Jack McKinney - Robotech 05 - Force of Arms

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Robotech: Force of Arms

Book Five of the Robotech Series

PART I: SHOWDOWN

PROLOGUE

In the 1990s, a global civil war swept across the planet Earth; few wanted

this war, but no one seemed to be able to avert it. It absorbed all the

smaller disparate wars, rebellions, and terrorist struggles in the same way a

huge storm vacuums up all the lesser weather systems around it.

The War was fought with conventional weapons for the most part, but by

1999 it was clear that its escalation pointed directly to an all-out nuclear

exchange-planetary obliteration. There seemed to be nothing any sane person

could do about it. By then, the War had a life of its own.

As the human race prepared to die-for everyone knew that the final phase

of the War would surely exterminate all life on Earth, the fragile lunar and

Martian research colonies, and the various orbital constructs-something like a

malign miracle happened.

A damaged starship-a super dimensional fortress created by the dying

alien mastermind, Zor-appeared in Earth's skies. It crashed on a tiny Pacific

island called Macross. Its descent wreaked more havoc than any war: there was

tremendous damage and loss of life and numerous natural disasters. The human

race was compelled to pause and take stock of itself.

Zor had served the evil Robotech Masters, but he had resolved to serve

them no more and had hidden his ultimate secrets concerning Protoculture-the

most powerful force in the universe-in the fortress. The Robotech Masters

needed those secrets not only to conquer the universe but to protect

themselves from the vengeful attacks of the savage Invid, a race of creatures

sworn to destroy them.

Thus, the focus of an intergalactic conflict came to bear on the

formerly insignificant Earth.

The super dimensional fortress was Earth's first inkling of the greater

events taking place outside the bounds of human knowledge. Earth's leaders saw

at once that the wrecked SDF-1 could be rebuilt and become a rallying point

that would unite a divided human race.

A ten-year project began, incorporating the brains and energies of the

entire planet. But on the day the SDF-1 was to be relaunched to guard humanity

from alien attack, disaster struck again. The Zentraedi-the Robotech Masters'

giant race of ferocious warrior clones-struck, bringing devastation to the

Earth in an effort to recapture the SDF-1.

The desperate crew of the SDF-1 attempted a spacefold jump to get clear

of the attack. Yet a miscalculation resulted in the ship's reappearance far

from its intended destination: The SDF-1 and most of the civilian population

of Macross Island were suddenly, transported out to the orbit of the planet

Pluto.

And so the long, perilous voyage back to Earth began. The SDF-1 battled

for its life, hounded by the Zentraedi armada at every turn. Returning after

more than a year, the crew found that it was no longer welcome on the

homeworld-in the view of the ruling powers, they constituted too much of a

danger to Earth's safety as well as the rulers' own authority.

A renewed Zentraedi offensive resulted in horrendous casualties on Earth

and reinforced the Earth leaders' determination to refuse haven to the SDF-1-

even though it had waged the only meaningful resistance to alien invasion.

So the great star battleship was forced to ride an orbit to nowhere, its

crew and civilian refugees struggling desperately to stay alive. The Zentraedi

continued to plot new war plans, determined to have the ship and the secrets

of Protoculture.

Alien agents were planted within the ship, reduced from their fifty and

sixty-foot heights to human size. These spies found themselves strangely

affected by the experience of human life as their long-dormant emotions were

awakened by the sight of humans mingling and showing affection and in

particular by the singing of Minmei-the ship's superstar and media idol and

the mainstay of its morale.

Upon their return to the invasion fleet, the spies' stories and

souvenirs of their experiences among the humans led to the defection of a

dozen and more of the Zentraedi and disobedience in the ranks of those who

remained behind.

Aboard the SDF-1, human life fell into patterns of conflict and emotion.

Lieutenant Rick Hunter, fighter pilot in the Robotech Defense Forces,

experienced constant confusion and turmoil over his love for Minmei and

simultaneous attraction to Commander Lisa Hayes, the SDF-1's First Officer.

