Jack McKinney - Robotech 15 - Death Dance

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Robotech Sentinels: Death Dance

Book 15 of the Robotech Series

CHAPTER ONE

It was as if the Expeditionary mission was fated to strike a truce with someone, and the Regent

just happened to be the only enemy in residence. In another five years the Robotech Masters would

arrive in Earthspace, followed three years later by the Regis and her half of the Invid horde; but

in 2026 (Earth-relative) this was still speculation, and for a few brief days there was talk of

peace, trust, and other impossibilities.

Ahmed Rashona, That Pass in the Night: The SDF-3 and the Mission to Tirol

A fleet of Invid warships emerged from their transtemporal journey through hyperspace into the

cool radiance of Fantoma's primary, like so many shells left revealed on a black sand beach by a

receding tide. The mollusklike carriers positioned themselves a respectful distance from the moon

they had captured then lost; only the fleet's mullet-shaped flagship continued its approach,

menacing in its sealed silence.

At the edge of the ringed giant's shadow, Tirol's guardian, the SDF-3, swung round to face

off with the Regent's vessel, the crimson lobes of its main gun brilliantly outlined in starlight.

Aboard the Earth fortress, in the ship's Tactical Information Center, Major General T. R.

Edwards watched as a transport shuttle emerged from the tip of one of the flagship's armored

tentacles. Edwards trusted that the Regent was aboard the small craft, accompanied certainly by a

retinue of guards and scientists. The presence of the Invid fleet made it clear that any acts of

aggression or duplicity would spell mutual annihilation for Invid and Humans alike.

Admiral Forsythe, who commanded the SDF-3's bridge in the wake of Lisa Hayes's departure

with the Sentinels, was now in constant communication with the Invid flagship. It was the Regent

who had taken the initiative in suggesting this extraordinary visit, but Forsythe had insisted

that the fortress remain at high alert status at least until the Regent was aboard. Disillusioned

by decades of war and betrayal, and hardened by the grim realities of recent reversals, it was the

Human race that had grown wary of summits, distrustful of those who would sue for peace.

Scanners and camera remotes monitored the approach of the Regent's shuttlecraft and

relayed relevant data to screens in the fortress's cavernous Tactical Center, where techs and

staff officers were keeping a close watch on the situation. Edwards moved to the railing of the

command balcony for an overview of the room's enormous horizontal situation screen. Studying the

positions of the Invid troop carriers in relation to the SDF-3, it occurred to him how easy it

would be to fire at them right now, perhaps take half of them out along with the Regent himself

before the Invid retaliated. And even then there was a good chance the fortress would survive the

return fire, which was bound to be confused. Numerous though they might be, the Invid seemed to

lack any real knowledge of strategy. Edwards was convinced that their successful strike against

the SDF-3 almost six months ago had been the result of surprise and old-fashioned blind luck. More

to the point, he felt that he had an intuitive understanding of this enemy-a second sense birthed

during his brief exposure to the brainlike device his own Ghost Squadron had captured on Tirol.

Edwards reminded himself of the several good reasons for exercising restraint. Apart from

the fact that the actual size of the Invid fleet remained unknown, there was this Regis being to

wonder about; her whereabouts and motivations had yet to be determined. Besides, he sensed that

the Regent had something more than peace negotiations in mind. In any case, the data Edwards had

furnished the Invid regarding the Sentinels' ship had already linked the two of them in a separate

peace. But Edwards was willing to play out the charade-even if it amounted to nothing more than an

opportunity to appraise his potential partner.

He dismissed his musings abruptly and returned to the balcony console, where he received

an update on the shuttlecraft's ETA in the fortress docking bay. Then, giving a final moment of

attention to the room's numerous screens and displays, he hurried out, adjusting his alloy

faceplate as one would a hat, and tugging his dress blues into shape.

The docking bay had been transformed into a kind of parade grounds for the occasion, with

everyone present as decked out as they had been at the Hunters' wedding extravaganza. There had

been no advance notice of what, if any, protocols were to be observed, but a brass band was on

hand nonetheless. The impression the Plenipotentiary Council wished to convey was that of a highly-

organized group, strong and decisive, but warlike only as a last resort. The twelve members of the

council had a viewstand all to themselves at the edge of a broad magenta circle, concentric to the

shuttle's touchdown zone. A majority of the council had ruled against the show of force Edwards

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had pushed for, but as a concession, he had been allowed to crowd the bay with rank after rank of

spit-shined mecha-Battloids, Logans, Hovertanks, Excalibers, Spartans, and the like.

The shuttle docked while Edwards was making his way to a preassigned place near the

council's raised platform; since he had been the council's spokesperson in arranging the talks, it

had been decided that he represent them now in the introductory proceedings. Edwards had of course

both seen and fought against the enemy's troops, and he had met face-to-face with the scientists

Obsim and Tesla; but neither of these examples had prepared him for his first sight of the Invid

Regent, nor had the Royal Hall's communicator sphere given him any sense of the XT's size. Like

the lesser beings of the Invid race, the Regent was something of an evolutionary pastiche-a

greenish slug-headed bipedal creature whose ontogeny and native habitat was impossible to imagine-

but he stood a good twenty feet high and was crowned by an organic cowl or hood, adorned, so it

seemed, with a median ridge of eyeball-like tubercles. Dr. Lang had talked about self-generated

transformations and reshapings that had little to do with evolution as it had come to be accepted

(and expected) on Earth. But all the Protoculture pataphysics in the galaxy couldn't keep Edwards

from gaping.

