Any assessment of T. R. Edwards’s legacy must take into account the feudal structures his social and political programs fostered. It is not enough to say that the Council was organized along feudal lines; Human conventions and mores just as often reflect the nature of the ruling body as influence it. Feudalism ruled, both as political doctrine and spirit of the times, from the government on down to the constituency.
“Overlords,” History of the
Second Robotech War, Vol. CXII
Dana and Bowie spent two hours in the club—two wonderful hours for Dana, talking with George, listening to him sing. He performed a medley of oldies, including several by Lynn-Minmei that were currently enjoying a revival. She sat at the piano, chin resting on her folded hands, while Bowie played and the audience applauded. And George sang for her. Afterwards he wanted to know all about her—Bowie, that dear, had often spoken of her to him—but he wanted to know more. All about her missions with the 15th, especially the recent one, when they had been responsible for bringing down the alien fortress. He let her go on and on—perhaps too far because of the Scotch she had consumed. But it had felt so good to get it all out, to talk to someone who was intensely interested in her life. In fact, he hardly talked about himself at all, and that was certainly something that set him apart from most of the men she met.
She was mounted on her Hovercycle now, waiting for Bowie to say his good-byes and join her for the return trip to the barracks. Back to the real world. However, it was a different world than the one she looked out on only hours ago; fresh and revived, suddenly full of limitless possibilities.
Bowie appeared and swung one leg over his cycle.
“I can’t get that last song out of my mind,” Dana told him, stars in her eyes. “I’ve heard you mention George before, but why didn’t you tell me he was so special?”
“Because I don’t really know him that well,” Bowie said. “He keeps to himself.” He activated his cycle and strapped in while it warmed. “We better get a move on.”
“Is he performing here again?” Dana wanted to know.
“Yeah, he’s doing a set later tonight,” Bowie returned absently. Then he noticed that Dana had switched off her cycle.
“Dana.…”
She was headed back into the club. “Don’t worry about me. I just want to say good night. Take off. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Bowie sighed, exasperated, though he had little doubt she would catch up.
Dana went in through the stage entrance this time, noticing inside that some comedian had tampered with the sign above the door—instead of reading EXIT DOOR, it now read EXEDORE. The rear portion of the building was shared by an adjacent store, and there were numerous packing crates stacked here and there, and very little light. Dana called out to George in the darkness, and headed toward that meager light she could discern. Finally she heard the clacking of keyboard tabs and closed on that.
It was a small cubicle, brightly lit, with a cloth curtain for a doorway, and apparently served as both dressing room and office. George was seated at the desk, tapping data into a portable computer terminal. She called his name, but he was obviously too wrapped up in his task to hear her. So she waited silently by the door, wondering what he could be working on so diligently. Song lyrics, maybe, or a detailed account of the two hours they had just spent together.…
Dana looked again at the portable unit. There was something familiar about it.… Then she noticed the small insignia: the fluted column above the atomic circle … emblem of the Global Military Police!
Reflexively she drew in her breath and backed out of sight, hoping she hadn’t tipped her hand. George had stopped. But then she heard him say: “Just as I thought … I suspected the enemy fortress had an outer hull weakness.”
Pretty weird lyrics, thought Dana.
Cautiously, she peered into the room once again. Had she missed seeing someone, or was George talking to himself? Indeed, he was alone and a moment later gave voice to her worst fear:
“Now if I can just pry some more information out of the lovely Lieutenant Sterling, maybe I’ll be able to put my theories to the test.”
A detailed account of their two hours, all right, Dana said to herself. Sullivan was a GMP spy. And what those double-dealers couldn’t pull from HQ, they hoped to learn from her! And she had told them! All about the raid on the fortress, the recon mission, the bio-gravitic network …
George muttered something, then surprised her further when she heard him say: “Oh, Marlene, if you were only here!”
She might have charged in at that moment if the stage manager hadn’t appeared at the opposite door. “Five minutes,” he told Sullivan.
Sullivan thanked the man and closed up the computer.
Dana backed away and ran to the exit door, her hand at her mouth.
