“A-JACs, my butt! They’re nothing but goddamned Protocopters!”
Remark attributed to an unknown TASC pilot
The United Earth Government flag flew high over the copper-domed Neo-Post-Federalist Senate Building. Inside, Supreme Commander Leonard addressed a combined audience of UEG personnel, Southern Cross officers (Dana Sterling and Marie Crystal among them), representatives of the press, and privileged civilians, from the podium of the structure’s vast senatorial hall. Behind him on the stage sat General Rolf Emerson, Colonels Rochelle and Rudolph, and the Joint Chiefs-of-Staff.
“We fully realize there has been much debate over the advisability of a preemptive strike against the alien fleet at this juncture. These concerns have been taken into careful consideration by the High Command of the Armed Forces. But the time has come to put an end to debate, and to unite all our voices behind a common effort.
“Proto-engineering has completed the first consignment of the new Armored Gyro Attack Copters, henceforth designated as “Ajax”. These will form the nucleus of the first assault wave. Your corps commanders will have your individual battle assignments.
“I know there isn’t a single soldier in this hall today who isn’t painfully aware of all the hazards that will certainly arise during the course of this mission, and there are still some who would advise against its undertaking. But the High Command has determined that we now have the capability of dealing a devastating blow to the enemy, and to do nothing in the face of this advantage is to admit defeat!”
Leonard’s speech received less than enthusiastic support, except from certain members of the general staff and the militaristic wing of Chairman Moran’s teetering legislature.
Emerson and Rochelle scarcely applauded. Leonard, the two had decided, was a megalomaniac; and the attack plan itself, utter madness.
Afterwards, in front of the building, where the press was all but assaulting Leonard’s silver chariot limo, Marie Crystal maneuvered through the crowds to bring her Hovercycle alongside Dana’s, just as the 15th’s lieutenant was engaging her own mecha’s thrusters. Though it was the first time the women had seen each other in several weeks, the reunion was hardly a happy one.
“Guess who’s been assigned to the first wave?” Marie taunted her sometime rival. Recently given a clean bill-of-health by the med center staff, she had been reassigned to active duty and reunited with her tactical air squadron.
“Well aren’t you the lucky little hotshot, Marie,” Dana returned in her sarcastic best. “You’re through licking your wounds, huh?” Dana never had paid her that visit—not after what Sean had reported of Marie’s continuing quest for a scapegoat.
Marie’s cat’s-eyes flashed. “Believe me, I’m completely recovered,” she told Dana, with a sly grin. “I never felt better in my entire life. But I think it’s just awful that the Hovertanks won’t be seeing any action this time around. Guess you’ll be able to get some training done while we’re gone—heaven knows you need it.”
Dana let the remark roll off her back. “To be perfectly honest, I’m really not too unhappy about being grounded,” she said in an off-hand manner. “You pilots’ll have your hands full.”
Marie sniggered. “It won’t be that bad. At least this time we’ll have a commander who knows what she’s doing. Know what I mean?”
Dana frowned, in spite of her best efforts not to. “Oh, why don’t you lose that line?” she snapped at Marie. “When are you going to realize that it wasn’t my fault?”
Marie laughed, proud of herself. “Don’t worry, I forgive you,” she said, twisting the throttle and joining the exiting throngs. “So long,” she called over her shoulder.
Dana was tempted to send some obscene gesture her way, but thought better of it and reached down to reactivate the thrusters. No sooner had she armed the switch than Nova Satori wandered over.
“Make it brief, Nova,” Dana began. “I have to meet Zor in fifteen minutes and he always starts worrying if I’m late.”
Nova never had a chance to confront her face-to-face on the medical center stunt, and Dana was in no mood for an argument now. It had been settled officially, and she was willing to let it rest. Although Nova probably didn’t see it that way.
“Zor’s the very person I wanted to speak to you about.”
“Well?” Dana said defensively.
“The GMP appreciates all you’ve done to help him regain his memory, but we feel there are some areas that only trained professionals can—”
“No!” Dana cut her off. “He’s mine and I’ve promised to help him. These professionals you’re so proud of will probably make a vegetable of him, and I’m not about to let that happen!”
