Invid Invasion: The New Generation

by Jack McKinney

  Annie was helping this along.

  “Let’s get this party under way!” she shouted from her cramped space near the front. “Let’s get up on stage!”

  Yellow spied Annie in the crowd and smiled while she sang. She threw herself into an impromptu spin, shaking her hips and urging the band to kick up the volume somewhat. She turned again and launched herself across the stage in a kind of Jagger strut, inching her way toward the edge with each pass and beckoning the fans to join her.

  Woods and the colonel looked on from the wings.

  “What an incredible performer,” Briggs was saying. Woods noticed the glint in the colonel’s eye as he watched Yellow twirl herself like some sort of singing acrobat. “She’s amazing … And these kids look like they’re ready to jump out of their socks.”

  The man is practically drooling. Woods laughed to himself. “They are beginning to get a bit out of hand,” he told Briggs, a forced note of concern in his voice. He motioned to the front ranks of the audience, where the crowds were pushing hard against the security force’s arm-link cordon. “Don’t you think it would be wise to keep a van ready out back just in case we have to get Yellow Dancer out of here in a hurry?”

  Woods saw Briggs blanch. He called out to one of the men guarding the stage entrance and told him bring a van to the rear door, while Woods suppressed a smile and turned to watch Yellow strut her stuff.

  On the cold stone floor of a small, seldom-used room beneath the stage, Lunk sat cross-legged, blowing up balloons. Several hundred of these helium-filled colored globes had already been inflated and secreted in a compartment behind the bandshell itself, but the ones Lunk was busy preparing had to serve a special purpose. To each grouping of four balloons, Lunk added a carefully concealed propellant device in addition to a sensor that would allow the four-color group to home in on a prearranged beacon signal transmitted from the outskirts of Norristown, close to the spot where the team had left the Cyclones and the Veritech.

  When Lunk had filled the last of the balloons, he crawled over and shut down the helium tanks, only then realizing how spaced out he was from inhaling the gas. He glanced at the room’s brick rear wall and moved over to it now, running his hands over the stones and searching for any signs of the doorway indicated on Lancer’s map of the facility and linking passageway. But he could find no evidence of seams or fractures in the mortar. Perhaps it could be opened only from inside the tunnel, he thought, checking his watch. He would know soon enough, in any case.…

  The cart turned out to be watertight. Not that this would have been some wondrous piece of news under normal circumstances, but given the tunnel trio’s present condition it was one of those small miracles to be thankful for. It meant that they were able to remain seated while the water rose around them rather than have to exhaust themselves trying to remain afloat in water that was well over their heads. Of course, this, too, seemed a minor consolation.

  A few four-pack canisters of Protoculture were bobbing about in the cold water, and Rand was sitting on the front bumper of the cart looking like the world was about to end.

  Which was certainly an appropriate enough response, seeing how the water was still pouring into their tomb with no signs of letting up, and the cold ceiling was only four feet above them now. But Rook, who seldom had a good word to say about anything, was trying to cheer Rand up.

  “C’mon, pal, try not to get so down in the dumps.”

  Rand stared at her in disbelief. “Down in the dumps?” he said, gesturing to the room, their situation. “What d’ya think, I should be happy about getting a chance to wash up before I die?”

  “It’s my fault,” Scott told them. “I should have considered the possibility that some of the older defensive systems would still be operational.”

  Rook shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself, Scott.”

  “Let ’im,” Rand argued. “Why not? He got us into this, didn’t he?”

  “We got us into this,” Rook said, raising her voice.

  Scott told them both to shut up. “Besides, we might get a lucky break yet.”

  Rand and Rook waited for an explanation.

  “If the a/v scramblers fade before the water gets much higher, we’ll probably get to face a firing squad instead of drowning.”

  In the stage wings, the colonel looked out at Yellow’s screaming audience and swung harshly to Woods. “If this mob gets any more unruly, the Invid are to going to send a few Troopers in here and we’ll have all hell to pay!”

