Doomsday: The Macross Saga

by Jack McKinney

  In UEDC headquarters, the ground rumbled but miles of earth and rock saved the occupants from immediate death.

  Lisa gaped at an illuminated situation map. The strikes were so numerous that the display computers couldn’t discriminate anymore. The face of the world glowed.

  “They can’t be doing this!” she screamed. “They can’t!”

  But she knew she was wrong. They were.

  “Annihilation.”

  Gloval stood helplessly, shoulders bowed, looking out the forward viewport. Exedore stood mute at his shoulder. The alien decided that he must, in fact, have fallen victim to the contagious human emotions, because he felt them very strongly at that moment: rage that this should happen, a soul-wrenching sorrow, and an utter, utter shame.

  Reading her instruments, a female enlisted-rating tech said in monotone, “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”

  In his headquarters base, the immense Dolza looked upon his handiwork and found it good. His guttural laugh echoed in the deep, eerily resonant tones of the Zentraedi.

  The Micronian interlude would be expunged from history, he had decided. And any similar race encountered by the Zentraedi would be subject to instant and total termination.

  Then, events could be put back on their proper track.

  Dolza had to admit that even he, the supreme commander, hadn’t had a true idea of Zentraedi power until the moment the Grand Fleet opened fire. The irresistible might of it! It filled him with new aspirations, new resolve.

  When the humans were finished and the rebellious Breetai and his followers destroyed completely, it would be time to deal with the Robotech Masters.

  For too long now, the Masters had treated their warrior servants, the Zentraedi, with the contempt one showed a slave. For too long, that had seared the Zentraedi pride. Moreover, it had come to light that the Masters had told the Zentraedi a colossal lie all along—they had deceived them about the giants’ very origins.

  The Protoculture secrets hidden in Zor’s ship had been an important part of Dolza’s master plan to overthrow the Robotech Masters and let the Zentraedi take their rightful place at the pinnacle of the universe.

  The accursed Zor had been aware of that and had dispatched his ship to keep it from Masters and Zentraedi alike. The plan had ultimately worked, but in so doing it had brought this day. As Dolza looked out at nearly five million warships, all raining down destruction on Earth, he realized that he didn’t need Zor’s secrets, didn’t need the SDF-1. All he needed was the might of the Zentraedi hordes.

  He laughed again, a bass rumble that made the bulkheads ring. Today humanity died. Tomorrow the war against the Robotech Masters would begin.

  Rick Hunter clutched the ledge of his viewport. As he watched, the night side of Earth, partly obscured by the enemy fleet, lit up with a myriad of red-hot specks, the work of that first terrible salvo.

  “The whole planet,” he said numbly.

  Minmei came up behind him, walking like a robot, in deep shock. “Are they all … are they all dead, Rick?”

  He watched the night turn red. “Yes, Minmei.”

  She tore her eyes away from the sight. “Mother. Father.”

  “Lisa,” he said very softly. His cheeks were suddenly slick with tears.

  She started to sing in a lullaby voice, crooning a little love song to life and to the planet that was dying. But it didn’t last long, and soon her head was buried in her hands.

  “So this is how we end,” she sobbed. “First the Earth and then the rest of us.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “No, Minmei. This is not the end, do you hear me?”

  He wished he could sound more convincing. But she wasn’t blind; she could see the overwhelming might preparing to turn its guns on the SDF-1 and its Zentraedi allies.

  “We still have our lives,” he said, shaking her shoulder a bit roughly to make her listen to him.

  It was all so unfair, so hopeless. He hadn’t felt so angry and powerless since that day in Dolza’s base when he and Lisa and Ben were helpless prisoners—

  THAT’S IT!!!

  He shook her shoulder again with a sudden new conviction. “It’s not over yet! Listen, Minmei, I want you to go now and sing for everyone!”

  She wiped tears from her lashes. “Sing?”

  “Yes. I’ve got an idea.”