“Yes, I understand your feelings, Dana,” Nova went on in her even voice, “but this case requires some in-depth probing of the subject’s unconscious mind.” Nova glanced at her clipboard, as if reading from a prepared statement. “We’ve called a certain Dr. Zeitgeist, an expert in alien personality transference to—”
Dana put her hands over her ears. “Enough! You’re giving me a monster migraine with all this psychobabble!”
Nova shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s out of your hands, Dana. I’ve been assigned to supervise Zor’s rehabilitation—”
“Over my dead body, Nova! All he needs is a little Human understanding—something you’re in short supply of. Leave him alone!” Dana said, wristing the throttle, hovering off, and almost colliding with an on-coming mega-truck.
“Dana!” the GMP lieutenant called after her. She’s completely lost her objectivity, Nova said to herself.
“I could just scream sometimes!” Dana said, bursting into the 15th’s ready-room.
Cups of coffee and tea slipped from startled hands, chess pieces hit the floor, and permaplas window panes rattled on the other side of the room.
“What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant?” Angelo said, leaping to his feet.
“Nothing!” she roared. “Just tell me where Zor’s hiding himself!” Dana’s angry strides delivered her over to Bowie. “I thought I told you to keep an eye on him!”
Bowie flinched, stammering a puzzled reply and leaning back not a moment too soon, as Dana’s fist came crashing down on the table in front of him. “I can’t depend on you for anything at all!”
“Cool your thrusters, Lieutenant,” Sean said calmly from the couch. “The patient’s fine and we’re keeping tabs on him, so simmer down.”
“Well, where is he, Sean?” Dana said quietly but with a nasty edge to her voice.
Sean simply said: “He’ll be back in a second,” bringing Dana’s back up once again.
“I didn’t ask you for a timetable of his comings and goings, Private,” she barked, hands on her hips. “I want to see him!”
“I think he’d rather you waited.…” Sean suggested, as she made to leave the room.
The ready-room doors hissed open. “Just tell me where he is.”
“Men’s room: straight down the hall, first door on the right.”
Dana made a sound of exasperation, while everyone else stifled laughs.
“Any word on assignments from the war council?” Corporal Louie said, hoping to change the subject.
Angelo folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, do we finally get permission to take care of the enemy this time or do we get held back again?”
Dana walked into their midst. “Well, if you really must know, the Supreme Command in all its infinite wisdom has decided to …” she let them hang on her words, “… keep us in reserve, of course.”
Dana kicked Sean’s legs out from under him as she paced past him, forcing him into an involuntary slouch before she exited the ready-room.
“This is getting kinda monotonous,” Sean said with a grunt.
Angelo slammed his hands together. “Typical! Whoever makes these stupid decisions oughta be shot!”
Sean extended his legs, crossing his ankles on the table. “It’s a crazy idea anyway. I’m telling you, the supreme commander’s going nuts. He knows it’s hopeless to try a frontal assault.”
“The application of brute force is strategically wrong,” Louie added, opposite Sean at the table. “We must fight with our intellect … By developing Robotechnology we stand a chance.”
Time would prove him right, but just now Angelo Dante wasn’t buying any of it.
“Forget all this machinery!” he counseled. “If they’d just give us a crack at ’em, we’d knock ’em outta the sky!”
Dana went up to her private quarters in the loft above the ready-room, the recent encounters with Marie and Nova replaying themselves in her memory; but these were the reworked and edited versions, now scripted with the things she should have said. She had convinced herself that Nova’s spiel was nothing more than a transparent attempt to keep Zor all to herself. And that Marie would undoubtedly try to get her greedy little hands on him, too, once they met—which Dana planned to keep from happening.
She crossed the room and opened the wings of the three-paneled mirror above her vanity, regarding herself with as much objectivity as the moment allowed, sucking in her waist, patting her tummy, and striking fashion poses. She was pleased with her reflection, and decided that there was really nothing to be worried about. Nova didn’t stand a chance of keeping Zor to herself. There was simply no comparison between Nova’s cool prettiness and Dana’s warm-blooded allure.
