She could no longer breathe. Khyron was ranting and raving, and she was rapidly losing touch with the world. Blackness circled in on her from the edges of her vision, silencing thoughts and fears alike.
Khyron felt her go limp in his hand and realized he had gone too far. Azonia was shouting at him to be careful, but he was certain he’d already overstepped himself.
“Cosmos! What have I done?!”
Minmei was unmoving in his hand, deathly still. “She enraged me so, I forgot how important she was to our plan …” Gently, he poked at her with his finger, hoping she’d revive; and in a moment she did, dazed and possibly hurt but certainly nowhere near dead. Khyron acknowledged his relief with a smile.
“She’s all right,” he told Azonia. “They’re well-built little things.”
Azonia had picked up Kyle and was now holding him by one foot and one arm, twisting him about as though he were made of pipe cleaners. Kyle was far less important to the plan, so she wasn’t concerned about breaking him up a bit.
Kyle, on the other hand, felt differently about it, and it was only his many years of martial-arts training that kept him from suffering major dislocations. The blue-haired Amazon seemed hell-bent on reconfiguring him like some sort of mannikin mecha.
She joked: “Surely this is as much fun for you as it is for me!”
And Kyle could only hope he would see the day when she micronized herself; because if he lived through this, there was going to be a score to settle.
Admiral Gloval called an emergency session with his chiefs of staff following Khyron’s transmission, which had been traced to New Denver. They had less than twelve hours to decide on a course of action. Claudia Grant, General Motokoff from G3, and several officers from various departments of the RDF were gathered around a long table in the SDF-2 briefing room. Exedore, still aboard the factory satellite, was in communication with them via comlink; his image appeared on one of the monitors.
“The situation is without precedent,” Motokoff was saying. He was a young man in spite of his rank, former head of the CD forces aboard the SDF-1 during its two-year ordeal in space. “Since the Zentraedi have never taken hostages before, we have no way of knowing if they’ll make good their promises.”
Gloval drew at his pipe, nodding. “Or their threats,” he told the table.
“May I respond to that, Admiral?” Exedore said from the screen.
“Go ahead, Exedore,” said Gloval.
The Zentraedi looked squarely into the remote camera. “Khyron will make good his threats, of this I can assure you. Lord Breetai concurs with me that this hostage taking suggests he has gone beyond the bounds of his Zentraedi conditioning, which would have rendered such an act unthinkable. There is no telling how far he is willing to go now. But I must caution you not to accede to his demands under any circumstances. Lord Breetai wishes me to inform you that he is at your service should you require him in settling this most unfortunate matter.”
Gloval took the pipe from his mouth and inclined his head. “That will not be necessary, Exedore, although you may convey my appreciation to the commander. Your people have already spent far too many years acting as a police force. We won’t ask you to fight our battles for us.”
“I understand, Admiral,” Exedore said evenly.
One of the officers stood up to address Gloval. “I agree with Breetai, Admiral. Putting the SDF-1 into Khyron’s hands would be an act of suicide!” The officer had gotten himself so worked up that the pencil he was holding snapped in his hands.
“Calm down,” Gloval told him gruffly. “I have no intention of giving in to his demands.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that we ignore Khyron’s threats to Kyle and Minmei,” said Claudia.
“No,” everyone was quick to say.
“We’re all in agreement on that, sir,” said another officer. “But this is a blatant act of terrorism, and we must refuse to bargain with him.”
Claudia nodded in agreement.
Gloval cleared his throat. “For two years now the Zentraedi have lived with us as equals. And in that time we have all come to know many of them as friends and allies. Khyron took advantage of this by infiltrating his spies into our cities. We have no way of knowing who they are or where they might be.”
“I don’t see what bearing this has on the problem, Admiral,” Motokoff interjected.
Gloval made a dismissive gesture. “I’m coming to that. We don’t know who our enemies are, but we do know our friends …” The chiefs of staff waited for him to finish. “So, I suggest we use the Zentraedis to trick him, as he used them to trick us.”
