Bowie, life in danger with you is
so much more than
Life without you would be
even if death strikes its chord
Musica, “End of the Old Songs”
While Louie did his Wizard-of-Robotech number, Dana and the others, with Musica’s help, discovered the controls that opened the shaft overhead. The ATACs redonned their armor, and Bowie made sure his canopy was tight; Musica had no other protection.
In Battloid mode, the 15th boarded the Hovercraft. Dana’s Valkyrie reached out a huge finger to flick a Bioroid-scale switch. The shaft hatch opened, triggering the closing of emergency doors in the passageway leading to the cul-de-sac. The 15th rose amid a storm of junk and debris hurled upward by the escaping atmosphere.
It was the first and last time such an unlikely combination of Robotechnology took place. Weaving through volleys from their own forces, the ATACs started their survival run. There was still no sign of the red Bioroid, and it was too late to turn back.
Unstoppable, unbeatable, Zor not only sent his opponents reeling back, but actually fought his way forward towards the control center.
Knowing all the Triumviroids’ weaknesses, he was also their superior in experience and speed and adaptability, master of virtuoso tactics they had never even had time to learn. He had left a trail of death and destruction through the flagship’s passageways.
Now Zor stood before the Living Protoculture, which still hid within its armored cylinder. He knew, though, that it was too weak to defend itself, depleted and wounded by the battle raging through the ship. He felt that it sensed its impending destruction.
I betrayed my friends. Just as it happened so long ago, with the Invid! Am I damned, doomed to live this agony over and over? The red Bioroid raised its discus weapon and aimed at the cylinder. Fire and smoke rose around it.
And now my only way to redeem myself is by betraying my people. Everything I touch turns to ashes. So be it.
Dana, good-bye!
He triggered the weapon just as the cylinder slid open, and the Living Protoculture lashed out in a last desperate effort to save itself.
The explosion was bigger than anything ever seen from a mother ship before; an entire section of the stupendous vessel was simply vaporized, its edges pushed outward as the Main Control section detonated.
“You stupid alien,” Dana said in a small voice, looking back at it. “You said you’d catch up.”
“I’m truly sorry, Dana,” Angelo fumbled, not used to soft words. “I—I know you were fond of him. And he liked you a lot, I could tell.”
Sean was already in contact with Emerson’s fleet. The 15th hadn’t beaten the clock by much; they just about had enough time and fuel to catch the withdrawing strikeforce.
Louie also watched the explosion. He adjusted his tech goggles, trying to see what information they might offer. He did a slight double take, changed magnification and spectrum bands, and looked again. “Lieutenant? I think you better check this out.”
It was beginning to be visible to the naked eye against the glare of the explosion so close behind it—a form resolving itself into a red Bioroid on a Hovercraft.
“It’s him!” Dana’s heart had never been so full. At first it looked as if Zor was helping along a wounded red, but then they saw that he had his Battloid clasped to him.
“Whaddaya know,” Angelo drawled. “He even brought along a change of clothes.”
Zor, racing to overtake them, wondered about the ways of fate, and the Shapings of the Protoculture. The last effort of the living mass that served the Masters had only contained the inevitable explosion for scant seconds—enough time for him to retrieve his tank and find a Hovercraft and flee.
But he was still an alien in a strange land. He wondered if what waited ahead would be any better than what he left behind.
The Masters knew their flagship was doomed.
Invader assault ships, forward command ships, and the other smaller craft that were berthed in the Masters’ flagship took aboard as many clones as they could in the little time they had left. But because the Masters were impatient to get to safety and unwilling to risk themselves or their possessions for the sake of unstable clones, many were left behind. And so they abandoned their faithful slaves.
In one evacuation ship, Allegra and Octavia clung to each other, Karno staring out of the viewport furiously as explosion after explosion rocked the flagship.
Musica! the two sisters sent out the silent, plaintive cry.
In the cockpit of the Re-Tread, Musica gasped. But when Bowie asked what was wrong, she just shook her head and said it was nothing.
“The whole thing’s gonna blow!” he yelled excitedly.
She turned in time to see blue, concentric rings leap out from the flagship. Then a star grew from it, hurling forth a gaseous cloud.
Farewell, my sisters, she thought, as the 15th got ready to link up with Emerson’s fleet.