A dozen armed and armored troopers preceded the Regent down the shuttle ramp (a ribbed

saucer similar in design to the troop carriers), and split into two ranks, genuflecting on either

side of what would be the Regent's carpeted path toward the council platform. Recovered, Edwards

stepped forward to greet the alien in Tiresian, then repeated the words in English. The Invid

threw back the folds of his cerulean robes, revealing four-fingered hands, and glared down at him.

"I learned your language-yesterday," the Regent announced in a voice that carried its own

echo. "I find your concepts most...amusing."

Edwards looked up into the Regent's black eyes and offered a grin. "And rest assured we'll

do our best to keep you amused, Your Highness." He was pleased to see the alien's bulbous snout

sensors begin to pulsate.

Edwards's one-eyed gaze held the Regent's own for an instant, and that was all he needed

to realize that something was wrong-that this being was not the one he had spoken to via the

communications sphere. But he kept this to himself, falling aside theatrically to usher the Regent

forward to the council platform.

The Plenipotentiary members introduced themselves one by one, and after further

formalities the Regent and his retinue were directed to the amphitheater that had been designated

for the talks. The Regent's size had necessitated a specific route, along which Edwards had made

certain to place as many varieties of mecha as he could muster. Each hold the summit principals

passed through found combat-ready Veritechs and Alphas; each corridor turn, another squad of RDF

troops or a contingent of towering Destroids. While aboard, the Regent's every word and step would

be monitored by the extensive security system Edwards had made operational as part of his Code

Pyramid project-a system that had also managed to find its way into the council's public and

private chambers, and into many of the fortress's Robotechnological labs and inner sanctums.

There was a smorgasbord of food and drink awaiting everyone in the amphitheater's

antechambers; the Regent nourished himself on applelike fruits his servants brought forth. Edwards

noticed that Lang was doing his best to attach himself to the Invid leader, but the Regent seemed

unimpressed, refusing to discuss any of the topics the Earth scientist broached. In fact, only

Minmei succeeded in getting a rise out of the Regent. Edwards noted that the Invid could barely

take his eyes off the singer after she had completed her songs, and he retained a slightly

spellbound look long after the introductory addresses had commenced.

Terms for a truce were slated for follow-up discussions, so civilians and members of the

press were permitted to enter the amphitheater itself. Edwards saw to it that Minmei was seated

beside him in the front row, where the Regent could get a good look at the two of them.

The alien's initial remarks put to rest any doubts that may have lingered in Edwards's

mind concerning the ongoing impersonation. The Regent spoke of misunderstandings on both sides, of

a desire to bring peace and order to a section of the galaxy that had known nonstop warfare for

centuries. He claimed to understand now just what had prompted the Human forces to undertake their

desperate journey, and he sympathized with their present plight, hinting that it might be possible

to accelerate the timetable for the Human's return trip to their homeworld-providing, of course,

that certain terms could be agreed upon.

"It's a pity there has been so much loss of life," the Invid continued in the same

imperious tone, "both in Tirolspace and during the so-called 'liberation' of Karbarra. But while

we may have no cause for further quarrel with your forces here, it must be understood that no

leniency could be expected for those of your number who chose to join the Sentinels. And despite

what you may have been told by the Tiresians, those worlds-Praxis, Garuda, and the rest-belong to

me. The reasons for this are complex and at present irrelevant to the nature of these

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negotiations, but again we wish to stress that the Sentinels' cause was a misguided one from the

start. It was inevitable that they fail sooner or later."

A charged silence fell over the auditorium, and Edwards had to restrain himself from

laughing. The Sentinels had not been heard from for four months now. Official word had it that the

Farrago was maintaining radio silence for strategic reasons. Then, recently, there had been open

speculation that the ship had been badly damaged during the battle for Praxis. But Edwards knew

better. He felt Minmei's trembling grasp on his upper arm. Colonel Adams, also seated in the front

row, leaned forward to throw him a knowing look.

"We have only recently lost contact with the Farrago," Professor Lang was saying. "But I'm

certain that once communications are re-established and an accord of some sort is enacted, Admiral

Hunter and the others will abide by its terms and return to Tirol."

The Invid crossed his massive arms. "Yes, I'm sure they would have honored it, Dr. Lang.

But I'm afraid it's too late. Four months ago the Sentinels' ship was destroyed-with all hands

aboard."

A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and Edwards heard Minmei begin to sob.

"Rick...Jonathan," she said, struggling to her feet, only to collapse across Edwards's lap.

Someone nearby screamed. Lang and the rest of the council were standing, their words

swallowed up in the noise of dozens of separate conversations. News personnel and members of the

general staff were rushing from the room. Edwards snapped an order to his aide to summon a doctor.

Adams, meanwhile, was shoving onlookers aside.

Edwards held Minmei protectively. Once again he sought out the Invid's lustrous eyes; and

in that glance a pact was affirmed.

