Doomsday: The Macross Saga

by Jack McKinney

  Gloval began to run through the file, uttering sounds of interest and surprise.

  Max, Lisa, and Rick exchanged glances.

  “What’s he got there?” Sterling whispered.

  “Lang’s medical profiles on the aliens,” Lisa returned.

  The colonels were halfway out of their chairs peering at the file. “Well, what is it, Captain?” Maistroff asked at last.

  Gloval passed him the file. “I had the laboratory analyze the aliens’ cell structure. You may find this intriguing. As a matter of fact, I’m certain you will.”

  Save for the sound of pages being turned, the room was silent while Maistroff and Caruthers read. Ultimately the file began to shake in the colonel’s hands.

  “It’s incredible! Why, their blood types and genetic structures are virtually identical to ours! We’re effectively the same beings!”

  This seemed to shock the three Zentraedi as much as anyone else in the room.

  “I expected something like this,” Lisa remarked.

  “You could be right, Commander,” said Max. “We might have a common ancestor race, after all.”

  “Well now, it seems to me that we can no longer treat these, ah, people as aliens. I believe we’re safe in proceeding with this case as we would with any other request for political asylum.”

  “Hold on a minute, Gloval,” Maistroff protested. “First of all, I don’t think that the results of one lab test should influence the decisions of this council. As far as I’m concerned, Lang’s evidence is inconclusive. Lord knows the man has reason enough to want to keep these three aboard. But that’s beside the point. And so what if we are of similar genetic background? These men—and I use the term advisedly—are the enemies of this ship and all aboard her. I move for imprisonment until such time as their true purpose for being here can be ascertained.”

  Gloval listened closely, nodding his head, then said, “And as captain of this vessel, I say we grant these gentlemen political asylum.”

  The three Zentraedi were on their feet hugging each other even before the last word left the captain’s mouth. Rick, Lisa, and Max risked guarded smiles. But Maistroff was enraged, standing at his chair and pounding the desk with his fist.

  “We can’t make a decision as important as this without first consulting the United Earth Defense Council!”

  “You better hear him, Captain” Caruthers was saying.

  “I accept the responsibility,” Gloval answered them firmly.

  Red-faced, Maistroff swallowed whatever it was he was going to say. He motioned to Caruthers that they should leave, but at the door he turned and promised: “You haven’t heard the end of this, Gloval.”

  “Captain,” Lisa said after a moment.

  Gloval acknowledged her.

  “We’re going to have trouble with them. They won’t let it go at this. They’ll make contact with Earth HQ and try to get your decision overturned.”

  Gloval turned a weary face to all of them. “We are forced to take extraordinary measures. If the Earth Council wishes to continue denying the facts, then so be it. But aboard this ship I will decide. Let them doom themselves if they wish, but they will no longer sit in judgment of our fate.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  “Rick, I’m going out of my head,” [Max Sterling] would say to me. “I’ve been searching the city since I saw her at the premiere, and no one seems to know her or know where she lives. I mean, how can that be? I thought everybody knew everybody in Macross! I swear I’m in love with her; I’m going to ask her to marry me if I ever see her again!” … And I remember saying to him, “Sterling, you’re going to marry a girl with green hair?” It was a foolish enough remark given the fact that Max had worn a blue tint in his hair ever since I’d known him, but an absolute riot considering who Miriya turned out to be!

  The Collected Journals of Admiral Rick Hunter

  Quadrono ace Miriya Parino did a double take as the Micronian work crew passed her on Macross Boulevard. It wasn’t the big smile on the foreman’s face that caught her attention—she was used to those appraising looks by now—but the equally silly faces of a group of stragglers who seemed to have attached themselves to this particular crew. This whistling happy-go-lucky subgroup of males—there must have been ten of them—carried their shovels and crude digging implements as if they were sacred relics, and the ear-to-ear grins they wore (not directed toward Miriya, in any case) appeared to radiate from some newfound inner sense of wonder and exuberance. This in itself was not uncommon among the Micronians, even in the midst of all the present devastation, but there was something about the posturing and enthusiasm that led Miriya to believe things were not entirely as they seemed.