This triangle formed the core of a larger web of loves and hates, the

sort of human emotional blaze that the colossal Zentraedi found so bathing and

debilitating.

Nevertheless, the Zentraedi imperative was battle, and battle it would

be. The aliens deployed a million-plus ships in their armada, restrained from

all-out attack only by their need to capture the SDF1's Protoculture secrets

intact.

Breetai, commander of the invasion force, moved in his own intrigues

against two of his rebellious subordinates: Azonia, the female warlord, and

Khyron the Backstabber, psychotic demon of battle.

But the Robotech War proved to be far more complex than any of them-

Zentraedi or human-could. have ever imagined.

Dr. Lazlo Zand,

On Earth As It Is in Hell:

Recollections of the Robotech War

CHAPTER ONE

I guess Max was the most conspicuous example of the growing war weariness and

hunger for peace. As the top VT pilot, he was revered by all the aspiring hot-

doggers and would-be aces.

When he came back from a mission, his aircraft maintenance people would always

stencil the symbols for his latest kills on the side of his ship; that was

their right. But like a lot of us who had been in the eye of the storm for too

long, he began avoiding the jokes and high-fives and swaggering in the ready

rooms, barracks, and officers' club. He was still top man on the roster, but

it was plain that his attitude was changing.

The Collected Journals of Admiral Rick Hunter

"Ya ain't so big now, are ya, ya freakin' alien?" the big bruiser said,

shaking a scarred fist the size of a roast in his face.

Well, no, he wasn't. Karita had been a Zentraedi soldier some forty feet

tall. But now, having been reduced to the size of a human and defecting to

their side in the Robotech War, he was only a medium-build, slightly less-

than-average-height fellow facing three hulking brawlers eager to split his

head wide open in a Macross alley.

Even as a Zentraedi, Karita hadn't excelled at combat; his main duty had

been tending the Protoculture sizing chambers, the very same ones in which he

had been micronized. The situation looked hopeless; the three ringed him in,

fists cocked, light from the distant streetlamps illuminating the hatred in

their faces.

He tried to dodge past them, but they were too fast. The biggest grabbed

him and hurled him against the wall. Karita dropped, half-stunned, the back of

his scalp bleeding.

He cursed himself for his carelessness; a slip of the tongue in the

restaurant had given him away. Otherwise, no one could have told him apart

from any other occupant of the SDF-1.

But he could scarcely be blamed. The wonders of life aboard the super

dimensional fortress were enough to make any Zentraedi careless. The humans

had rebuilt their city; they mingled, both sexes, all ages. They lived lives

in which emotions were given free expression, and there was an astonishing

force called "love."

It was enough to make any Zentraedi, born into a Spartan, merciless

warrior culture with strict segregation of the sexes, forget himself. And so

Karita had made his error; he had gone into the White Dragon in the hopes of

getting a glimpse of Minmei. He didn't realize what he was saying when he let

slip the fact that he had adored her since he had first seen her image on a

Zentraedi battlecruiser. Then he saw the hard looks the trio gave him. He left

quickly, but they followed.

During the course of the war, everybody aboard had lost at least one

friend or loved one. The Zentraedi, too, had suffered losses-many more than

the SDF-1, in fact. That didn't stop Karita and the other defectors from

hoping for a new life among their former enemies. Most humans were at least

tolerant of the Zentraedi who'd deserted from their invading armada. Some

humans even liked the aliens; three of them, former spies, had human

girlfriends. But he should have known there would be humans who wouldn't see

things that way.

The three closed in on him.

One of the men launched a kick Karita was too dazed to avoid. It was not

so much a sharp pain he felt as a tremendous, panic-making numbness. He

wondered woozily if his ribs were broken. Not that it mattered; it didn't look

like his attackers were going to stop short of killing him. They didn't

realize that they had picked on one of the most unmilitary of Zentraedi; given

a different one, they would have had more of a fight on their hands.

