Doomsday: The Macross Saga

by Jack McKinney

  Another cloud appeared nearby, and another. Then two at once, then three. And soon the stars were blotted out. It was as if handfuls of sand had suddenly become ugly battlecraft. More appeared, and more, in dense, well-ordered formations, thicker than any hive swarm.

  “There are too many for sensors to count,” Vanessa said, sweating, blinking behind her glasses. “Too many …”

  “I have to go,” Admiral Hayes told his daughter gruffly. “We’ll talk about this later—”

  The PA interrupted. “Sensors register immeasurable defold activity. Estimated enemy strength one million, three hundred—correction, two million, one hundred thousand—stand by! Stand by! More enemy units arriving!”

  Some other, less hysterical voice cut in. “Battle stations. Repeat, battle stations.” Alarms and sirens sounded, and nobody had to say that it wasn’t a drill this time.

  Admiral Hayes swallowed, going pale.

  Earth was engulfed in a net of enemy warships. They blotted out the sun’s light, appearing in their hundreds of thousands, taking up position for the ultimate confrontation.

  Claudia’s face appeared in the hearing chamber on a display the size of a movie screen. “Captain Gloval, monitor three shows enemy positions over the western hemisphere.”

  The view came up. Still the sinister warcraft poured into Earth orbit from nothingness. The drifting clouds of them stretched, established intervals, deployed for total coverage. Great blotches of green, whole clustered space navies, were painted into the picture.

  “Well, I’m afraid this is it,” Exedore said. It looked like the planet was falling, in time-lapse photography, under a leprous infection of Zentraedi combat green.

  Minmei could only stare, her song forgotten. Max and Miriya took each other’s hands, and he was grateful that he had been granted the time they had had together.

  Even Kyle was aghast. If there was one there who was in the mood for the scene, it was Rick Hunter. He watched the Grand Fleet spread and grow. Nothing left to lose. Okay: A fight it would be.

  Breetai, staring up at the displays that were still functioning on his bridge, watched in awe. It was the greatest single combat fold-jump operation in history, and it came off meticulously. Dolza was doing everything right so far.

  Breetai’s clifflike jaw set. Opening moves and endgame were two different things.

  The night sky over the Alaska Base was lighter, with the reflections of sunlight from the light underbellies of the warships taking up orbit. The stars were obscured, hundreds at a time.

  Watching the screens, Lisa heard her father moan. She turned and saw by his expression that he realized, far too late, that the reports of the aliens’ strength were accurate and that five million ships were so many more than he had ever envisioned.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  And so the Great Mandala spun,

  Two halves had learned

  They both were one

  Mingtao, Protoculture: Journey Beyond Mecha

  Among all the announcements of the loading of Decamissiles, the manning of gun turrets, the frantic coordinating of target-acquisition and threat-priority computers, there came word that Skull Team was to report to its fighters.

  “Well. That’s us,” Max said, looking at the deck and then up at his wife. He was really at a loss. Some traditionalism said that he should shield her from harm; but Miriya was a better flier than anyone else aboard except Max, and there was no safety, anywhere.

  More to the point, she would never have allowed him to leave her behind.

  “Yes, Maximillian,” she said, watching him. Rick noticed that in an amazingly short time, they had both learned to smile exactly the same slow smile at each other at exactly the same moment. He did his best to suppress his envy.

  Max put his arm around his wife’s slim waist and gave Rick a wave. “See you out there, boss.”

  “Count on it.” Rick waved at them with phony cheer, watching them go off to suit up.

  Others were finding their way out of the hearing chamber; Gloval and Exedore and the other heavy-hitters were already gone. The recording techs were wrapping things up quickly, preparing to double in brass on combat assignments.

  Only Kyle and Minmei were left, uncertain, with no place to go. Rick looked up at them and thought about what was happening out there where the void met Earth’s atmosphere. Millions of ships were forming up for a greater battle than even the Zentraedi had ever seen before.

