Doomsday: The Macross Saga

by Jack McKinney

  To paraphrase Robert Heilbroner, “These people bring lots of rigor to our cause, but alas, also mortis.”

  Betty Greer, Post-Feminism and the Robotech War

  Miriya was quick, too, nearly as quick as Max, and a clever knife fighter. She maneuvered the next sequence of cuts so that his route of evasion would be past the tree’s great roots, and sure enough, he stumbled and went down.

  She dove at him gleefully, the white throat open for her death cut. By all rights the duel was hers; it needed only the flick of a wrist to end Sterling’s life and expunge her shame. Nothing could explain her slight hesitation, she who had never hesitated before and had lost to no other foe. Nothing could explain it except the sudden vivid image of what he would look like when she killed him.

  Flat on his back, Max looked up at her. This was the powered-armor pilot he had fought to a standstill days before, first in a furious dogfight over the SDF-1, then in a toe-to-toe confrontation in the streets of Macross itself.

  He should have been afraid for his life. But all he could think of was the fact that, squaring off with Miriya’s mecha, he’d kept hearing Tex Ritter’s old song from High Noon, “Do Not Forsake Me, O My Darlin’,” echoing through his head. And now he just couldn’t help hearing that haunting line—

  on this, our weddin’ day-ayy …

  Miriya sprang at him; the blade cleaved the air, aimed at his heart. His body responded before he had time for coherent thought; he held up a flat disk of rock, and the knife point skidded from it, striking sparks, nearly taking two of his fingers off but missing by a hair’s breadth.

  The miss put her off balance; he worked a leg trip. As she rolled to get free and try for his life again, he catapulted toward the first knife, which was still buried in the tree.

  She was after him at once. To kill him before … before he could …

  “It’s no use!” she cried triumphantly, slashing at him. They maneuvered and feinted, the other knife’s haft only inches beyond Max’s reach. “You’re no match for me! Oh, you may be a great man, but what’s a man compared to a Zentraedi?”

  He faked her away from the tree, turned, and had the knife in his hand like magic, her belated cut only chipping bark.

  “Now, we’ll see.” He held the knife in a fencing grip, almost hesitantly. She went at him.

  Impossibly, they set aside any sane knife-fighting style to fence as if they held sabers. The knives struck scintillas of light from each other. Max had learned to fence in school and had sharpened his combat skills in the Robotech Defense Force; Miriya was a Zentraedi—she lived and breathed warfare.

  Amazingly, Max engaged her blade in a bind, whirling it around and around, whisking it from her grip. It flew high, landing yards away. The point buried itself in the ground, tantalizingly close and yet so far, too far.

  Max held the point of his knife close to her throat. She raised her chin proudly. “I guess I win again,” he said, yet there was something in his tone that made him sound unsure.

  It was the moment Miriya Parino, warlord of the Quadrono, had never thought she would face. And yet there was such a thing as dignity in defeat, such a thing as her warrior code. “I’ve lost to you.”

  This is a shame I cannot endure. She sank to her knees, pulling the scarf down and baring her throat. She waited for the cold kiss of the blade, hoping it would come soon to end her suffering. She couldn’t help it, but tears welled up in her eyes—not from fear or even anger but from impulses to which she could put no name.

  He was hesitating for some reason; she thought that perhaps he was going to show the cruelty a Zentraedi might in his position. She didn’t blame him and was bravely determined to endure whatever he might mete out, but she thought that perhaps he simply needed a word from her to acknowledge her defeat.

  “End my life.” She lowered her head; the long green tresses hung about her face. “Please. Do it now.”

  But what she felt wasn’t the final cold fire of the knife’s edge. His fingers were under her chin, lifting her face. “But I couldn’t! You’re so beautiful …”

  Suddenly everything was so unreal, so difficult for her to understand, that it came as only a minor shock to see that he had let the knife fall.

  Miriya looked up blissfully into a face that held confusion, wonder, and a certain something else she was only beginning to comprehend.