One of them drew back his heavy work boot to kick Karita again; Karita

closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. But the sudden sound of shoe leather

sliding on pavement and the thud of a falling body made him reopen them.

He looked up to see one of the assailants down and the other two turning

to face an interloper.

Max Sterling didn't look like the conventional image of a Veritech ace.

The brilliant Robotech Defense Force flier was slender, wore blue-tinted

aviator glasses-with corrective lenses-and dyed his hair blue in keeping with

the current fad for wild colors.

This young RDF legend looked mild, even vulnerable. In a time of crisis,

Max Sterling had risen from obscurity to dazzle humanity and the Zentraedi

with his matchless combat flying. But that hadn't changed his basic humility

and self-effacing good-naturedness.

"No more," Max told the assailants quietly. The bully on the ground

shook his head angrily. Max stepped between the other two, went to Karita's

side, and knelt, offering his hand.

Minmei's Aunt Lena had watched the ominous trio follow Karita when he

left the White Dragon; it took her a few minutes to find Sterling, so Max

said, "Sorry I'm a little late."

This bookish-looking young man who held the highest kill score of any

combat pilot in the ship offered the Zentraedi his hand. "D' you think you can

stand?"

The attacker Max had floored was back on his feet, eyeing Max's RDF

uniform. "You have two seconds to butt out of this, kid."

Max rose and turned, leaving Karita sitting against the wall. He took

off his glasses and dropped them into Karita's limp hand.

"I guess there's gonna be a fight here, so let's get one thing straight:

In case you missed the news, this man isn't our enemy. Now, are you going to

let us by or what?"

Of course not. They had looked at Karita and automatically thought, We

can take him! And that had decided the matter. Now here was the pale,

unimposing Max, and their assessment was the same: We can take him, too. No

sweat.

So the one Max had knocked down came at him first, while the others

fanned out on either side.

Max didn't wait. He ducked under a powerful, slow haymaker and struck

with the heel of his hand, breaking the first one's nose. A second attacker, a

thick-bodied man in coveralls, hooked his fist around with all his might, but

Max simply wasn't there. Dodging like a ghost, he landed a solid jab to the

man's nose, bloodying it, and stepped out of the way as he staggered.

There wasn't much fighting room, and Max's usual style involved plenty

of movement. But it didn't matter very much this time; he didn't want to leave

Karita unprotected.

The third vigilante, younger, leaner, and faster than the other two,

swung doubled fists at him from behind. Max avoided the blow, adding momentum

with a quick, hard tug so that the man went toppling to his knees. Then Max

spun precisely so that he had his back nearly up against the first attacker

and rammed his elbow back.

The man's breath rushed out of him as he clutched his midsection. Max

snapped a fist back into his face, then turned to plant a sidelong kick to the

gut of the one in the coveralls. The incredible reflexes and speed that served

him so well in dogfights were plain; he was difficult to see much less hit or

avoid.

Karita had struggled to his feet. "Stop!"

The three attackers were battered up a bit, but the fight had barely

started. Max Sterling wasn't even breathing hard.

"No more fighting," Karita labored, clutching his side. "Hasn't there

been enough?"

The first man wiped blood from a swelling lip, studying Max. Indicating

Karita with a toss of his head, he said, "Him and his kind killed my son. I

don't care what you-"

"Look at this," Max said quietly. He displayed the RDF patch on his

uniform, a diamond with curved sides, like a fighting kite. "You think I don't

understand? But listen t' me: He's out of the war. Just like I want to be and

you want to be."

"But we're never going to have peace unless we put the damn war behind

us! So drop it, all right? Or else, c'mon: Let's finish this thing."

The first man was going to come at him again, but the other two grabbed

his shoulders from either side. The young one said, "All right-for now."

Max supported Karita with his shoulder, and the three stepped aside to

let them pass. There was a tense moment as the pilot and the injured alien

walked between the attackers; one of them shifted his weight, as if

reconsidering his decision.

