Doomsday

by Jack McKinney

  "Hey, remember the last time we were on this ship?" asked Max.

  "Heh! Being a prisoner wasn't much fun, was it?" said Rick, turning the tables on his friend's obviously rhetorical query. "I'm sure glad things have changed. I don't want to see Breetai on the other end of an autocannon ever again!"

  "Yeah, after serving under Admiral Gloval, it'll be interesting to see what his ex-enemy's like."

  "I just wish we knew more about this mission."

  "Gloval asked me to bring my whole family along and left it at that."

  Rick shook his head in puzzlement. "Why in space would the old man want you to bring Dana along?"

  Max shrugged. "I don't know, Rick, but I want you to understand something: I won't put her in jeopardy, mission or no mission."

  Rick looked at him squarely and said, "I won't let you."

  "All polarities inside the reflex furnaces have become stabilized, Commander," Claudia told Breetai from her station.

  A confusing array of data scrolled across the monitor screens, a mixture of English, Zentraedi glyphs, and the newly devised equivalency-transcription characters-phonetic Zentraedi.

  A Zentraedi tech reported to Claudia that fold computations were complete, and she relayed to Breetai that all systems were go. "We can fold any time you like, sir."

  He thanked her, then raised his voice to a roar.

  "Begin fold operation immediately!"

  As the fold generators were engaged, Protoculture commenced its magical workings on the fabric of the real world, calling forth from unknown dimensions a radiant energy that began to form itself around the ship like some shimmering amorphous aura, seemingly holing it through and through. The massive vessel lurched forward into a widening pool of white light; then it simply vanished from its Lagrange point, for one brief instant leaving behind globular eddies and masses of lambent animated light, lost moments in somewhere else's time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Up until the end of the Second Robotech War (how Pyrrhic, how bittersweet that victory!), Protoculture was literally in the employ of the Robotech Masters; not only did it in effect keep tabs on itself for their benefit, but alerted them to changes in the fabric of the continuum. Not a single Zentraedi ship could fold without their being made aware of it.

  Dr. Emil Lang, as quoted in

  History of the Second Robotech War, Vol. CCCLVII

  Yes...I feel it...

  The three Masters linked minds and once more laid their bony hands against the Protoculture cap. The mushroom-shaped device reacted to their touch, radiating that same pure light which spilled into the known universe when Breetai's ship had folded. The cap took them through the inverse world, through white holes and rifts in time, allowing them to see with an inner vision.

  They were no longer in their space fortress now, but back on their homeworld, back on Tirol.

  -Our former charges have allied themselves with Zor's descendants; our former charges would replace us as Masters.

  -We must try again to resurrect a simulacrum of Zor.

  Twenty clones had been created from Zor's body; they had been grown to maturity in biovats and held weightless in a stasis sphere. All matched his elfin likeness: handsome, dreamers all of them, youthful and graceful. But none of them had the spark of life that would replicate his thoughts and mind, that would allow the Masters to learn the whereabouts of the Protoculture matrix and the secrets of that rare process.

  The Masters left the cap and stood gazing up at the stasis sphere that housed the remaining clones.

  "I suggest we begin the prion synthesis immediately," said one of the

  Masters.

  Away from the Protoculture cap they were forced to rely on ordinary, primitive speech to convey their thoughts.

  "Yes, Master," a synthesized voice responded.

  Three Masters positioned themselves around a saucerlike device fitted with numerous color-coded sensor pads grouped circumferentially around a central viewscreen, while a visible antigrav beam conveyed one of the lifeless clones from the stasis hemisphere of a circular Notable. The clone was placed flat on its back on it, as if it were resting on a sheet of pure light.

  The three Masters placed their hands on the saucer's control pads. Roller-coaster-like readouts, hypermed schematics and X-ray displays began to flash across the circular viewscreen beneath them. Meanwhile the unmoving clone was bathed in a fountain of high-energy particles that rose from the Notable like an inverted spring rain.

  "Altering positronic bombardment," said the gold-cowled Master, frowning as he watched the disappointing displays take shape.

