Invid Invasion: The New Generation

by Jack McKinney

  “Those fair, fine brows of hers came together. ‘What are you saying?’

  “ ‘We could hop on our bikes and hit the highway again! You and I could get married, have us a coupla spare wheels—’

  “It will, by now, be obvious to the knowledgeable reader that in spite of all the boasting I had done, I really didn’t know much about women. Rook was giving me a glare that made me wonder if I should go get myself fumigated.

  “But all at once she turned and started twirling a wisp of her forelock around one finger looking at it kind of cross-eyed. ‘You’ve completely missed my point, Rand. The point was to pull out together so we could find more people and bring them back. Get me?’

  “ ‘I thought the point was to hit the road together because you feel the same way about me that I feel about you,’ I opened up. ‘We’d be perfect together. I’d follow you anywhere in the world. You know that.’

  “ ‘Have you completely lost your mind?’

  “ ‘Huh-uh. I’ve completely lost my heart.’ God, what else did she want me to say? And so, of course, because (I’m pretty sure) I had made my point, she just—jumped to her feet! She just broke off the conversation! With that one move, she was calling the tune again.

  “So I got up, too, and put my arm around her shoulders, not at all certain that she wouldn’t flip me down over the third rail. But she stamped one foot and pushed my arm away and scolded me instead. ‘The point of this deal is to save our friends’ lives, not to establish a relationship. If, if you’re willing to accept that, then I’m still game.’

  “ ‘Since you put it that way, I can hardly refuse, can I?’

  “She chuckled softly, that throaty laugh that made me wish so much that we could be together. ‘Boy, will Scott be mad,’ she added.

  “She laughed some more and it made me laugh, but really I was thinking the whole time what it would be like to hold her in my arms and have her embrace me instead of pushing me away. It made my head swim and I kind of forgot what we were supposed to be laughing about.

  “Scott didn’t think our dropping out was so funny, of course. We kept citing burnout and the need for more troops, without touching on the Lunk matter, and poor Lunk just stood there looking hangdog and miserable. Scott was hampered by the fact that, after all, none of us had ever signed an enlistment paper or sworn an oath of loyalty.

  “Marlene was just puzzled, but I think Lancer wasn’t fooled for a moment. Still, he kept his peace, for the most part, especially when I told them I had thought of a way that we might get out of that sepulcher. They heard me out, disliked my brainstorm, but gave in to it anyway.

  “It didn’t take long and it wasn’t too sophisticated. We fastened our last spare Protoculture cells behind a kind of wedge we put on a length of rail that we cut loose with H90’s. Scott mounted the wedge on a derelict subway car using his Cyc armor’s strength. The rest was pretty obvious.

  “Scott had yanked Lunk’s truck loose and even straightened out most of the damage, with his powered armor. Everybody understood that there was a chance that we would bring the whole place down on our heads, but the air was starting to get thin, or so it felt, and we had all had enough of being buried alive; there were no objections.

  “Lunk was calm again. He got the cells, primed them, and lashed them in place, steady, proficient—almost cheerful. The rest of us got into our armor, while Marlene and Lunk got to cover. Scott and Lancer stood ready to fire in case Invid came swarming through the hole we were hoping we would make.

  “The car’s motor was long dead, of course. But Rook and I started heaving and pushing against the back. The powered armor got that crate moving in no time, rusted parts freeing up with banshee shrieks. Then we hit our jets and the car was rocketing forward, faster than it ever traveled on the Urban Transmit System, I bet.

  “We couldn’t see, of course, because we had our shoulders to the wheel, but Scott told me later that the rail and the canisters of Protoculture just seemed to go into the rubble like an icepick. Lunk had mounted the cells just right, so that when they were several yards in, they went off like shaped charges.

  “I never found out how Lunk rigged those cells, but suddenly there was a gap in the cave-in and the car was in it.

  “The explosion rocked the car back and knocked Rook and me right on our butts, powered armor or no. We pushed the car off again with our feet, to keep the way clear.