  The smoke clouds were already rising from the Earth, rolling to envelop it and bring on a winter that even the computers couldn’t analyze reliably.

  In the UEDC base’s main control room, Admiral Hayes heard the report.

  “There’s been no word from any other Council member, sir. Marshal Zukav is still unconscious, and the doctors think they’ll probably have to operate. What are your orders?”

  In this election year, most of the UEDC members had been caught by surprise by the alien attack, out mending fences and fixing political support. Of them all, only Hayes and Zukav had been present at the base when the attack came, and Zukav had suffered a coronary on the spot.

  Now the reins were in Hayes’s hands, but they were the reins to a planet that was more cinder than soil.

  “Damage estimate to all sectors exceeds any known scale,” a voice was saying quietly to one side. “We have indications that a few scattered groups survived the first attack.”

  The first attack, yes. But now the enemy was no doubt preparing a second and a third—as many volleys as it took to turn Earth into a molten ball.

  And so the world would end.

  “Did the Grand Cannon survive the attack?” he asked.

  An aide was quick to answer. “Yes, sir. It will still function.”

  Hayes turned to him. “Very good. Then we’ll begin the countdown at once, Lieutenant.”

  The aide hurried off to relay the order. In moments, the vast base thrummed with power.

  Gloval looked into the face of his onetime enemy. Breetai stared back, and it would have been an historic moment if everyone had not been in such a hurry.

  Breetai gazed down at the mustached, almost disheveled-looking little creature who had outfought and outthought the best warriors in the galaxy; Gloval looked up at a frighteningly massive fellow with a chest as thick as an ancient oak and a metal and crystal cowl covering half his skull.

  They spoke with virtually no preamble; they felt they knew each other well.

  “Commander Breetai, I want you to please broadcast a simultaneous transmission of Minmei’s song on all of your military frequencies.”

  Breetai’s single eye fixed on Gloval intently. “I have no objection, but what is your plan?”

  Exedore stepped into the picture to explain. “As yet, the soldiers in Dolza’s fleet have had no contact with Micronian culture, m’lord! When exposed to the song, they will be thrown into confusion. And it will also boost the Micronians’ morale.”

  Breetai rubbed his massive jaw. Gloval stared in fascination at the giant mauve hand, the dense black hairs on its back thick as wires. “That could provide us with the chance we need to catch them off guard.”

  Gloval was a bit breathless with this alien’s audacity. He himself had been thinking more along the lines of a selective strike. “But—the Grand Fleet is not a force we can attack head-on, Commander!”

  Breetai gave him a surprisingly winning smile, coming as it did from a cloned XT soldier whose head was half hidden by a metal and crystal sheath. Breetai plainly savored every word. “Precisely, Captain Gloval. They would never expect us to mount a surprise attack against them.”

  The main bridge hatchway slid open, and a slender figure stepped in. Minmei looked around nervously at the mysterious landscape of dials, lights, screens, and controls.

  “Um, you wanted to see me, Captain?”

  He went to her, Exedore trotting alongside. “Yes, Miss Minmei. Lieutenant Hunter has told me his plan. We’re going to use it for our counterattack.”

  Minmei glanced nervously at the communications screen, then quickly averted her eyes from the metal-s
kulled alien who was staring at her with frank interest.

  “You will be able to sing a song for us, won’t you, Minmei?” Exedore said anxiously.

  She forced a smile. How could you go on with life when the world had just died? Simple: You used your acting instincts, keeping introspection and sorrow damped well down.

  “Yes, of course. Anything to help out.”

  Gloval nodded in approval. She had barely exchanged two words with him at the wedding, but there was something about his old-world formality, a kind of lovable stuffiness, that put her at ease somehow.

  “I have one special request, Minmei,” Exedore put in. “Could you do that, er, that is, that thing that you do in all your movies? I believe it is referred to as a kiss.”

  He couldn’t have surprised her much more if he had done his Minmei imitation for her. “I—I suppose I could. But why do you need that?”