But on Praxis the dead walked-those Sentinels who had escaped the destruction of the

Farrago, and, unknown to them, a deadly host of archaic creatures returned to life in the bowels

of the planet's abandoned Genesis Pits...

"Take a look for yourself," Vince Grant suggested, stepping back from the scanner's

monitor screen. Rick Hunter and Jonathan Wolff leaned in to regard the image centered there: an

intact drive module that had been blown clear of the ship and had fallen into low orbit around

Praxis. Vince was reasonably certain the module's Protoculture-peat engines were undamaged.

"And there's no way to call it down?" Rick asked. "A hundred miles or so and an Alpha

could reach the thing." Normally, one could fly a Veritech to the moon and back, but not one of

the Sentinels' all-but-depleted Alphas was capable of attaining escape velocity.

Vince shook his head, his brown face grim. "We barely have enough power to keep the nets

alive."

"Then it might as well be a million miles away," Wolff thought to add.

Vince switched off the screen and the three men sat down to steaming mugs of tea one of

the Praxians had brewed up from some indigenous grass. After four months it had come down to this:

the GMU's stores were nearly empty and foraging had become one of the group's primary activities.

And in all those months they had yet to come up with an explanation for the disappearance of the

planet's native population. What was left of the central city and all the surrounding villages

were deserted. But whether what Bela called "the Praxian Sisterhood" had chosen to leave had not

been ascertained.

Puzzling, too, were the tectonic anomalies and quakes that were continuing to plague the

planet, as often as three times a day now. The quakes had convinced the Sentinels' Praxian

contingent that Arla-Non--Bela's "mother" and the leader of the Sisterhood-had struck a deal with

the Invid to move the planet's population to some other world. Rick wasn't sure if he bought the

explanation, but it certainly served a therapeutic need if nothing else.

"Look," Rick said, breaking the silence, "they're probably already searching for us.

Lang's not about to write us off. And even if the mining operation is close to on-schedule,

they'll have at least one ship readied with the capability for a local jump. We just have to hope

the Invid have lost interest in this place."

The horde's absence these months bordered on the conspicuous; and with the quakes and

deserted villages, Cabell had speculated that it was possible the Invid knew something the

Sentinels didn't.

Rick's optimism in the face of all this had Vince smiling to himself. Rick would always be

a commander whether he liked it or not. "It's not Lang we're worried about," he said, speaking for

himself and Wolff.

Rick caught his meaning. "Edwards has to answer to the council." There was an edge to his

voice he didn't mean to put there. Lang had warned Rick about Edwards during one of the last links

the Farrago had had with Base Tirol, and it was difficult to keep the memory of that brief deep-

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space commo from surfacing.

"Don't underestimate the man's ambitions, Rick," Wolff cautioned. "I'm sure they're going

to come looking, but I'm willing to bet that Edwards will have the council eating out of his hand

by then. Maybe one of us should have-"

"I don't want to go over old ground," Rick cut him off. "The only thing that interests me

right now is a way to reach that drive module."

Grant and Wolff exchanged looks and studied their cups of tea. Rick was right, of course:

there was no use dwelling on the choices they had made, individually and collectively. Wolff liked

to think that at least Vince had Jean by his side and the precious GMU under his feet. But Rick

had all but resigned his commission, and Wolff himself had left his heart behind.

A rumbling sound broke the silence, causing the mugs to skitter across the tabletop. The

tremor built in intensity, rattling the command center's consoles and screens, then subsided,

rolling away beneath them like contained thunder.

No one spoke for a moment. Wolff wore a wary look as he loosened his grip on the edge of

the table and sat back to exhale a whistle. "Course, Praxis could do us in long before the Invid

or Edwards."

"Pleasant thought," Vince told him.

Rick gave them both an angry look. "We're going to get to that module if we have to pole-

vault there."

Tactical concerns (and personal preference) had kept Vince Grant and Rick somewhat

anchored to the GMU (which had been moved inland from its original seaside landing zone); but the

rest of the substantially reduced Robotech contingent, along with the XT Sentinels, had opted for

Praxis's wooded valleys, the planet's often glorious skies, and rolling hills. Max and Miriya's

Skull Squadron had spent most of the past months reconning remote areas, hoping to come upon some

trace of the vanished Sisterhood; but they had only succeeded in further depleting already

critical reserves of Protoculture fuel. Consequently, the Wolff Pack stuck close to base,

Hovertanks shut down. Bela and Gnea and the other Praxians had voluntarily detailed themselves to

serve the group's logistical needs, and were assisted in this by the bearlike Karbarrans and

vulpine Garudans. Cabell had all but isolated himself, disappearing for long walks from which he

would return with samples of native rock or flora. Still a bit uncomfortable with the Humans and

not yet fully accepted by the XTs, the Tiresian was often found in the company of Rem, Baldan,

Teal, and the limbless Haydonites, Veidt and Sarna. Janice, too, had become an unofficial member

of Cabell's eldritch clique, much to Rick and Lisa's puzzlement.

Presently, Cabell and Janice were off together on a long walk; they were on a forested

slope about fifteen miles from the mobile base when the tremor that had shaken the GMU struck. The

minor quake did little more than knock them off balance and loosen some gravel and shale from

nearby heights; but it was the morning's second shakeup and it brought a severe look to Cabell's

face.

