Aboard his flagship, Emerson was hoping he had given the 15th the margin it needed. No other mecha had succeeded in reaching a position that would allow them to board, and, for the time being at least, none seemed likely to.
Emerson was calling for more diversionary strikes, to keep the Masters busy and eliminate as many red Bioroids as possible, when his flagship was battered by another massive volley.
Colonel Green picked himself up off the deck, checked the incoming reports and called to his commanding general, "It's another alien mother ship, sir!" He checked damage readouts. "And we're in no shape to take 'em on, Rolf!"
After the battle and the ramming, Emerson knew that was only common sense. But he said, "The battle plan does not allow for withdrawal at this time-"
A second barrage, even stronger than the first, rattled them all around like dice in a cup. Emerson saw that it wasn't just one mother ship coming to the rescue, but at least three. There was no choice; his forces would be utterly obliterated if he didn't at least fall back to regroup.
And there was no time for an extraction mission to recover the 15th; it was committed. Its few young troopers were very likely the last, best hope of Earth.
Marie, back aboard her attack transport to rearm and refuel, heard the announcements and commands over the PA and went cold, as the Earth
fleet began to break off contact and withdraw. Oh, Sean!
The 15th spotted the two Triumviroids in the corridor ahead of them before the reds spied the 15th. The ATAC Battloids charged almost shoulder to shoulder, unavoidably bunched up, putting out the heaviest volume of fire they could.
A strange thing happened; the enemy mecha whirled and froze. ATAC rifle shots spattered their torsos and faceplates, blowing them out, and the Triumviroids dropped like puppets whose strings had been snipped. The ATACs had had the advantage of numbers and surprise, but it was still a remarkably easy win in comparison to the harrowing battle on the outer hull.
The 15th never even broke stride, but charged on further into the ship, weapons ready. But even as Dana leapt her Battloid over one red's body something occurred to her. Two-there were only two this time. And the reds had been working in threes up above. Presumably there was at least one more around down here, perhaps damaged or crushed by Emerson's ramming maneuver.
She had no time to pursue the thought, though, as she led her squad along a curvy passageway built to mecha scale. The deck and bulkheads seemed unremarkable here, but the overhead looked like a big, metallic mural network. No time to stop and study, however.
"Must be kinda familiar, huh Zor-O?" Angelo taunted. "Which way d'we go?"
"I wish I knew, but I don't remember, Sergeant." Zor answered, unruffled.
"I'll just bet ya don't, alien!"
Dana snapped, "Knock it off, Dante! Stay sharp, all of you!"
The warning was well timed. A moment later, a diamond-shaped hatch slid open before them and three Triumviroids leapt into the opening.
But the 15th was so juiced up on adrenaline and the heat of battle that they opened fire instantly. For some reason these enemy mecha, too, were
slow in responding, and with their faceplates shot out, they went over like bowling pins.
"Shoot for the faceplates, that's their weak spot!" Dana confirmed, as the ATACs rushed the hatch, covering one another. "If y'get one or two away from the third, it slows them down; if you get a trio, hit them at exactly the same moment. Looks like that overloads 'em somehow."
"They have discovered an inherent weakness of our Invid Fighter," Shaizan said tonelessly. It seemed that the single-thinking Human animals were a match for the Three-Who-Act-as-One.
Dag said, "Then, we must reactivate Zor Prime's programming, and resume full command of his mind and actions."
A perfect solution. There could be no chancre of malfunction, since Zor was so close to the Protoculture cap.
Bowkaz touched his long, nailless fingers and his palm to a mottled patch of the cap, and the patch shone with radiance. "It is done."
"Lieutenant, somethin's wrong with Zor!"
It was odd to hear concern in Angelo's voice.
Dana and the others stopped and pounded back to where Angelo's Battloid faced Zor's, which stood stiff as a manikin.
The power of Protoculture coursed through Zor's brain, taking control of every corner of his mind in moments.
Dana shook the paralyzed Battloid a little. "Zor, what's wrong? Are you hit? Answer me!"