The Masters were pleased with themselves, although each was now careful to avoid any displays that might be interpreted as emotional.
“Will they heed our warning?” Dag asked aloud.
“I can’t believe they would be so foolish as to ignore it,” said Bowkaz. He had been their voice to the Human commander.
Shaizan grunted. “All our questions will be answered soon enough.”
“The time has come to signal the fleet.”
Six hands reached forward to the console.
Dag removed his hands for an instant, breaking their link with the communicator. “Their behavior during the next few hours will indicate whether we have anything more to fear from them,” he said darkly.
“Where have you been?” Angelo Dante said as Dana stormed into the 15th’s barracks. The team was assembled in the rec room, talking tactics and stuffing their faces. Dana had heard warning Klaxons when she first entered the compound, but had no idea what they signaled.
“We’ve been looking all over for you, Lieutenant,” from Sean now. “Where have you been?”
“Don’t ask,” Dana told them harshly. “Just tell me what’s going on—are we slotted for patrol again?”
“Tomorrow morning,” the sergeant explained. “Seems another enemy ship is on its way to Earth, probably to try and rendezvous with the grounded fortress. High command wants us there on the ground to meet ’em.”
“They’ve already sent Marie up with a welcoming committee of TASC interceptors,” Sean added. “Course they seem to forget we’ve got no way of fighting them until the bright boys down in data analysis give us some information.”
Dana swallowed her initial surprise and smiled to herself.
“Sean, I’ve already taken care of that. I know where to get all the information we need.”
They all froze, midaction, waiting for her to finish.
“That’s right. I’ve got a way to get it straight from the GMP.”
“What do they know that we don’t know?” Louie asked her. “We’re the ones who brought down that ship in the first place.”
“But how do we know they didn’t learn something from that Bioroid pilot?” Dana pointed out. “I find it awfully strange that he expired, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “They got something they’re not telling us. Maybe they’re even holding out on HQ. Why else would Fredericks have shown up at the zap tank? I’m telling you, the GMP is in on it.”
“Even if you’re right,” Angelo said full of suspicion, “you and what army’s gonna access that data?”
“Those files are top secret, eyes-only,” Louie hastened to add.
“Come on,” Dana laughed, throwing up her hands. “Give me a little credit, guys. One of their top agents is working for me—without his knowing it, of course.”
It was enough to silence Angelo and tip the goggles off Louie’s nose. Bowie and Sean just stared at her.
The song came back to her as she took in their looks.
I always think of you
Dream of you late at night
What do you do
When I turn out the light?
You spy for the GMP, geek, Dana answered herself and the song. But now it’s you who’s lost, George Sullivan.…
The following morning (while Dana showered away romantic feelings for George, decided that “Marlene” was probably some aging rock singer who wore too much makeup, and devised a plan to reverse the tables on suave Sullivan), Lieutenant Marie Crystal’s TASC unit attacked the Earthbound fortress that had separated itself from the alien fleet to rendezvous with its grounded twin. Modified cargo shuttles had delivered the Black Lions to the edge of space and the assault was mounted with an absence of the usual preliminaries.
Leonard, Emerson, and the joint chiefs monitored the attack from the war room at Defense Headquarters.
“We’re hitting them with everything we’ve got, but it’s like water off a duck’s back!” Leonard heard the lieutenant remark over the com net.
He would have been surprised to hear anything different; however, this was one time the chairman wasn’t going to get the chance to accuse him of inaction. There was some hope early on that Crystal’s squad could fell the fortress as Sterling’s had the first, but apparently the aliens were quick to learn and not about to repeat mistakes: even if the Black Lions managed to disarm the defensive shields of the descending fortress, they would find the bio-gravitic reactor port sealed and unapproachable. And, as General Emerson had been quick to point out, having a second fortress crashland on Earth was not exactly optimum in any event. Better to let them pick up their wreck, Leonard said to himself as he studied the schematics on the situation board.
Leonard was trying hard not to think about the message that had been flashed across his monitor earlier that day, and had half convinced himself that it was an hallucination or the result of some plot hatched by Emerson’s wing of the general staff meant to put him at further odds with Chairman Moran’s Council.