Zor had returned to the ready-room. Angelo was lecturing the others on what he planned to do once he got his hands on the enemy aliens, undisturbed by Zor’s presence, actually playing to him at times. Zor took a seat across the room and tried to busy himself with a magazine, but his eyes refused to focus on the print; instead they seemed to demand that he concentrate his attention on the sergeant.…
But Dana’s call broke the spell. “Zor, come up here!” she yelled from her quarters. He left the ready-room with the team’s laughter at his back and climbed the stairs to the loft.
Dana was standing in front of her vanity when he entered, but what captured his eyes were the three separate reflections in the mirror above. Here was Dana in a red dress, Dana in a green pants suit, and Dana in an elegant old-fashioned gown. And yet the real Dana was in uniform!
Zor gasped and stumbled, feeling himself drawn once more to the edge of total recall—a dangerous precipice towering out of an absolute darkness.
“Dana … the mirror,” he croaked, catching her by surprise. “That … Triumvirate!” He didn’t know where the word had come from and was at a loss to explain it when she turned her puzzled face to him. “For a moment there were three different images of you in that mirror,” he told her anxiously.
She made a wry face. “If you’re going to start seeing things, maybe Nova’s right and you do need professional help—”
“The Triumvirate!” he interrupted her. “It’s starting to come back to me again.…”
A chamber filled with a swirling nebulous mixture of liquids and gases, a shape taking form amidst it all—gigantic, inhuman, devoid of all that life was meant to be … And now a triad of such chambers, but smaller, Human-sized, and within each, beings who shared a common face …
“The Triumvirate.…” he groaned, almost losing his balance. “Something to do with acting in groups of three.”
Dana seemed almost disinterested in his distress; but in fact, she was beside herself with excitement. Zor had to be making reference to the same triplicate clones she, Bowie, and Louie had seen in the fortress. She was determined to keep Zor unaware of this; and just as determined to prove to Nova that she could handle the subject’s unconscious as well as any Dr. Zeitgeist could. From now on it was going to be the kid glove treatment for Zor.
“Well, I have no idea what all that means,” she said with elaborate innocence. “But it sounds just screwy enough to turn out to be important. I guess I’ll let High Command know about it—even though they’re going to think we’re both crazy,” she hastened to add.
At Fokker Field, Lieutenant Marie Crystal, already suited up in gladiatorial, tactical air combat armor, directed her TASC team to one of the score of massive battlecruisers that were positioned about the field in launch mode. Marie checked off names on the list she carried in her mind, as the flyboys rushed by her. Elevators carried them down to the field itself, where Hovertransports were waiting to ferry them to their destinations. In the distance, men and mecha were transferring themselves from transports to cruisers.
Over the PA the voice of a controller issued last minute instructions: “Final loading of Ajaxes in assembly bay nineteen. Transport commanders, signal when Ajaxes are in place … T minus ten minutes to attack launch … All pilots to standby alert.…”
Marie checked her suit chronometer against the controller’s mark and began to hurry her team along. “Come on,” she told them, with a broad sweep of her arm. “Keep it moving! They’re not going to wait for us!”
She leaned over the balcony railing to glance at the transports and happened to notice Captain Nordoff’s Hoverjeep below. He looked up, spying her and waving his hand.
“We expect to see those Ajaxes put through their paces up there!” he yelled.
Marie threw him an okay-sign and told her not to worry about a thing. “I only hope we don’t get lost in the shuffle up there—I’ve never seen so many ships!”
“Just pray we’ve got enough, Lieutenant!” he said, and hovered off.
Marie straightened up from the rail and turned to find Sean alongside her, displaying his well-known roguish grin.
“Hello, Private,” Marie said disdainfully.
“Hey, don’t get personal,” Sean laughed.
She turned her back to him. “What are you doing here, Sean? No hot date today? After all, the Fifteenth’s not part of this action.”
