Corg’s optical sensor showed him another ocean craft, a bigger one, docked at a quay under a sheltering boatyard roof. Corg dove toward it, with the Pincer Ships and, eventually, Sera falling in behind.
Scott watched as they neared the island.
Lancer charged into the clearing where the VTs were being readied for flight. “I just found out—something horrible,” he panted.
Rand was armored, helmet in hands. “What is it? We just sprang the trap!”
“The repairs are all finished and it’s time to scramble,” Rook added. “What’s the problem now?”
Lancer gave them a devastated look. “I just found out that the Invid are using Human pilots!”
Scott sat behind the controls of the cutter’s main gun battery, in the forward turret. The pumped-laser cannon was outmoded by Mars Division standards, but it still delivered a terrific shot.
Corg and Sera, dodging the cannon blasts, homed in on the cutter like angry dragonflies. Scott had already shot down one Pincer Ship, but these new mecha were frustratingly fast and maneuverable. Their annihilation disc shots chopped up the water and the quay around the cutter, and Scott clenched his teeth. C’mon Rand! Rook, Lancer! Don’t let me down!
Then the VTs were on the scene, closing in on the oncoming Invid, both sides pitching with all the firepower they had. The new-style mecha dodged, but two more Pincer Ships went down. The aliens broke and evaded, scattering to re-form and change their tactics.
Scott knew they would be back shortly though. He pulled himself from the turret as Annie, Marlene, and Lunk hurried over. Lunk tossed his tool cases in the direction of the little stern chopper pad, where his trusty truck was hidden—covered with a tarp in preparation for the voyage.
Scott assured Annie that he was all right and Lunk apologized for the repairs’ having taken longer than he expected. Scott gave the big ex-soldier’s shoulder a squeeze. “Save your breath; you worked miracles for us, Lunk.”
As per plan, Lunk assumed command of the cutter while Scott ran off to get his VT into the air. Just as Annie and Marlene were preparing to help free up the berthing lines, a growling in the air made Lunk look out to sea.
The Pincer Ship Scott had winged, its portside claw missing, trailing smoke and fire, had come around for a suicide run. It was aimed straight for the cutter.
Lunk sent Marlene and Annie to seek shelter, then dove into the forward gun turret and began pounding away at the alien with the pumped-laser cannon. Because the Pincer Ship’s aerodynamics had been changed by the damage it had suffered, it bucked and was buffeted by the air, evading Lunk’s fire more effectively than it could have if it had been whole.
The alien filled his targetting scope. A moment later the world went dark.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
By this time, the Mars and Venus Divisions should be well engaged in their battle with the Invid, and building toward the final blow at Reflex Point.
Air and ground forces of the Human race, we salute you and send you our best wishes! We know that, in your overwhelming numbers, and with the undeniable power of Human Robotechnology behind you, you will triumph!
Morale twix from Colonel Ackerman (G1 staff—SDF-3) to Earth relief strikeforce (never received)
So far the three VTs were winning the air battle. Pincer Ships were no match for VTs in one-on-one dogfights. But the new enemy mecha had been hanging back, studying their opponents; Rand wasn’t sure what would happen if they decided to jump in with both feet and a roundhouse swing.
Lancer had taken the Beta up. The purple-and-pink monster machine he had seen on the island came up fast and its back pods gushed forth a torrent of missiles. Lancer went into a ballistic climb, cutting in all his jamming gear, side-slipping, and weaving. Warheads detonated behind him and missiles fizzled past in near misses.
Then Annie’s voice came up over the tac net. “Lancer! Come in!”
“I’m right here, Annie. What’s up?”
“I can’t raise Scott. We’re on the ship and we’re in trouble. Lunk’s been hit!”
“Annie, this is Scott. I just got to my Alpha; I heard your last transmission.”
“Scott, this is Lancer. Hook up our fighters and take the Beta. I’m taking over for Lunk.”
It only made sense; aside from Lunk, Lancer was the only one with any real experience at the helm of a large vessel. “I copy, Lancer. Meet you at the cutter.”