“The assault group reports limited damage to the ship’s superstructure,” a controller reported now, “but the enemy’s force shields remain intact and operational.”
“The attack’s having no effect whatsoever, Commander,” Emerson said angrily.
Leonard adopted the same tone. “Then we’ll destroy the grounded ship before this one can arrive to save it.”
Emerson grinned wryly. Just who was the commander kidding? Perhaps he was uttering these absurdities for posterity, Rolf thought. Leonard had the right idea, they would say. Leonard did everything he could. Save for the fact everyone knew that the destruction of either fortress wasn’t within their power. Nevertheless, the Tactical Armored units would be deployed to realize Leonard’s grandiose lies.
Or at least die trying.
Dana had asked Bowie to find out where George lived. Her friend found it hard to believe that she could think about love at a time like this (lust was the term he actually used), but he relented and came through. She regretted having to keep him in the dark about her plan; however, she didn’t want him going into battle with any more on his mind than was absolutely necessary.
Once again she put Dante in temporary command of the unit and set out on her private mission, trailing Sullivan from his low-rent apartment not far from the GMP ministry, to a grassy overlook in a restricted area on the outskirts of the city. It was a tedious challenge, since George had opted to hike to the spot. But once Dana was sure of his destination, she powered her Hovertank along the back roads that led to the overlook and arrived shortly after he did.
He was standing under perhaps the only shade tree on the entire ridgeline, his computer briefcase clutched in his left hand. “What in the world are you doing way out here?” he said, when she called to him from the mecha’s cockpit. “Shouldn’t you be with your squadron or something?”
“I couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer,” she told him dramatically. “And I was hoping I could get you to join my team … unless you have to report back to the GMP?”
George stepped back from the mecha as though he had been hit. Dana dismounted and told him not to worry about it—his secret was safe with her.
“But you used me,” she said, unconcealed hurt in her voice. “And I want to know why. What are you trying to prove?”
Sullivan’s face registered anger. “I’m not trying to prove anything.” Then he closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “All right,” he said after a moment. “But I’ve never told this to anyone.”
Dana kept quiet while he explained. His sister had been a casualty of the first alien raid on Monument City, and Sullivan, then an HQ war department tech, blamed himself for her death—he had forgotten to pick her up after school and she had been caught up in the attack while waiting for him.
The sort of story Dana had heard all too frequently and become somewhat inured to, despite the sympathy she felt for him. One might as well blame chance or fate, she told herself as Sullivan continued.
He had deserted his post to visit her in the hospital and—though severely burned and not expected to last the night—she had spoken his name as if nothing had happened, assigning no blame and concerned that he would soon be alone in the world. That was when the military police had arrived on the scene; they had come to arrest him, but when they understood the depth of his grief they realized that he was someone they could use for their own purposes. He had been with them ever since, playing both sides of the fence whenever he could.
“So you’ve been waging a one-man campaign against your sister’s murderers,” Dana said when he finished.
“Whenever I can,” he told her.
“Tell me one thing: does the GMP have new information about the fortress—vulnerable spots or weaknesses, some place we could hit them and incapacitate them?”
George nodded gravely, aware that he was breaking his security oath. “Yes. We have reason to believe that we do.”
“And it’s in that computer of yours?”
Again he nodded.
Dana smiled and took hold of his hand. “Well then, let’s put what you’ve learned to good use.” She led him back to the Hovertank and gestured to the rumble seat. “With your data and my firepower, we can send these alien invaders packing.”
With annihilation discs raining down on them from all sides, the 15th was throwing everything they had against the enemy, often successfully when it came to downing trios of Hoversled Bioroids (especially in Dana’s absence), but ineffectually in terms of their primary target—the fortress itself. Reports from Headquarters indicated that Crystal’s Black Lion team had fared no better with the incoming ship, now visible in the explosion-filled sky above the angry ridgeline.
“These guys are slippery little devils!” Sean said over the net. “What does it take to nail them?”