  Woods had to agree. Yellow was supposed to have finished up already, but instead she was going into yet another encore. The crowds were whipped up into such a frenzy that the arena seemed unable to contain it.

  Yellow Dancer sensed Woods’s concern and turned to him briefly as she gyrated around the stage. Where is Scott? she asked herself as the band revved up. She took several giant steps toward the wings and tried to flash her accomplice a signal, touching her earring and shaking her head as if to indicate that she hadn’t heard from Lunk yet.

  Woods acknowledged his understanding with a shrug and a slight gesture toward the chief, who was pacing in the wings like a nervous animal.

  Yellow brought the mike up and asked if everyone was all right, holding the mike out to them as they screamed replies. Again they strained at the security cordon, and several kids succeeded in making it onto the stage before being scooped up by guards and carried off. Something had to be done quickly!

  • • •

  Scott, Rook, and Rand had scarcely a foot of breathing space left, and the water level was still rising. Things had reached the desperate stage a few minutes before, and now the three of them were in the water pushing up against each and every ceiling stone, praying that one would give.

  “That story about the hero escaping through a loose stone is just a fairy tale,” Rand was saying, when his hands felt the stone budge. For a moment he was speechless, but finally he managed to gulp out the words: “It moved! The stone moved!”

  “She’s already gone a half hour overtime!” the chief shouted to Woods. “I want the concert wrapped up—and I mean now!”

  “But look at the kids,” Woods tried. “They’re having the time of their lives. I mean, after all, when do they ever get a chance to let off a little—”

  “Now!” the chief said firmly. “Or this will be the last chance they ever get. Do you understand me?”

  Woods backed away and threw a signal to the control booth: They were to cut the power as soon as Yellow finished her song.…

  Lunk, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth in the small area beneath the stage. Scott was way overdue. There were no contingency plans other than to get out of Norristown as quickly as possible. Annie and Lancer would be all right, but Lunk could be identified by the guards at the facility tower. But just as he was resigning himself to this, he heard sounds of movement behind him. He swung around in time to see his waterlogged friends step through the parted wall. Each of them was toting Protoculture canister packs.

  “Well, it’s about time,” Lunk said to them, eyeing their soaked clothing. “What happened to you guys—you come by way of the river, or what?”

  “We’ll explain later,” Scott said hurriedly, already fastening the packs to the balloon clusters. “Signal Lancer, and let’s get this show on the road.”

  Yellow was aware that the control room and sound personnel had been ordered to cut the power, so she was milking the final song for all it was worth, extending the chorus and encouraging the audience to join in, in the hopes that Scott would appear in time. But by now she had done all she could; the band was finishing up with an interminable one-chord wrap-up, and she was just about to make the grand leap that would cut it off. Then she heard a small but unmistakable flashing tone emitted by her left earring. It was Lunk’s signal: Scott had made it!

  “Thank you! Thank you, all of you!” Yellow yelled into the microphone over deafening applause. Yellow gestured to Annie and watched as she began to worm
her way toward the cordon, readying the pass that would admit her backstage.

  People in the crowd were pointing to something in the air now, and Annie got a glimpse of a skyful of balloons before she disappeared through the door to the stage wings.

  “I love you!” Yellow added as she left the stage.

  The plan called for Scott, Rook, and Rand to infiltrate themselves among Yellow Dancer’s retinue of sidemen and bodyguards, all of whom had been handpicked by Woods. At the same time, Lunk’s role was to see to it that the waiting police van was rendered safe and secure.

  This was easily accomplished, thanks to the fact that the guard was napping when Lunk stole up to the driver’s side door. Lunk pummeled the man into a more lasting sleep. Scott, Rook, and Rand took to the canvas-backed van, while Lunk dragged the guard off to one side and began to change into the man’s police helmet, shirt, and trousers. Annie appeared a moment later, followed by Yellow, who was clutching two wardrobe suitcases under her arms. The colonel was inside the arena, waiting patiently at Yellow’s dressing-room door for the singer to arrive. Woods’s team, meanwhile, had spirited her out a rear entry and was now doing its best to keep things backstage suitably chaotic.

