As the chamber’s round base was sliding down into the cradle’s cup, a black sports car screeched to a halt nearby. Rick glanced over his shoulder and spied Minmei in the passenger seat.
New Detroit’s Mayor, Owen Harding, a well-built man with a full head of thick white hair and a walrus mustache, was in the back seat. He recognized Rick from the days he himself had served with the RDF aboard the SDF-1. Harding stepped out and asked if everything was well in hand, whether there was anything he could do. Minmei had been recognized by the crowd, and two policemen moved in to keep them from gathering around the car.
Rick saluted and gestured to the sizing chamber. “I need your people to provide security for this device.”
“I can’t do that, Commander,” the mayor said firmly. “Most of the population here is Zentraedi—as you can see. Securing this ‘device,’ as you call it, is a military matter. We’ve already had enough trouble, and I’m not about to add to it by throwing my police force into the middle of it. Let’s not beat around the bush, Commander, we all know what this machine is for.”
Rick shook his long hair back from his face and squared his shoulders, trying not to think about the fact that Minmei was only fifteen feet away. “That’s exactly why I need your support, sir—just until my superiors dispatch a proper unit to guard it. We can’t afford to allow this chamber to fall into the wrong hands.”
The crowd didn’t like what they heard. Even before Rick finished, they were letting the mayor know where they stood.
“What’re you saying, Commander—that we’re all thieves?!” someone shouted.
“Just who is the ‘wrong hands,’ flyboy?!” from another.
The mayor made a hopeless gesture. “You see what I’m up against.”
“Look,” Rick emphasized, “I know you don’t want any more trouble here, but I’m only asking for your cooperation for a matter of days—”
“I can’t become involved in this.”
“It’s for their protection, too,” Rick said, pointing to the crowd. “We all agreed to honor the Council’s—”
“Then tell all the facts,” a familiar voice interrupted.
Rick turned and saw Kyle walking toward him from the car.
“Military business, Kyle—stay out of it!” Rick warned him sternly. Kyle was the last thing this situation needed: Mr. Agitation.
“This isn’t just military business,” Kyle started in, addressing Rick and the crowd. “It’s everyone’s, Commander, because you’re talking about the Zentraedi’s right to return to their normal size whenever they want.”
Rick was incredulous. Sure, why not let them all change back—especially now that they are hungry for warfare again and the closest targets are one-tenth their size.
“You’re nuts, Kyle.”
“If you think I’m kidding, you’re even a bigger fool than I thought. And I’m sure that most of the people in this city would agree with me … isn’t that right?”
Rick didn’t bother to look around. Shouts of agreement rang out; micronized Zentraedi raised their fists, and the giants growled. Kyle’s violent scene with Minmei in Granite City replayed itself in Rick’s mind, along with Max’s remarks about Kyle’s false pacifism. Minmei, he said to himself, giving her a sidelong glance and reading some sort of warning in those blue eyes. How could you be blood with this—
“Well, do you …” Kyle was demanding. Picking up on Rick’s inattention, he followed his gaze, reading his thoughts now … So he’s still in love with her.
Rick heard Kyle snort, then say to the crowd:
“When they take away your right to use the Protoculture chamber, it’s the first step toward martial law! You lived under that for long enough before you came to Earth! This chamber should be controlled by the people of this city!”
One of the giants stomped his feet, rocking the area.
“You better listen to us right now!” he bellowed.
“This is our city,” said a human female, much to Rick’s amazement, “not the military’s!”
Was there some sort of reverse contagion at work here?
“Why don’t you just climb into your little plane and get out of here while you still can!” yelled a second giant.
“Listen to me!” Rick pleaded, actually managing to quiet them for a moment. “Isn’t it better to have this machine secure from people who would use it against you than to endanger the whole city with it!”
“I’m getting sick of your lies, Hunter!” Kyle ranted at him, furious.
“Beat it!” the crowd shouted.
“We’re not going to take this anymore!”
The mayor edged over to Rick, eyes on the alert for airborne bottles or rocks. “They mean business,” he said warily.