Seconds later, the Beta settled in on its blasts and lowered the bottom half of its cockpit like a dinosaur opening its mouth. As the pilot’s seat was lowered, Lancer yelled over the tac net to Scott, “It’s all yours, pal! Go get ’em!” Then he jumped to the ground and got clear.
The Beta shifted components slightly, preparing for interlock. Scott’s Alpha backed in at its nose, tailerons folding, and a complex joining took place in seconds, with a clanging of superhard alloy. The latched fighters formed a single ship that sprang away into the sky at incredible boost.
Lancer ran for the cutter.
Scott scattered the remaining Pincer Ships and the new enemy mecha, intimidating them with the combined fighters’ speed and the volume of fire they could spew. Corg and Sera broke in different directions, cautious, deciding to feel out their enemy’s strengths and weaknesses—if any.
“Follow me, you guys,” Scott radioed to his wing-mates. “We’ll try to lead them in front of the gunboat—in range for a knockout.” He cut in full thrust, rushing to catch up with Rand and Rook. Corg and the two surviving Pincer Ships climbed after, but Sera’s mecha poised in midair, as she listened to her computer and the Regess’ voice.
“Scanner confirms Human life-forms now aboard third flotation target mecha.” Far below, the cutter was under weigh, racing for the open sea.
Lunk eased his arm in its sling and grated his teeth against the agony of the burns and what he figured was probably a hairline fracture. There were painkiller ampules in the med supplies, but he wanted a clear head for battle.
“Sorry about getting you into this, Lancer.” He was crowded into the bridge with Marlene and Annie, all of them doing their best to give Lancer room to man the wheel.
Lancer, helmet cast aside, spared one gauntleted hand from the wheel for a moment, to give a blithe wave. “You did great, Lunk. The cutter’s still in one piece, isn’t she? I got no complaints.”
Indeed. The kamikaze Invid had taken a hit at the last instant and broken up in the water just in front of the cutter’s bow, showering it with flaming wreckage. A chunk of it had hit the optical pickup for the pumped-laser’s scope, blowing it up in Lunk’s face. A major piece had hit the turret, throwing the unbelted Lunk out of the gunner’s saddle and giving him some considerable lumps and burns—and damaging the main battery beyond repair.
Scott’s voice came over the net. “Lancer, Lunk! Heads up! We’re going to try to draw the enemy down to you!”
Lancer had barely gotten finished acknowledging and begun preparing for a make-or-break shootout, when something enormous blocked out the sky. Everyone on the bridge cringed, seeing the immense tower of Robotechnology that was Sera’s mecha. Lancer tried to reverse-all, hoping he wouldn’t blow every bearing in the power train or tear apart a propellor shaft.
It did no good; the alien advanced at what was for it a slow approach-speed, with something like a deliberate vindictiveness. Rather than fire, it drew back one titanic fist, bracing to put it right through the bridge. The freedom fighters could only steel themselves, and dread the impact.
In her cockpit, Sera made an animal snarling, her teeth locked, eyes like red coals of anger fixed on the cutter. So many Pincer drones had died! So many conflicting emotions had interfered with her devotion to her Queen-Mother, the Regess! Now it was time to thrust aside confusion and prosecute the war these Humans seemed determined to fight.
And breaking this toylike water-vessel to bits with her media’s hands, sending it and its crew to the bottom, was the ideal place to start.
&
nbsp; She drew back her mecha’s hand, wrapped in a fist the size of an oldtime tank. She could see, through her mecha’s eyes, the terrified looks on the faces of the Humans. Three of them dropped to the deck, the fourth clung to the wheel despite the swells set up by her machine’s back thrusters.
Sera drew a quick, almost whistling breath. The one at the wheel was him, the one with the purple hair who had made those strange, seductive, achingly beautiful sounds.
Her mecha answered her thought-images; it drew back, hanging there on thrusterfire. Although her mecha was nearly as big as the cutter itself and well able to break it to matchwood, it held back.
Lancer thought about the woman he had confronted in the quiet jungle clearing. Why doesn’t she shoot? Who is she, and what’s going through her mind? He was frozen at the wheel, waiting for the missile, the annihilation disc, the single blow of a mecha fist that would make four Human Beings into scraps of fishfood.