  She never felt herself come to her feet; perhaps she didn’t, and the zero-g, flying feeling was real. One final spasm of Zentraedi warrior training made itself felt, telling her to stop him, to stop him before … before he could …

  But he already had, and they were kissing, embracing, Miriya in Max’s arms. For a while, in the little meadow in Macross’s darkened park, there was a place apart from all other worlds. No word was said for a long time, until Max got up his nerve.

  “Miriya, this is gonna sound crazy, but—will you marry me?”

  “Yes, if you wish. Maximillian, what’s ‘marry’?”

  The three former Zentraedi spies, Rico, Bron, and Konda, were sitting in the RDF crew lounge not far from the bridge, doing their best to show the Terrible Trio a good time.

  Sammie, Vanessa, and Kim were feeling down hearted. It seemed that the SDF-l’s voyage would never end, that there was no refuge for the starship anywhere.

  No one wanted to guess how much longer the dimensional fortress could last against the Zentraedi armada that hounded them, but the unspoken consensus was that it had pushed its luck to the limit and that they were all living on borrowed time.

  “D’you think the Canadians will offer sanctuary to the SDF-1, Konda?” asked the burly Bron.

  If the Canadians could be persuaded to defy the United Earth Defense Council and let the ship land, offer her crew and refugees asylum, there might be hope. It would be the most strenuous test yet of the UEDC’s authority as opposed to the autonomous rights of its member states, could perhaps lead to a new civil war, but it was the SDF-l’s only hope.

  Bron’s friend and fellow warrior chewed a bit of food. “I’ll tell you one thing: If our request is denied, it means we’ll be stranded out here in space forever.”

  The three young women exchanged agonized looks. Little Sammie shook her head, intense and frightened. “Konda, please don’t say anything like that!”

  Kim, her coffee cup forgotten in her hands, suddenly looked lost and vulnerable. “Surely … someone will help us!”

  Konda didn’t contradict her, but neither did he agree. The six usually had fun when they were together, but now they just stared gloomily into their coffee.

  “We must have faith,” Rico said—an odd thing coming from one whose only belief had, until some months ago, been the Zentraedi warrior code.

  None of them noticed Max Sterling pass by, looking every which way for his commanding officer. “Ah! Just the man I want to see,” he muttered, spying Rick Hunter.

  Rick sat alone at a table on an upper level of the place, lost in thought, staring out the deck-to-overhead viewports that had space on three sides of him. He was exhausted from the constant flight duty and the added burdens of being a team leader. He was worried about the ship, about his men, and about what he could possibly do to set his love life straight.

  Rick looked surprised when Max broke in on his reverie, but he invited him to sit. “It’s about last night,” Max began. “I think I’m gonna get married.”

  Rick spat out his coffee and choked a bit until Max patted his back. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!” he sputtered at last. “You only went on one date! Man, you know she won’t be leaving town, so why don’t you take some time?”

  Max looked stubborn, struggling a bit before he said, “We’re in love.”

  Rick plunged into a lecture that he never would have imagined giving before he became Skull leader. But before he could get too far into why no one should rush into matrimony and how that went triple for VT fighter pilots, Max cut him off.

  “Lieutenant, that’s not the p
art that’s bothering me.” He mopped his brow with his handkerchief. “Y’ see, it’s ah, I’m not sure how to say this. She’s the enemy. Miriya confessed to me that she’s a Zentraedi.”

  Rick stared at him blankly for a long moment. If it had been practically anyone else, he would have doubted his sanity; but he was Max’s friend, and besides, he had seen his latest psych evaluation. “How could you let this happen?”

  “I love her,” Max said, a bit more forcefully than he usually said anything.

  “You’re talking nonsense! What could you possibly have in common with her?” This, even though the three former spies and the bridge bunnies were keeping company on the other side of the lounge. Rick had been trying to unsnarl his own stormy emotional life and couldn’t see why other people would want to complicate theirs.

  “I’m telling you, I love her,” Max insisted. He suddenly hit the table with his fist, making cup and saucer dance. “And there’s no problem love won’t solve!”