“I’ve heard enough!” Rick began to shout back at them. “This is military property! I’ve been ordered to secure it, and I intend to carry out those orders!”
“We’ll see about that!” one of the giants threatened.
Rick signaled his squad lieutenant. Two of the Battloids raised their gatlings and stepped forward.
The crowd took a collective intake of breath, but the comments persisted, helped along by Kyle, who was now attempting to lead them in a chant: “Leave here now! Leave here now!” punctuating his call with raised arm gestures.
The crowd joined him, holding their ground.
“Please, Commander” said the mayor, “You have to go.”
Rick narrowed his eyes and shot Kyle a deadly look. He scanned the crowd—angry faces and towering Zentraedi. If the Battloids opened fire, there would be all hell to pay; and if they didn’t … if they just let the chamber sit …
No win! Rick screamed at himself, sending a tormented look Minmei’s way before he turned his back on all of them and walked off.
In the snowfields at civilization’s edge, Khyron received word of the turnabout in New Detroit. He couldn’t have been more pleased.
He stood now at the head of a double-rowed column made up of twelve of his finest troops, each, like himself, suited up in Zentraedi power armor.
“Listen to me,” he instructed them. “We are the last true Zentraedi! We must take that sizing chamber! No sacrifice is too great!”
With that, he fired the body suit’s self-contained thrusters and lifted off, his elite squad following him into the skies.
Having left two of his Veritech corporals to stand guard over the chamber, Rick and his remaining team were on their way back to New Macross. Bill “Willy” Mammoth, one of Skull One’s wingmen, had raised Rick on the tac net.
“Go ahead, Willy, I’m reading you,” Rick told him.
“It’s just that it’s bothering, sir. All that power. Leaving it there’n … well, forget it …”
“Say it, Willy. I told you, I’m reading you.”
“Well … I just hate to see a bunch of innocent people get hurt because of some hare-brained troublemaker.”
An image of Kyle’s angry eyes flashed in Rick’s memory. That fight long ago in the White Dragon, Kyle’s pacifist speeches, his violent temper …
“Yeah, so do I,” Rick said grimly.
Mayor Harding was having misgivings. Two of Hunter’s Battloids along with one of New Detroit’s own civil defense Gladiators were supervising the transfer of the sizing chamber from Fort Breetai to its new resting place inside the city’s exposition center, a sprawling complex of pavilions and theaters constructed in the “Hollywood” style—a pagodalike multistoried building here, a Mesoamerican temple there.
“But will it be safe?” the mayor wondered aloud.
Lynn-Kyle and Minmei were with him in the center’s vast rotunda, observing the transfer procedure.
“Something’s bothering you, Mr. Mayor?” Minmei asked leadingly, hoping Harding had had a change of mind and would recall Rick and his squad.
The mayor bit at the ends of his mustache. “To be honest, I was just thinking about the consequences of having the sizing chamber here should we be attacked
.… I only hope I made the right decision.”
“Attacked by whom?” Kyle said harshly. “The war’s over.”
“Not to hear Commander Hunter tell it.” Harding shrugged. “All these disaffected Zentraedi who have been leaving the cities and setting up camps out there …”
Kyle made a dismissive gesture. “Forget about it—all that’s just disinformation. They’ll say anything to convince us that we still need their protection. Besides, there are a lot of peaceful Zentraedi citizens here. They’d help us if things got bad.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Don’t worry. We did the right thing, and the people appreciate it. This chamber rightfully belongs to the Zentraedi people, and that’s all that really matters.”
The mayor cleared his throat.
Kyle said, “Trust me.”
Harding, however, remained unconvinced. Kyle noticed that Minmei seemed preoccupied and uneasy, her face inordinately pale. The mayor had insisted on taking them on a tour of the center’s new theater, and it was here that Kyle decided to change strategies.
“I’ve got an idea,” Kyle told both of them, a lighter tone in his voice now. “How about a goodwill concert to promote brotherhood between the Human and Zentraedi citizens of New Detroit?”