  “So, you’re alive after all,” Yellow said breathlessly, running to the truck and passing her valises up to Scott.

  “Never underestimate the best,” Rand said, full of importance.

  Yellow gave Rand the once-over and smiled bemusedly. “Why are you so wet?”

  “Come on, get in,” Rook broke in. “It’ll be your bedtime story.”

  Yellow climbed up into the back of the truck, already pulling off the clothes that separated her from Lancer. Rand threw himself in and unfurled the rear canvas drape. Annie ran around to the passenger seat and settled herself, while a smiling Lunk did the same behind the wheel. He knew how ridiculous he looked in the smaller man’s uniform and helmet and couldn’t keep from laughing.

  A moment later the truck was screeching away from the stage entrance, just short of a crowd of fans who had found their way back there. Woods stood pleased in the doorway, silently wishing Yellow and her friends a smooth getaway.

  Back outside the dressing-room door, Colonel Briggs was glancing impatiently at his watch and complaining under his breath about how much time women required to change outfits. He contemplated walking in on Yellow, wondering if he would be able to catch her at a vulnerable moment. The thought was blossoming into a Technicolor fantasy when one of his guards ran up to him and saluted.

  “There’s been a break-in at the facility,” the staffer reported in a rush. “Thirty-eight cases of Protoculture are missing.”

  The colonel’s mouth fell open. “B-but … how?”

  “They used some kind of scramblers to disrupt the surveillance cameras and apparently lowered themselves into the storage room from one of the overhead maintenance corridors.”

  Briggs grabbed the man by the lapels and pulled him close. “How could they get through the towers? Were all vehicles searched?”

  “Yes, chief, everyone was searched,” the man managed to get out. “They must have found another way out.”

  The colonel shook the man, took a few steps, then whirled on him again. “Search the city! Set up roadblocks! I want them found—alive!”

  The staffer saluted. “We’ll do what we can. But most of our units are still working crowd control outside.”

  “Forget the crowds!” Briggs barked. “Get every man on it.”

  The city’s streets were soon filled with police vans—sirens hooting, tearing around corners in search of a team of sneak thieves. But by this time, Lunk was edging the van out of town, way ahead of the roadblocks the colonel’s currently understaffed security force were attempting to set up at all possible points of egress.

  The colonel’s own van screeched to a halt in a cobblestone square, where it rendezvoused with three others that were returning from various checkpoints. Briggs leapt out and approached one of his lieutenants, demanding all pertinent information.

  “And don’t tell me they’ve disappeared,” he warned the already shaking staffer.

  “We have reason to believe that they made their getaway in a police van,” the lieutenant updated. “So we’re in the process of having our men check each van they come across to ascertain the identity of those inside.”

  “Good,” the colonel said haltingly. Then: “You mean to tell me that your men are out there searching each other?!” He was about to say more, when he heard a small crash behind him, as if something had fallen from a rooftop. Turning, Briggs saw a cluster of red, yellow, and green balloons weighted down by something he couldn’t make out until he had taken three steps toward it.

  “Protoculture canisters!” he exclaimed, kneeling beside the helium balloons and their precious cargo. He looked up and saw scores more drifting high over the city on a northeast wind. “Gather up all those balloons,” he ordered the lieutenant. “Shoot them down if you have to!… And bring me that singer!” he hastened to add, thinking back to the concert and its colorful finale …

  Briggs was hurrying back to his van when a vehicle from the facility pulled alongside him.

  “Have you found them?” he asked eagerly.

  “No,” the driver answered. “But the Invid Intercessors have arrived at the facility … And they wanna speak to you.…”

  The getaway truck and the rigged balloon clusters arrived at the transmitter site at the same time, a clearing in the woods that fringed the northeastern outskirts of Norristown. The team hopped out and began gathering up the canisters. Rook and Lancer were heading for the Cyclones when they heard Annie yell and saw her point to the sky.

  “Invid!”