  Oh yeah? Rick thought ironically; he wished that for just a moment he could do something about his hopeless yearning for Minmei, could understand his complex feeling toward Lisa Hayes. Max, you’ve got a lot to learn!

  “There’s one problem it won’t solve, pal, and that’s your silly idealism. Love isn’t gonna make you happy, take it from me.”

  Max was furious. “It doesn’t matter what you say, Rick. I’m going to marry this woman with or without your approval.”

  “Okay, look, so you’re attracted to her. How many times does that happen to a guy?”

  “She’s special!”

  “Take it easy; I’m sorry. I can tell you like her very much.”

  Max calmed a bit. “I want you to meet her.”

  “This should be interesting,” Rick said, realizing someone had come up to the table.

  Miriya Parino of the elite Quadrono battalion of the Zentraedi hordes looked like the cover of a fashion magazine. Rick didn’t know what he had expected; he had never met a female Zentraedi and had seen few males who didn’t look ugly enough to stop a clock.

  What he hadn’t expected was a gorgeous young woman in a simple, graceful pink summer frock set off by a blue sash about her slim waist. She wore her dark green hair in a single lush tail drawn forward over one white shoulder.

  “We were just talking about you,” Max told her with a sublime, starry-eyed smile.

  Rick blinked, flabbergasted, then got out haltingly, “You were right, Max. She is beautiful. I—I think I understand now.”

  Miriya smiled serenely. “I’m so pleased to meet you. You look just the way Maximillian described you.”

  She was terribly happy that she and Max were to marry, though this odd, strangely thrilling human custom was more a mystery than anything else. She suddenly looked and felt nothing at all like a Zentraedi commander and warrior, but she didn’t mind. Everything was so clear and bright and wonderful …

  Max’s decision to buy her new clothes had plainly been a good one; the looks she’d drawn from people, and from Rick in particular, were not the kind one directed at an enemy.

  It was difficult to believe that only hours before, she had been trying to kill Max. He had spent much of the intervening time trying to clarify what “love” meant. She decided she wanted more clarification—a lifetime’s worth.

  “You’re a lucky man, Max,” Rick told him, without taking his eyes off Miriya. Then he grinned. “And forget all that nonsense I told you.”

  Max was all smiles again. Rick added, “And to guarantee you two have a great wedding day, I plan to be there to kiss the bride!”

  Max shrugged and nodded cheerfully, a little irony creeping into his tone. “I knew I could count on you, boss. Only—”

  He reached out to take Miriya’s hand. “You’d better hold off on that until I explain it all to the future Mrs. Sterling. The RDF forces are shorthanded as it is, and I’d hate to see Skull Leader wind up in intensive care.”

  The preparations for the wedding began that same day. Gloval was strangely silent, except to give his permission and authorize the sort of major bash the ship’s media moguls hungered and cried out for. Rick knew Gloval well enough to know that the captain had good reasons for a move like this, and he wondered what those might be.

  News of the coming nuptials had the entire dimensional fortress abuzz. It galvanized crewpeople and refugees alike, a reason at last to celebrate and forget the war for a while. Mayor Tommy Luan and the director of the in-ship broadcasting system and a hundred others threw themselves into the arrangements.

  Somewhat to their surprise, they found that Gloval had ordered that no effort be spared in making the occasion a major event. Miriya could have had ten thousand bridesmaids if she wanted; the RDF people and the Veritech pilots in particular kicked out the chocks to mount a pageant worthy of a royal wedding.

  The preparations went quickly; the marriage became the center of existence for quite a few people. They were sewing, cooking, decorating; the RDF personnel rehearsed their drills, and the engineers rigged the most special of special effects.

  All the activity didn’t go unnoticed. In the alien armada, cold and merciless eyes watched the peculiar goings-on. Fateful, dire decisions were near.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  These letters pile up, Vince dear, perhaps to be read by you someday or perhaps not, but today especially I have to set down how full my heart is—more so than at any time since Roy was killed.