Suddenly the Three-In-One lashed out, grabbing the enormous alloy fist of Dana's Valkyrie in its own, bending it in a take-away hold, threatening to rip it off.
Angelo yelled, "Zor, that's enough!" He had his rifle up, but Dana was in his line of fire.
She worked a quick hand-to-hand trick, rotating her mecha's wrist out of the grip and yanking herself free. "What's gotten into you?"
But Zor's Battloid was already running in the other direction, off toward a side passageway.
Dana only had a second to decide, and no time to sort through her various motives. A part of her simply could not bear to see Zor go off, perhaps blanked out again or suffering some mental seizure, to be captured or slain. Furthermore, he was an important resource to her mission and to the Southern Cross, perhaps her best hope of doing her job in the mother ship and getting her unit out alive.
But she couldn't risk her whole squad trying to tackle one berserk trooper. "Angelo, come with me! The rest of you set up security here and maintain radio contact!"
They had barely started to chase Zor when another threesome of the reds tried to block their way. Dana felt sure the Triumviroids were covering Zor's escape, that he had given them the order to do so.
Dana managed a broken-field run through them, but Angelo took one out with a shoulder block, slamming it against the bulkhead, as the disc guns opened up and the rifle/cannon replied. The passageway was an inferno of close-range firing.
Sean yelled an obscenity as he, Louie, and Bowie set up the heaviest fire they could, distracting the enemy from Dana and Angelo. The Triurnviroids seemed to hear an unspoken order, and turned their attention on the remaining troopers. The mecha blasted at each other, blowing holes in deck and bulkheads, brilliant spears of novafire skewing across the small distance separating them.
CHAPTER TEN
You look at us and ask why we are slaves. But we look at you and wonder why you are not. What hideous mutation has given you the curse of free thought, and taken away your peace of mind forever?
Remark of an anonymous clone to ATAC trooper
Corporal Louie Nichols
This place could be Roman! Dana thought, looking around the compartment into which Zor had disappeared.
It was like same vast gathering hall or ballroom, There was invader systemry around the bulkheads. But set all around the hall/compartment were what seemed to be marble columns in the classic style, supporting entablatures with carved friezes. The ceiling was a smooth dome of polished stone. It made no sense to her, and she had no time to puzzle over it all.
"Zor! Zor, please come out!" The design of the bulkheads was so strange, she couldn't tell what might be a hatch or place of concealment; the columns were too small to offer a Battloid cover.
"We're your friends, Zor!"
Angelo's Trojan Horse came double-timing up, having hung back to cover their rear. "Lost him, huh?"
"I saw him come in here."
Angelo raised his weapon. "He can't be trusted. He betrayed us." The punishment for treason in wartime or desertion under fire was obvious. "And I'm gonna give him what he's got coming."
It was also obvious that Zor wasn't going to willingly show himself, but Angelo had his own straightforward solution for that. "Gladiator mode!"
The sergeant imaged the transformation through his spike-topped thinking cap, and his Trojan Horse went through mechamorphosis.
Angelo opened fire, hitting one of the columns dead center. It broke into a shower of stone splinters and dust, collapsi
ng and breaking into a
thousand fragments. He traversed the barrel and let off another round, blowing chunks from the ceiling.
"C'mon, Zor! Show yourself."
He was right, Dana saw. All her anger at the Robotech Masters welled up; what right did they have to live in such beauty, slave keepers that they were? She went to Gladiator as well, and together she and Angelo Dante stomped about the hall, firing, demolishing the gorgeous entablatures and columns.
Then at random she fired at another bulkhead of rectangular metal. The rectangle crumpled and fell, revealing a space beyond. The hatch fell and through the smoke and flame stepped one lone red Bioroid.
"Zor!" Dana knew it had to be him. All her anger was gone in a moment, and the terrible thought that she had lost him again, perhaps forever, to the Masters, brought out the other side of her personality. Forgetting everything, she hiked herself up out of her seat, and leapt to lower herself from her cockpit-canopy. "Zor!"