But he thought better of it and held his place, saying, "What about you,

flyboy? You're goin' out there again to fight 'em, aren't ya? To kill 'em if

ya can?"

Max knew that Karita was staring at him, but he answered. "Yeah. Maybe

I'll wind up killing somebody a lot like your son tonight. Or he'll wind up

killing me. Who knows?"

Max put Karita into a cab and sent him to the temporary quarters where

the defectors were housed. He didn't have time to go along; he was late for

duty as it was.

Waiting for another cab, Max gazed around at the rebuilt city of

Macross. Overhead, the Enhanced Video Emulation system had created the

illusion of a Terran night sky, blocking out the view of a distant alloy

ceiling.

It had been a long time since Max or any of the SDF-1's other

inhabitants had seen the real thing. He was already defying the odds, having

survived so many combats. The EVE illusion was nice, but he hoped he'd get to

see the true sky and hills and oceans of Earth again before his number came

up.

Elsewhere on the SDF-1, two women rode in an uncomfortable silence on an

elevator descending to a hangar deck, watching the level indicators flash.

Commander Lisa Hayes, the ship's First Officer, wasn't at ease with many

people. But Lieutenant Claudia Grant, standing now with arms folded and

avoiding Lisa's gaze as Lisa avoided hers, had been a close friend-perhaps

Lisa's only true friend-for years.

Lisa tried to lighten the gloom. "Well, here I go again. Off for another

skirmish with the brass."

That was certainly putting the best face on it. No previous effort had

convinced the United Earth Defense Council to either begin peace negotiations

with the Zentraedi invaders or allow the SDF-1 and its civilian refugees to

return home. Lisa had volunteered to try again, to present shocking new

evidence that had just emerged and exert all the pressure she could on her

father, Admiral Hayes, to get him to see reason and then persuade the rest of

the UEDC.

Claudia looked up. They were an odd pair: Claudia, tall and exotic-

looking, several years older than Lisa, with skin the color of dark honey; and

Lisa, pallid and slender, rather plain-looking until one looked a little

closer.

Claudia tried to smile, running a hand through her tight brown curls. "I

don't know whether it'll help or not to say this, but stop looking so grim.

Girl, you remind me of the captain of a sinking ship when he finds out they

substituted deck chairs for the lifeboats. It's gonna be hard to change

people's minds like that. Besides, all they can do is say no again."

There was a lot more to it than that, of course. Admiral Hayes was not

likely to let his only child leave Earth-to return to the SDF-1 and the

endless Zentraedi attacks-once she was in the vast UEDC headquarters. Neither

Claudia nor Lisa had mentioned that they would probably never see each another

again.

"Yeah, I guess," Lisa said, as the doors opened and the noise and heat

of the hangar deck flooded in.

The two women stepped out into a world of harsh worklights. Combat and

other craft were parked everywhere, crammed in tightly with wings and ailerons

folded for more efficient storage.

Maintenance crews were swarming over Veritechs damaged in the most

recent fighting, while ordnance people readied ships slated for the next round

of patrols and surveillance flights. The SDF-1's survival depended in large

part on the Veritechs; but they would have been useless if not for the

unflagging, often round-the-clock work of the men and women who repaired and

serviced and rearmed them and the others who risked their lives as part of the

flight deck catapult crews.

Welding sparks flew; ordnance loader servos whined, lifting missiles and

ammunition into place. Claudia had to raise her voice to be heard. "Have you

told Rick about the trip, or have you been too busy to see him?"

Busy had nothing to do with it, and they both knew that. Lisa had

concluded that her love for Rick Hunter, leader of the Veritech Skull Team,

was one-sided. By leaving the SDF-1 on a vital mission, she was also almost

certainly giving up any chance of ever changing that.

"I thought I'd call him from the shuttle," she said.

Claudia exercised admirable restraint and did not blurt out, Lisa, stop

being such a coward! Because Lisa wasn't-she had the combat decorations to

prove it, medals and fruit cocktail that any line officer would respect. But

where emotions were concerned, the SDF-1's competent and capable First always

seemed to prefer hiding under a rock someplace.