He wanted more than anything to run from the bridge and scream, Wait! I don’t want to be your enemy! I don’t want you to be mine!
Sera shrank back from the visual displays before her, eyes still fixed on the male with the purple hair, pressing the back of her hand harshly against her lips, whimpering, sobbing.
Rook’s voice came over the tac net. “Lancer, hang on! I’m almost in range!” Lunk’s eyes flickered to the target-acquisition displays and saw that there was no alternative; the cutter was helpless before this Invid.
Sera’s indecision gave way to conviction. She couldn’t harm the man.
All the rest was murky: whys and wherefores and what might happen next. She had failed her Regess, and yet something had been born in her that was herself, that was Sera, and not something that had been put there. It was frightening, and it was at the same time wonderful.
Her mecha was jolted by an Alpha energy volley. She looked and saw Rook diving at her like an angry hawk, going to Battloid. Sera whirled her mecha away, leaking fire and smoke, dodging further damage.
Rook hovered close, confronting her, whamming away with the Battloid’s fearsome rifle/cannon. Sera gathered herself and sprang away into the air faster than any rocket, unable to tell if she had won some personal victory or suffered a disastrous defeat—or both.
Lancer watched her go, his heart beating hard, pulse throbbing against the collar ring of his Robotech armor.
Scott’s voice crackled. “Lancer, we’re almost to you! Coming into range now! Get set!” Lancer glanced aside; target-acquisition displays had them.
“Ready Scott.” He could see the VTs and their Invid pursuers.
“Breaking on three! One, two—” Lancer clutched the remote firing grip, his finger curled just off the trigger. “Three!” Scott finished. “Fire!”
But Lancer had seen his three friends break away, and was already triggering. The cutter’s fore and aft launchers belched; racks of Tarpons emptied, and thick flights of Copperheads went up as well. “Firing!”
Two Copperheads broke in burning wrack across Corg’s mecha but were otherwise insignificant. But other missiles savaged the Pincers that had made it that far, and not a single personal-armor machine survived. Corg’s mecha closed its bulky, armored forearms around its cranium, protecting its pilot, while an inferno washed past it. Sera, soaring in to join her brother—unsure of what she would do—pulled clear, as the missiles drew instant lines of contrail across the sky.
Rand, Rook, and Scott stayed out of the demon’s brew of detonating warheads until there was quiet again. There was no sign of the enemy anywhere. They banked and headed for the cutter, which sailed along on an impossibly placid ocean, a Pacific unaware of the carnage that had ended seconds before.
Sera landed on a beach from which she could watch the cutter and its accompanying VTs dwindle from sight toward the horizon. Soon Corg landed, and the two skyscraper mecha stood shoulder to shoulder.
“Patrol escorts destroyed,” their computers told them in the Queen-Mother’s voice. “Abandon further pursuit. Do not risk loss of royal mecha at this time.”
Corg emerged from his upholstered nacelle. He was a sharp-featured, handsome young man with lean good looks and mysterious, oblique blue eyes. His shoulder-length hair was blue as well, lying flat and fine against his skull and lending itself to his cruel, ascetic look. He snarled at the escaping enemy, then looked to his twin’s mecha.
Sister, what possessed you?
Brother, I—I do not know.…
Lancer stood looking out over the fantail, as he had for so much of the voyage. Annie showed up in her usual ebullient mood, rejoicing that land had come into view. He said he would be along to the bridge in a moment. Annie gave him a dubious look, but then frolicked off, ecstatic with the idea of getting away from shipboard confinement.
He brushed the long lavender stands from his face, but the wind only fluttered them back there again.
Who is she? How did I lose a piece of myself so quickly?
“Hard to believe we’ve come such a long way in such a short time,” Rand said, breaking the long silence of the net. He looked over to where Rook cruised close, but she didn’t even glance aside at him or otherwise show that she had caught the implication.
Rand trimmed his Alpha. Where Rook was concerned, silence was a kind of a start.
• • •
Baja California gleamed ahead. The imperatives of history and the Vision that had moved Zor across the years and light-years were pulling together; their warp and woof were almost complete. What was to be, would be.
