Battle Cry

by Jack McKinney

  The Battloid's environmental sensors indicated that the hold was indeed an air lock; it could therefore be depressurized. Max wasn't certain what size hole would be necessary to achieve the effect he was after, but he had to take a chance. He raised Ben on the tac net, all the while struggling with foot pedals and random thoughts, and ordered him to fire his warheads at the ship's hull directly overhead.

  Ben triggered release of the missiles; the explosion tore a gaping hole in the ship. But something unexpected was happening even before the smoke was sucked clear: The hull was actually repairing itself! Max couldn't believe his sensors; the process was almost organic, as though the ship was...alive.

  But he lost no time thinking about it. He fired the mecha's foot thrusters, launching himself, along with the Zentraedi, toward the ceiling. Just short of the healing rend, he released his grip on the cannon. Momentum carried the giant out into space seconds before the hull patch completed itself.

  Back on the floor of the hold, Rick had picked himself up. He had snatched Lisa from midair during the depressurization and was holding her in the Battloid's metalshod hand now, ignoring her protestations. Max brought his Battloid down beside him.

  "Nice work, Max. Guess we won't be seeing that character again." "Not unless he can survive deep space without an extravehicular suit." "Now what do we do?" Ben asked.

  The three men panned their Battloid video cameras across the hold, searching for a way out.

  Breetai, meanwhile, who was made of much sterner stuff than any of the Earthlings realized, was not only alive but was at that moment pulling his way along the outer skin of the flagship, using as handholds the, numerous sensor bristles and antennae that covered the ship. The gaping hole had of course closed itself too quickly to permit reentry into the hold, but he had managed to recollect his strength by latching on to a jagged piece of the ruptured hull before beginning his trek across the exterior armor plating.

  His genetic makeup allowed him to withstand the vacuum of deep space for a limited period only, but he had nothing less than complete confidence in his ability to survive. Thoughts of vengeance drove him on: That Micronian was going to pay dearly for this.

  Inside the ship, the diminutive Lisa Hayes had resumed command of the three pilots in their Battloids. She spoke into her helmet communicator from the open hand of Rick Hunter's mecha, instructing Max and Ben to use their top-mounted lasers to burn through the port hatch.

  "You'll have to do it quickly," she advised them. "They're going to be on us any second now." She then swung herself around to face Rick. "And Lieutenant, would you mind putting me down now? I know how you enjoy holding me, but you'll have to learn to admire me from a distance."

  Rick mumbled something into his headset and set his commander back on the floor of the hold. Max and Ben were taking alternate turns on the air lock to keep their lasers from overheating.

  Rick stepped forward to join them. He was motioning Ben's Battloid aside when he heard what sounded like a war cry-not through his headset but shattering the air of the hold itself. He spun the Battloid around in time to see the returned Zentraedi leap from an open hatchway overhead. The

  giant attacked like a samurai warrior; he held aloft a thick, pipelike tool that he brought down with gargantuan strength on the head of Ben's Battloid, dropping the mecha to the floor with a resounding crash.

  The Zentraedi stood victorious over his fallen enemy, then turned his attention to Max and Rick. Issuing a guttural sound; he gripped the tool with both hands and thrust it in front of him.

  Max and Rick separated some and raised their useless cannons, gripping them palms down like battle staffs. The Zentraedi was moving in slowly, each step calculated and deliberate.

  "He's getting ready to charge," said Max.

  Rick risked a step forward, motioning Max to fall in behind him. He brought the cannon up over his head and stood his ground, waiting for the charge.

  The Zentraedi launched himself with a basso yell. Rick planted himself and brought the cannon down like a sledge, putting every ounce of strength he could summon into the blow. Metal met metal with fusion force.

  Breetai swung his weapon like a bat, sending the gatling flying from the Battloid's hands. It hit the floor nose first, almost flattening Lisa Hayes.

  Now six more Zentraedi soldiers in helmets and fullbody armor arrived on the scene. One of them rushed forward with some sort of satchel and sacked the dazed Micronian pilot.