  Which meant the future looked very dim for one little VT leader who had come late into the business of war. Rick decided in an instant and sprinted off to where Minmei stood.

  She was at the top of the steps leading to the table podium; he stopped a few steps below. “Minmei!”

  She looked at him oddly. “Yes, Rick?” He couldn’t read her, couldn’t understand what was going on behind the startling blue eyes. Kyle was at her shoulder, cold and angry, glaring down at him.

  Not that Kyle mattered anymore; very little did.

  Rick fumbled for words, not coming up with any that would express what he wanted to say, not even managing to get started. At last he got out, “You know I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

  She did; knew it from the long days and nights they had spent stranded together, knew it from more recent times, when he had been all but inarticulate.

  “But I might not see you again,” he went ahead. “I want to say that—that I love you.”

  Her hands flew to her mouth like frightened birds. She mouthed words that made no sound.

  “Had to tell you.” He smiled bittersweetly. “Take care.”

  Then he left to suit up, already late in the massive launch schedule of the apocalypse, heels clicking emptily on the deck.

  She was frozen by his words; she could move again only when he was out of the hatch, out of sight. Minmei hurried down the steps to catch up.

  Kyle was next to her in an instant, catching her arm, bringing her up short. “Don’t try to stop him!” The doings of the warmakers were their own concern; Kyle had loved Minmei too long to lose her to them now.

  She struggled hopelessly to free her arm, the black hair whipping. “Let go! I have to tell him! Kyle, let me go or I’ll hate you forever!”

  Fingers that could have tightened like a vise released instead. He knew a hundred ways to force her to stay there but not a single one to take away her feelings for Hunter or to keep her from the pilot without making her hate him.

  The grip, strong as steel, went limp, letting her go. Minmei wrenched her arm free and raced off after Rick. Kyle stood alone for a long time in the deserted hearing chamber, listening to the emergency directives, the RDF announcements, the preparations for battle.

  Battle, death, oblivion—those were so easy to face, didn’t the military war lovers understand? Living without the one who meant everything in life to you, that was the fear that couldn’t be overcome, the abyss no courage could see you across.

  In the hangars and bays and ready rooms of the combat mecha, thoughts of love and grief had been left behind. Now it was only kill or be killed. Men and women emptied their minds of everything else in a way no outsider would ever understand.

  “Arm all reflex warheads,” the command came over the PA from Kim Young. The missiles—Hammerheads, Decas, Piledrivers and Stilettos—became alive in their pods and racks.

  The attack mecha stood to readiness: lumbering giants heavy with laser-array and x-ray laser cannon, missiles, chain-guns, and rapid-fire tubes loaded with discarding-sabot armor-piercing rounds.

  The Destroids stumped out first: waddling two-legged gun turrets the size of houses, running their clustered barrels back and forth in test traverses, ready to bunch up shoulder by shoulder and concentrate fire. Forming up behind them were the Gladiators, Excaliburs, the Spartans and Raidars, all making the reinforced decks resound to their tread, weighted with every weapon Robotechnology could give them.

  The March of the Robotech Soldiers.

 
The SDF-1 gun turret and casemate barrels swung and readied, men and women sweating as they settled into the gunners’ and gunners’ mates’ saddles. Targeting reticles were checked for accuracy; triggers were dry-fired.

  The stupendous warrior that was the SDF-1 itself stood ready, covers lifted from its many weapon ports. The two suppercarriers that were the ship’s arms, Daedalus and Prometheus, set for battle and for the harrowing, fiercely dangerous business of combat launches and retrievals.

  On the hangar deck, Skull Team warmed up. They would be one of the few teams flying the new armored Veritechs. Max, running things until Rick could get there, threw his wife a quick smile. Miriya blew him a kiss, as she often did when no one else was looking. Kissing was still an amazing thing to her, lovemaking left her at a complete loss for words. But then, it did the same to Max.