“Commander Hunter, engage your scrambler,” Lisa said over the net from field headquarters.
The Skull had been ordered out of the deserted Zentraedi base where the arms cache had been discovered. In minutes the place was going to be a memory, thanks to the explosive charges they had set to self-destruct.
“Engaging voice scrambler for encoded transmission, control,” Rick radioed back after tapping in a series of commands on the Veritech’s console.
He had been expecting new orders since word had been received that Khyron was responsible for the attack on New Detroit. Unlike Gloval, Rick saw no reason to doubt that Khyron had survived the Zentraedi holocaust. Khyron had always been the most self-serving of the lot; he was a born survivor, and it was not unlike him to go in hiding for two years—to stage his own resurrection. Rick recalled the many times he had faced Khyron in battle; without adequate proof, he blamed Khyron for Roy Fokker’s death. And as anxious as he felt about a renewed contest, one part of him was actually looking forward to it.
Lisa wasn’t sure she wanted to break the news to him about Minmei, but orders were orders. “Operation Star-Saver,” the High Command was calling it.
“It looks like it’s going to be a tough one, this time,” Claudia had told her. “But you, you lucky devil, you’ll be coordinating for Commander Hunter once again.”
Somehow Claudia had missed the point: Rick was being ordered to save Minmei—again! How much longer was fate going to build these rescues into their relationship? Lisa wondered. Just when the singer was no longer a threat to what little happiness Lisa and Rick shared, another crisis would present itself.
“And why was it that Rick is called to respond to every crisis?” she had asked Claudia, not really expecting a response and certainly not having to be reminded that Rick was the best there was.
That was why she wanted him.
“Good to hear your voice again, Lisa,” Rick was saying.
Lisa sucked in her breath and decided to take the plunge.
“Rick,” she began. “Your team is to report back to New Macross for special orders. Khyron has kidnapped, ah, two … people. He’s holding them hostage in New Denver for the return of the SDF-1.”
“That’s insane! The fortress isn’t even airworthy, is it?”
“Of course not. But—”
“Man, somebody really must have slipped some elephant juice into the punch bowl when that guy was cloned … And since when do the Zentraedi take hostages?”
“Since Khyron got back to town.”
“So who’d he grab? Lynn-Kyle, if it’s my lucky day.”
Lisa raised her eyes to the domed ceiling. “It’s your lucky day,” she told him.
She heard his gasp, then: “Who’s the second person, Lisa? Give it to me straight.”
Make it short and sweet, she told herself, and said: “Minmei. Khyron attacked a club in—”
“Where are they?!”
Lisa stiffened at her station. He’d fly to the sun and back, she said to herself. But to Rick, she cautioned: “There is no place for amateur heroics on this mission, Commander.”
Rick went silent, and it was too late for her to take it back.
“Uhh, really?” he said after a moment, cold as ice. “I wasn’t aware that amateur heroics were my stock in trade.”
Lisa fumed, her face coloring. The woman
tech at the adjacent station was staring at her as if assessing her professionalism. “That is all! Out!” she hollered, and slammed her palm down on the comlink button.
Four hours later, Skull Team was assembled on the flight deck of the Prometheus; they had been briefed and were ready for action.
Lisa, also recalled to New Macross, was braving the cold evening winds to wish Rick well. She couldn’t bear the thought of his going off into combat while that foolish argument remained unresolved. But he wasn’t helping her out at all, clinging to his anger.
“Please be careful, Rick,” she called up to Skull One’s cockpit. “Khyron will stop at nothing, you know that.”
Rick stopped on the top step of the Veritech’s ladder and turned to her, “thinking cap” in place. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but we’ve been over the operation, and I know what I have to do.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said as he climbed in. “I’m just afraid you’ll lose your objectivity and do something rash …”
Again her words brought him to a halt, but this time he leaped from the Veritech and strode toward her.