While Emerson elected to withdraw to the ALUCE base with the main body of his command, damaged vessels and as many of the casualties as possible made a run for Earth. One such vessel was the one that happened to have picked up Dana and her companions.
In the tremendous confusion, it wasn’t hard to smuggle Musica to a place of temporary safety, but that left the problem of Fokker Base, and debarkation. Fortunately, the rest of the 15th, having been separated from them, were on another ship, bound for ALUCE base with Emerson’s main force, leaving fewer to keep the secret. Surprisingly, Angelo was loudest among those voices raised to protect the Mistress of the Cosmic Harp.
“We can’t let the GMP get her! Remember what they did to Zor, all that testing and probing and scanning, like he was some kinda animal?” It was already a matter of barely spoken agreement that there would be no mention to Southern Cross Command of Zor’s temporary defection, at least for the time being.
Dana was calmer. “Don’t worry; anybody who messes with Musica is going to have to mess with us first.”
“Blast him!” Leonard bellowed in Southern Cross Army HQ. “I question Emerson’s commitment! I question his sanity!”
It was all for the benefit of UEG observers who were on the scene; Leonard knew his words would reach Moran and the rest of the council promptly. “The enemy fleet still has five fully operational mother ships, and yet he withdraws!”
But Leonard was upset for another reason. Now he could no longer fall back on Emerson’s genius and leadership. There was no one to whom he could delegate authority; the defense of Earth, the responsibility and the culpability, fell squarely on him. He was unsure now; his attitude toward Emerson’s absence in the field was very different.
Zor had passed out just after being brought aboard the transport and had suffered the injuries to justify it. Dana had no choice but to turn him over to a med team and hope he would keep the secret of what had happened in the flagship, as the 15th would keep it.
The ambulance with Zor in it had barely pulled away when Nova Satori showed up. “Welcome back, Dana. What—what did they say about Zor?”
They hadn’t spoken to one another since Komodo’s death. They felt uneasy in each other’s company.
“He’ll recover. Listen, Nova, I’m really busy right now, so if you don’t mind …”
That kind of evasiveness from the 15th’s CO set off alarm bells in Nova’s head. Now what were these eight balls up to?
Musica held back panic, enclosed by armor that seemed ready to crush her, fearful of what life among Humans might hold. Oddly enough, it wasn’t any of those, or the danger of exposure, that beset her the worst just then. Instead, it was a comparatively little thing, the sickly-sweet, rubbery smell of the ATAC helmet’s breather mask; she was nauseous, not sure how long she could control herself. The 15th, long since oblivious to the smell, had forgotten how it sometimes affected boot trainees.
She did her best to be brave, but wasn’t sure she was up to it.
* * *
“Looks like somebody else took a hit, too.” Louie and Angelo, suit helmets doffed, were carrying the stretcher themselves. As they passed Nova, they both suddenly put on expressions more appropriate to a poker game than a homecoming.
Nothing they could say could keep Nova from getting to the stretcher, throwing back the blanket. Dana sighed, and took off the reclining trooper’s helmet when Nova threatened to do it herself.
Sean Phillips smiled up at her. “Shrapnel, right in the big toe, can ya believe it? But I still qualify for a medal and recuperative leave, and it does smart, and—”
Nova upended the stretcher and walked away. Dana was yelling at the few 15th troopers around her—her core group—to get busy and off-load the Hovertanks, and she even gave Sean a swift kick. Then she barked at another, “You, too! Hurry along there, Private Doppler! Double time!”
Then they had disappeared back into the transport. Nova stalked away angrily, but stopped suddenly. “ ‘Doppler’?”
Minutes later, GI personnel staff was confirming that the only Private Doppler was a 15th trooper who had died during the assault that had temporarily brought down the mother ship, weeks before.
Who could Dana be hiding, if that’s what she’s doing? The only possibility seemed too farfetched. Even Dana wouldn’t be that crazy.
“Here: Lemme take a look at you.” Dana felt only mild jealousy that Musica looked better in one of her outfits than Dana herself.
Musica turned 180 degrees self-consciously. Her green hair would fit in with current Earth fads; caught back as it was in a heavy clip, nearly reaching her waist, it was gorgeous. “But—these garments expose my legs.”
“With legs like yours, Musica, I wouldn’t let it bother you. See for yourself, in the mirror.”
Musica did, pulling at the puffy sleeves of the pink blouse, the hem of the full skirt “Why is it whenever I wear something like that it makes me look about ten years old?” Dana wondered aloud.