  She turned back to a final check of her VT. Combat was something she knew intimately, too. Max got the rest of Skull saddled up, resisting the urge to be bitter and preoccupied with regret that he had had so little time with her.

  Those were the distractions that got fighter pilots killed.

  On the bridge, Gloval arrived with Exedore at his side, and no one thought to say it should be otherwise. The reports of the ship’s fighting status came to him from the Terrible Trio and from Claudia.

  Gloval led Exedore to the great bubble of the forward viewport, thinking, Who would have dreamed we’d be fighting side by side?

  But there was an answer to that. It was Gloval, always Gloval—and sometimes only Gloval—who had anticipated this day from the moment he had heard of the enemy defections.

  Over the UEDC Alaskan headquarters, fighters looking a lot like VTs but lacking their superlative Robotechnology screamed into the air on alert. It was a brave show that everyone knew to be hollow; Earth’s only real hope lay with the dimensional fortress.

  Admiral Hayes and several other senior officers stood on a balcony overlooking the vast situation room. They heard echoing updates on the Grand Cannon’s firing status, the enemy fleet that was still pouring out of spacefold, the composite picture that made it unlikely that a single member of species Homo sapiens would live through the day.

  “The projections turned out to be in error,” an intel-analysis officer confessed, zombielike. “Against a force that big, we can’t hope to win. We couldn’t do it even if the Grand Cannon satellites were in place.” He was shaking his head slowly. “No way, sir.”

  Hayes was used to hiding his dismay. He called down to a communication officer, “Lieutenant! Have we been able to establish contact with the aliens?”

  Hayes burned at the thought of why his superiors were suddenly so eager to talk to the Zentraedi. He avoided any contemplation of how Earth’s rulers sounded now that reality had at last been forced upon them. The brave words and the bold posturing had been blown away like smoke in the wind, and UEDC was eager, cringingly eager, to make any deal it could, starting with an offer to make itself an overseer government under alien rule.

  Except the Zentraedi weren’t making deals today, and Armageddon was apparently the only item on the agenda.

  “We’re trying, Admiral, but so far it’s a no-go,” a com officer called up to him.

  Hayes himself felt betrayed and a fool. His daughter and Gloval had been correct all along, right down the line. The prestige and honor of his rank had fallen away to nothing, and he saw that he had, very simply, wound up an otherwise honorable career by being the instrument of craven and greedy men.

  “Then there’s nothing left to do but fight,” Hayes said.

  Under other circumstances it might have been one of those lines flag-rank officers could hope to have show up in history books. The fact was that Hayes knew he been duped again and again by the politicians. Besides, it was unlikely that there would ever be any more history books.

  And the only reason to fight was that the enemy offered no alternative—it meant to wipe the human race out of existence.

  The Grand Cannon prepared to fire, and the futile squadrons of Earth fighters went out to do their jobs as best they could. Lisa Hayes stared down at her screens and instruments and fought off the urge to weep for the men and women who were doing their jobs in all good faith and were kept, by the omnipresent UEDC propaganda and disinformation, from knowing that they were doomed.

  During a few moments’ lag time, she paused to regard a close pickup shot of the SDF-1 and to think of Claudia, of Gloval, and of Rick. She found, as her father had told her when she was a little girl, that there were only a few really important questions in life and that combat would make anybody ask them.

  Why are we here? Where do we come from? What happens to us when we die? And when I do, will I be with Rick, at last, or will I be alone forever?

  An update on the cannon’s targeting status came in just then, and Lisa had to let those thoughts go.

  Rick Hunter sealed up his flightsuit and made sure his gloves were firmly connected to his instrumented cuff rings. They fit smoothly, allowing him maximum dexterity.

  The hatch to his quarters signaled, and he thought it was just another messenger with a mission update, all com channels being overloaded. Until the hatch slid back.

  “Rick?”