  “It turned out that Lunk had had the presence of mind to rig earplugs for himself and Marlene; none of us armored types had thought of it.

  “Even before we could get up, Scott was scrambling into the car, running to the forward end with armor-heavy steps that shook it. Lancer was about a half a high hurdle behind him. I thought they were being alarmist. But as I was getting a hand up from Rook I heard Scott yell over the tac net, ‘Invid!’

  “Apparently, a few personal-armor mecha had been hovering out there, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe they had been afraid to start digging because it might bring down the roof on themselves; maybe they had some sort of time frame, so that if we didn’t dig ourselves out by its elapse we would be written off as dead. We’ll never know.

  “Scott and Lancer got in the first eight or ten shots and some missile hits, and that set the stage for a rub-out. Rook and I followed as fast as we could, but there really wasn’t much to do but mop up.

  “The next part’s a little anticlimactic; we had to wait a bit for the tunnel to cool off from the heat of the firefight and the Pincer Ships’ thrusters, but clearing a way with the powered armor was a cinch. In less than an hour, we were back on the surface, with no sign of any patrols and no hint of that big-bruiser enemy mecha.

  “We took off our armor. I kept starting to put my arm around Rook’s shoulders when she was looking the other way, and then deciding that she would take offense, then starting to edge my arm up again—then pulling it back, hoping nobody had noticed. I probably looked fairly spastic.

  “Here’s where it gets surprising again: When we finally trudged back to where we had left the VTs, Annie was standing there.

  “She was wearing her olive-drab army surplus, that pink rucksack, and an E.T. cap just like the one she had lost in the fortress—a spare, it wouldn’t surprise me. She was sort of moping around, but when she saw us her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “After some reunion time, we got the story out of her—or at least, her version. ‘Can you picture me as a jungle princess? They expected me to gather fruit and nuts and stand in the background while the men held council! So I said so-long! Dumb, hmm?’

  “I suspected that there was probably also the problem that the tribe wouldn’t rename itself in her honor. And that Magruder expected certain matrimonial accomodations. Annie was a lot like me: talked a better fight, in certain arenas, than she could deliver.

  “It was pouring down rain by then and we were all standing under the Beta, which had been hidden in a parking garage. I had to interrupt Annie. I told her—and everyone else—that Rook and I were pulling out because we couldn’t hack it anymore. Rook watched me and didn’t say a word. Annie was shattered, poor kid, but then Rook spoke to back me up.

  “Marlene said she would stay with Scott, and that seemed only as it should be. Lunk was in for the whole nine yards, as the ancients put it, to Reflex Point. To prove himself, he said. (Though I thought that was the wrong reason to go on a mission like that, I kept my mouth shut. I guess all motives and ideals were at least a little tainted, by then.)

  “The way it turned out was just Rook and me riding away into a curtain of icy rain, while the others prepared to go on without us. Annie was crying her heart out on Lunk’s shoulder. The farewells had hurt a lot more than they had helped.

  “Some brilliant plan, Rand!

  “Rook was tearing along way too fast for weather and road conditions, and almost slammed me with her Cyc when I mentioned it. So we rode on, with all of it eating at us and no possibility of talking it out.

  “A
nd we were thinking the same thing: The team was going to carry on the mission. Dropouts, losses, setbacks—none of that mattered. Something greater than themselves had taken hold of them.

  “The last straw was when Scott and Lancer cruised slowly overhead in VTOL mode, a slow flyby and solemn salute. Suddenly my adored Rook wasn’t there anymore; she had made a bandit turn on the slick street, risking her neck, and was charging back the way she had come. Back to greet Lunk and Annie; back to board the Alpha she had left behind.

  “I turned more slowly; I just didn’t feel like talking to anybody for a while. I was going to have to get Scott to land, because he had my Beta mated to his Alpha.

  “I watched Rook speed through the rain like a Valkyrie on two wheels, a War Stormqueen. I didn’t want to talk over the tac net or hear the brave words. I was staying because Rook had stayed; I would have left if she had left.