They decided to let Bowie enter at last and cast his vote. It took him a while to find words, and when he did all he could say was, “I’ll write a song about it.” Musica’s face shone.
Angelo called from the hospital to tell them Zor was being released. The rest of the 15th was in one of the ships that had gone to ALUCE with Emerson, and had been seconded to the 10th ATAC squad, another Hovertank unit. Since the 15th was badly under strength, it wasn’t on alert or standby; Dana decided that a party was in order.
“Get Zor over to the Moon of Havana by eight, okay, Angie? We’ll meet you there.”
It was good to be alive.
In the mother ship to which the Masters had withdrawn when their own flagship was atomized, Allegra and Octavia were thrust into a detention area.
They were still in shock. Muse clones simply weren’t treated this way!
But they saw that much had changed, and this wrath of the Masters was only part of it.
Deprived of their instruments and, in Musica’s absence, a vital part of themselves, they trudged into the cheerless and impersonal holding area. The clones confined there were dispirited and lethargic.
The two Muses huddled together in a corner, fearful of what might come next. “It’s all because of Musica,” Allegra said bitterly. “She abandoned us and betrayed her own people! They can’t understand that her sins aren’t ours, so they’ve cast us away in here!”
“Allegra—”
But she cut Octavia off. “I feel—” Allegra made a vague, angry gesture, to express the rage for which she had no word.
“Musica is our sister; we three are one,” Octavia said soothingly. But she was troubled. Didn’t Allegra see that she was falling victim to the same malady that had claimed Musica? Apparently, the sickness called “emotion” had more than one symptom.
The party started with a toast to the ATACs who had been killed or wounded in the battle. Then, one to the members of the 15th who had been redeployed to ALUCE. After that, life, love, and happiness were the subjects. The ATAC troopers had no urge to toast victory or rehash the battle—it was time to forget the war for a while.
The manager gave the 15th a great table, a circular banquette. Soon Bowie was at the Moon of Havana’s piano. Musica sat, absorbed in his playing. And the songs he played were new, like nothing she had ever heard or thought of before! And he was making some of it up as he went along! These Humans were truly astonishing.
Things were going fine until they realized Nova Satori was Standing in front of their table. Dana couldn’t think of anything to do but invite her to sit down.
Nova sat, and turned to Musica. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lieutenant Nova Satori of the GMP. You are …?”
Musica looked nervously to Dana for rescue. “Friend of Bowie’s,” Dana replied. “We haven’t been able to get her to say ‘boo’ all night. Another musician—plays the ukulele or something like that, I think he said.”
Nova was about to press Musica some more, when Dana interjected, “What d’you hear from Dennis, Nova?”
That shook Nova off the track. “I—he’s part of the force that went to ALUCE with General Emerson. He, he got in touch on a back-channel and said he’s all right.”
Before Nova could go back to her interrogation, Bowie finished a number and the crowd’s uproar drowned her out. Bowie was forced to do an encore. Musica floated on the sounds he made, but she couldn’t help thinking, If my sisters were here, we would play them music of great beauty, too!
She was suddenly filled with emptiness. She hung her head, shaking it so that the green hair swayed. “Oh, sisters, forgive me!” She said it low, so the policewoman wouldn’t hear.
“No, Musica,” Zor, next to her, countered quietly. “Betrayal cannot be forgiven. I am beyond forgiveness and so are you.”
His memories were merging, surfacing, becoming available to his conscious mind. He was becoming the original Zor, with all the regrets and despair. He was thinking, too, of that awful final moment, when he destroyed the flagship, and the deaths of uncounted defenseless clones—no, people!
Angelo didn’t interfere, for the moment. He saw how living among Humans was both a joy and a torment to Musica, a lot like a kid’s story he remembered, The Little Mermaid. Funny how that just popped up; he hadn’t thought of it for decades.
Sean grabbed the shoulder of Zor’s torso harness. “Hey, modulate, there, trooper!” But Zor wrenched himself loose and strode from the nightclub.
Musica, watching him go, began to slump into a faint. Sean and Louie were quick to catch her. As tactical withdrawals went, dropping off Musica at her nonexistent apartment was a little thin, but it was all Dana could come up with.
Nova watched the 15th leave, just barely having kept them from sticking her with the check. Go ahead and play out your hand, Dana. You haven’t got much left.