“Keep your eyes open and I’ll show you,” Dante radioed back.
They both had their mecha in Gladiator mode, their cannons disgorging ear-splitting volleys without letup.
Dante ranged in his weapon and blew one of the airborne Bioroids to debris, just after it loosed a shot that managed to topple Sean’s tank.
“Everything okay?” Dante asked when Sean righted the thing.
“I’ll live, if that’s what you mean.”
“I was talkin’ about the tank,” the sergeant told him.
This from a guy he had once out-ranked, Sean muttered to himself. “Thanks for your concern, Sarge.”
Then all at once Dana’s Valkyrie was in their midst, oddly enough with a civilian passenger in the rumble seat. Bowie identified the stranger for the team and the tac net was nothing but nasty comments for a minute or so. Sean got in the last word: “Hey Lieutenant, I didn’t know you went for thrill-freaks!”
“Just cut the chatter and give me some cover,” Dana ordered.
Full-out, her tank was making directly for the fortress, unswerving in the face of the ground fire it was receiving from Bioroid troops holding the perimeter. Sean watched her go airborne as the tank crested a small rise less than one hundred yards from the ship, then lost her in the blinding flashes of plasma light Chimeras and Falcons were pouring against the fortress’s defensive shield.
A trio of Hovercrafts pursued Dana as she skimmed the tank across the ship’s armored surface, annihilation discs winging past George’s unprotected head as he studied the computer readouts. Had her helmet not been essential for rapport with the mecha, Dana would have handed it back to him.
“Have you coordinated the data yet?”
“It keeps shifting,” he yelled into the wind.
“Keep trying,” she urged him, piloting the tank through four lanes of disc fire.
They had already made one pass over the fortress and she now veered the tank around for a second, taking out a hovercraft as she completed the break. There was no time to place her shots and she was sorry for that; but if Sullivan’s computer did its job, the end would more than justify the means. Relying on the mecha’s lateral guns, her hands locked on the handlebar-like control and trigger mechanisms, she thumbed a second and third Bioroid to destruction.
Meanwhile the second fortress was eclipsing the sky overhead, threatening to sandwich her small craft between it and the grounded ship. Tactical units were loosing cannon rounds against its plated underbelly, only adding to her predicament as the shells often ricocheted and detonated along the Hovertank’s course. Dana had also noticed Logans overhead before the fortress blocked her view; possibly the remnants of Marie Crystal’s Black Lion squadron.
“The vulnerable area will be exposed when the fortresses attempt a ship-to-ship link up,” Sullivan said at last. “That’ll be the time to hit them!”
Dana looked up, trying to calculate how much time they had left before the fortress rendered her and her new sweetie a memory. The ventral surface of the ship was an ugly sight, like the mouth of some techno-spider about to devour them.
“I’m patching the information directly into your onboard computers, Dana. The rest is up to you.”
“Leave it to me,” she started to say, accelerating the mecha through the narrowing gap formed by the two ships. But suddenly a Hovercraft had appeared out of nowhere, raining rear energy hyphens at her. Then a Bioroid swooped in from her port side, forcing her dangerously close to some sort of radar glove, a small mountain on the hull of the ship. As she swerved to avoid it, she lost George.
She heard his scream as he flew out of the rumble seat, and craned her head around just in time to see him caught in the metalshod fist of a Hovercraft pilot.
Dana swung around hard, but lost sight of the alien craft. But Marie Crystal was on the net telling her that she had seen the near collision and had the enemy right in front of her.
Dana couldn’t figure out what Marie was doing in the gap, but she didn’t stop to think about it. She shot forward and attained the open skies again, scanning for Marie’s Logan Veritech.
Below her, one of her teammates had just reconfigured from tank to Guardian mode and loosed a bolt at one of the alien sky-sleds. Dana had a sinking feeling as she traced the shot’s trajectory: it caught the Bioroid that was holding George, sending it careening into a fiery spin, and on a collision course with Marie’s fighter.
