As Zor thought about the madness of it all, Dana thought about Zor and how very badly she needed to understand him and understand herself. As the eight who stood there dealt with their wildly varying thoughts and memories and impulses, another shadow crossed the land.
They all looked up, as did the Gimps below, to see, hovering above, a cinnamon-red, whiskbroom-shaved Robotech Master assault ship.
Karno and his triad mates were gazing into an enormous lens. "There rests the last Protoculture Matrix," Karno said in his single-sideband voice. "But who are those, atop the mound?"
Theirs was the ship and the mission for which all the rest were providing a distraction. The last thing they had expected was to find the mound surrounded by combat units.
It was all very confusing. There was no sign of the three frightful Protoculture wraiths, no least indication of any counteraction, and that was enough to make anyone knowledgeable in the ways of Protoculture cautious.
But this? As the focus zoomed in, Karno saw his onetime fiancee, Musica, the latest of the Zor clones, and six Earth primitives ranged about at the brink of a cliff.
"Zor is with them," Darsis observed with a dispassion worthy of the Elders themselves.
"Even Musica," pronounced Karno, forcing himself to match that proper tone, willing to die before admitting the hot, hateful feelings coursing through him.
Dana looked at Zor in surprise, as he stepped to the brink and addressed the empty air. "If you attack, we will destroy all that is here. Flowers. Protoculture. Muse. All."
"Go to your Robotech Masters! Tell them this war must end. You in the depths of your ignorance, you and your Masters: it is time for you to learn how to learn."
Zor was intent on the ship, but Nova looked at him wonderingly, and had misgivings. What if, somehow, he wasn't bluffing?
The godlike voice from the assault ship gave the Humans a start, but Musica and Zor were braced for it. "We will be back," it said, as flames rose from alien strikes all around, all the way to the horizon and beyond. The assault ship lifted away, for space and the flagship.
Nothing Nova had ever been taught quite served in analyzing what had come to pass. She, too, set aside her oath of allegiance as Dana had, silently but finally. "Zor, the Flowers-the Masters...you remember now!"
He made the barest of smiles. "Yes, but only in fragments." He turned the smile on Dana. "It's all beginning to coalesce in my mind now, and Musica is the key!"
Dana's bark event stiff. And that's all, huh? Musica? Ignoring everything Dana had...Ah, hell!
Zor started giving orders, and Nova for one seemed to be ready-willing-to take them. Zor outlined his plan to have Angelo, Sean, and Louie infiltrate the GMP perimeter and come back with the 15th's Hovertanks tandem-towed.
Dana walked over to the ventlike opening in the mound, watching the minute parasol spores bump against some invisible barrier and float back down, to rise and bounce again. She couldn't sort out for herself the reason why there was such immense fascination in it for her. She resolved that, if they lived, she would make Zor explain.
Zor looked up at Earth's sky, while Bowie hugged Musica to him. Some people were fleeing Monument City, terrified of another onslaught of the destructive rays or the arrival of the Bioroids.
Last of a long line of one selfsame entity, heir to brilliant mastery of the Shaping forces of the Universe and to every misdeed of his predecessors, Zor Prime sniffed the breeze.
And now the war ends, he promised himself, promised all Creation.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
This sudden shifting of focus, from Matrix to Muse-and Zor Prime-is bewildering only to those who haven't familiarized themselves with the subtler powers of Protoculture.
From a distance, we can see it, of course, and feel smug in our overview if the players on stage that day were mystified and even illogical, who can fairly blame them? The Shaping of the Protoculture had the world in its teeth and was shaking it.
S. J. Fischer, Legion of Light: A History of the Army of the Southern Cross
The captives could see that it was a very high space. The multicolored invader lightstructure, as faceted as a stained glass chandelier and as big as a Hovertank, was hanging unsupported very high above them.
It looks like-radioactive diamond; a crystallized thought-I dunno, Emerson thought woozily, as Brown and Marie tried surreptitiously to hold him upright on the couch.