  She began to follow them along a course that wound its way through the devastated city streets, across planks that spanned battle-created craters, through the burned-out hulks of houses and buildings, around carefully organized and sorted piles of debris and the slag-heap remains of ruined mecha, and finally into the heavily damaged amphitheater, where the workers began an assault on the rubble. Assisted by massive Robotech droids and processors, the men and women threw themselves into the task with an unmatched display of discipline and commitment. The stragglers were no exception to this. But as Miriya moved in for a closer look, she recognized one of them: It was Karita—the Zentraedi officer assigned to the sizing chambers aboard Commander Breetai’s flagship! Even those finely tailored Micronian trousers and that cardigan sweater could not disguise him.

  As Miriya began to look around, she recognized several others from Breetai’s ship and instantly realized what was going on. She had to congratulate the Commander on a brilliant plan. Obviously the Zentraedi attack against the population center was more in the way of a diversionary action. The actual purpose of the raid was to see to it that a sizable contingent of micronized agents was inserted into the dimensional fortress. Their mission was to infiltrate the work crews and attain firsthand knowledge of the Protocultural process that enabled the Micronians to effect repairs to their damaged Robotechnological devices—information long withheld from the Zentraedi by their Robotech Masters but something Zor would have wanted them to possess.

  Miriya was content, she would be able to return to her own mission without having to concern herself with the progress of the war. Breetai was doing his part, Miriya, hers.

  She left the amphitheater, pushing her way through throngs of busy Micronians, deliberately stepping between male-female couples whenever she had the opportunity.

  Miriya was on her way to one of the fighter pilots’ training centers—at least that was what she reasoned it to be. VIDEO ARCADE, she read above the doorway. Whatever that meant. Inside were two floors of electronic fighter-training devices for young Micronians. It was no wonder the so-called VT pilots were so adept at handling their mecha; they were trained from infancy to fly and fight. Several of the training devices were even designed to perpetuate archaic hand-to-hand combat techniques. Miriya had become fascinated by one of these in particular, a device called “Knife-Fight.” It was possible that when the time came for Miriya to face off with her Micronian archenemy, there would be no battle mecha available. She therefore planned to prepare herself for any and all eventualities.

  * * *

  “What are you looking at, Rick?”

  “That girl,” he started to say.

  “She was pretty rude if you ask me, pushing between us like that when she could just as easily have stepped to the side.”

  “Yeah, but that green hair …”

  “You find that attractive?”

  “No … no, of course not, Lisa. It’s just that Max has been looking all over for some green-haired girl, and that might be her.”

  “Tell Max she’s rude.”

  “Yeah, sure, but did you see where she went?”

  “I really wasn’t looking, Rick.”

  “Must’ve turned off into one of those stores, maybe the arcade.”

  “Do you
want to stop and look for her or what?”

  “Huh? No, no way. I’ll just let Max know that I saw her.”

  “You do that.”

  They were on a walking tour of the damage; no particular place to go. People were scrambling around getting things done, taking care of business, fixing this and that. “Public works,” one of Rick’s more cynical VT friends had said, “keeps their minds off the war.”

  “Is it like this all over?” Lisa asked, wanting to change the subject.

  Rick nodded. “Nearly every part of the city was damaged in the attack.”

  “I wonder what the casualty figures will be like.”

  “I don’t know,” said Rick. And he didn’t want to know.

  Eventually their wanderings brought them around to the White Dragon. (Let Rick have the lead and you always seem to end up here, Lisa told herself.) The building itself looked untouched, but an overturned delivery van was still smoldering in the street. There were enormous breaches in the overhead tier in this section—jagged holes and lightning fissures. Uncle Max and his wife Lena, Macross City’s oddest couple, were just exiting from the hexagonally shaped doorway. Rick called out to them and broke into a run.