"Lieutenant!" Angelo's first impulse was to fire for effect, but before he could do anything, she was in too close, nearly at the Bioroid's feet, arms held up to it imploringly.
"Oh, Zor," she cried forlornly. "Don't you remember me? Have they taken that from you, too?" But the great discus-shaped handgun in the red fist swung to bear on her.
Angelo locked down his controls and rose, to drop from his tank. He couldn't start a firefight and he wouldn't leave Dana to be captured or killed. He chose not to question his own motives as he ran to stand at her side, but he knew loyalty and duty were not his only ones.
Dana was so young and beautiful, so filled with a fighter's spirit...In his whole life, he had met only a handful like her: good soldier, reliable companion...someone you could trust, could count on. In Angelo's vocabulary, those words meant everything.
Zor's voice came to them without benefit of their headphones. It sounded, once more, as it had when Dana had first seen him revealed, near
the burial mound of SDF-1. His mindspeech was thin and reedy, higher than it had been a few moments ago, and sounding like someone talking on the inhalation rather than the exhalation.
"Do not move. Surrender or you will be instantly destroyed. " "Zor," she murmured, distraught. "What have they done to you?"
Then light broke from the Bioroid as its head swung back. Its chest and shoulders opened outwards, to reveal the ball turret within it. That, too, opened-and Zor uncurled from a fetal position, seemingly given birth, in blinding glory.
He stood to regard them with contempt, mindspeaking to them. "You have fallen into this trap much more easily than I would have thought, Lieutenant Sterling. You and your command are now captives of my lords, the Robotech Masters."
"I cannot understand the extraordinary influence the female Micronian exerts over Zor Prime's mental functions," Dag told his two counterparts. "Exposure to her emotions is causing departures from several of the clone's cognitive schemata, even here at the center of our power."
"But our control module is at maximum energization," Bowkaz pointed out. "We have near-total manipulation of Zor Prime. Clearly, it will suffice. What are emotions, after all, but primitive behavioral residue?"
Zor had retreated back into his control sphere, and the discus handgun remained pointed at Dana and Angelo. The two ATACs had removed their helmets and stood looking up.
"Zor, I have to talk to you!" Dana tried again. "You remember me, don't you?"
There was no response, but Angelo noticed that, suddenly, the pistol was wavering. From the shadowy figure of Zor, curled up again in his globe, there was no movement. Dana started walking toward the Bioroid's foot.
"Look out, Dana! He's gonna shoot!" Angelo tackled her just as the titanic handgun fired; the annihilation disc missed, as the two ATACs fell
headlong together, but Angelo was quick to understand that it would have missed anyway.
Another blast superheated the deck nearby, but at that range it should have been dead center. Dana and Angelo looked up to see the red's armor re-securing, closing protectively around the ball turret. The red moved spasmodically; more rounds blasted into the deck at random.
Angelo made his decision and ran for his tank. The red continued its disoriented firing, seemingly in conflict with itself, until it noticed his main battery coming to bear on it. Dana was just far enough out of the way. Angelo fired, but the Bioroid ducked, barely in time. Zor fell aside as the deckplates beneath his feet leapt up in fire from the sergeant's second shot.
Within his Robotech womb, Zor sweated, moaning, in his trance. He fought himself even more determinedly than his Bioroid fought Angelo, but the internal combat wasn't going well.
Dana swung to Angelo. "You'll never stop him that way! Switch to Battloid mode! And don't hurt him!"
Who's she think I am, Wyatt Earp? Angelo wondered. What'm I supposed to do, wing that goddamn 'roid? But he went to Battloid and fired his rifle/cannon from the hip. The red dodged, but more slowly.
"Zor's brainwaves indicate a deviance," Bowkaz observed.
Behind him, Myzex, group leader of the Politician triumvirate, spoke from his triad's Protoculture cap. "His exposure to Human influence may have produced an adverse effect on his anterior brain structure."