  He pivoted and saw her standing in the hatch, outlined against the harsh glare of the passageway lights. She came a step into his quarters demurely but looking him in the eye.

  The hatch rolled shut behind Minmei.

  They were there in every size and shape, those war-green vessels of the Zentraedi Grand Fleet. Never in their entire history had they been assembled for combat in such a formation.

  From his command station, Dolza, supreme commander of the Zentraedi race, considered his target, Earth.

  Space was filled with his ships; there had never been a marshaling like this in the infamous annals of the Zentraedi.

  And yet he felt misgivings. Dolza knew the ancient lore of his race from Exedore’s endless teachings. Against the forces that those records mentioned, the Grand Fleet itself might not be enough.

  Perhaps nothing would.

  Inside the boulderlike base that was Dolza’s headquarters, almost nine hundred miles through its long axis, the supreme commander received word that the fleet was at last all present.

  He was enormous, the largest and, but for Exedore, the oldest of his race. Dolza’s shaven skull and heavy brow made him look like a granite sculpture.

  “My first attack shall be the Micronians’ mother planet,” he said. “Let all ships stand prepared.”

  All through the fleet, final preparations for battle were carried out. On the colossal bombardment vessels, the bows opened like giant crocodile jaws, exposing the heavy guns.

  Targeting computers accepted their assignments from Dolza’s base, ranging their sights across the surface of the world, fixing their aim. The Grand Fleet’s engines howled like demons, supercharging the weapons pointed at the helpless Earth.

  * * *

  “I want to apologize to you, Rick,” she said. “I mean, about Kyle.”

  “It’s not really your fault,” he told her. “I should have let you know what my feelings were. I should have tried harder, I guess.”

  “But, I—”

  “Oh, Minmei, it’s all right!” he yelled, frightening her a little. He got control of himself and went to get his flying helmet. How do I tell her?

  He went to pick up the helmet but saw her reflection in the visor. She was standing silently, watching him.

  “I’m a pilot, and you’re a superstar now,” he said tiredly. “You know it wouldn’t have worked for us, anyway. Too much has changed, Minmei.”

  He went to the viewport, looking down at Earth. “It’s strange to think how small our world is,” he said, almost distractedly. “It’s a pity how much time we wasted, isn’t it?”

  She flinched as if he had hit her. She could see that he was being cruel on purpose, hurting himself and her, to make the love stop. She opened her mouth to say
something that would make him honest again, would clear the air between them.

  But at that exact moment the universe lit up. The Zentraedi attack had begun.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Once I wrote here—a younger Minmei did—that I needed to be my own person, that I had my own shadows to cast.

  But, oh … I didn’t realize how terrible that darkness would be.

  From the diary of Lynn-Minmei

  Millions of blindingly bright beams of pure energy rained down on the blue-white world.

  First to go were the orbital defenses, the surveillance satellites and the “armors”—the big conventional-technology space cruisers. They were obliterated instantly, vanishing in clouds of expanding gas.

  The incredible volley pierced the atmosphere, boiling away clouds and moisture, striking through to the surface. Buildings and trees and people were vaporized; everything flammable exploded. The hellish rays set off tremendous detonations and superheated the air like thermonuclear weapons.

  Everywhere it was the same. Soldiers and civilians, adults and children, and the unborn as well—the Grand Fleet favored none and spared none. In the middle of a humdrum day marked only by some sort of alert the UEDC wasn’t explaining, nearly the entire population of the planet was put to the sword.

  For most, there wasn’t even time to scream, only a hideous moment when light and heat beyond any description engulfed them, making their bodies as transparent as x-ray images, then consuming them.

  Cities toppled, and blowtorch winds scoured the world. Seas were given no mercy, either; Dolza had decreed a carpet-volley pattern to get ships and aquafarming and aquamining installations and the like. Untold cubic miles of water turned into steam.

  The beams came like a fusion-hot monsoon all across the defenseless world.