  I heard Gloval murmuring something astounding while he was sitting in his command chair: “Capulets and Montagues.” I thought he was going soft; heaven knows the rest of us have. But when I looked at the clipboard he had been studying, it was an Intel rundown on books Miriya had screened from the Central Data Bank while she was here—when she was hunting Max. Shakespeare was there, of course.

  I don’t know what to think, except—damn it! We’ve got to change the ending this time!

  Lt. Claudia Grant, in a letter to her brother Vincent

  The spectacular fireworks lit up the space all around the SDF-1. It was only the beginning, but what a beginning. The whole area was illuminated in bright colors; civilians and RDF people alike crowded every available viewport, oohing and ahing.

  Then the fighting mecha appeared, to execute their part in things. From the flight decks of the fortress and the two immense supercarriers that had been joined to it like stupendous metal forearms, Veritechs swarmed out to take up their places.

  A broad, flat roadway of light, radiant in all the colors of the spectrum, sprang from the bow of the flattop Daedalus, like a shining runway. The Veritechs zoomed out, retros flaring.

  Excitement hit fever pitch all through the ship. It was more than just the occasion of a wedding—even the first wedding that anyone could think of that had taken place in outer space. There was something about the joining of a human and a Zentraedi that spoke directly to the humans’ longing for peace and a return home. It was a ray of hope that the terrible Robotech War might yet be ended short of catastrophe.

  For Max and Miriya, it was simply the happiest day of their lives. They came swooping out of the void in Max’s VT fighter right on schedule, Max wearing his tux and sitting in the forward seat, piloting. Miriya sat in the rear, making constant corrections to the fall of her wedding veil, the arrangement of her bridal bouquet. She had won so many decorations for bravery and courage under fire, yet she found herself unable to stop trembling.

  The VTs had gone into Battloid mode, looking like giant ultratech knights. They positioned themselves in pairs, facing one another across the rainbow runway of light. They lifted weapons, the long gray autocannon that had been used on other occasions to wage savage war on the Zentraedi.

  Now, though, the weapons had been fitted to throw forth brilliant beams of light into reflective aerosols that had been misted around SDF-1 for just that purpose. They shone like scores of crossed swords over the gleaming approach path. Max flew his ship under the military salute at lo
w speed as Miriya looked around at it open-mouthed, delighted beyond words.

  The fighter set down on Daedalus’s deck, and there were more mecha—the attack machines of the tactical corps ground units. Monstrous Destroid cannon, Excaliburs, Raidar Xs, and the rest sent harmless beams to form a canopy overhead as Max taxied for the elevator that would lower his ship to the hangar deck.

  Cameras were already tracking the VT, and close, total coverge was planned for every portion of the ceremonies. Max and Miriya didn’t mind; they wanted everybody to share in their total joy.

  But not everyone did.

  Breetai, the mountainous commander of the Zentraedi armada, gazed into the projecbeam image from intercepted SDF-1 signals. “This is the oddest Micronian custom we’ve observed yet, is it not, Exedore? Can you explain to me what Miriya Parino is doing?”

  What she was doing was evident: She was walking slowly next to a blue-haired human, dressed in a rather elaborate and inconvenient-looking outfit, clutching what appeared to be a handful of plants.

  She was also clinging to the Micronian’s arm, causing Exedore to speculate that perhaps she had been wounded in the leg or fallen ill. Although she didn’t look ill; she looked—Exedore didn’t know what that expression on her face could mean.

  Breetai gazed at the image. He was a creature who would have had no trouble passing for a Micronian himself, except that he was some sixty feet tall. Terrible wounds received in battle against the Invid species, implacable enemies of the Zentraedi, had left him with a glittering metal half cowl covering the right side of his skull, the eye replaced by a shining crystal.

  Next to him was Exedore, a hunched and fragile-looking Zentraedi, far smaller than Breetai—almost a dwarf by the standards of his race. But within Exedore’s big, misshapen skull was most of the accumulated lore and knowledge of his kind and a mind that Breetai relied upon heavily.