Janice had thought to take hold of the old man's arm and utter a short panicked sound as

the ground began to tremble. It was a performance worthy of Minmei's best, although Janice could

hardly appreciate it as such-any more than she could fully understand just what had compelled her

to seek out Rem and Cabell's company in the first place. That this should somehow please Dr. Lang

was a thought as baffling to her as it was discomforting.

"There, there, child," Cabell was saying, patting her hand. "It will be over in a moment."

They recommenced their climb when the tremor passed. Janice disengaged herself and urged

Cabell to go on with what they had been discussing.

"Ah, yes," he said, running a hand over his bald pate, "the trees."

Janice listened like a student eager for A's.

"As you can see, they're nothing like the scrub growth we found on Karbarra-far healthier,

much closer to the unmutated form." He motioned with his hand and went up on tiptoes to touch the

spherical "canopy" of a healthy-looking specimen. The tendrils that encased the solid-looking

sphere and rigid near-translucent trunk seemed to pulse with life. Gingerly, Cabell plucked one of

the verdigris-colored applelike fruits, burnished it against his robe, and began to turn it about

in his wrinkled hand.

"Even the fruit they bear is different in color and texture-although still a far cry from

the true Opteran species. Nevertheless, it may tell us something." He took off his rucksack and

placed the sample inside. "Look for the ripest ones," the instructed Janice, as she added a second

fruit to the pack.

Cabell was straightening up when a sudden movement further up the slope caught his eye.

Janice heard him start, and turned to follow his narrowed gaze.

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"What was it?"

Cabell stroked his beard. "I thought I saw someone up ahead."

"A Praxian?" Janice asked, craning her neck and sharpening her vision.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I would swear it was Burak!"

Later, a stone's throw from the grounded GMU, inside the wooden structure that had been

designated both quarters and cell, Tesla wolfed down the fruits Burak had picked from the sinister

orchard Zor's Flower of Life seedings had spawned on Praxis.

"Yes, yes, different, ummm," the Invid was saying in a voice tinged-with rapture.

The young Perytonian tried to avert his eyes, but in the end couldn't help himself from

watching Tesla as he ingested fruit after fruit. Moist sucking noises filled the cell.

"And you think they may have seen you?" Tesla asked him.

"It is possible-Cabell, in any case."

Tesla scoffed, still munching and handling the fruits as if they were wealth itself.

"Cabell is too old to recognize the nose on his own face. Besides, they know I can't subsist on

what you call food."

Burak said nothing. It was true enough: the Invid's food stock had been destroyed with the

Farrago, and the Sentinels had agreed to place Burak in charge of securing alternative nutrient

plants. But Cabell, who was anything but a doddering old man, and perhaps fearing the very

transformations Tesla was beginning to undergo, had suggested that the Invid's fruit and Flower

intake be regulated-this in spite of the fact that Tesla had to some extent ingratiated himself

with the group since their victory on Karbarra. Each evening, Cabell and Jean Grant would look in

on Tesla. Burak had been asked to furnish them with a daily log of the amounts gathered and

ingested; and the devilish-looking Perytonian was complying-inasmuch as he would file a report.

But the report was hardly a reflection of the actual amounts Tesla consumed. Fortunately, though,

the Invid's transformations had been limited to brief periods following his meals, when neither

Cabell nor Jean were present.

"More," Tesla said now, holding out his hands.

Burak regarded the Invid's newly-acquired fifth digit and pulled the basket out of reach.

"I think you've had enough for today." Burak had heard it said that extraordinary powers could be

gained from ingesting the fruits of Haydon's Worlds, but he had never understood that to mean

physical transfiguration, and the Invid's recent changes were beginning to fill him with fear.

Tesla's eyes glowed red as he came to his feet, taller by inches than he had stood on

Karbarra. "You dare to say this to me after all we've been through? You, who sought me out before

fate landed us in this despicable situation? And what of your homeworld and the curse you were so

feverish to see ended-have you given up hope? Would you renounce your destiny?"

Burak took a hesitant step toward the door, the basket clasped to him. "You're changing!"

he said, pointing to Tesla's hands. "They're going to notice it, and what then? They'll cut back

on the amounts, put someone else in charge of you. Then what becomes of your promises-what becomes

of Peryton?"

Tesla continued to glare at him a moment more, transmogrifying even as Burak watched. The

Invid's skull rippled and expanded, as though being forced to conform to some novel interior

design. Gradually, however, Tesla reassumed his natural state and collapsed back into his seat,

spent, subdued, and apologetic.

"You're right, Burak. We must take care to keep our partnership a carefully-guarded

secret." His black, ophidian eyes fixed on Burak. "And have no fear for your tortured world. When

the time comes for me to assume my rightful place in these events, I shall reward you for these

efforts."

"That's all that I ask," Burak told him.

The two XTs fell silent as a gentle tremor shook the building.

Tesla stared at the floor. "I sense something about this planet," he announced, his sensor

organs twitching as his snout came up. "And I think I am beginning to see just what the Regis was

doing here."