All at once Harding grew excited. “Why, that would be great! I mean, if Minmei would consent … on such short notice and all …”
“Of course she’ll do it,” Kyle continued, although Minmei hadn’t so much as acknowledged the idea by word or movement.
“The whole city’ll turn out,” said Harding, the wheels turning. He began to lead them down one of the theater aisles toward the large stage. “We can seat almost three thousand in here, and wait till you see our lighting system.” Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called to the balcony: “Pops! Open up the main curtain and hit the spots!”
An unseen old-timer answered, “Sure thing, Mr. Mayor,” and the curtain began to rise. Kyle took advantage of the moment to turn to Minmei and whisper, “What’s your problem today, Minmei? You’re going to upset the mayor.”
“I just don’t feel like singing,” she said firmly.
Kyle raised his voice. “And just why not?”
“Because I don’t think this place is safe with that Protoculture chamber here and because of what you did to Commander Hunter,” she answered, not looking at him. “He is my close friend, you know. He saved my life.”
Kyle smirked. “You make it sound like it’s a lot more than friendship, Minmei.”
“You asked me, so I told you.”
“Take it easy,” he said. “First of all, we’re not in any danger. And second, it didn’t hurt your flyboy any to have his feathers ruffled. It keeps him sharp.”
Minmei gritted her teeth.
“Here they come, Mr. Mayor!” the veteran stagehand yelled.
Two intense spots converged center stage, and Mayor Harding turned to Minmei proudly.
“How ’bout that?”
Kyle put on his best smile and stepped forward. “I think the whole place looks great, sir.”
The mayor beamed and started to say, “Thank you—” when a loud concussion rocked the theater. A second and third explosion followed in quick succession, violent enough to send them all reeling in the aisle.
“What the—”
“Quick! Outside!” Kyle ordered.
No doubt a Minmei concert would have worked wonders in New Detroit, but how could Kyle have known that Khyron had made a previous booking?
Immediately upon his return to New Macross, Rick was ordered to report to Admiral Gloval in the briefing room of the SDF-1. There he found the admiral, Exedore, Lisa, Claudia, Max, Miriya, and the infamous Terrible Trio—Sammie, Vanessa, and Kim—seated at the room’s circular table. Rick made his report directly to Gloval, summarizing the events that had transpired in New Detroit.
Gloval wore a look of despair. “I want to commend you for exercising good judgment, Captain,” he told Rick after a moment. Then he gestured to the table. “I wanted you to be included in this. Exedore …” he said, sitting back to listen.
The enigmatic Zentraedi inclined his head. “I have finished my research on the relationship between Protoculture and the Zentraedi,” he began rather soberly. “My race …” Exedore’s face appeared to blanch. “My race was bio-genetically engineered by the Robotech Masters for the sole purpose of fighting. Protoculture, the discovery of the Tirolian scientist Zor was utilized in both the initial cloning process and the enlargement of our physical being.”
Miriya gasped. “You’re saying that the Masters created us? It can’t be true, Exedore. I have memories of my youth, my upbringing, my training …”
Exedore shut his eyes and shook his head sadly. “Implants, engrams … The Masters were clever to equip us with both racial and individual memories. But they neglected what is more important …”
Gloval cleared his throat. “Exedore, if I may?…”
Exedore gestures his assent, and Gloval addressed the table.
“These people you call the Robotech Masters were extremely proud of their advanced and powerful civilization. Hyperspace drives and advanced weaponry were already a part of their culture. But soon after the discovery of Protoculture and the science of Robotechnology, they dreamed of ruling a galactic empire. And they decided to develop a police force to protect their acquisitions—the Zentraedi.”
The table went silent.
“For hundreds of years,” the admiral continued, his eyes finding Miriya and Exedore, “you secured worlds for them—these Masters you were programmed to obey. But this scientist, Zor, the very genius who designed and built this ship, was silently working at tearing down what his co-opted discoveries had unleashed. It was believed that he hid his secrets somewhere in this ship and tried to send it from the Masters’ grasp.