“Hey, don’t say things like that, Marie,” he said peevishly. “You’re tearing me apart, you know that? I came here because I wanted to see you off. I care about you, in case you haven’t guessed.”
Marie looked at him over her shoulder. “Don’t think that one night on the roof makes us an item, Sean,” she warned him. “I trust you just about as far as I can throw you.”
“T minus six minutes to launch,” the controller told them from the tower. “All commanders to their posts.…”
Neither one of them said anything for a moment; then Sean broke the silence with a quiet. “Be careful, okay?”
Marie’s hard look softened. “I almost believe you really mean that.…”
“I, I mean it,” he stammered.
Marie blew him a kiss from the elevator.
Elsewhere on the base, Zor stood alone, his azure eyes scanning the field, an unwitting transmitter of sight and sound.…
In the Robotech flagship, the three Masters watched over the Earth Forces base through the clone’s eyes. The Protoculture cap was beneath their aged hands now as they readied their fleet for battle.
“This new armada is the single largest fleet they have yet dared to send against us,” Bowkaz saw fit to point out, no suggestion of fear or anticipation in his deep voice.
“The more ships they employ, the greater our triumph,” said Dag.
“Their armada will be destroyed and their spirit broken,” Shaizan added. But suddenly there were signs of interrupted concentration in the transignal holo-image. “What is happening?” he asked the others.
Bowkaz repositioned his hands on the Protoculture cap, but the image of the prelaunch battlecruisers continued to waver and ultimately de-rezzed entirely. “Someone is interfering with the clone,” he explained. “Distracting him.…”
While Dana had excused herself to notify Rolf Emerson of Zor’s latest flashback, the alien himself had left the barracks. All at once compelled to visit the Earth Forces launch site, he had ridden his Hovercycle up to the plateau, and chosen a spot near the field that offered a vantage point for all the myriad activities taking place. In a certain sense he was not cognizant of where he was, nor what he was doing; and equally unaware that both Angelo and Dana, on separate cycles, had followed him there.
The sergeant had watched Zor for some time, wondering what his next move might be; but when he realized that the alien was simply staring transfixed at the prelaunch activities, he decided to move in.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing up here, Zor?” he demanded, seemingly awakening Zor from a dream. “This sector’s off-limits. And besides, you’re supposed to be back at the barracks.”
“I was trying to get a better view of the liftoff,” Zor offered as explanation, although one part of him realized this wasn’t true.
Angelo took a quick glance right and left; there was no one in sight, and Angelo was tempted to fix it so the alien would no longer be capable of moving around scot-free. Dante took a menacing step forward, only to hear Dana’s voice behind him.
“It’s all right, Sergeant, I’ll vouch for him.”
Angelo glared at Zor and relaxed some. Dana was marching up the small rise to join them, breathless when she arrived. She glanced briefly at Zor, then threw the sergeant a suspicious look.
“What did you have in mind, Angelo?” she asked him, her chin up.
Dante met her gaze and said: “Not a thing, Lieutenant.”
Dana nodded warily. “I gave Zor clearance to go wherever he wants. I thought it might help him get his memory back.”
“Or something,” said Angelo.
Zor looked at both of them, beginning to feel the anger return.
Supreme Commander Leonard and his staff viewed the armada liftoff from command central’s underground bunker. The darkly armored leviathanlike battlecruisers were underway, rising from the plateau base like a school of surfacing whales.
“Just look at them!” Leonard gushed, his eyes glued to the monitor screen. “How can they possibly fail?”
“Very impressive, Commander,” said Rolf Emerson, giving lip-service to the moment. I wish to heaven I shared your confidence, he kept to himself.
Schematics of the attack force and the relative position of the Masters’ fleet were carried to the oval screen in the flagship command center.
“Ah, here they come,” said Bowkaz. “Like the proverbial moths to the flame.”
“Is there no one among them who sees the stupidity of this?” Dag asked rhetorically.
“I will summon our defense force,” said Shaizan.
But Bowkaz told him not to bother. “This won’t require the rest of the fleet. One ship will be sufficient.”