  Exedore dropped into the pedantic, almost effete tones he used when trying to get his point across to stubborn Zentraedi. “I believe it would act as a kind of psychological shock to all the Grand Fleet attack forces, rendering them less able to fight.”

  She felt like laughing hysterically; there were some critics who would have agreed with Exedore’s evaluation of her acting ability.

  But outside the viewport, Earth smoldered. “Well, if it will help.”

  The clouds were already thick in the night sky over Alaska, lit from below by an infernal glow.

  The base throbbed around her, preparing for the monumental cannon shot. Lisa stared at her screens and waited to die.

  At the cannon’s base, a small city of Robotechnology, subatomic fires whirled; energy crackled and struggled to get free.

  Admiral Hayes heard the reports in stony silence. This would probably be the last, possibly the only human shot in the battle, on the last day of the human race; but somebody was going to be very sorry they had ever come seeking battle. To go down fighting was much better than simply dying.

  The cannon’s huge lens, lit with targeting beams, made the undersides of the black clouds closing in on the world red.

  Dolza looked around suddenly at an emergency communication tone. “Your Excellency! We’ve detected a high-energy reaction coming from the third planet!”

  But before Dolza could ask for more data or give a single order, hell spewed forth.

  It had been apparent from the start that an energy gun buried vertically in a planetary surface would have a very limited field of fire. The planned system of satellite reflectors was supposed to have solved that, but interim measures had been put in place. They showed their worth now.

  A beam as hot as the heart of a star sprang up from the devastated Earth. Widened by the lens, it lanced up into the Grand Fleet. A hundred thousand ships disappeared in an instant, burned out of existence like insects in a flamethrower’s blast.

  Brute servos tilted the lens, angling the beam. No one had been sure whether or not a shot like that would violate all the mathematics of the Grand Cannon and blow the installation to kingdom come, but it turned out that somehow everything held.

  Like a flashlight of complete and all-encompassing destruction, the Grand Cannon’s volley swiveled through the blockading fleet.

  Ships were simply there and then not. Left behind were only component particles and the furious forces of destruction. In that single attack, the human race destroyed more warcraft than the Zentraedi had lost in any war in their entire history.

  “The enemy ships are just disappearing, sir,” Vanessa said.

  Gloval and Exedore stared at the screen, watching the angling and swinging of the Grand Cannon. “Alaska Base survived!” Gloval exulted. The Terrible Trio let out whoops and laughter.

  “Lisa,” Claudia whispered.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Well, that was when I decided that ol’ Vance needed to ease out of being Minmei’s manager and into a new setup. I mean, hey: what does twenty-five percent of Armageddon amount to in real money?

  Vance Hasslewood, Those Were the Days

  Minmei’s backup band and roadies (if that was the proper name for them; they played only one town, but they clocked more miles than any other act in history) were used to taking their time setting up, running sound checks, getting mentally prepared for a concert or recording session. None of that today, though.

  RDF techs and other personnel threw the setup together in a few minutes flat, a briefing officer making it clear to the musicians just how important this concert would be. The only one to object, a keyboard man who wasn’t happy with the way his stacks had been arranged, was menaced into silence not by the military people but by the other band members. Everyone knew what would happen if the Grand Fleet carried the day.

  In her dressing room, Minmei tried to keep her mind off the greater issues and simply concentrate on her performance. Humming, she leaned toward her brightly lit makeup mirror, examining one eyelash critically. It wasn’t that she was unaware of the horrifying events taking place all around the SDF-1; it was just that she could do nothing about them except clear her mind and sing her very best.

  There was a timid knock at her door, and three visitors entered. “Hi, Minmei,” said a rough but friendly voice.

  Minmei smiled into her mirror at the reflection of Bron and the other two Zentraedi spies.

  “We understand the pressure you’re under, Minmei,” Rico began.

  “Going into battle can be very, um, taxing,” Konda added helpfully.

