"We're over the disturbance now," Rick reported in. "Left wing, wait until they've reached the outskirts, then go in low and give them a warning." The renegade Zentraedis spotted the Veritechs and opened up with indiscriminate volleys as the fighters fell from the sky. Rick and his team rolled out, dodging autocannon slugs and gatling spray as they broke
formation.
So much for scare tactics, Rick said to himself, Skull One flying inverted and low over the tortuous landscape outside the city limits.
"Left wing, knock one of the giants off the lead unit immediately!"
Rick completed his roll as his wingman went out, reconfiguring the Veritech to Guardian mode and swooping down on the convoy. The Zentraedis were loosing continuous fire, but Rick could discern the early stages of panic in their flight. The highway was full of twists and turns here, and the converter had made the flatbed dangerously top-heavy.
The armed alien on the flatbed got off one last shot before Rick's wingman, now in Battloid mode, blasted him from the vehicle. The road was also proving too much for the drivers to handle; Rick watched the vehicle screech through a tight S-turn, leave the road, clinging to a raised course of shoulder, then bounce back to the tarmac, where the giant's micronized accomplices decided to call it quits.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Veritech group had reconfigured to Battloid mode and put down ahead of the halted convoy.
Rick completed his descent and advanced his mecha in a run, chain-gun gripped in the metalshod right hand and leveled against the giants on the flatbed. One Zentraedi was dead on the road. The others began to throw down their weapons as Rick spoke.
"Don't move or you'll be destroyed!" he called out over the external speakers. The Battloids came to a stop and spread out. "It's useless to resist," Rick continued. "You are completely surrounded. You must understand that what you have done is unacceptable behavior by Human standards and that you will be punished." Rick stepped his mecha forward. "Now, the Protoculture chamber will be returned to the fort."
Three hundred miles to the northeast of New Detroit a thick blanket of newly fallen snow covered the war-ravaged terrain. Khyron's ship had landed here, having used up almost all of the Protoculture reserves that drove its reflex engines to free itself from Alaska's glacial hold.
Zentraedi Battlepods sat in the snowfields like unhatched eggs abandoned by an uncaring mother. Deserters from the Micronian population centers and factories continued to arrive in stolen transports and tugs. The hulk of a Zentraedi warship overlooked the scene, its pointed bow thrust deep into the frigid earth like a spear, alien tripetaled flowers surrounding it, hearty enough to pierce the permafrost.
Khyron had followed a trail of such ships clear across the northern wastes, salvaging what he could in the way of weapons and foodstuffs, marveling at the resilience of the Invid Flower of Life, gone to seed and flower as the Protoculture in the ship's drives had disintegrated.
Now in the command center of his ship, he received word that his plan to steal the sizing converter had failed.
"Idiot!" Khyron said to his second, Grel, standing in stiff posture before the Backstabber. Azonia was seated in the command chair, her legs crossed, a mischievous look on her face. "Your feeble plan has failed us again!"
Grel frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but our agents failed to eliminate the communications center and the Veritechs-"
"Enough!" Khyron interrupted him, raising his fist. "Our soldiers couldn't even defend themselves!"
"But sir, if you had only listened to..." Grel started to say, and regretted it at once. The plan had been Azonia's, not his; but there was little chance that Khyron would blame her-not now that a special relationship had been forged...And especially since his commander had begun to use the dried Invid leaves once again. As if that wasn't enough, the troops had all seen the Robotech satellite appear in Earth's skies, and that meant only one thing: The Micronians had somehow defeated Reno!
"Shut up, Grel!" Azonia barked at him. "Under your leadership they couldn't possibly have succeeded!"
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say-"
"Do not interrupt," she continued, folding her arms and turning her back to him.
Khyron too mocked him with a short laugh, and Grel felt the anger
rising within him despite his best efforts to keep his emotions in check. It was bad enough that he and the troops had been forced to live these past two years with a female in their midst, but now to be humiliated like this...