"Well?" Dag repeated. "Will you make your species see reason, and surrender?"
Emerson took a breath and looked again at the three strange beings who floated before him on their Protoculture cap's small standing platforms. Would Leonard have gone insane right on the spot? It was intriguing to consider, but not very helpful.
"'Surrender'?" Emerson repeated the word tiredly, feeling the wounds on his face and neck, and in his side. "Haven't you arrogant ghouls learned anything about the Human race yet? Your Zentraedi came after us, and now you come after us-ss-"
Emerson hissed in pain, going a little faint but coming around almost at once. Lieutenant Crystal wedged up against him, propping him up so that Emerson hadn't teetered. Good soldier!
"-after us," Emerson resumed, stiffening his spine. "But you don't seem to realize: It doesn't make us weaker; it makes us stronger!"
Dag looked down on him. "A great pity; our information led us to hope that you are seeking the same peaceful settlement as we-that our goal was the same."
Emerson shook off his fatigue and pain. How old were these apparitions, these seeming Grim Reapers before him? How many Protoculture-grown Dorian Gray portraits in the old closet? he speculated, then pulled himself together. It was no time for whimsy.
"Nice try," Emerson shot back, "but you know as well as I do that you opened fire on us first. You never tried to negotiate."
"Regrettable," Dag parried, "but we respect you as we do other intelligent beings who have the same Human form as we, the same biogenetic structure-even a kindred intellect."
"That so?" Marie glowered up at the Master from beneath her long black brows. "Then why haven't you called off your Bioroids?"
"You're liars, the whole pack of you," Emerson told the Masters. Shaizan's eyes opened wide with his surprise and displeasure. "Truly,
you are stupid creatures!"
Emerson smiled mirthlessly. "Map reference point Romeo Tango 466-292; that's where you intend to make your initial landing, right? That's how stupid we are. And you're going to see more mecha and more fighting-mad Human beings than you could've dreamed of in your worst nightmares!"
It was only a wild guess on his part, based on repeated alien activity there, and those last transmissions from Leonard's staff before commo was knocked out on Tristar. The gambit was worth a try, Emerson had decided. Earth's defenses were nearly finished, but perhaps the Masters didn't know that, and Emerson's words would throw them off balance for a bit.
And, terrible as the aliens' new beam weapon was, they would not use it on the mounds, that much was obvious; they didn't want to destroy the mounds, didn't dare to, or they would have done so long ago. It was tragic
irony that, now that the Human race finally knew something about the Masters' original, bewildering demand, the Masters had upped the ante. Emerson saw, just as Leonard had, that there was no way to evacuate the Earth, and no place to go even if such a thing were possible.
"And we know about the Protoculture," Marie was saying, even though the intelligence report on the 15th's discoveries inside the flagship, and analysis of the Masters' transmission to Leonard, had been very sketchy.
"We know that if you don't get it, you die," Brown added.
That gave the Masters pause again, and the captives had the impression the invaders were in silent conference once more. After a moment, Bowkaz said, "Tell us just how much you people of know of us, of our history."
"We know about your weak points," Emerson answered. "The Earth is ours, and nobody's taking it away from us or making us leave it! But if you'll agree to a c
easefire, then perhaps we can help each other. We can stop this war."
"The Invid are coming, do you not understand what that means?" Shaizan demanded. "You will all be wiped out!"
"We cannot allow your stubbornness or the fate of one tiny world to endanger the establishment of our Robotech Universe," Dag said.
"Your small-mindedness merely illustrates how primitive you are," Bowkaz added.
Emerson laughed madly, so that Marie and Brown feared for a moment that he had snapped. Then the general met the Masters' glares with one of his own. "Then, so be it."
An area of mottling on the mushroomlike cap grew bright, and Bowkaz put his palm to it. The cap spoke so that the Humans could hear as well, "I am receiving information on Zor Prime.
"Zor and the Human military unit in which he served are now at the site of the buried Protoculture Matrix. Musica is with him, but she is no longer connected to the Cosmic Harp; she has given her loyalty to Zor and Humans."