But that wasn’t how it felt to anyone on the team. If Corg and Sera were confused by Human emotions, the freedom fighters were at least dazed by them, each in his or her own way—arguably, they were disabled in some measure. But if emotions had been taken from them they would have fallen like scythed wheat, and the Third Robotech War would have ended right there and then.
As it had been ordained from the beginning, the deciding force in the Robotech Wars was something neither side would ever see or understand, but everyone involved had felt it.
And just over the horizon, a Phoenix waited to spread its wings.
To Tim and Sara Robson
and Gary Stiffler—
staunch Robotech defenders
SYMPHONY OF LIGHT
CHAPTER
ONE
I am intrigued by these beings and their strange rituals, which center around this plant their language calls “the Flower of Life.” This world, Optera, is a veritable garden for the plant in its myriad forms, and the Invid seem to utilize all these for physical as well as spiritual nutrition—they ingest the flower’s petals and the fruits of the mature crop, in addition to drinking the plant’s psychoactive sap. The Regess, the Queen-Mother of this race, is the key to unlocking Optera’s mysteries; and I have set myself the goal of possessing the key—if I have to seduce this queen to make that happen!
Zor’s log: The Optera Chronicles (translated by Dr. Emil Lang)
It was never Scott’s intention to make camp at the high pass; he had simply given his okay for a quick food stop—if only to put an end to all the grousing that was going on. Lunk’s stomach needed tending to, Annie was restless from too many hours in the APC, and even Lancer was complaining about the wind chill.
Oh, to be back in the tropics, Scott thought wistfully.
He had always been one for wastes and deserts—weathered landscapes, rugged, ravaged by time and the stuff of stars—but only because he knew of little else. Here he had been to the other side of the galaxy and remained the most parochial member of the team in spite of it. But since their brief stopover in the tropics, he had begun to understand why Earth was so revered by the crew of the Pioneer Mission, those same men and women who had raised him aboard the SDF-3 and watched him grow to manhood on Tirol. In the tropics he had had a glimpse of the Earth they must have been remembering: the life-affirming warmth of its yellow sun, the splendor of its verdant forests, the sweetness of its air, and the miracle that was its won
drous ocean.
Even if Rand had insisted that they try that swimming!
Scott would have almost been willing to trade victory itself for another view of sunset from that Pacific isle …
Instead, he was surrounded by water in the forms more familiar to him: ice and snow. The thrill the team had experienced on reaching the Northlands and realizing that Reflex Point was actually within reach had been somewhat dampened by the formidable range of mountains they soon faced. But Scott was determined to make this as rapid a crossing as was humanly possible. Unfortunately, the humanly possible part of it called for unscheduled stops. It was Lunk’s APC that was slowing them down, but there was that old one about a chain being only as strong as its weakest link.
The land vehicles were approaching the summit of the mountain highway now. Rook and Lancer, riding Cyclones, were escorting the truck along the mostly ruined switchback road that led to the pass. The ridgeline above was buried under several feet of fresh snow, but the vehicles were making good progress on the long grade nonetheless.
Scott was overhead in the Beta, with Rand just off the fighter’s wingtip. Short on fuel canisters, they had been forced to leave Rook’s red Alpha behind, concealed in the remains of a school gymnasium building in the valley. Scott planned to retrieve it just as soon as they located a Protoculture supply rife for pilfering. Down below, Annie and Marlene were waving up at the VTs from the back seat of the APC; Scott went on the mecha’s tac net to inform Lunk that a rest stop was probably in order.
The two Robotech fighters banked away from the mountain face to search out a suitable spot, and within minutes they were reconfiguring to Guardian mode and using their foot thrusters to warm a reasonably flat area of cirque above the road and just shy of the saddle. By the time they put down, the sun had already dropped below one of the peaks, but the temperature was still almost preternaturally warm. The weather was balmy enough for the two pilots to romp around in their duo-therm suits, especially with the added luxury of residual heat from the snow-cleared moraine. There was a strong breeze rippling over the top of the col, but it carried with it the scent of the desert beyond.
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