CHAPTER TWO

Unfortunately, there are no detailed descriptions of the Genesis Pits, other than Rand's colorful

but highly personalized and impressionistic accounts (specious, as some would add), and the notes

Colonel Adams hastily scribbled to himself while on Optera. And despite a plethora of theories and

explanations, the sad truth is that the mechanism of the Pits remains a complete mystery-except to

say that they were devices utilized by the Regis for purposes of creative evolution. Praxis

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apparently played host to the largest of these, and Lang, to name one, has speculated that the

Pits not only gave rise to extinct creatures, but succeeded in regressing the entire planet to a

formative stage of destructive vulcanism.

Zeus Bellow, The Road to Reflex Point

If Burak and Tesla had become the Sentinels' silent partnership, then Jack Baker and Karen Penn

were certainly the group's inseparable pair. But that, each liked to believe, was merely a result

of duty assignments. And even four months on Praxis hadn't provided them with enough time to work

through the competitive trifles that fueled their relationship. They were not only marooned, but

marooned together; and Praxis had become the proverbial town that just wasn't big enough for the

two of them. Bela, Praxis's wasp-waisted local sheriff, was only one of the contributing factors;

but Karen nevertheless took every opportunity to keep Jack as far from Bela as she could, often

encouraging the Hovercycle recons that had become something of Jack's stock-in-trade.

A joyride disguised as a scouting mission had brought Jack and Karen to a series of caves

two hours out from the GMU. Lron and Kami had ridden with them. Four months had given the

Sentinels plenty of time to grieve for those who had gone down with the Farrago; but Karen often

wondered just how long it was going to take for her to grow accustomed to her XT comrades. She

wasn't a bit xenophobic-a fact that had won her a place with the Sentinels to begin with-and in

actuality it wasn't so much the strangeness of Lron or Kami that overwhelmed her, but the

similarities. If only Karbarrans didn't so resemble Kodiak bears, she would tell herself. And if

only Kami didn't look like upright versions of the foxes she used to see near the cabin her father

had once owned...She had much less trouble with Baldan and Teal, with their bodies of living

crystal. Or Tesla, for that matter-now there was an alien you could believe in!

But wolves and bears and snail-headed things...Karen was in the midst of wishing that Bela

had had a more alien form-even a more rotund form-when without warning, Jack hissed: "Cut it out!"

The four Sentinels were well into the central cave now, inside a huge vaulted corridor

that was as hot as blazes and reeking of sulphur. Curiosity had drawn them in; but Jack, never one

to do things halfway, had insisted they go "just a little further," and here they were a good half

a click along. There were primitive sketches on the walls of the caverns they had passed through-

depictions of hideous spiderlike creatures Jack claimed were "symbols"-and Karen was in no mood

for fun house games or laugh-in-the-dark surprises.

"Huh?" she said, gulping and finding her voice.

"I said cut it out."

"I know what you said, Jack..."

She threw him an angry look in the darkness, wondering suddenly if she had actually voiced

some of her private musings about Bela. Then all at once something hit her on the top of the head.

XTs or not, she decided, someone was trying to be funny. Karen whirled around, hoping to catch

Kami in the act, but he was way off to her left inspecting a chunk of rock near the cave wall.

Lron, too, seemed to be preoccupied with other things. So, wiping sweat from her face, she turned

back to Jack, and said, "Not funny."

"What?"

She put a hand up to shield her eyes from his miner's light. "Throwing things. I'm not

real thrilled about being in here to start with."

"I didn't throw anything," he started to say, when Lron's gurgling snarl interrupted him.

"Who hit me?" the Karbarran growled.

Jack felt a tap on his shoulder, swung to it, then instinctively looked up. His light

illuminated what looked like an assemblage of globular-shaped deposits on the cave's ceiling.

Suddenly he saw one of the things move, and realized that it was some sort of free-floating,

translucent sphere. Kami switched on the light strapped above his muzzlemask and shined it on

another portion of the ceiling; here were more spheres, ranging from baseball size to almost four

feet in diameter, all bobbing against the rock like helium balloons.

"What the...?" Jack said, moving his head around, the beam finding more and more globes.

"Jeez, the place is crawling with them."

"Jack!" Kami shouted, training his light on something further along the corridor. Everyone

turned in time to see a medium-sized globe emerge like a bubble from a conelike projection in the

cave floor. Jack rushed ahead, watching the milky thing ascend, and soon found himself perched on

the rim of a large shaft, roughly circular and belching up a lot of heat and noxious fumes. Kami,

Lron, and Karen joined him a moment later, just as another globe was beginning to make its way up

and out.

"What a stink," Karen commented.

Warily, Jack reached out to touch the basketball-sized orb. It was hot, but not

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dangerously so; what surprised him was the thing's misleading solidity.

"Jack, don't," Karen warned him when he tried to capture it.

But as was so often the case with Jack, the warning came too late: no sooner had he taken

hold of the sphere than it shot toward the ceiling, lifting Jack off the floor. Arms extended over

his head, he rode it up for fifteen feet before letting go and landing on the other side of the

cavern in a neat tuck-and-roll that blew out the miner's light.

"Yeah!" he whooped, as Kami helped him to his feet. It wasn't unlike the spill he had

taken six months ago in Tiresia, but this time he had landed among friends.

Karen hauled off and whacked him in the arm. "Jack, can't you just-"

"That thing took off like a rocket! Almost pulled my arms out of the sockets."