  Max witnessed it, but three soldiers now stood between him and the commander. Regardless, he moved in to engage one of them. The Zentraedi tried to wrestle the gatling from his grip, so Max turned the sallow-faced man's strength to his own advantage, relaxing his own hold on the cannon for a moment, then using the soldier's uncontrolled momentum to heave him to the floor. But he was hardly in the clear: A cluster of five more were opening fire on him with shock guns. Max tossed aside the cannon and leaped up, firing the Battloid foot thrusters as he did so. Halfway to the ceiling of the hold he reached for the mode levers, reconfigured the Guardian, and began returning fire, dodging blue bolts of energy that shot past him and impacted on the inner skin of the ship.

  Rick had been knocked flat on his back by the Zentraedi commander. The giant stood over him now, preparing to pile-drive the tool through the Battloid's abdomen. Rick brought the mecha's right leg up, bent at the knee, and fired the foot thruster full into the face of his assailant. As the Zentraedi went back, clutching his face and losing his grip on the weapon, Rick pulled his thruster lever home and went in for the kill, catching the giant's midsection and somersaulting him into a midair front flip. But the giant somehow managed to reverse the throw. Although Rick landed on top of him, he found himself facing the Zentraedi's feet. And the next thing he knew, he was being pressed into the air by the standing Zentraedi and launched across the hold.

  Rick engaged the shoulder retros to cut his airspeed. He executed a neat front flip with a half twist that left him standing face to face with the Zentraedi, but he was unfortunately off balance and stunned. A right cross followed by a front kick sent him down to the floor again. This time his opponent was playing for keeps.

  Breetai grabbed the mecha by its right arm, spun it into a three-sixty, and hurled it against a set of bulkhead cargo spikes; these perforated the Battloid's arms, chest, and shoulders and left it hanging there, pinned to the wall.

  Identifying with the mecha, Rick felt like the victim of a careless circus knife thrower. The Battloid was immobilized, half its systems disabled, and now this giant with the faceplate was coming in to finish him off. Valiantly, Rick fired the top-mounted lasers, but the Zentraedi dropped himself out of range in the nick of time.

  Rick was suddenly looking at foot-long life and love lines-the giant had brought his hand up over the canopy and was beginning to crush it. One by one the life support systems began to fail. And now the giant was working on the chestplates, literally tearing the Battloid apart! He ripped the armor from the mecha and tossed it aside as though it weighed nothing.

  Grinning, the Zentraedi peered in at him now through the torn cockpit module, taking obvious delight in Rick's fearful situation. Rick, armed the

  mecha's still-functioning self-destruct warhead and in desperation, reached down under the seat for the manual-eject ring and gave it a wholehearted tug. The head of the Battloid lolled forward, its explosive charges crippled, but the cockpit seat managed to launch itself.

  The Zentraedi, too, launched himself with a powerful jump. He snatched Rick from the air, crushing him in his fist, bringing on blessed relief from further fear...

  Witnessing the giant's catch, Max, his Guardian still moving through the hold dodging laser bolts, was certain that the lieutenant had been killed. Hunter's murderer was going to pay in kind, Max decided. He nose-dived the VT, preparing to loose all the firepower he had left.

  But all at once the remains of Rick's Battloid exploded. The Zentraedi was thrown off his feet, a breach was blown in the h
ull, and Max's Veritech was sucked from the air lock.

  The hull quickly sealed itself, and the Zentraedi soldiers gathered around their fallen commander. Breetai was flat out on his back, his tunic and uniform torn and tattered. But he was made of sterner stuff than even they realized. He said as much as he got up.