"Bowie!" Emerson murmured. "I knew you were no deserter, son." Shaizan turned back to Emerson. "Our reprieve is withdrawn! Your
Earth has just run out of time!"
Sean and the others had simply slipped back to their concealed jeeps, put on combat gear, then made their way back through the GMP lines as if they were a recon unit going to the rear to make a report. Passwords given to them by Nova made it easy. No one thought to question them with the Masters' attacks and the chaotic situation in Southern Cross HQ.
The return trip was in some ways even easier, the piloted mecha lifting the unpiloted ones over the GMP perimeter. The Gimps were hesitant to shoot at friendly forces without specific orders, until it was too late.
Now the 15th stood around their Hovertanks, watching smoke rise from the blasted Monument City, which had taken scattered beam hits but not the sort of all-out, fused-earth attack that had claimed Newton.
"Bowie, I'm so ashamed," Musica said, tears wetting her cheeks, as they saw the ragged lines of survivors making their way from the city.
"It's not your fault," Bowie told her, holding her to comfort her.
She looked up at him, trying to smile. "The harmony is strong, between you and me. I feel your joys and sorrows; they are my own." Being close to him was so wonderful, a divine gift of happiness that shored her up in the horror that was around them.
Off to one side, Dana asked Nova quietly, "Do you think Zor knows what's going to happen next? That he sees the future?" It was no time to voice a more personal question to herself, And, have I? All her dreams and Visions crowded so close about her.
Nova considered that. "What are you saying?" The results of her interrogations and observations were inconclusive but-if Zor did have some sort of precog powers, perhaps the Human race could turn them to good use.
Dana was looking at Zor, who stood alone, watching the pyre that was Monument City. "He doesn't want to help Musica," Dana faced the truth.
"He wants revenge, and he wants to die more than he wants to live, I think." Her voice caught a little; she still loved him.
Zor studied the destruction and suffering before him, standing near the Three-In-One; Dana had supposed he named his tank that because of its three configurations, but understood now that it was some deeper memory that had moved him to do so. Zor was repeating the silent vow as if it were a mantra, This time they'll pay! This time I'll stop them!
That was when he heard the crackle of Shaizan's voice over the cockpit speaker of Sean's Hovertank, the Bad News. "Zor! Traitor! Are you there?" Sean nearly jumped out of the tank like an ejecting pilot.
Zor was in the cockpit of his Three-In-One in an instant, hands on the control yoke grips. "I hear you."
Somehow, the Masters had contrived to send their image over the tank's display screen. "You are aware that the Protoculture Matrix is undergoing degradation, as the Flowers bloom." It wasn't a question. "And by now, the Sensor Nebula has surely alerted the Invid."
Zor looked at his onetime Masters. The words made bits of memory and realization fall into place. "I-yes. But I also know that I control the key to this planet's survival. I dictate the terms."
"We are of the opinion that you are mistaken," Shaizan replied. "Watch closely, and you will see."
The other ATACs were watching on their own screens, with Musica looking over Bowie's shoulder and Nova over Dana's. They saw Rolf Emerson, teeth locked in pain, with Marie and Brown trying to comfort him.
"Emerson," Bowie said numbly, while Sean whispered Marie's name like a hopeless prayer, and Dana heard Nova breathe, "Dennis."
Then the Masters were onscreen again. "'These three men will be released when you return Musica and remove your troops from this area."
Men? Sean Phillips found a second to think, wondering if they had gotten a good look at Marie. I suppose everybody in armor looks the same to them but-maybe these vampires aren't as smart as everybody keeps tellin'
me they are. Anyway, if that's what it's like to be immortal, they can keep it! "Do you find this acceptable?" Shaizan continued. "We trust that we
need not mention the alternative."
Zor fought down his fury long enough to ask, "What are your conditions?"
"You will be picked up, and we will exchange prisoners onboard our mother ship." The Masters disappeared from the screen.