"Yeah, we noticed, Jack," Karen said, miffed.

They were all staring at the ceiling now.

Jack watched the spheres bob against one another. "Almost seems like they're looking for a

way out of here, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, just like we are," Karen and Lron said at the same time.

In the commo chamber of his hivelike domain on Optera, the Invid Regent received a

transmission from the simulagent who was representing him on Tirol. It seemed that the so-called

Humans now occupying the Robotech Masters' ravaged and forlorn moon had put on quite a show-with

the kind of pomp and circumstance the Regent strived to imitate. He was almost sorry he hadn't

gone there himself. What with most of his remaining fleet anchored in Fantomaspace, was there

really anything to fear? he asked himself. Still, the fact remained that there were too many

unanswered questions. What, after all, did the would-be commander of the Human forces-this Major

General Edwards-want? He had been so quick to come to the Regent's aid in that matter of the

Sentinels' ship...But it bothered the Regent that the Human had yet to ask for anything in return.

Did he simply wish to capitalize on the Sentinels' defeat to move himself higher in the chain of

command, or were these machinations part of some larger scheme?

In a certain sense the answer was unimportant, the Regent decided at last-providing he

could make use of that factionalism that divided the Human forces.

He regarded the image in the communications sphere, catching a look in his double's eyes

that troubled him. "Is there news of Tesla?"

"There is," the simulagent said. "It appears the Tesla was aboard the Farrago when our

forces destroyed it."

Tesla, dead, the Regent thought. It touched him in a way he would never have believed

possible. But perhaps it was not true, perhaps there were survivors of that battle? He had yet to

hear from the follow-up forces who had been sent in to resecure the planet. "Who seems to be in

charge?" he asked after a moment.

"As you surmised," the simulagent continued, "there are signs of an ongoing power

struggle, principally between Edwards and a certain Dr. Lang-a scientist who did his best to charm

me during the introductory sessions."

"Is Lang the weaker one, then?"

"No...no, this is not my belief. The scientist in fact seems to have the backing of the

Humans' council-an assembly that functions as a kind of governing body."

The Regent found the idea odd-as he had the puzzling gerontocracy the Robotech Masters had

favored. He couldn't understand how twelve minds could agree on anything, when he and his queen-

merely two minds-had quarreled over every decision.

"Then, you must work on Edwards," the Regent said. "Promise your continued support in his

petty struggle if it comes down to that. Tell him we'll join forces. But just make certain you

learn the whereabouts of their homeworld! and how they came to possess Protoculture. It may be

that they know more than we do about Zor's matrix or the Masters' destination."

"Am I to make no demands of Edwards in return for our support, Your Highness? It hardly

seems a wise move."

The Regent stared at the sphere's image in disbelief. Was this some evil mirror he was

looking into now? "Just what would you have me demand?" he asked, seething under the restraint he

kept in his voice.

"The brain, to begin with. Along with their promise to keep out of the sectors we still

control."

The Regent made a dismissive motion toward the sphere. "These things are obvious, servant.

What else is on your mind?"

"Minmei," the simulagent said without explanation.

The Regent made an irritated sound and scowled. "What's a Minmei?"

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"The Human female that sang for my benefit."

The Regent caught himself from staggering back from the sphere. He had only the vaguest

understanding of this thing called singing, but the implication was clear enough: the simulagent

was flawed in the same way that the Regis was. She had allowed herself to be seduced by Zor, and

now this pathetic creature the Regent had sent to Tirol was falling victim to the same perverse

urge! Was there no end to these injustices!

"Hear me, grub," the Regent growled, hood puffed up like a poisonous sac. "My reach is

long enough to end your life where you stand. Do my bidding, or feel the power of my wrath."

The simulagent genuflected for the remote eye of the sphere. "My lord."

"Now and always," the Regent said, shutting down the device.

Rick had spent the better part of the Praxian day inside the GMU, brainstorming with Vince

and Wolff about possible ways to contact the orbiting Spherisian drive module. Onboard computers

had calculated the period of the module's eccentric course, and gone on to project just how much

Sekiton fuel the thing contained, how far the module could be expected to fold, and just when its

newly-attained orbit around Praxis might decay. But there were still no solutions to the big

questions of how to reach the module or bring it down.

Rick left the base just before sunset, as had become his habit this past month, and joined

the core group in their makeshift camp on the outskirts of the Praxian inland city. He wasn't fond

of the scene, which reminded him more of a recreational campground than the billet it was supposed

to be. Things were not just lax, but loose, as though everyone but him had grown to accept the

situation. There was a logic to it, of course; it made no sense to walk around tied up in knots.

But just the same, Rick had no patience with complacency, and he silently hoped that an idea would

come to them one night while sitting around these camp-fires comparing cultural notes. So he stood

in line with the rest of them now, Human and XT alike, and helped himself to the Praxian gruel the

mess staff was cooking up to supplement the reconstituted meals and nutrient pills taken from the

base's dwindling stores. Moreover, these sessions were the only waking hours he got to spend with

Lisa-the new Lisa, that was, the liberated Lisa.