“And you, Exedore, and Miriya, Breetai, the old one you called Dolza, even Khyron, you were ordered to reclaim this ship at all costs—because without Zor’s secrets the Robotech Masters won’t be able to fulfill their dreams of empire. Without Protoculture, they will fall, as surely as their race of giant warriors fell. Confronted with emotions and feelings for the first time, the Zentraedi were powerless. For surely that race of perverted geniuses had no love left in their hearts. And they will be defeated for the very same reasons.”
Exedore looked up now. “Do not underestimate them, Admiral,” he cautioned. He was impressed by Gloval’s summary and evaluation, but the admiral spoke as if all of this was behind them, when in fact it was just beginning. “We Zentraedi no longer pose a threat to you, it is true. But believe me when I say this: The Masters are out there waiting, and they will not rest until the Protoculture matrix is theirs. Earth has been brought once to the brink of extinction by their power. Do not mislead yourselves by thinking that it can never happen again.”
Gloval absorbed this silently. “Are there any questions?”
“Are the people of Earth … are they Protoculture?” Miriya asked, full of concern as she looked at Max. There was Dana—how could they explain Dana!
Gloval said, “I know what you’re thinking, Miriya. But no. You see, we go back millions of years. And the Zentraedi …”
“But how can you explain that our genetic structures are nearly identical?” Max wanted to know.
Exedore spoke to that. “Nearly identical. Nearly identical. What is most plausible is that our genetic … stuff was cloned from the Masters themselves. They are, after all, er … Micronians like yourselves. Look for a similarity there, Lieutenant Sterling, not among the Zentraedi.”
Max shook his head in a confused manner. “But I don’t see that it matters any!”
“It doesn’t,” Miriya said, putting her hand over his.
“Then it must figure,” Lisa pointed out, “that the people of Earth and the people of Tirol did have a common ancestry.”
“I no longer believe that to be so,” said Exedore. “A coincidence, I’m afraid.�
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Rick’s eyebrows went up. “A coincidence?! But Exedore, the odds on that have to be nothing less than … ah—”
“Astronomical,” Lisa finished.
Gloval snorted. “And the odds against our coexisting together?… They might be even greater.”
“So the truth is,” Exedore concluded, “that although our races are similar, they are not identical. My race, the Zentraedi, are devoid of everything save the bio-genetically engineered desire to fight. We were nothing but toys to our creators—toys of destruction.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
I had wandered into an inviting, friendly-looking house that sat flush with the street, thinking it would be a shortcut to Rick (who was speeding away in his Veritech). The house was filled with antiques from the last century, and I was running around touching everything. But then when I remembered Rick and began to search for an exit, I couldn’t find a way out! I started opening doors only to find more doors behind them, and more doors behind those, and more doors!… I woke up more frightened than I’ve ever been in a long time. It was more frightening than real life.
From the diary of Lynn-Minmei
Kyle, Minmei, and Mayor Harding reached the theater’s main entrance in time to see the descent of Khyron’s airborne assault team.
They fell upon the city like a storm loosed from hell itself, resembling deep-sea divers and Roman gladiators in their powered armor. Civil defense Destroids were already in the streets, pouring missiles and transuranic slugs into the skies. An Excalibur MK VI, its slung cannons blazing, caught two enemy projectiles, which blew it off its feet, continuous fire from one of the cannons holing storefronts all along the avenue. Nearby, a Spartan was faring better, having taken out two of the enemy raiders with Stilettos launched from the mecha’s drumlike missile tubes. But it too fell when one of the Zentraedi, easily as tall as the Spartan and better equipped to maneuver, barreled into it, sending the thing reeling back against the facade of the exposition theater, sparking out as it collapsed to the street, missiles dropping from one of its shattered drums.
Kyle and the others pressed themselves deeper into the theater’s doorway, shivering with fear, as cries for help rang out from the demolished Spartan.
Doomsday: The Macross Saga Page 44