  “Rick!” said Max. “What in the world are you doing here? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but what about you? Where are you two off to?”

  “We’ve been worried sick about Kyle and Minmei,” said Aunt Lena. “We heard that the Star Bowl was practically destroyed, and I just can’t stand waiting around here any longer, praying they’ll show up.”

  Max took his wife’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “They’re at the hospital,” Rick told them. “But there’s no need to worry; they’re both fine.”

  “Oh, thank God!” said Lena.

  “Kyle is bruised up, but Minmei just went along to hold, ah, look after him, see that he was all right.”

  “Do you think we’d be allowed to see them, Rick?”

  “It’s a bit of a mess over there right now,” said Lisa. “But they’ll let you through, I’m certain of it.”

  Rick suggested that they give it a try and spontaneously volunteered to keep an eye on the restaurant during their absence. Lisa agreed to help, and Rick’s surrogate family hurried off.

  Inside, they had their work cut out for them. Large portions of water-damaged gypsum board had collapsed from the ceiling; water dripped from a broken overhead pipe. Tables and chairs were overturned; pictures had fallen from the walls; the remains of dishes and glassware shaken from cabinets littered the floor. On every horizontal surface from the smallest ledge to the only still-standing table was a gritty black coating of resinous ash. Ultimately the entire place was going to need a couple of coats of paint, but until then they could at least take care of the custodial chores—cleaning, sweeping, scrubbing.

  Rick opted for the shovel and broom detail while Lisa attacked the tables and chairs with a detergent fluid. Rick noticed that she hummed to herself while she worked. It brought a smile to his face each time she stepped from behind that commander’s mask. Here she was being domestic … Here he was being domestic! And he actually felt good, just losing himself in the mindlessness of it and seeing immediate results for a change. There was a beginning and an end to this task.

  Two hours later the mess had been cleared, the tables and chairs uprighted.

  “You know what would be good right now, Rick? A cup of fresh tea. I’ll do the honors.”

  Rick said, “Be my guest,” and walked over to straighten one last picture. It was a framed photo of Minmei taken over a year earlier, sometime after the Miss Macross pageant. He reached out a gloved hand and tipped it back to vertical, the harsh memory of that stage kiss replaying itself as he did so, a continuous loop that time and endless viewing had yet to erase. It’s over now, he was saying to himself when Lisa entered from the kitchen with two cups.

  I’ve lost her to stage, screen, Kyle, and now to the enemy!

  “Don’t burn yourself,” she warned him.

  They sat at one of the tables overlooking the street. Work crews had moved into the area to cart off debris and undertake floor-by-floor searches of each building. Lisa watched a group of strange-looking men busy themselves clearing rubble as she sipped her tea. They seemed downright enthusiastic, and it got her to thinking.

  “You know, Rick, these simple activities don’t mean much to us, but to the Zentraedi our everyday, humdrum world must seem wonderful by comparison. It doesn’t surprise me at all that Rico and those other two decided to defect. Sometimes I think I’d like to desert. Just forget about the military and get myself back to basics.” She laughed to herself. “Get myself back. Listen to me. I’ve never even been there.”

  “Are you thinking about the Zentraedi or Kyle?” Rick asked smugly.

  She grinned wryly. “It’s a pipe dream, and I know it. I’m Ms. Military, and he hates the military. Great way to begin a relationship, right? But it’s true that I’ve been nursing some doubts since I met him. He’s a ghost who’s come back to haunt me. Everything about him: his looks, all his antiwar speeches. I keep seeing Karl. And it doesn’t help any when we’ve got to hear Maistroff and Caruthers expressing the same old … you know what I’m talking about.”

  “So much for playing it by the book, huh?”