“Rick—”
“Yes. I love her very much—I won’t lie to you, Lisa. I’ve never tried to conceal that from you. But I settled my feelings about her a long time ago. Minmei and I can never be together … I’m flying this mission as a pilot.”
“And you’re a fine pilot, Rick. Just don’t lose your perspective, that’s all. If anything happened—”
“I’m commanding an entire squadron, Lisa! Do you think I’d jeopardize their safety just because of my feelings for Minmei?!”
“Emotions are so compelling …” she said, averting her eyes. “I just can’t be sure …”
Rick struck a challenge pose, gloved fists on his hips. “What? You can’t be sure of what?!”
She lowered her head. “It’s nothing … Forget I said anything.”
Rick put his hands on her shoulders. “Look, I’ll be back,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. He didn’t even know why they were going at each other like this. Two hostages: It didn’t matter who they were …
“Good luck,” Lisa said as he walked away.
In celebration of his imminent victory, Khyron had emptied the coffers of the last remaining Zentraedi foodstuffs and provisions—bottles of Garudan ale and sides of yptrax from Garuda, too long in the freeze-dry bins. Most of the Zentraedi subsisted on chemical nutrients, but Khyron had always strived to individualize himself. To be unique in all things. He respected the Micronians’ taste for organic food; it was only fitting that life feed on death, as death fed on life …
Khyron toasted their success, took a long pull from the bottle of ale, and refilled Azonia’s glass. She was on the floor to the left of Khyron’s improvised throne—an enormous storage crate turned on its side—Grel, a drumstick of meat in hand, to the right.
“There you are, my dear.”
Khyron and Grel watched her empty the glass and laughed drunkenly.
“She’s amazing, my lord,” Grel commented. His feelings toward Azonia had changed somewhat, especially now that there were other Zentraedi females in camp. And of course the ale helped considerably.
“I believe I’ll have another,” said Azonia. “Fill it up.”
Khyron smiled and poured. “My dear Azonia, I believe you could outdrink all of us.”
“And I’m just starting.” She beamed.
Khyron leered at her. “Excellent, Commander … excellent.”
Minmei and Kyle were imprisoned in an ingeniously designed cage fashioned from a circular arrangement of giant-size forks—the downward-pointing tines anchored by the inner lip of a shallow bowl—and a similarly sized pan lid that enclosed and held fast the backward-bending upper ends of the fork stems. To offset the fear, and really for lack of anything better to do, the two captives pulled at their makeshift bars to no avail.
Exhausted, Minmei fell to the bowl floor, Kyle beside her, breathless, his body racked with pain from Azonia’s manhandling.
“We’ll have to try another way,” she managed, gasping for air.
“There is no other way—we’ll never get out of here!”
“No, Kyle, don’t say that …”
“Whatever happens to us—no matter what he does to us—Gloval must never give in to that barbarian’s demands.” Kyle wiped sweat from his brow. “Imagine the SDF-1 in Khyron’s hands!”
“Won’t they try to rescue us?” she asked, suddenly even more frightened.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, Minmei.”
It was difficult to know just what Kyle wanted. He didn’t want the admiral to give in to Khyron’s demands, but at the same time he was already condemning him for not mounting a rescue. This was all too typical of his recent behavior, and Minmei was further saddened.
“Then there isn’t much to hope for,” she sobbed. It didn’t seem possible: Hopes and dreams were so very real …
Kyle was getting to his feet. “There’s nothing to hope for.”
“But we can’t lose hope—that’s all we’ve got,” she told him, unsure whom she was trying to convince.
But Kyle came back at her with his usual: “All the hope in the world is useless in a situation like this.”
Minmei felt sad for him. She didn’t want to hurt him but nevertheless found herself saying, “If only Rick was here—he’d save us.”
Kyle didn’t hear it or perhaps didn’t want to hear it; in either case, he had turned his attention to their captors and was now leaning between the forks and shouting at them.