Dag half turned to the politicians. "You suggest an awakening of dormant racial memory?"
"Possibly, my Master."
Perhaps this was the breakthrough the Masters had hoped for! It might be that emotions were the missing key to the recovery of Zor's mental gifts and, possibly, even to the Inheritance of Acquired Knowledge capacity they had hoped to channel into him by use of their artificial psi abilities. The
I.A.K. and the recovery of the original Zor's secrets, a new Matrix-a
universe-spanning realm belonging to them alone-it was suddenly all possible.
"The Human disturbance and distraction must be eradicated at once," Shaizan decreed.
Suddenly Zor barreled past Angelo before the sergeant could get off a shot, bashed through another hatch, and disappeared down a passageway.
"Angelo, stay down!" Dana yelled.
"What happened?" Angelo was shaken badly; he had thought his number was up. "He had me dead to rights; why didn't he nail me?"
"I don't know," Dana said, heading back to the Valkyrie. "But we have to find Bowie and the others before the aliens do."
Aliens.
The firefight in the passageway was successful for the 15th. The ATACs used what they had learned about the Triumviroids' weaknesses. Without Dana around to object, they had done some fast, straight faceplate-shooting, and even Bowie, seeing that his squadmates' lives were on the line, had made his choice and taken his stand.
But as they stood in the smoking aftermath of the firefight, they had realized that it was time to lie low for a while. They had withdrawn to a nearby recycling plant-a gigantic compartment full of moving conveyor belts and organic looking reclamation equipment. Hopefully Dana would follow their transceiver signals.
Sean picked up two signals that got stronger, until they had to be right in the compartment. He looked up to see two Hovertanks shake loose of the debris and scrap on a tenyard-wide belt high overhead, and descend on gushing thrusters. Angelo and Dana landed amid a shower of junk and garbage, Dana crying, "Look out below!"
"'Bout time, Lieutenant," Bowie commented dryly.
There were no guards or surveillance devices that they could see. Dana and Angelo and the others hid their tanks in the dark reaches under a big overhead, then the 15th gathered around to do some improvising.
It was clear that they couldn't rely upon Emerson's return anytime soon, and to simply run riot would be to make it just a matter of time before the Triumviroids converged to wipe them out.
"So, what we gotta do is locate the flagship's command center or bridge or whatever they call it around here, then come back with the tanks and take it by force. Everybody, shuck your armor; this is a recon job."
"Secret agent time," Sean sighed. "And where d'we
look, in a ship five miles long?"
"The logical place, in view of their setup and systems, is the center of the ship," Louie said. They began climbing out of their armor and checking their small arms.
The ATACs wanted to pack all the weapons they could, but Dana nixed the idea. A lot of throw-weight would only attract attention, and if they got into a situation wherein a few pistols and a rifle wouldn't suffice, they weren't likely to get out of it at all.
Another conveyor belt took them past an entrance decorated with a marble arch. They hopped off there, went along a corridor lined with meticulous, hand-done stonework. Angelo, walking point, found himself looking out on a scene that resembled a cross between the Roman Senate and the Borgias' waiting room. There was the same gorgeous artistry, and gleaming floors underfoot. Clones were moving around in small groups, their pastel clothing running toward togalike affairs, or tights with short mantles.
"What's it look like out there?" Dana wanted to know, just behind Angelo but unable to see around him. "Are any of those guards nosing around, or can we keep moving?"
"All I can see are civilians, I guess," he whispered back. He held his tanker's carbine high and moved a step further.
Dana came up and peered out, then told her men, "They don't look like the type to ask questions, out there. We'll just mingle, and make our way along."
"Nothing ventured-" Louie resigned himself.
But the inhabitants of the ship did seem quiet, subdued-almost lethargic. The ATACs moved out along an upper thoroughfare that overlooked public gathering places and quiet quadrangles.
They had only gotten a few steps when Dana and Louie saw a small surface-effect runabout headed their way.
The Final Nightmare Page 9