The shuttle was near the aircraft elevator-air lock that would lift it

to the flight deck. Lisa's gear and the evidence she hoped would sway Admiral

Hayes and the others at the UEDC were already aboard. The crew chief was

running a final prelaunch check.

"The shuttle is nearly ready for launch, Captain," a female enlisted-

rating tech reported. "Launch in ten minutes."

Captain Henry Gloval crossed the bridge to glance at several other

displays, stroking his thick mustache. "Any signs of Zentraedi activity in our

area?" His voice still carried the burred r's and other giveaways of his

Russian mother tongue.

Vanessa answered promptly, "There's been absolutely no contact, no

activity at all."

The stupendous Zentraedi armada still shadowed and prowled around the

wandering battle fortress. Time and again the aliens had attacked, but in

comparatively insignificant numbers. The defectors' information was only now

beginning to shed light on the reasons behind that.

"There's been nothing at all?" Gloval asked again, eyes flicking across

the readouts and displays. "Mm. I hope this doesn't mean they're planning an

attack." He turned and paced back toward the command chair, a tall, erect

figure in the high-rolled collar of his uniform jacket, hat pulled low over

his eyes. He clenched his cold, empty briar in his teeth. "I don't like it,

not a bit..."

Lisa was his highly valued First Officer; but she was also much like a

daughter to him. It had taken every bit of his reason and sense of duty to

convince himself she was the logical one for this mission.

The first enlisted tech turned to Kim Young, who was manning a position

nearby. She knew Kim and the two other enlisted regulars on the bridge watch,

Sammie and Vanessa, were known as the Terrible Trio, part of what amounted to

a family with Gloval, Lisa Hayes, and Claudia Grant.

"Kim, does the skipper always get this...concerned?"

Elfin-faced Kim, a young woman who wore her black hair in a short cut,

showed a secret grin. She whispered, "Most of the time he's a rock. But he's

worried about Lisa, and, well, there's Sammie."

Sammie Porter, youngest of the Terrible Trio, was a high-energy twenty-

year-old with a thick mane of dark blond hair. She usually didn't know the

meaning of fear...but she usually didn't know the meaning of tact, either. She

was conscientious and bright but sometimes excitable.

Lisa's departure had meant a reshuffling of jobs on her watch, and

Sammie had ended up with a lot of the coordinating duties Claudia and Lisa

would have ordinarily handled.

"Yellow squad, please go to preassigned coordinates before requesting

computer readout," she ordered a unit of attack mecha over the comcircuit. The

mammoth Robotech war machines were part of the ship's defensive force.

Excaliburs and Spartans and Raidar Xs, they were like some hybrid of armored

knight and walking battleship. They were among the units that guarded the ship

itself, while the Veritechs sortied out into space.

Gloval bent close to check on what she was doing. "Everything all right?

No trouble, I hope."

Sammie whirled and snapped, "Captain, please! I have to concentrate on

these transmissions before they pile up!" Then she went back to ordering the

lumbering mecha around, making sure that the gun turrets and missile batteries

were alert and that all intel data and situation reports were up to date.

Gloval straightened, clamping his pipe in his teeth again. "Sorry. I

didn't mean to interrupt." Kim and Vanessa gave him subtle looks, barely

perceptible nods, to let him know that Sammie was on top of things.

Gloval had come to accept Sammie's occasional lack of diplomacy as a

component of her fierce dedication to duty. Sometimes she reminded him of a

small, not-to-be-trifled-with sheep dog.

Gloval considered the Terrible Trio for a moment. Through some joke of

the gods, it had been these three whom the original Zentraedi spies-Bron,

Konda, and Rico-had met and, not to put too fine a point on it, begun dating

and formed attachments to.