"You should have had no trouble capturing the sizing chamber," Azonia was saying when he at last exploded, murder in his eyes as he leaned toward her.
"It might appear that all of this is my fault, but the truth is that you-" "Enough!" Azonia screamed, standing, nearly hysterical. "I don't want
to hear any excuses from you!"
Khyron stepped between them, angrier and louder than the two of them combined. "Stop arguing, Azonia! And Grel, I want you to listen, understand me?! I don't have to tell you what the appearance of that satellite signals-the last hope for the Masters lies with us!"
"Sir, I'm listening," Grel said, spent and surrendering.
Khyron, spittle forming at the edges of his maniacal snarl, waved a fist in Grel's face. "Excellent...because my reputation is on the line, and I need that sizing chamber to save face, and if I don't get it...I shan't spare yours! Now, get out of here!"
Grel stiffened, then began to slink away like a beaten dog.
When he had left the room, Azonia moved to Khyron's side, pressing herself against him suggestively, her voice coy and teasing.
"Tell me confidentially, Khyron, do you really think he can handle it?" "For his sake, I hope so," Khyron said through gritted teeth, seemingly
unaware of Azonia's closeness until she risked putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You know how to handle your troops, Khyron," she purred in his ear. He pushed her away with just enough force to convey his seriousness,
not wanting to confront the hurt look he was sure to find on her face. There was no use denying the bewildering attraction he had come to feel for her in their joint exile-these novel pleasures of the flesh they had discovered; but she had to be made to understand that there was a time and place for such things and that war and victory still came first-would always come first! No
other Zentraedi had more right to these sensual gifts than he, but his troops deserved more than a commander who was less committed to them than they were to him. He had promised to return the deserters to full size, and he meant to do it-with or without Grel. And, should it come down to it, with or without Azonia.
"Now, listen," he confided. "There is something I couldn't tell Grel but I'm going to tell you...I'm going after than sizing chamber myself-I can't count on him to do it. I want you to stay here and take command while I'm gone."
He turned and walked away from her without another word, unaware of the smile that had appeared on her face.
Azonia savored the thought of commanding Khyron's troops in his absence. "This is starting to get good," she said aloud after a moment.
CHAPTER TEN
If we accept for a moment the view expressed by some of our twentieth-century colleagues-that children live out the unconscious lives of their parents-and apply that to the Robotech Masters and their "children," the Zentraedi, we will arrive at a most revealing scenario. It is clear at this point that the Masters were the ones devoid of emotions. War though the Zentraedi did, their true imperative was centered on individuation and the search for self...One has to wonder about Zor, however: He served the Masters yet did not count himself among them. Who can say to what extent he himself was affected by Protoculture?
Zeitgeist, Alien Psychology
Returned to New Detroit, the sizing chamber was being hoisted back into its cradle, a four-poled hangar similar to those used to support freestanding tents. A large crowd had gathered, Humans and coveralled Zentraedi giants as well as their micronized brethren. Rick was supervising the crane op
eration, while the rest of his team, still in their Battloids, patrolled a cordoned-off area in front of Fort Breetai. There was palpable tension in the air.
"That's it...just a little more and we're there," Rick instructed the operating engineer. "Fine, fine...just keep it coming..."
As the chamber's round base was sliding down into the cradle's cup, a black sports car screeched to a halt nearby. Rick glanced over his shoulder and spied Minmei in the passenger seat.
New Detroit's Mayor, Owen Harding, a well-built man with a full head of thick white hair and a walrus mustache, was in the back seat. He recognized Rick from the days he himself had served with the RDF aboard the SDF-1. Harding stepped out and asked if everything was well in hand, whether there was anything he could do. Minmei had been recognized by the crowd, and two policemen moved in to keep them from gathering
around the car.
Rick saluted and gestured to the sizing chamber. "I need your people to provide security for this device."