“Hey, you Zentraedi! Hey, you overgrown gorillas! What a bunch of brainless baboons! All you can think about is your own bellies, huh?!”
Khyron and the others fell silent, listening to him.
“What about your own comrades? What do you think about that? Does it make you happy knowing that you’ve slaughtered your own people?!”
Minmei noticed Khyron’s eyes narrowing. She wanted to tell Kyle to stop. What was he trying to gain by this, anyway? but he went right on provoking them.
“Why can’t you goons learn to live in peace for a change? I’ll tell you why—because that would take courage, and you’re all a bunch of cowards, that’s why!”
Khyron had been getting a kick out of it—the spunk displayed by this tiny creature—but accusations about cowardice were never amusing, especially since the defeat of the armada and Khyron’s decision then to absent himself from the battle …
The Backstabber got to his feet in a rush, smashing a bottle of ale down on the table that held the cage.
“Careful, Khyron,” Azonia said as her commander stomped toward Kyle and Minmei. “Remember the fortress …”
“You puny little things,” Khyron sneered, towering over them. “If it weren’t for the fact that I need you, I’d … I’d crush you—just for pleasure!”
Minmei was shaking uncontrollably, ready to feel that hand come down on their cage. She stammered, “Be careful, Kyle, he’s been drinking!”
The female, Azonia, was by his side now, and Khyron suddenly reached out for her and pulled her to him, passionately.
“You see,” he whispered to his captives, “I’ve learned something about pleasure …”
And with that he embraced Azonia and kissed her full on the mouth, savagely; she responded, groaning and holding him fast. Kyle and Minmei were aghast—every bit as shocked as Dolza had been by Rick and Lisa’s kiss years before, the one that had started it all.
Kyle dropped to his knees as though defeated while the two Zentraedi drank in each other’s lust. And there was no telling just how far Khyron and Azonia might have been prepared to go. But fate, as is its wont, chose that particular moment to intervene: Grel, nervous at the prospect of disturbing his lord, stepped forward with news to drain the life from the best of parties.
“I’m, er, sorry to have to interrupt your … demonstration, Lord Khyron,” Grel faltered, “but I, uh, thought you might wa
nt to know that we seem to be, uh, under attack.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Hierarchy, hegemony … these words have no meaning to a Zentraedi. They were a … compartmentalized military body. Dolza was created to oversee them, Exedore to advise them; Breetai, Reno, Khyron, and innumerable others to command; and the rest, to serve. But there was never any male/female fraternization. And that very repression of natural drives and instincts was in part responsible for the tremendous energy they consequently gave over to warfare—displacement drive as it was once called … How like the matrixed seeds of the Invid Flower itself, the basis of Protoculture.
Dr. Emil Lang, Ghost Machines:
An Overview of Protoculture
Part of Azonia’s initiation into sensual pleasure was to be pushed aside and told that the time wasn’t right.
Khyron had rushed to the nearest viewscreen, leaving Azonia where he had pushed her to the floor, hungry for more of his attention. A red-haired Zentraedi soldier stationed at a forward outpost saluted the Backstabber from the screen.
“Greetings and salutations, Lord Khyron, master of the peoples of—”
Reflexively, Khyron leaned back from the monitor as a fiery blast erased the soldier’s words and carried him clear out of the remote camera’s field of view.
“What’s happening there?!” Khyron shouted into the comlink, fooling with the console control knobs. In a minute, the soldier rose into view once again, hand to his head where he’d been wounded.
“Fighters are everywhere, sir! They’ve taken us completely by surprise! We’ll try to hold them off for as long as we can!” Earth mecha streaked across the screen’s starry background, leaving contrails in the night sky. “Please, sir, you must send reinforcements—” And the monitor blanked out.
Khyron frowned. Behind him, one of his shock troopers suggested that the Micronians might be mounting a diversionary raid, but Khyron didn’t think them foolish enough to risk such a thing.
Doomsday: The Macross Saga Page 47