The normally clear lines between personal life and matters of concern to

the service were becoming quite muddied. The Zentraedi seemed decent enough,

but there were already reports of ugly incidents between the defectors and

some of the SDF-1's inhabitants. Gloval worried about the Terrible Trio,

worried about the Zentraedi-was apprehensive that; after all, the two races

could never coexist.

On top of that, he couldn't shake the feeling that he ought to be

setting curfews, or providing chaperones, or doing something paternal. These

things troubled him in the brief moments when he wasn't doing his best to see

that his entire command wasn't obliterated.

"Shuttle escort flight, prepare for launch, five minutes," Sammie said,

bent over her console. She turned to Gloval.

"Shuttle's ready, sir. Lisa will be leaving in four minutes, fifty

seconds."

CHAPTER TWO

Of course, idle hands are not the devil's workshop; that is a base canard.

Rather, it is the sort of hand that is always driven to be busy, turning

itself to new machinations, keeping the brew boiling, that causes the most

trouble. Those who wish to dispute this might do well to consider what

happened whenever Khyron grew restive.

Rawlins, Zentraedi Triumvirate: Dolza, Breetai, Khyron

Max Sterling, flight helmet cradled in his left arm, strode through the

frenetic activity of the hangar deck and heard Sammie's voice echo over the

PA. "Sammie's substituting for the commander," he said.

At his side was a Skull Team replacement, Corporal Elkins, who had been

transferred in from Wolf Team to help fill the gaps in Skull's ranks after the

last pitched battle with the Zentraedi. Elkins remarked, "I hope she stays

calm. Last time she had me flying figure eights around a radar mast."

Max chuckled, then forgot the joke, distracted. "Hey."

Elkins saw what Max meant. The techs had rolled out a prototype ship,

something everybody in the Veritech squadrons had heard about. It was like the

conventional VT, a sleek ultra-fighter, but two augmentation pods were mounted

above its wing pivots..

The conventional VTs were a kind of miracle in themselves, the most

advanced use of the Robotechnology that humans had learned from the wreckage

of the SDF-1 when the alien-built battle fortress had originally crashed on

Earth twelve years before. The SDF-1 had murderous teeth in the form of its

mecha, its primary and secondary batteries, and its astoundingly powerful main

gun, but the VTs were the ship's claws. And this new, retrofitted model was

the first of a more powerful generation, a major advance in firepower and

performance.

"Wouldn't that be something to fly?" Max murmured. He hoped it checked

out all right in test flights; the humans needed every edge they could get.

"Whenever they're ready to give me one, I'll take it," Elkins said.

"Anyway, watch yourself up there, Max."

At the top of the shuttle boarding steps, Lisa said, "I've made notes on

everything that might be a problem."

"Don't worry about a thing," Claudia told her. Then she put her hands on

Lisa's shoulders. "I'll see you back here in a few days, okay?"

Lisa tried to smile. What do you say to someone dearer than a sister? "I

hope so. You look after things." One of the ground crew whistled, and Lisa

stepped back into the shuttle's entry hatch.

The mobile steps moved away from the tubby shuttle. Claudia threw Lisa a

salute for the first time in so long that neither of them could remember the

last. Lisa returned it smartly. The round hatch swung to, emblazoned with the

Robotech Defense Force insignia.

There were no other passengers, of course; contact with Earth had been

all but nonexistent since the UEDC rulers decided that the dimensional

fortress was to be a decoy, luring the enemy away from the planet. Other than

a few canisters of classified dispatches and so forth, she had the passenger

compartment to herself.

Lisa found a seat at the front of the compartment, near a com console,

and asked a passing crewman, "Is this a secure line?"

"Aye aye, ma'am. It's best to make any calls now; never can tell what

glitches we'll run into outside."

"I will."

He was wandering a quiet side street of Macross when the paging voice

said, "Repeating: Lieutenant Rick Hunter, you have a call."

For a moment he wasn't even sure where he was, shuffling along in

civvies that felt rather strange-the first time he'd worn anything but a

uniform or a flightsuit in weeks. He'd been brooding a lot longer, trying to

sort things out, to understand his own feelings and face up to certain truths.