  There were five Troopers, coming in fast from the southwest but still several miles off. Scott told everyone to grab whatever canister packs they could carry and run for the mecha. Lancer, already suited up in battle armor, headed directly for one of the Cyclones and inserted a fresh canister into the cylinderlike fuel cell below the media’s engine. He straddled the cycle and activated the ignition, watching with delight as the power displays came to life, glowing with an unprecedented brightness. Nearby, Scott was in the cockpit of the Veritech, Lunk attending to the refueling.

  Rook was preparing to power up her red Cyclone when she saw Lancer lift off and reconfigure to Battle Armor mode. Beside her, Rand was strapping on the last of his Cyclone armor.

  “Rand, did you remember to put in a fresh canister?” she asked him, certain he had forgotten.

  “Oh, right,” he returned, and stooped to insert the fresh pack.

  “Dimwit,” Rook scolded him as she roared off, going to Battle Armor mode a moment later. Rand followed her up and through to reconfiguration, and the two of them streaked off to assist Lancer, who was going head to head with two Invid Troopers.

  Lancer had coaxed the Troopers to the ground and was executing leaps to avoid pincer swipes. Frustrated now, one of the creatures was ready to bring its shoulder cannons into play.

  Lancer stepped back when he saw the muzzles begin to glow; Rook and Rand had set down behind him, and the three of them felt the blast of the first charge.

  “Let’s not push our luck until the Alpha arrives,” Lancer said over the Cyclone’s tactical net.

  The two Troopers took to the air, then swooped down for strafing runs. But Rand had tailed one of them and opened fire with his arm-blaster before the Invid could fire. The Trooper took a shot to the sensor-eye and went down, leaking a thick green fluid.

  Rook took out a second creature; Lancer dispatched a third that was giving Rand a hard time, bringing the odds more to everyone’s liking by the time Scott got the Veritech up.

  The two remaining Troopers kept to the ground, dishing out annihilation discs against the incoming Alpha, but Scott flew undaunted into the fire, loosing the VT’s own brand of vengeful energy. With a last-minute leap, one of the Invid narrowly escaped the Alpha’s angry red-tipped missiles, but the second stood
its ground and suffered for it.

  Scott continued his power dive against the fifth and final Invid now; it had put down again, emptying its upturned cannons against him. Scott dropped through the annihilation discs like some sort of slalom flyer, getting off one shot before pulling out of his dive. But that one connected, impacting the Trooper’s midsection and splitting it in half.

  Scott banked hard at the top of his climb and fell away toward Norristown and the enormous buttes which overshadowed the city. Down below he could discern a long line of police vehicles speeding from the city toward the team’s somewhat ravaged forest clearing.

  Hearing Scott’s warning over the tac net, Rand, Rook, and Lancer landed their mecha and reconfigured to Cyclone mode. Annie and Lunk were running around gathering up late-arrival balloonloads of Protoculture canisters. They took to the police van at Scott’s amplified insistence and sped off following the Cyclones’ lead, the setting sun huge and blood-red at their backs.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  Rook’s hometown [Trenchtown, formerly Cavern City] typified an offbeat trend in city planning that was popular between the [First and Second Robotech] Wars. This plan, called the Obscuro Movement, was formed as a reaction to threats of invasion, real and imaginary, by Zentraedi, Tirolian Masters, Invid, or any of a number of self-styled conquerors and terrestrial invaders. Cities were constructed in the most unlikely places—on the tops of mesas, the bottom of ravines, the heart of darkness—anywhere deemed unassailable by founders and would-be leaders.

  “Southlands,” History of the Third Robotech War, Vol. XXII

  Rand’s journal picks up the story:

  “We had a good enough jump on Norristown’s police force to lose them without too much hassle. But just to make sure, Scott saw to it that our escape route was wiped out behind us with a few well-placed missiles from the Alpha. Chances are that most of the vans turned tail as soon as they caught sight of the Veritech anyway. We could only guess what the Invid decided to extract in the way of retribution; at the very least some heads were going to roll.