Khyron, his burgundy uniform and forest-green campaign cloak looking none the worse for wear through two long years, leaped from the command chair as Gerao delivered his latest report.
"Are you absolutely sure of this, Gerao?"
"I'm certain of it, m'lord," said Gerao, thrice lucky for having lived through the explosion of the reflex furnaces on Mars, the holing of his ship during a Daedalus Maneuver, and now the holocaust itself. He brought his fist to his breast insignia in salute.
"Our spies have reported that thousands of dissatisfied Zentraedi are leaving town after town. They are estimated to be around ten thousand, sir." "Ah, splendid," said Khyron, clenching his right hand, the devilish eyes
of his handsome face peering from beneath blue bangs. "A most interesting occurrence-well worth the two-year wait in this terrible place!"
Khyron, through either an act of prescient will or cowardice unheard of among the Zentraedi, had absented his ship and crew from the battle that
had all but destroyed the last of his race. It certainly wasn't Khyron's plan to bring Breetai and Dolza into confrontation, so why allow the Botoru Battalion to get caught up in High Command's madness? All along Khyron had maintained that the best way to handle Zor's ship was to destroy it. Anyone should have been able to see that from the beginning. But instead the fools had attempted to capture the fortress, unaware of the Micronian malignancy spreading fast through the fleet. The existence of the Protoculture matrix Zor's fortress was thought to contain was not, however, so easily dismissed. Indeed, Khyron had saved himself for this greater purpose; but the fact remained that his warship's precious fuel and weapons supply were all but depleted.
He had hidden on the far side of the Earth during the catastrophic explosion that had wiped out Dolza's four-million-ship armada-the armada that had once made his race the most feared throughout the Fourth Quadrant. Surely the Micronians had the traitors Breetai and Exedore to thank for their success, although how those two had gained any knowledge of the barrier shield's inversion capacity was beyond him. In all likelihood it was a stroke of luck-and the judgment of fate for the Zentraedi.
Khyron had chosen to put down in the frozen wasteland of the half-dead planet in the hopes of salvaging something from the Micronian's reflex weapon, the so-called Grand Cannon. But nothing remained of it.
He was aware, however, that his elite group did not represent the last of the Zentraedi; somewhere in the quadrant between Earth and Tirol, there was Commandor Reno's ship, along with the automated Robotech factory, still fabricating battle mecha for a handful of warriors. There were also the contaminated Zentraedi from Breetai's fleet who had elected to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Micronians. Khyron's own spies were at work infiltrating this latter group, in addition to the renegade bands of Zentraedi who had already abandoned the Earth population centers to inhabit the wastes; and Khyron knew that someday soon they would prove to be his allies. Then, Reno and Khyron would rebuild the Zentraedi war machine with the help of the Masters themselves. And once the Earth was
incinerated, they would scour the quadrant for new worlds to conquer.
But first he needed to get his ship spaceworthy once again. And now the word he'd been waiting for had finally come.
He turned to the one who had stood beside him through the long wait, in defiance of the old ways, a symbol of the new order of things.
"Our faith is vindicated, my dear Azonia."
"Indeed," The former commander of the Quadrono Battalion smiled. She was dressed like her lord, save that her cloak was blue. Her arms were folded, and she wore an arrogant grin. When her own ship had been holed by fire from Dolza's armada, it was Khyron who had come to her aid, convincing her to abandon Breetai's forces and join him. "Let them battle it out together," he had said. "We will live to see the rebirth of the Zentraedi!"
"Their taste for the Micronian life-style was only temporary," Khyron was saying. "I knew that after a little while they'd grow tired of it. And you see I was right!"
Two years under the ice and snow had brought a strange new closeness between Azonia and her commander-a closeness that had more to do with life than death: the stimulation of the senses, pleasure. Azonia believed it had something to do with the planet itself-this Earth. But she kept these thoughts to herself. If pleasure was the cause of the warriors' desertion, she couldn't blame them-Miriya included, although it remained a puzzle why she would bother to take a Micronian mate over a Zentraedi.