Zor lowered himself from his tank wearily and had barely begun, "I do not wish for the rest of you to be invol-" Bowie hit him with a shoulder block, driving the bigger Zor up against the armored side of Three-In-One, trying to choke the life out of him.
"They're not getting Musica! I'll kill you!"
Zor grimaced, trying to twist free, but didn't strike out at him. "Then stay here and do nothing, and watch your good friend be killed! The techniques of the Masters can be more cruel than anything you can conceive of!"
Dana was dashing to intervene, but somehow Musica got them first. "Stop it, Bowie!" He had no choice but to risk harming her or back off. He let go his grip on Zor.
"I will not permit you all to suffer because of me," she; told Nova and the 15th. "I will go back."
Before Bowie could object, Dana said, "She's right. Saddle up, Fifteenth!
C'mon, what're you all gaping at?"
Nova was the one among them most distanced from Emerson's predicament. The fate of a few Human beings, even a flag-rank officer and two TASC fliers, was insignificant against the survival of the Human race and its home world; everyone who took the Southern Cross oath understood that. Shaping strategy and policy on the basis of hostages and emotional responses led to disaster; it had been one of the major contributing factors to the Global Civil War.
Marie thought about her pistol again, but realized that events had gone
too far for that, and that she must see things through along with Dana's ATACs. Protoculture seemed to have some barely hinted-at power to shape events, and she could only hope that the benign side of that mystical force was working now, because Fate had the bit in its teeth.
"There's no telling what'll happen," Dana was telling her men. "We'll have to play it by ear. But this thing isn't about Southern Cross or the UEG anymore. I don't think even the mound, here, is as important now. This thing is between us and the Robotech Masters."
In the wake of her experiences on the flagship and her exposure to the spores, pollen, and Flowers below, and to Musica's song, something in her was coming fully to life-was flexing its powers like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon and pumping out its wings.
Dana didn't know exactly how, but she knew the words were true. "Maybe this was always meant to be, right from the start."
The contact broken, the Masters easily reached an unspoken consensus: Musica was critical to their plans, and there was no longer any need for the others-not even Zor. Furthermore, there were disturbing things about the halfbreed lieutenant, Sterling; some genetic throw of the dice had embued her with insights and an affinity for the Protoculture that made her dangerous. It was best that she and her unit be termi
nated as soon as possible; the Masters could tolerate no rival in the matter of the Protoculture.
The units encircling the mounds simply held their fire as a flotilla of a dozen assault ships came low to pick up the Hovertanks. Hopelessly outgunned, the GMP troops breathed a universal sigh of relief when the invader craft lifted away.
In due course the 15th came forth to form a spearhead on the huge hangar deck: Dana's Valkyrie, Angelo's Trojan Horse, Bowie's replacement tank, the Re-Tread, which had taken the place of his Diddy-Wa-Diddy, abandoned on an earlier sortie aboard a mother ship. Sean's Bad News and
Louie Nichols's Livewire completed the roster.
There were ranks of clone guards with rifles aimed at them, rabbits policing the wolves. But the ATACs only watched and waited, the tanks' headlights and downswept hoods making them appear to be glowering.
When Dana had looked the place over, she switched her mike to an external speaker and announced, "First of all, we want to see Chief of Staff Emerson."
There was some conferring among the invaders. Finally they opened ranks and the Hovertanks fell in to follow a guard runabout, moving into the vaulted passageways of the residential district, so much like those of the Masters' original flagship.
Guards stood on ledges all along the way. Dana wondered if they realized they were scarcely more than so many popup targets before the armor and firepower of the Hovertanks. They didn't seem worried, and that worried her.
But while she didn't have words to explain it, something told her that what she was doing was right, that against all logic, what she was doing was what she should be doing. Again she felt connected to something much greater than herself, and breathed a quick prayer that it wasn't some kind of self-delusion. It was nothing but faith, really, but if she had understood her Academy philosophy courses, what cognitive process wasn't?
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