He went to one of the ubiquitous yellow com phones and identified

himself. The incoming call carried a secure-line encryption signal, keying the

public phone with it. While the machines went through their coding, Rick

looked around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop.

People were just passing by, not even sparing a glance for the compact

black-haired young man at the phone. He didn't mind that; he needed a few

hours respite from being the Skull Team's leader-some time away from, the

burden of command.

He had been a cocky civilian when he first came aboard the dimensional

fortress two years before. He had been drawn into military service only

grudgingly by Roy Fokker, his unofficial Big Brother-Claudia Grant's lover.

Rick Hunter had survived more dogfights than he could remember, had written so

many condolence letters to the families of dead VT pilots that he forced

himself not to think of them, had stood by at the funeral of Roy Fokker and

others beyond counting. He only wanted to shut them out of his mind.

He was not yet twenty-one years old.

The comcircuit was established. "Rick? It's Lisa."

He felt as though he had been under observation as he walked the streets

aimlessly. Lisa and Minmei; Minmei and Lisa. His brain failed him in that

emotional cyclone where his feelings for the two women swirled and defied all

analysis, all decision.

"What can I do for you?" Ouch. Wrong. He knew that as soon as he said

it, but it was too late.

"I wanted to let you know, Rick. I'm leaving the SDF-1. I'm on my way to

Earth to try to get them to stop the fighting."

He looked around again quickly to make sure no civilians had any chance

of hearing. There was enough unrest in the dimensional fortress without

spreading new rumors and raising expectations that would in all probability be

dashed. At the same time, he felt an emptiness. She's leaving!

"Why wasn't I told ab-"

"It's all top secret. Rick, I might not be allowed to come back." Lisa

cupped the handset to her, staring at it sadly, as the shuttle was moved onto

the aircraft elevator for the trip to the flight deck. Max Sterling's VT was

next to it.

"So...I want to tell you something," she struggled. Oh, say it!

Claudia's voice seemed to holler at her. But she couldn't.

"I appreciate all you've done, and it's been an honor serving with you,"

Lisa said instead. "Your observations about our captivity in the alien

headquarters will be an important part of my report when-"

"What are you talking about, Lisa?" Something that had been murky to him

moments ago was crystal clear now. "I don't care about reports or anything

else if you can't come back here!"

Tell him! Say it! But she ignored the voice, couldn't face the

rejection. He loved the luminous superstar, Minmei, and Minmei cared for him.

Who could compete with that?

She found herself saying, "Please watch over the Zentraedi defectors,

Rick. A lot of our people haven't had time to reason things out yet, and the

aliens are in danger."

The stubby shuttle was on the flight deck, boxed up for launch by the

cat crew, the hookup people clear, the blast deflector raised up from the deck

behind the spacecraft. Off to one side, Max's VT swept its wings out and

raised its vertical stabilizers.

Lisa held the handset tenderly. "We're launching. Good-bye. And thanks

again."

"What? Wait!" But the circuit was dead.

He got up to an observation deck just in time to watch a tiny cluster of

distant lights, the drives of the formed-up flight, dwindle into the darkness.

"Shuttle craft and escorts proceeding according to flight plan," Vanessa

told Gloval quietly. Nobody had actually said that Lisa's flight was to be

monitored so closely; but no one had objected to the idea, either, and the

Terrible Trio were keeping close tabs.

Back at her duty station, Claudia was alert to every nuance of voice,

like everyone else there. When Vanessa said, "Captain!" in a clipped, alarmed

tone, Claudia's heart skipped a beat.

"Elements of the Zentraedi fleet are redeploying. They're on intercept

course, closing in on the shuttle."

Gloval looked over his situation displays, threat boards, computer

projections. Claudia kept one eye on the board, one on Gloval.

He sounded very calm. Now that battle had come, he was a well of

tranquility. "Order them to take evasive action as necessary or return to the

SDF-1 if possible."