Where Gnea and Bela were still unforgiving of Miriya Sterling's Zentraedi past, they had

embraced Lisa as though she were a long-lost member of the Sisterhood. At first Rick was not

entirely unhappy about it, but all at once Lisa seemed a different person than the one who had

argued so strongly against his joining the Sentinels to begin with. And while it was true that

what was good for Lisa was good for the group, Rick couldn't help but feel a bit, well, jealous of

the partnership Gnea and Lisa had formed. The Praxian seemed to draw this sort of reaction

everywhere she stepped. Rick knew that Karen was having troubles with her, and he guessed that

even Bela must be harboring some ambivalent feelings about her friend's sudden preoccupation with

Lisa.

With Gnea it was martial skills that mattered most; but beyond speed and strength, Lisa

had discovered something else: an independence and self-assertiveness that was taking some getting

used to.

Rick had these thoughts in mind when she came over to sit beside him in the firelight,

still flushed and exhilarated from her latest weapons training session. She talked about the feel

of the halberd in her hands, the power of the naginata; she was practically poetic in describing

Gnea's crossbow and two-handed shortsword. Rick took it all in, forcing a smile and offering all

he could in the way of appropriate nods and utterances; but behind the smile his mind was doing

backflips. What next? he asked himself. Would he come out here one evening to find her parading

around in some skimpy fighting costume, like Bela's bossed and D-ringed body harness? Would she

suddenly take to buccaneer boots, some totem-crested helm, long-bladed dirks and throwing knives?

Rick shuddered at the thought, grateful for the fact that that damned Robosteed, Halidarre, was

temporarily grounded. Unfortunately, however, the Praxian's lambent-eyed malthi, Hagane, was not,

and the winged pest nearly parted Rick's hair as it came darting in just now to settle itself on

Bela's bulky forearm sheath.

Rick muttered a curse and looked over at his wife. "Glad to hear how well it's going," he

told her. "And I'm sure all this'll come in handy at the next Tirol decathlon."

She looked at him askance and took a forkful of food from his plate. "Something bothering

you, Rick?"

"No, no, I mean, it's good to see you keeping busy, Lisa."

"Is that what you think I'm doing-'keeping busy'?"

Rick inclined his head, eyes narrowed. "It's what we're all doing, isn't it? What am I

supposed to do: spit in my palm and pledge my fealty to someone? 'For the Eternal She and the

glory of Haydon!'" Rick mimicked.

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"Rick-"

"No, really. Maybe we should all be practicing swordplay and crossbow technique, leaps and

high jumps. Then maybe one of us'll be able to reach that module instead of wasting away down

here."

Almost everyone in the circle caught an earful of Rick's words, and the usual evening's

chatter abruptly ceased. The fires crackled, and four Hovercycles could be heard approaching the

perimeter. Lisa and Rick seemed to be locked in an eye-to-eye contest when Jack, Karen, Kami, and

Lron entered the camp. Jack took a long look around, oblivious to the uncomfortable silence his

swaggering entrance had dispersed, and announced cheerfully: "Wait'll you hear what we found."

"They've agreed to help us," Veidt said later on, hovering into the cavern where Rick and

some of the other Sentinels were puzzling over the hideous cave paintings Karen had pointed out.

"If 'agreed' is the proper word."

Karen noted that there were fewer globes than there had been that afternoon; several had

apparently found their way out, as evidenced by the fact that one or two had been found bobbing

against the ceiling close to the mouth of the cave.

"Then they are life-forms?" Rick said.

"Oh, most assuredly."

Rick heard Bela snort behind him. After Jack had told them of the find, the Praxian women

claimed to have heard tales of these orb creatures from Arla-Non, chief of the Sisterhood. But the

things were believed to be extinct, just as the beasts depicted on the cave wall were-or so Rick

and the others hoped.

They had all tried to convince Rick that the orbs could wait until the morning, but he had

insisted Jack lead them back to the caves immediately. Now, not quite four hours since Jack's

return to the base, Rick and half a dozen or so of the core group were standing in the floodlit

heat of the cave, listening to the results of Veidt's telepathic probe.

"I register no sense of how they came to arrive here," the mouthless Haydonite was mind-

speaking, motioning to the cavern. "I only know that their destiny lies somewhere in space. This

condition of...levity is but a transitional stage in their life cycle. They are sentient, in what

might be termed a primitive, or instinctual, fashion. But the important thing is that they seem to

understand our need for their assistance-their support, if I may be permitted to play with your

language some. In fact, Sarna and I detect a certain desperateness to their own flight-as if they

are not merely obeying a behavioral directive, but are, in quite a real sense, escaping."

No one felt a need to state the obvious: Praxis was a tectonic nightmare from which they

all wished to awaken. The heat and stench of the cave only reinforced that fact. And if the cave

was indeed a volcanic vent of some sort, it was no wonder the globes were anxious to leave.

Cabell, his face and glabrous pate beaded with sweat, was watching one of the smaller

creatures now, as it bobbed its way toward the entrance. He couldn't help but be reminded of

Tiresia's antigrav spheres, and he began to question if there wasn't some mysterious connection

here.

Rick was watching the same sphere; but he was wondering just how many it might take to

lift an Alpha to the edge of the Praxian envelope. "Do they understand what we're asking of them?-

the specifics, I mean."

Veidt hovered over to a position directly beneath a cluster of the creatures.