  His right hand was still clenched. Carefully he relaxed his grip to regard the small creature held there, strapped to its ejection seat, unmoving and as quiet as death.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As I have elsewhere stated, preliminary tests on the three Micronian subjects indicate that their anatomical makeup and physiological systems are very similar to those of the Zentraedi; I hasten to add, however, that I am here referring to "wet-state" subjects rather than mature and viable ones. [Editor's note: There is as yet no adequate Panglish equivalent of the Zentraedi term. Some linguistic camps favor "pretransformized," while others have pushed for "neocast" or "neocloned." See Kazinsky, Chapters Seven and Eight, for a lively overview of the continuing controversy.] Subsequent psychoscanning, in any case, brought to light the dissimilarities which are the focus of this report. These include: (1) significant anomalies throughout the neocortical regions and topical convolutionary conduits, (2) structural anomalies in the vascular and neural networks of the infundibulum, the pyramidal tracts, and the hippocampus, (3) pineal insufficiency, and (4) reticular imbalance of the pons and attendant cerebellar pathways.

  Exedore, from his Military Intelligence Analysis Reports

  to the Zentraedi High Command

  Micronians think too much!

  Khyron

  Previous dealings with Micronians had largely been a matter of eradication. But now Exedore actually had three live specimens to analyze and examine. And the results of tests thus far conducted were as surprising as they were baffling and discomforting. Genetically, anatomically, and physiologically, the Micronians appeared to be almost identical to the Zentraedi. They were of course culturally and behavioristically worlds apart, but the physical similarities suggested a point of common origin lost to time and history.

  Exedore studied the prisoners from his sealed-off operating station

  inside the ship's laboratory-who knew what contagious diseases these beings harbored? The scanner umbrella which in effect kept them isolated and confined to the specimen table was probably sufficient in itself for this, but Exedore was taking no chances.

  Breetai, however, wanted no part of the laboratory or the operating station. Exedore brought him up to date on the findings in the command center, illustrating facts and speculations with data readouts, x-rays, scans of various sorts, and relevant historical documents, all of which flowed freely across the center's many monitor screens.

  Breetai took particular interest in the female of the group. He shifted his attention from one screen's anatomical depictions and turned to the specimen table monitor. The Micronian female appeared to be unconscious or asleep, the other two as well.

  "Is it wise to keep the female and males together?"

  Exedore had the camera close on the table. "It is apparently their practice, Commander. It will certainly benefit us to observe their interactions."

  A look of surprise came over Breetai's face, and Exedore now turned his attention to the monitor. The Micronians were beginning to stir.

  The two Zentraedi watched intently.

  The black-haired one was first to rise-the tough little pilot who had manned the mecha Breetai had destroyed. The female recon pilot was next, but together they couldn't seem to rouse the third and largest member of their party.

  "This one has a very slow metabolic rate and is less intelligent than the others," Exedore said by way of explanation.

  Something curious began to happen just then: The female and the male were arguing. Breetai signaled his adviser to activate the audio monitors. The words came fast and furious and were for the most part unfamiliar to Breetai, but he understood enough to get the gist: They were blaming each other for the failure of their mission and their eventual capture.

  Breetai was amused.

  "They fight with words as aggressively as they fight with mecha."

  "A result of the commingling of males and females, sir-an ancient practice long ago abandoned by the Zentraedi."

  "I see...anger without discipline." "Precisely that, Commander."

  As Breetai continued to observe the argument, however, he was overcome by a feeling of sickness; he felt debilitated and phobic. He ordered Exedore to deactivate the monitor and collapsed down into his chair.

  "My head is spinning. I can no longer stand to watch them."

  "I feel the same," said Exedore. "However, we must not allow any of our personal reactions to interfere with the mission at hand."

  Breetai lifted up his head. "Well, suppose you tell me how I should proceed with these creatures."

  "The Micronians should be brought to Dolza himself. There they should be subjected to the most rigorous interrogation possible."

  "That will require a fold operation and the expenditure of substantial quantities of energy."

  "It will be justified, Commander. The Micronians' own words will doom them to defeat."

  Lisa couldn't believe her ears: Who in the known universe did Hunter think he was talking to?