  “We just wanted you to know we’re with you 100 percent and we know you can do it,” Bron told her, blushing. The other two nodded energetically.

  “Oh!” She turned to them and came to her feet. She had spoken to them only a few times, even including the official hearings and meetings.

  But she felt a kinship to them, a bond of empathy. Song had made them leave behind everything they knew, made them risk the unknown and commit themselves to a new life, even though that life held dangers and frightening enigmas. In that, they were very much like Minmei herself.

  She put her hands out to them, palm to palm. “Thank you, Konda—Bron, Rico. You’re very kind.”

  Konda cupped his hands around hers, and the other two stacked theirs gently on top. “You three are such wonderful men.”

  “Minmei,” came the stage manager’s voice. “Two minutes.”

  She kissed each of them on the cheek, then she was gone in a swirl of long, raven hair.

  Instead of the seats of the Star Bowl amphitheater or a glass wall that looked on a recording studio’s engineering booth, Minmei and her band gazed at a great, concave sweep of viewport. The enemy warfleet was deployed before them. Below were the battle fortress’s upper works, and beyond the bow, the curve of the blasted Earth.

  Combat craft were swarming from the super dimensional fortress; the warships of Breetai’s armada were forming up around and behind it, battlewagons and flagships at the lead for a do-or-die first impact.

  The cameras and pickups focused on Minmei as she found her mark on the stage. She had decided to wear a simple full skirt and blouse, with a golden ribbon bowed at her throat.

  “Wh … what’s your opener gonna be?” laughed her manager, Vance Hasslewood, nervously, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

  “How ’bout ‘My Boyfriend’s a Pilot’?” the bass man joked weakly.

  “No,” she said firmly. “We’ll do the new one.”

  They had barely rehearsed it; she had completed it only two days before. There was a chorus of objections from just about everyone, but she held up her mike and spoke into it firmly.

  “This is the time for it.”

  Now or never.

  Tactical corps and civil defense mecha had been brought out on the decks of the battle fortress and the suppercarriers. With their massed weapons added to the turrets and tubes of the SDF-1, short-range defensive firepower was more than tripled.

  Out where the VTs were forming, as the cats slung more and mor
e of them into space, the RDF fliers listened over the command net as Gloval’s voice came up.

  “Attention, all fighter pilots. Once we enter the zone of engagement, there will be complete radio silence under all circumstances. Miss Minmei’s song, and only that, will be broadcast on all frequencies. As you have been briefed, we hope that will distract the enemy and give us the advantage.

  “We must make maximum use of this element of surprise. Good luck to you all.”

  Rick heard Gloval out, lowering his helmet visor. Skull Team was flying the few armored VTs the fabrication and tech people had managed to get operational. That meant that Rick, Max, Miriya, and the rest would be out at the very spearhead of the attack. Not something to dwell on.

  In his heart, he wished Minmei well, and then he led Skull Team out.

  She looked up to the camera and raised her mike on cue as the cone of spotlight shone down on her. In the control room, her image was on all the screens from many angles.

  Life is only what we choose to make it,

  Let us take it,

  Let us be free

  Rick hit his ship’s boosters. The blue vortices of its drives burned and shrieked. The armored VTs left trails of light, leaping into the dark. Conventional VT teams came after.

  Breetai’s tri-thrusters, pods, and other mecha prepared to follow. Gloval and the Zentraedi had wisely agreed not to mingle their forces; in the heat of battle, human pilots would have a difficult time reading alien unit markings and telling friend from foe. Even the hastily added RDF insignia on the tri’s and pods might not be spotted in time.

  In the command station of his flagship, Breetai stood with arms folded across his broad chest, a characteristic pose, staring up at a projecbeam. As he had admitted so long ago, hers was a voice to wring emotion from any heart. Perhaps the course to this moment had been set when he first heard it.

  A tech relayed word. “My lord, this transmission is being picked up by Dolza’s ships.”

  He nodded, watching and listening to Minmei.