"I can't do that, Commander," the mayor said firmly. "Most of the population here is Zentraedi-as you can see. Securing this 'device,' as you call it, is a military matter. We've already had enough trouble, and I'm not about to add to it by throwing my police force into the middle of it. Let's not beat around the bush, Commander, we all know what this machine is for."
Rick shook his long hair back from his face and squared his shoulders, trying not to think about the fact that Minmei was only fifteen feet away. "That's exactly why I need your support, sir-just until my superiors dispatch a proper unit to guard it. We can't afford to allow this chamber to fall into the wrong hands."
The crowd didn't like what they heard. Even before Rick finished, they were letting the mayor know where they stood.
"What're you saying, Commander-that we're all thieves?!" someone shouted.
"Just who is the 'wrong hands,' flyboy?!" from another.
The mayor made a hopeless gesture. "You see what I'm up against." "Look," Rick emphasized, "I know you don't want any more trouble
here, but I'm only asking for your cooperation for a matter of days-" "I can't become involved in this."
"It's for their protection, too," Rick said, pointing to the crowd. "We all agreed to honor the Council's-"
"Then tell all the facts," a familiar voice interrupted.
Rick turned and saw Kyle walking toward him from the car.
"Military business, Kyle-stay out of it!" Rick warned him sternly. Kyle was the last thing this situation needed: Mr. Agitation.
"This isn't just military business," Kyle started in, addressing Rick and the crowd. "It's everyone's, Commander, because you're talking about the Zentraedi's right to return to their normal size whenever they want."
Rick was incredulous. Sure, why not let them all change back-especially
now that they are hungry for warfare again and the closest targets are one-tenth their size.
"You're nuts, Kyle."
"If you think I'm kidding, you're even a bigger fool than I thought. And I'm sure that most of the people in this city would agree with me...isn't that right?"
Rick didn't bother to look around. Shouts of agreement rang out; micronized Zentraedi raised their fists, and the giants growled. Kyle's violent scene with Minmei in Granite City replayed itself in Rick's mind, along with Max's remarks about Kyle's false pacifism. Minmei, he said to himself, giving her a sidelong glance and reading some sort of warning in those blue eyes. How could you be blood with this-
"Well, do you..." Kyle was demanding. Picking up on Rick's inattention, he followed his gaze, reading his thoughts now.... So he's still in love with her.
Rick heard Kyle snort, then say to the crowd:
"When they take away your right to use the Protoculture chamber, it's the first step toward martial law! You lived under that for long enough before you came to Earth! This chamber should be controlled by the people of this city!"
One of the giants stomped his feet, rocking the area. "You better listen to us right now!" he bellowed.
"This is our city," said a human female, much to Rick's amazement, "not the military's!"
Was there some sort of reverse contagion at work here?
"Why don't you just climb into your little plane and get out of here while you still can!" yelled a second giant.
"Listen to me!" Rick pleaded, actually managing to quiet them for a moment. "Isn't it better to have this machine secure from people who would use it against you than to endanger the whole city with it!"
"I'm getting sick of your lies, Hunter!" Kyle ranted at him, furious. "Beat it!" the crowd shouted.
"We're not going to take this anymore!"
The mayor edged over to Rick, eyes on the alert for airborne bottles or rocks. "They mean business," he said warily.
"I've heard enough!" Rick began to shout back at them. "This is military property! I've been ordered to secure it, and I intend to carry out those orders!"
"We'll see about that!" one of the giants threatened.
Rick signaled his squad lieutenant. Two of the Battloids raised their gatlings and stepped forward.
The crowd took a collective intake of breath, but the comments persisted, helped along by Kyle, who was now attempting to lead them in a chant: "Leave here now! Leave here now!" punctuating his call with raised arm gestures.
The crowd joined him, holding their ground.
"Please, Commander, " said the mayor. "You have to go."
Rick narrowed his eyes and shot Kyle a deadly look. He scanned the crowd-angry faces and towering Zentraedi. If the Battloids opened fire, there would be all hell to pay; and if they didn't...if they just let the chamber sit...