  "There's some bilateral cellular inversion," observed a second, the same one who had called for prison synthesis. "Commencing symphysis..." he announced, the sensor pads flashing like a light box.

  The Masters concentrated, focusing the powers of their telepathic will, then broke off their attempts momentarily.

  The clone showed no signs of cerebral activity.

  "Cranial synapses are still not responding...There is the same disintegration of molecular substructures as in previous attempts."

  "Yes, it has happened again...This time I think we'vetaken the clone from the suspension before complete maturation...We must stimulate its life function regardless," the red-cowled Master said, leaving the saucer pod.

  "I suggest we alter the prionic bombardment of the upper strata," said the third Master.

  Master two nodded his head and moved his left hand to a new location along the control rim. "We'll try...Augmenting prionic bombardment in

  increments of four..."

  "Positronic emission is at maximum capability!" observed the third, his arms at his sides.

  "Good-cellular agitation is critical..."

  Still the clockwork schematics revealed no activity.

  "It is useless...We are down to the minimum suspension material-we cannot waste it like this."

  "Life is such an elementary process," said the first, standing over the now useless clone, its neural circuits fried. "Where have we gone wrong?"

  Miriya relaxed back into the couch and sighed, her fingers playing absently with Dana's curls. Would she keep her dark hair? Miriya wondered; each day it seemed to be growing lighter and lighter...

  The baby was peacefully asleep on her breast, and just looking at her, it was all Miriya could do to keep from weeping for joy. A miracle, she told herself ten times a day: that she and Max could produce such innocent loveliness; that she, a former warrior, could feel this way about anyone or anything. Such unknown contentment and pure rapture.

  "Max." She smiled. "Look at our child. She's so peaceful."

  Max glanced out from the kitchenette of their quarters aboard Breetai's ship. He was carrying a trayful of tall cocktail glasses to the sink-the aftermath of an afternoon's partying with Rick, Lisa, and Claudia-and wearing a knee-length apron that read: MAX AND MIRIYA: LIVE!

  Peaceful and beautiful, both of them, he said to himself. But while Miriya seemed to be having all the fun, he was the one who was stuck with all the dishes and the cooking and more than half the time the midnight feedings.

  So what he said to her in the end, without betraying any of these thoughts and just grateful for a few minutes of blessed peace, was: "Yeah...but we'd better keep our voices down or we'll wake her up."

  Rick, Lisa, and Claudia were a somewhat unsteady trio returning to

  their quarters after the afternoon drinks they'd shared with the happy couple. Combined with the thrill of deep space (after so many planetbound months) and the effects of hyperspace travel, the drinks had left them with more than an ordinary buzz.

  "...and I held little Dana the whole afternoon, and she didn't cry a bit the entire time!" Lisa was saying.

  "Yes, but I don't think Miriya should have thrown Dana to you. She has to learn to be more careful!"

  Lisa nodded, biting her lower lip. "Well, it's an adjustment for her.

  After all, her role model was probably the neighbori
ng test tube."

  Claudia cracked a smile in spite of herself and looked over Lisa's head at Rick, but he was too bleary-eyed to catch her gaze. "Sometimes I envy Max and Miriya for just having such a beautiful little girl," she said loudly.

  "Mm-hmmm," Lisa agreed.

  They had reached Lisa's quarters now, and Rick was standing off to one side vaguely thinking about how he was going to spend the rest of the day, while Lisa and Claudia exchanged good-byes. Suddenly Lisa turned to him and said: "Rick, I'm going to walk Claudia to her quarters, but if you have a minute, I'd like you to wait in my room for me-there's something I want to talk to you about."

  Her request somehow managed to cut through all the cotton inside his head, and he found himself stammering, "Uhh...but..." all the while knowing that there was no way around it. It just didn't seem like she had official business on her mind, and he wasn't at all sure he was up to a heart-to-heart.

  Claudia cleared her throat. "May I remind you, Mr. Hunter, that Lisa is your superior."