  “Something greater than myself had taken hold of me.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  I suppose it’s not a secret by now, though it was a long time till Pop knew it. When the team members complained about what bothered them the most, Rand agonized over how the books and films and tapes were dying—how Human history was passing away. And I guess sometimes he admitted he was trying to be a one-man databank/preservation society.

  A lot of things happened after that, but if you want my opinion, that’s when Mom fell in love for the first and the last time.

  Naturally she didn’t tell him right away.

  Maria Bartley-Rand, Flower of Life: Journey Beyond Protoculture

  The evolution wasn’t finished. It was just beginning.

  The time had come for a form beyond that of the Enforcer. It was time for a new category of mecha—a new evolutionary step.

  In the Hive Center at Reflex Point, the Regess looked down on two Enforcers. One was the one that had failed to eliminate the freedom fighters; the other had been quickened less than a week earlier. These two were the most intelligent, capable and adaptable of the Regess’ children.

  “You have been summoned here to assume your rightful place in the new order of our society,” she told them. “First you must undergo transformation to the life form most suitable to this planet. Prepare for bio-reconstruction!”

  Jagged nets of energy whirled out from the huge globe in the center of the dome, to ensnare the two Enforcers and etch them in light. They writhed as if in torment, then froze like statues. In moments, the mecha had been stripped away, dissolved to particles. In the midst of the Protoculture fires two figures, in fetal tuck, floated—the forms of two fully developed Humans—a male and a female.

  “My children, you now share a part of my own genetic code. You are a prince and princess of our race, and shall be known hereafter as Corg and Sera.”

  The Regess appeared again in her almost-physical manifestation, the swirling barber-pole stripes of energy spiralling up and down around her. The Regess poured forth a purity of Protoculture power on a scale that only an Invid monarch was capable of ordaining or controlling. In moments, new mecha formed around the floating twins, Corg and Sera.

  “We must soon begin the mass transformation of our people to the Human life form,” the Regess went on, “the form in which I have conceived you. The most advanced and flexible configuration for survival on this planet—this world to which the Flower of Life has led us.”

  Two mecha stood side by side now, bigger than Enforcers. They were more humanlike in form than any of the other alien war machines. They looked like the powered armor the Zentraedi had used long ago, but they were larger. The upper torsos were heavy with weapon pods and power nacelles, so that the things gave a strange appearance of buxomness. The head area was quite small, sunk between massively armed and powered shoulders and immensely strong arms.

  The mecha of Corg, who had so recently harried the freedom fighters in their underground escape, was drab gray-green, with highlights in an orange-tan color. Sera’s mecha was purple, with trim of dark pink. The great Robotech digits worked and tested themselves; the Prince and Princess of the Invid had risen above the claw, the pincer.

  “However,” the Regess told them, “there may be hidden dangers in this physical form. An earlier experiment with Human reconstruction appears to be malfunctioning. Our spy, Ariel, whom the Humans call Marlene, has failed to establish communications with me. You must seek out Ariel and determine the cause of her disfunction, before we commit our race to a complete metamorphosis. You must prepare the way for the final phase of our domination of this planet! Go now, and prove yourselves worthy of your heritage!”

  As the morning sun rose, the team stood on a cliff looking out at the Pacific. Scott was calculating the variables and the absolutes involved in a run for Baja California, but the others were just enjoying themselves. They were watching the crashing waves and the plaintive gulls, and enjoying the sight of the blue water and the broad beach.

  From here on, according to fragmentary reports, the Invid watchposts and strongholds grew thicker and thicker. In order to avoid them, a sea-cruise seemed the only hope. The mecha were low on Protoculture again, and the ordnance was practically gone. But they had made it to the sea.

  From here, anything was possible. Scott was thinking along the lines of a low, slow swing out over the ocean by night, leaving Lunk’s truck and most of their other baggage behind—perhaps even abandoning one of the VTs.