"The mecha should lift off on its own power," Sarna answered for him. "After that, Veidt

and I will be able to herd the orbs into place."

Excited, Rick punched the palm of his hand. He swung around to Jack and Karen. "Contact

the GMU. Tell Vince to round up the Skull and the Wolff Pack. We've got to work fast and assemble

a crew for the module."

"Will we be heading back to base?" Karen thought to ask.

Rick shook his head. "Give Vince our position. Tell him what we've learned." He glanced up

at the globes, rivulets of sweat running down into his eyes. "I want the base to come to us."

While members of the Sentinels hurried to break down the camp and ready the GMU for

motion, Burak was breaking the news to Tesla. The Invid made him repeat it several times until

satisfied he had all the details straight.

He had felt certain all along that he wasn't fated to end his days on Praxis, and now

Burak had brought word that Hunter and the others had discovered a way to reach the orbiting drive

module. With precious little time to spare, Tesla thought as he and Burak packed away the few

belongings the Invid kept in his cell.

Ever since his earlier ingestion of the mutated fruits, his mind had been reeling, locked

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in a kind of revelatory state, where answers came to him full-blown, like short-lived explosions

of light. He had been asking himself why the Regis had come to Praxis in the first place; it was a

question that had been plaguing him on and off for months now.

It was before the mutiny aboard the Farrago that they had encountered one another, when

Tesla had landed on Praxis to choose specimens for the Regent's zoo. The Regis had given him a

vague explanation then, and it didn't occur to him until much later on to question her responses.

With the continual quakes to spur him on, however, and the aid of the fruits, the answer became

obvious: she had come here to conduct further Genesis Pit experiments-part of her grand scheme to

transmute the Invid race into something Tesla himself could not yet begin to imagine. Optera had

been the site of the first Pits, where Tesla and most of the other evolved Invid were birthed. But

the Regis's experiment there had almost doomed the planet; it had, in fact, touched off the

initial search for secondary worlds she might employ. Abandoning Optera and the Regent, she had

finally come to Praxis to hollow out new Pits deep in the planetary core. And of course that was

why she had left the place-because her experiment was following the same course it had taken on

Optera.

Left. But for where? Tesla asked himself...

He put a hand on Burak's shoulder as they were about to leave the room. "You say they will

be choosing a crew to pilot the first Alpha up to the module?"

Burak felt the strength of the Invid's grip, and tried to shake it off, but could not.

"Are we going to die here, Tesla?" he asked in a faltering voice. "Peryton, my people-"

"Quiet, you fool!" Tesla stepped through the doorway, glancing around to assure himself

that no one was within earshot, then swinging back around to Burak. "We won't die here-not if

we're part of that crew, we won't."

Burak's face contorted. "But how-"

"You leave that to me. I just need to know one thing." Tesla sniffed at him. "Can you

pilot that Spherisian module?"

"I suppose so," Burak said uncertainly.

Tesla stretched out his thick neck. "Then we're all set."

CHAPTER THREE

In Admiral [Rick] Hunter's personal notes [recorded on Praxis], we learn of several discussions

that took place between Cabell and Bela regarding the issue of child-bearing among the Praxians.

(Hunter himself was nonplussed to hear Bela refer to Arla-Non as her "mother.") [Bela] even

allowed Cabell to tour the whaashi-"birthing center," or creche-although refused to enter it

herself. It was understood that certain members of the Sisterhood were preselected to receive

female "offspring," who were then raised as "daughters of the Sun." The Praxians had little

understanding of courtship, sexuality, or pregnancy; the "coupling rite" being a kind of catch-all

mystery that was at the same time enticing and fearsome. Cabell, of course, was quick to see

Haydon's hand at work.

A. Jow, The Historical Hay don

Of all the worlds she had visited, this was the saddest, the Regis decided as she contemplated

Haydon IV's cityscape from the uppermost tier of the Invid headquarters there. It was a small

world, perfect in every respect, but with a heart as lifeless as the faceless beings who hovered

across its surface and seemed to know one's every thought. The Regent liked to believe that he had

conquered the place by cajoling his way into a position of absolute authority; but Haydon IV had

seen many a would-be ruler come and go, while it itself remained unchanged, ungovernable,

unreachable. It was one of the few open trading ports left since the Tirol-Optera war had spread

like some contagion through the Quadrant; and as such Haydon IV enjoyed a semblance of peace.

Still, the Regis sensed the presence of an incomprehensible evil here, far worse than the

vulcanistic horrors her Genesis Pit experiments had unearthed on poor Praxis.

She had come to see for herself what the Invid scientists had found here, and now, as

grateful as she was for the data they had supplied her, she could feel nothing but a kind of vague

dread for the future, for the very path she had embarked on. Haydon IV's sophisticated scanners

had picked up a trace of the Robotech Masters' course, and in effect pointed a way to Zor's ship

with its matrixed Flowers. But the Regis's private samplings of the planet's vast store of

metaphysical knowledge had revealed something of potentially greater import-a suggestion that she

had been as self-deceived as the Regent had been. That her ostensibly evolved nature-along with

her continuing efforts to search out the physical form deemed most perfect to embody her intellect-

was but a carefully constructed delusion, self-generated and engineered to keep her from the real

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Jack McKinney - Robotech 15 - Death Dance

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