  "But I'm off duty," Rick protested, definitely not in top form today. "So is she," Claudia laughed, throwing him an exaggerated wink.

  The two of them left Rick standing there with some half-formed reply caught in his throat while they continued on down the corridor sharing a whispered exchange.

  "Now then, Lisa, what can I do for you?" Claudia asked when they were some steps away.

  "I just wanted to thank you for being understanding these past few weeks. It really helps to have someone to lean on."

  "I know what you mean," Claudia said at the door to her quarters. "It can be rough sometimes-when you find you're in love."

  Lisa still grew a little wide-eyed at hearing it stated so matter-of-factly. She blinked and swallowed hard, ready to defend herself, but Claudia cut her off.

  "Go get him, okay?" A wink for Lisa also, and she was through the door. Inside, she dropped herself on the bed and kicked off her heels, sighing:

  I hope those two get it together soon. Lisa had a habit of pushing "understanding" to the limit. And Hunter...Hunter was starting to remind her of Roy in his early days. And that wasn't necessarily a good sign.

  Alone in Lisa's quarters Rick felt nervous and trapped. His superior, huh? Just how long was he going to have to put up with that remark? Almost three years ago-on this very ship! Lisa had used that remark, and he had held it against her ever since.

  Lisa had unpacked some of her things, and Rick was wandering around inspecting this and that when he saw a framed photograph on the room's desk. He picked it up and regarded it. By the look of it, it had to have been taken ten years ago. But here was Lisa looking cute in short hair and chubby face, standing alongside an older guy, taller than she was by a foot and wearing what looked to be an Afghani woven cap. Nice-looking couple, he decided. But there was something familiar about him...something that reminded him of...Kyle! Then this had to be Riber, Rick realized. Karl Riber, Lisa's onetime true love, who had bought it along with Mars Sara Base years ago.

  His attention was so fixed on the photo that he didn't hear Lisa enter the room. She realized this and stood in the doorway a moment, not wanting to startle him or make him uncomfortable. Finally she called his

  name softly, and he reacted like a sneakthief caught in the act, dropping the photo sideways to the desk and apologizing.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, Lisa. I didn't mean to snoop."

  This angered her: after all they had been through together, after all the time they had spent together, sharing secret thoughts and feelings, after all the time she had spent at his place in New Macross familiarizing herself with his things...

  "What do you mean 'snoop'? I have nothing to hide from you, Rick. Be my guest, look around-not that there's much here..."

  "Uh, sure," he said, at a loss. "So, uh, what did you and Claudia have to say?"

  Lisa dismissed her conversation with Claudia as nothing special and asked him if he wanted some tea. "You know, just a little chat," she told him from the kitchenette.

  Rick righted the photo when she left the room. He joined Lisa on the couch afterward.

  "Didn't sound like just a little chat to me," he braved to say, tea cup in hand.

  "Well, as a matter of fact, we were talking about you."

  Rick squirmed in his seat. "If it concerns me and Minmei, I don't want to hear about it!"

  "It wasn't at all about Minmei," she said cheerfully. "What would I possibly want to talk about her for?"

  Lisa was unpracticed at this sort of thing and wished for a second that Claudia could stand over her shoulder during moments like these, feeding her the right lines or something. But oddly enough, Rick was apologizing for his tone.

  "Minmei and I haven't seen much of each other in several months, and..."

  "Oh, Rick," she said, perhaps too tenderly. "I know how you feel about her, so...well, there's nothing more to say about it."

  Acceptance was the one tack she hadn't tried yet.

  Rick breathed a sigh and was puzzling over how he could just politely excuse himself, when Lisa added:

  "I don't know why, but I get the feeling sometimes that you...well, that's there's something you want..."

  Who doesn't? Rick asked himself, wondering just what she was getting at now.

  "What are you talking about?"

  She made an exasperated sound. "Rick, you know what I-"

  The PA chose just that moment to intervene: A female voice was calling Lisa to the bridge.