  “Who knows? And as for Lynn-Kyle, he doesn’t know I exist. I’ve got two strikes against me: this uniform and Minmei.” She saw Rick’s face grow long and apologized.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it …”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Rick turned his face away. “I’m angrier at myself than I am with her. I mean, how could I have been so sure that we shared something when as far as she was concerned we were just friends? Someday you’ll have to get me drunk and I’ll tell you all about our wonderful two weeks together in the basement of this ship.”

  “I’m a good listener, Rick. I’m not going to judge you or anything.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe some other time. I’m just sick of getting all twisted up by the whole thing. Let her stay with her cousin. Let her marry him for all I care. I just wanna have all this behind me for a change. It’s really bizarre, and that’s the long and short of it. Back on Earth I could at least move to another town or another country. But we’re all stuck on the ship for the duration, the whole nine yards. Just one big happy family of space wanderers.”

  He had tears in his eyes when he looked at Lisa again, but his voice was self-mocking. “This was probably how it was at the beginning, a few thousand hominids running around the Serengeti and every one of them in love with the wrong person.”

  Lisa laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I think you’re writing yourself off too soon, Rick. Maybe it’ll just take time. Have you ever actually told her how you feel?”

  Rick shrugged. “My actions speak for me.”

  “Not enough. Sometimes it’s just not enough. You have to tell her. Otherwise, she’s in the dark and Kyle will take her away. Of course, you’ll get to hold on to your regrets and your self-pity …”

  Lisa recalled Claudia telling her as much.

  “Is that what I’m doing? Is that how you really see it?” His watery eyes were locked on hers, searching.

  She exhaled slowly.

  And a warning siren went off outside.

  “Another attack!” said Lisa, jumping up from the table. “You better get back to the base! I’ll lock up in here and meet you at the rail line!”

  “Don’t take too long,” he told her from the doorway. “Sammie can’t handle your station!”

  “Be careful!” she called after him, but he was already gone.

  “Enemy battle mecha,” said Claudia Grant. “Course heading zero-zero-niner, Third Quadrant. Looks like the same group to me, Captain.”

  Gloval agreed with her assessment after studying the readout. The same two dozen Zentraedi pods and fighters had appeared on the threat board a
fter the attack on Macross, moving erratically from quadrant to quadrant, half the time in pursuit of the fortress and at other times speeding from it. There was reason to believe that these were the very ships that had escaped from the fortress after the CD forces had gained the upper hand. Perhaps, Gloval now speculated, under the command of this apparently crazed Zentraedi officer named Khyron, whom the three defectors had mentioned over and over, sometimes referring to him as “the Backstabber.” Rico had actually credited him with more Battlepod kills than the combined total of the Defense Forces.

  “Skull Team is up and away, Captain,” Gloval heard Sammie report from Lisa’s station. He noticed that her foot was tapping nervously. “Kirkland,” she continued, “prepare to supply cover. They’ll be coming about on your right flank.”

  “Left flank,” Claudia corrected her. “Their cat’s away from Prometheus.”

  “Uh, scratch that, Kirkland. Look for Delta on your left flank. Indigo, your signal is ‘buster.’ Return to base immediately. Uh, uh … Damn it! Where is Commander Hayes? I’m going crazy—”

  “Right behind you, Sammie,” Lisa said breathlessly. She turned a quick salute to the captain: “Sorry I was delayed, sir.”

  “It’s all yours,” Sammie said, stepping aside.

  “Estimate five minutes to contact,” said Vanessa.

  Gloval glanced over at the board. The Zentraedi warships were still holding at their postattack coordinates. What could this small contingent of pods have in mind?

  “Looks like a kamikaze run,” said Claudia. “They should know better than that by now.”

  Lisa turned to her. “Judging from what the defectors had to say, I wouldn’t put it past them to try anything from now on.” She raised Skull Leader on the net. “Bandits will be in your face in three minutes, Lieutenant.”

  “Roger,” Rick answered her. “I show them on wide beam.”

  “Try telling them to go home, Lieutenant Hunter.”

  Rick’s laugh came through the speaker, followed by a loud and seemingly sincere, “Go home!”