  She and Hunter and dead-to-the-world Dixon were on some sort of alien grid platform, curtained and contained by a nebulous rain of electrical energy directed from an overhead generator. But through this translucent umbrella could be glimpsed the enormous machines, scopes, scanners, and data analyzers that constituted the laboratory beyond. One portion of the energy canopy afforded them visual access to an exterior bay of the ship. And somewhere out among that starfield was the SDF-1 and a world the three of them might never see again.

  Hunter, nevertheless, seemed less interested in establishing where they were than in establishing who was to blame for their being there.

  "Are you telling me that you wouldn't have been captured if a man had been piloting the Cat's-Eye? Because if you are-"

  "I'm not saying that. I'm just saying there are some jobs that are better left to experienced pilots. You don't find VT pilots muscling onto the bridge, do you?"

  Lisa glared at him. "I'm your superior, Lieutenant Hunter!" "Only in rank, Commander Hayes."

  "In rank and military experience!"

  Rick made a dismissive gesture. "Don't give me that Robotech Academy superiority. I'm talking about combat experience."

  Lisa crossed her arms to keep him from noticing that she was shaking with anger. Her foot tapped reflexively.

  "Do you need to be reminded of the conversation we had yesterday-the one where you complained about my always being 'safe and sound on the bridge'? Now I'm out here with you, and I still can't do anything right in your eyes. It's a no-win situation with you, mister."

  Rick softened somewhat. "Look, it's just that I feel more...I don't know, vulnerable, with you around. You're always getting yourself in a fix, just like on Sara Base-"

  "Hunter!" she screamed. "You're an idiot! Just who appointed you my personal guardian?"

  "Someone's gotta protect you from yourself."

  She looked around for something to throw at him, but Dixon would be too heavy and there was nothing else on the grid.

  "Who had to be towed in after completely destroying the armored Battloid, Lieutenant?"

  Rick's face went red with rage and embarrassment.

  "You think fighting these Zentraedi is some kind of cakewalk? Maybe you didn't see that guy tear my mecha apart with his bare hands, huh?"

  "No, I didn't see it. I was in the sack, remember?" "Yeah, well..."

  "Yeah, well," she mimicked him, and turned away.

  Ben Dixon was coming to, stretching and yawning as though he'd just taken a terrific nap.

  He looked around and asked if he had missed anything.

  Rick shot Lisa a cruel look and stepped over to his corporal. "Uh, nothing much, Ben. The Commander and I we
re just discussing an escape plan."

  Lisa smirked and looked out the bay. "Great," Ben said. "When do we get started?"

  Rick said something Lisa didn't catch; she was too mesmerized by what was occurring outside the ship: The stars were becoming tentative, strung out, as if trailing threads of light behind them.

  My God. She realized what she was seeing. The Zentraedi were beginning a fold operation!

  Back onboard the SDF-1 the period of anxious waiting had ended an hour ago with the restoration of widerange radar. But a new period of apprehension had just begun. The bridge had lost communication with the Cat's-Eye recon and the VTs of the Vermilion Team, and now there was evidence of fluctuations in the timespace continuum of that area. Most of the massive enemy ships had disappeared from the scanner screen, but numerous small ships and battle mecha were still swirling around the fortress. Gloval was certain that half the fleet had executed a spacefold.

  In all his long years of military command, Gloval had never faced a more unpredictable foe. They had crippled his ship, threatened him with extinction, demanded surrender, and suddenly disappeared off the scopes. Gloval was perplexed.

  He instructed Sammie to try to raise Commander Hayes again. "Negative response, sir. I can't raise anyone at all in that Veritech

  group."

  Have we lost them? Gloval wondered. Please, not Lisa! "Sir, we can't just give up on them," said Sammie.

  "It could be radio trouble," Claudia added.

  "I'm not about to give up on them," Gloval said at last. "But we can't afford to sit here and wait for the enemy to return and make good their threats." He hung his head. "We'll give them twelve hours. Claudia, if we've had no contact with them by then, I want the ship out of this quadrant by oh-six-hundred hours. Is that clear?"