  That was when Annie pointed to her discovery. The team just stood there staring, while Annie asked them what in the world it was. Lancer answered.

  “Abandoned Southern Cross base, Annie. Combination Navy Division/Jungle Forces installation, I’d say.”

  The place was a cluster of piers, radio towers, hangars, domes and quonset huts, barracks and operations center structures. Everything was decayed and overgrown with jungle plant life, and several of the roofs had collapsed. It was nothing new to the team; a gleaming town in good repair would have surprised them, but this was just one more pocket of earthly decline.

  They were instantly thinking about food, weapons, maps, and charts, perhaps even equipment or a boat, in another second they were racing back to their mecha, eager to explore.

  • • •

  What pieces of mecha there were in the base were useless, but all other news was good. There was a fair amount of Protoculture, ordnance that was compatible with their VTs, sealed ration containers that had withstood the test of time, and a desalination plant that was still up to supplying a trickle of fresh water. But best of all, there were three boats.

  Two of the boats were missile PTs, heavily armed for their size and extremely quick and maneuverable. The third was a cutter mounting missiles and a large pumped-laser battery. Finding the boats confirmed Scott’s decision: The best way to make the run to Baja was by sea. It would save Protoculture and they would be able to stay below the Invid sky sensors. The VTs could take turns hitching a ride on the cutter, and the boats could carry a wealth of supplies and materiel.

  Whatever had made the Southern Cross troops abandon their base, it had left them time to put their boats and other equipment in mothballs before they went. In no time, the team was getting everything in working order again. Aerosol cans’ spray peeled off the sealant layers over the boats’ engines and a lot of the other gear; special treatments had kept the hulls free of barnacles’ and such growth. They were immune to rot, and as ready to go as when they had been laid down.

  Lancer, standing his turn at watch in the tower, a binocular raised to his eyes, couldn’t help but feel that chill he got whenever things were going a little too well. It wasn’t very many minutes later that he found himself staring through his binocular at a Shock Trooper whose optical sensor was looking right back at him.

  “What I figure is,” he was telling the others a minute later, “it’s not sure yet that there’s anything going on here. But I’d be shocked if the Invid don’t come looking around very soon. If we want the element of surprise, we’d bett
er get hopping.”

  Scott would have liked another two days to reconnoiter, double-check the boats from stem to stern, rest up, and perhaps even do a short sea-trial. But he didn’t even have two minutes.

  Lunk had some experience with a Resistance quick-boat outfit, and he was the logical one to take command of the missile cutter. He put out to sea with Annie and Marlene joining him on the bridge. The two PTs were towed by hawsers.

  The VTs lifted off to rendezvous with the tiny flotilla, but the minute they activated their Protoculture engines, Shock Troopers came shooting up out of the trees. Annihilation discs hatched infernos all around them.

  “This always happens, very time I go up!” Rand complained. “Don’t those guys have anything better to do?”

  The VTs went darting off on evasive maneuvers, the pilots punching up weapons and targeting displays. The Troopers folded their ladybug-shaped forearms close to them and blasted after the VTs, firing from their shoulder-mounted cannon. The fighters led the Invid on a long swing out to sea, to keep them away from the boats. The humans were breathing heavily from the g-forces, legs locked, stomach muscles tightened to keep the blood up in their heads where it was needed the most. The tac net sounded like a wrestling tournament.

  One Shock Trooper got a glancing hit at Rook’s ship. Rand heard her groan of pain over the tac net, and his heart went cold. He turned around, thumbed the trigger on his stick, and flamed a Shock Trooper that never even knew what hit it. A second Trooper broke off its pursuit, diving and sliding to avoid meeting a similar fate.

  “Serves ya right for fooling around with the big kids!” Rand cut in full military power and caught up with his teammates.

  Two more Troopers showed up but fell in with the surviving one, and turned back toward the coast. Invid patrol patterns were a little inflexible, Scott saw.

  Rand slid in until his wingtip was under Rook’s and nearly touching her fuselage. “Hey, Rook? Are you hurt?”