"Yes, Khyron," said the fourth Zentraedi in the command center-Grel, who had been Khyron's trusted lieutenant through many long campaigns.
Azonia shook her fist, mimicking Khyron's gesture of determination. "Now, look," she announced. "If things keep going as planned, we can put together a battalion that I guarantee will take them!"
Khyron smiled to himself. It was only right that his underlings echo his sentiments, but Azonia had a lot to learn. What could she guarantee, save that Khyron would be victorious in the end? That Khyron would take them!
Nevertheless, he humored her without seeming patronizing. "Yes, of course we shall."
The Backstabber moved to the comlink of the cruiser's command bubble to address his troops, who had gathered in the astrogational hold below.
"Now, listen, everyone," he began. "You needn't hide yourselves any longer! You are Zentraedi warriors! I want you to see to it that our former comrades are led here. Those who have established camps for themselves in the wastelands and those who have yet to leave the Micronian population centers. And I want you to tell all the micronized Zentraedi that if they join us, I will return them to their original size so that they too may walk tall and proud once again!"
The soldiers began to cheer their lord and savior with cries of "Long live the Zentraedi, long live Khyron!"
Khyron's lips became a thin line as he took in the collective outpourings of his troops.
Yes, he promised himself, he would return the Zentraedi to their original size-their rightful place in the universe. And the destruction of this planet would be his first step in that direction, including the destruction of that secret weapon the Micronians had used so effectively against his race, that weapon the deserters had learned to embrace: that Minmei!
Kyle gave another look at his wristwatch: seven forty-eight and she still hadn't arrived.
He glanced out from the wings of the stage. It was a small crowd who had gathered in Stone City's open-air amphitheater (half a dozen giant Zentraedi in the far tiers, mesas and monoliths in the distance, a pink and blue sunset sky) but a vocal one nonetheless, clapping and shouting now, eager to bring Minmei on stage. The warm-up group was well into their second set, but the audience had already tired of them halfway through the first.
Ky
le cursed himself for letting her out of his sight, especially after last night's fight and that crazy stunt she had pulled on the Macross Highway.
"Hey, Kyle!" said someone behind him. There was an unconcealed note
of anger in the voice, and Kyle swung around ready for action, happy to vent his own frustration and rage if the opportunity presented itself. Vance Hasslewood, Minmei's booking agent, was striding down the corridor toward him.
"What's the idea? Where the devil is Minmei?" Hasslewood demanded.
Hasslewood was wearing his customary aviator specs, a sweater-vested white suit and tie, and a scowl on his clean-shaven face.
"Minmei'll be here," Kyle told him tiredly.
"But showtime's in just ten more minutes-you realize that?"
"She'll show," Kyle said more strongly. "Minmei is not the kind of singer who ignores her obligations. You oughta know that by now, Hasslewood."
"I do know that. But just the same, Kyle, I want her here at least half an hour before showtime."
"She'll be here!" Kyle repeated, his patience' fading fast. He gestured to the audience. "You know, you put on a pretty good act as a promoter, Hasslewood-attracting an audience that size."
Hasslewood's nostrils flared. He was getting sick and tired of having to answer to Kyle's demands and criticisms and was of half a mind to turn his back on the whole deal. But he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Minmei in the care of a hothead like Kyle. A drunk and degenerate-
"Hey, she's here!" a stagehand called out.
As Hasslewood turned. around, one of the band members ran up to
him.
"Minmei's here. She's in her dressing room," he told them, feeling it
necessary to point the way.
Kyle snorted and shouldered his way past Hasslewood. He didn't bother to knock at the dressing room door, merely threw it open and demanded:
"Where have you been?"
Minmei was putting on her face. She was wearing the same off-the-shoulder ruffled blue dress she had worn at the supper club last
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