  Frustrated, Lisa said, "The usual perfect timing," then laughed. "You've managed to escape unscathed once again." She stood up and bade him a resigned good-bye. "We'll try this again some other time."

  Rick reacted as if a dentist had just told him to make another appointment.

  Claudia had also been summoned to the bridge. She stood stiffly with Lisa now on the automated walkway that was actually the curved top rail of the observation bubble, her back to the astrogation hold. The ship had unexpectedly defolded from hyperspace, and they were once again feeling a bit shaky.

  Exedore was manning one of the human-size duty stations. Breetai was seated in his command chair, a grim look on his face. When Lisa said, "Reporting as ordered," he uttered a throaty growl and inclined his head a fraction to the left, as if to indicate the object of his attention.

  Claudia and Lisa about-faced and eyed an image now filling the rectangular field of the projecbeam. It was like nothing either of them had ever seen-a twisted convoluted dark mass of armor, tentacles, reflex thruster ports, and sensor devices, smoothed and eroded-looking along its dorsal side, like a monstrous hunk of extraterrestrial driftwood.

  "What in space is that?" Claudia asked.

  "That, my dear Commander Grant, is a ship from our reconnaissance

  force-a fairly late model if I'm not mistaken."

  "B-but I've never seen anything like it!" Lisa exclaimed. "That is not unlikely," Breetai told her.

  Lisa turned to Exedore and ordered a status report.

  "I have made a positive identification, and it is in fact a late-model reconnaissance vessel. It has been somewhat modified for hyperspace travel. Moreover, our scanners indicate no biological activity whatsoever."

  Lisa noticed the concerned look on his face as he studied the image and attendant glyphic readouts. Sectional views and close-ups of salient features of the thing flashed across his monitor screen to illustrate his report.

  Lisa sucked in her breath and turned to Breetai once more. "Commander, we have to investigate!"

  "That is completely out of the question," he snapped.

  "Sir," she tried, "isn't it possible your scanning systems may have missed something? Perhaps there are Zentraedi aboard? Isn't there any margin for error?"

  She didn't believe a word of it, and judging from the look on Exedore's face, neither did he. But it was possible there were weapons aboard-pods, tri-thrusters something the Earth forces could use to beef up their arsenal.

  "The information assimilated is in
accordance with the galactic code," Exedore told her sternly. "'Errors' are not possible."

  "We can't waste an opportunity like this-we must investigate!" she answered him, filing away "galactic code" for some future discussion. "The possibility of Zentraedi-"

  "Your compassion is commendable," Exedore interrupted, still unconvinced. "However, it looks to me as though the vessel could be a trap."

  "A trap?!"

  "Yes," he continued. "We Zentraedi are known for such 'Trojan horses,' as you call them. It is not wise to take such a risk."

  Claudia decided to step in. "He's right-we can't jeopardize the mission, Lisa."

  "I suppose..." she said uncertainly.

  "It is worse then you realize," Breetai intoned behind her. "This vessel belongs to the Robotech Masters. It is one of many which act as their eyes and ears."

  The Robotech Masters, Lisa exclaimed to herself. "You're saying that they could monitor our presence." Breetai grunted. "I fear they already have."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Your Earth scientists are a fanciful lot: all this talk about time travel, relativity, looking through a telescope and being able to see the back of your own head...I suppose it all looked good on paper.

  Exedore, as quoted in Lapstein's Interviews

  Defolding from hyperspace once again, Breetai's flagship materialized in real time hundreds of parsecs from Earth.

  If the image of the Robotech surveillance vessel had awed Lisa, the form and appearance of the automated factory satellite positively stunned her. It had the same vegetal look as the smaller vessel, the same external convolutions, cellular armor, and incomprehensible aspect, but all similarities ended there. The satellite was enormous, almost organically rose-colored in starlight, shaped in some ways like a primate brain, with at least half a dozen replicas of itself attached to the factory's median section by rigid stalklike transport tubes. In orbit around it were hundreds of Zentraedi craft: dreadnoughts, battle mecha, and Cyclops recons.