Crystal broke too late, impacting against the out-of-control sled and falling into a spin of her own. Dana didn’t know who to watch: the Bioroid holding Sullivan or Marie. Suddenly the tank that had fired off that fateful round—Sean’s tank—was reconfiguring to Battloid, and leaping up to catch Crystal’s ship. Despite her fascination, Dana involuntarily averted her eyes; but when she looked again, both Veritechs were reasonably intact.
Then all at once there was an explosion at nine o’clock. She turned, as her mecha was rocked by the Shockwaves.
The Bioroid was history.
And George Sullivan was dead.
She screamed his name and flew into the face of the angry fireball, hoping, expecting to find who knew what. And as her scorched tank emerged she recalled his last words to her: The rest is up to you.
Inside the grounded fortress, the Masters watched a schematic display of their descending rescuer, a hundred yards overhead now and already extending the grapplers and tendrils that would secure the link-up.
“We are ready,” Dag reported.
Shaizan nodded eagerly. “Good. Deploy the Zor clone toward their strongest defenses.… We must make certain that he is conveniently captured by the Micronians.…”
One minute Angelo Dante was sitting in the cockpit of the Gladiator doing his lethal best, and the next thing he knew he was airborne, turning over and over.…
He hit the ground with a thud that knocked the breath from his lungs and left him unconscious for a moment. When the world re-focused itself, he recognized what was left of his mangled Hovertank, toppled on its side and burning.
Dante got to his feet, promising to tear the aliens apart, even as a sledded Bioroid dropped in for the kill. It was that gleaming red job, Angelo noticed, already outside himself and braving it out, the hero he was born to be. But just then a strange thing happened: a pinpoint blast from the fortress bull’s-eyed the Hovercraft, sending sled and pilot into a fiery crash in the craggy outcroppings near the Earth Forces front lines.
Dante heard an atonal scream of agony issue from the craft as it fell.
“They shot down their own guy!” a puzzled Dante said out loud, figuring he would live to see another day after all.…
Dana tried to erase the fiery image of Sullivan’s death as she piloted the Hovertank back toward the fortress once again. Split-screen data schematics were running parallel across the monitor screen of Valkyrie’s targeting computer, directing the mecha’s weapons systems to the coordinates that would spell doom for the fortress. And by the look of things, there wasn’t much time left.
With the rescue ship overhead now, the grounded fortress was actually lifting off, still the target of countless warheads that were exploding harmlessly against the alloyed hull—its complex network of close-in weaponry silent—and apparently drawing on all the reserve power available to it. The entire ridgeline appeared to be affected by its leave-taking; a deafening roar filled the air, and the ground was rumbling, sending rock and shale sliding down the steep slopes of those unnatural tors. Massive whirlwinds of gravel and debris spun from the underside of the ascending ship, as though loosed from traps set an eternity ago.
As Dana closed on the twin fortresses, she could see that four panels had opened along the dorsal side of the first, revealing massive socketlike connectors, sized to accept shafts—glowing like outsize radio tubes—that were telescoping from circular portals in the bulbous, spiny anchor shown by the second.
“Faster!” Dana urged her Hovertank, the cockpit screen flashing, the parallel series of schematics aligned. Then the mecha was suddenly reconfiguring to Gladiator mode, retroing to an abrupt halt, the cannon already traversing and ranging in. Having surrendered to the dictates of the computer, Dana could do nothing but sit back and pray that she had arrived in time.
The fortresses were linked in an obscene technomating, one atop the other, ascending and accelerating now, scarcely a three-meter wide gap between them.
Dana’s mecha fired once, its energy bolt finding that narrow interface and detonating squarely against the link-up anchor. On all sides, explosive light erupted from the empty space between the ships, and the upper fortress seemed to shudder, list, and collapse over its mate.
But the ships continued to rise.
“It can’t be!” Dana shouted over the net. “Why didn’t it work?!” Even as she said it, though, she knew the answer. The computer was flashing its internal debriefing to her, but she didn’t need to double-check the screen for what she knew in her guts: she had been a split-second too late, two hundred yards out of the required lethal cone.
Dana had one last look at the fortresses before they disappeared into battle clouds and smoke, a close encounter of the worst kind.