Claudia almost blurted out a plea to send reinforcements, but she could

read the displays as well as anyone. More Zentraedi forces were moving into

place, apparently to cut the shuttle off from the dimensional fortress.

Pummeled and undermanned, the SDF-1 could ill afford to risk an entire VT team

to save one shuttle and its escorts.

No matter who might die.

Alarms and emergency Hashers brought Lisa out of a dim gray despair. The

shuttle pilot was announcing, "Enemy craft approaching. All hands, general

quarters. Secure for general quarters."

There was a heavy grinding sound as sections of padded armor shielding

slid up into place around Lisa's seat. She calmly pulled her briefcase into

the questionable safety of the metal cocoon with her, securing her

acceleration harness, and the ship's drive pressed her back into the seat's

cushioning.

Max Sterling accepted the news almost amicably. The heritage that was

the fighter pilot's proud tradition remained strong. Dying was sometimes

unavoidable, but losing one's cool was inexcusable.

"Enemy approaching on our six," he said, with less emotion than most

people used talking about the weather. "Form up in gamma deployment and stick

with your wingmen."

The other VTs rogered and moved to comply. Max was going to give Lisa an

encouraging wave, but the armored cocoon had already swallowed her up.

He peeled off to take up his own position. The aerodynamic maneuvers of

the VTs looked strange in the airlessness and zero g of space, but the pilots

came from a naval aviation tradition. They thought a certain way about flying,

and thinking was half the key to Robotechnology. The aerodynamic maneuvers

wasted power, but Robotechnology had plenty of that.

Max hoped this was another feint. Like Gloval and many others, he had

noticed that there seemed to be two distinct factions-almost a schizophrenia-

among the enemy. One side was playing a waiting game, determined to capture

the SDF-1 intact for reasons that the humans still couldn't guess and that the

low-ranking defectors, not privy to strategic information, couldn't clarify.

The other element-rash, unpredictable, almost irrational-mounted sudden,

vicious attacks on the dimensional fortress, apparently intent on destroying

it with no thought to the consequences. It was becoming clear that the enemy

commander responsible for this had a name known to, and even feared by, all

Zentraedi.

Khryon the Backstabber.

"Commander, the target has changed course," a Zentraedi pod pilot said,

the facebowl of his combat armor lit by his instruments. "And the Micronian

fighters are redeploying for intercept."

The alien mecha, two dozen and more, were in attack formation-huge ovoid

bodies quilled with cannon muzzles, mounted on long reverse-articulated legs

so that they resembled headless ostriches. Most would have been considered

"armless," but the Officers' Pods mounted heavy guns that suggested gargantuan

derringers.

In the lead pod was Khyron the Backstabber.

He didn't fit most stereotypes of the brutal warlord. Quite contrary to

the Zentraedi conventionalities-their Spartan simplicity, their distaste for

mannerisms-Khyron would have been called a fop if such a word or concept had

existed among his race.

Youthful-looking and sinisterly handsome, he gazed into the screens of

his pod's cockpit, contemplating the kill. He had been forbidden to attack the

SDF-1 again on pain of immediate execution, but no one had issued any orders

with regard to a juicy little convoy.

Four times now, the Micronian vermin had humiliated him. With each

defeat, his hatred had grown geometrically. It went incandescent when he saw

the sorts of perversions the humans practiced: males mingling with females,

the sexes somehow coming into contact and expressing weak-willed affection for

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Robotech:ForceofArmsBookFiveoftheRobotechSeriesCopyright1987byJackMcKinneyPARTI:SHOWDOWNPROLOGUEInthe1990s,aglobalcivilwarsweptacrosstheplanetEarth;fewwantedthiswar,butnooneseemedtobeabletoavertit.Itabsorbedallthesmallerdisparatewars,rebellions,andterroriststrugglesinthesamewayahugestormvacuumsupall...

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Jack McKinney - Robotech 05 - Force of Arms

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