No win! Rick screamed at himself, sending a tormented look Minmei's way before he turned his back on all of them and walked off.
In the snowfields at civilization's edge, Khyron received word of the turnabout in New Detroit. He couldn't have been more pleased.
He stood now at the head of a double-rowed column made up of twelve of his finest troops, each, like himself, suited up in Zentraedi power armor.
"Listen to me," he instructed them. "We are the last true Zentraedi! We must take that sizing chamber! No sacrifice is too great!"
With that, he fired the body suit's self-contained thrusters and lifted off, his elite squad following him into the skies.
Having left two of his Veritech corporals to stand guard over the
chamber, Rick and his remaining team were on their way back to New Macross. Bill "Willy" Mammoth, one of Skull One's wingmen, had raised Rick on the tac net.
"Go ahead, Willy, I'm reading you," Rick told him.
"It's just that it's bothering, sir. All that power. Leaving it there'n...well, forget it..."
"Say it, Willy. I told you, I'm reading you."
"Well...I just hate to see a bunch of innocent people get hurt because of some hare-brained troublemaker."
An image of Kyle's angry eyes flashed in Rick's memory. That fight long ago in the White Dragon, Kyle's pacifist speeches, his violent temper...
"Yeah, so do I," Rick said grimly.
Mayor Harding was having misgivings. Two of Hunter's Battloids along with one of New Detroit's own civil defense Gladiators were supervising the transfer of the sizing chamber from Fort Breetai to its new resting place inside the city's exposition center, a sprawling complex of pavilions and theaters constructed in the "Hollywood" style-a pagodalike multistoried building here, a Mesoamerican temple there.
"But will it be safe?" the mayor wondered aloud.
Lynn-Kyle and Minmei were with him in the center's vast rotunda, observing the transfer procedure.
"Something's bothering you, Mr. Mayor?" Minmei asked leadingly, hoping Harding had had a change of mind and would recall Rick and his squad.
The mayor bit at the ends of his mustache. "To be honest, I was just thinking about the consequences of having the sizing chamber here should we be attacked...I only hope I made the right decision."
/> "Attacked by whom?" Kyle said harshly. "The war's over. "
"Not to hear Commander Hunter tell it." Harding shrugged. "All these disaffected Zentraedi who have been leaving the cities and setting up camps out there..."
Kyle made a dismissive gesture. "Forget about it-all that's just disinformation. They'll say anything to convince us that we still need their protection. Besides, there are a lot of peaceful Zentraedi citizens here. They'd help us if things got bad."
"I hope you're right."
"Don't worry. We did the right thing, and the people appreciate it. This chamber rightfully belongs to the Zentraedi people, and that's all that really matters."
The mayor cleared his throat. Kyle said, "Trust me."
Harding, however, remained unconvinced. Kyle noticed that Minmei seemed preoccupied and uneasy, her face inordinately pale. The mayor had insisted on taking them on a tour of the center's new theater, and it was here that Kyle decided to change strategies.
"I've got an idea," Kyle told both of them, a lighter tone in his voice now. "How about a goodwill concert to promote brotherhood between the Human and Zentraedi citizens of New Detroit?"
All at once Harding grew excited. "Why, that would be great! I mean, if Minmei would consent...on such short notice and all..."
"Of course she'll do it," Kyle continued, although Minmei hadn't so much as acknowledged the idea by word or movement.
"The whole city'll turn out," said Harding, the wheels turning. He began to lead them down one of the theater aisles toward the large stage. "We can seat almost three thousand in here, and wait till you see our lighting system." Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called to the balcony: "Pops! Open up the main curtain and hit the spots!"
An unseen old-timer answered, "Sure thing, Mr. Mayor," and the curtain began to rise. Kyle took advantage of the moment to turn to Minmei and whisper, "What's you problem today, Minmei? You're going to upset the mayor."
Doomsday Page 9