It was very strange. It took such an awful mishap to crystallize something that had been so murky up until then. I’m not much for romantic fiction or tell-all autobiographies, but from what I’d read, it’s usually something grand and poetic that brings on a realization like this, not just almost causing somebody’s death.
Lisa Hayes, Recollections
HE LAY COVERED BY A PROTECTIVE MED-BUBBLE, ATTACHED TO banks of intensive care machinery.
The monitor-robot overseeing his millisecond-to-millisecond care recorded:
“Lieutenant Rick Hunter. Multiple lacerations, concussion and minor skull fractures causing temporary encephalographic irregularities. No internal damage. This unit will continue to monitor. Probable symptoms of delirium.”
Somewhere deep in his thoughts the word registered, echoing. Delirium… delirium…
He was off on a midnight roller coaster ride, composed of the various wonderful and dreadful experiences he had had in wild juxtaposition throughout the Robotech War.
* * *
He was watching Minmei sing at the Star Bowl, staring at her wistfully. Then an enormous blue-gray hand reached out of infinite distance and grabbed her away. Breetai laughed against a field of stars. “You’ll never get away!”
Rick went after them in his VT, through battle and dogfight, only to be chided by Lisa Hayes, only to crash in Macross again. He relived episodes of his time aboard the SDF-1, while Minmei cried out for rescue. Basic training, friction with Lisa, ratracing against pods and a maelstrom of emotions.
He and Max and Lisa and Ben were on Breetai’s ship again. And at last he flew his VT to where Breetai sat in the rubble of Macross City, holding Minmei in the palm of his hand like a trained nightingale.
But she spurned Rick’s rescue, because, “Lynn-Kyle told me I can’t go out with soldiers.” And then it wasn’t Breetai holding her but a Lynn-Kyle big as Breetai and wearing the Zentraedi’s uniform and metal skullplate and crystal eyepiece.
But Kyle self-destructed, and Rick was saving Minmei again in the fist of his Guardian, as he had the first day they’d met.
* * *
“Observation hour ten,” the monitoring robby recorded. “Lieutenant Hunter still unconscious. Low-grade fever. Encephalogram remains disturbed.”
* * *
Rick and Minmei were stranded inside the SDF-1 once more. They stood looking out at the endless Zentraedi fleet, and suddenly it was Lisa standing next to him, then Minmei again. The time stretched out to years.
The Miss Macross pageant and photographers were all mixed into their solitary time together somehow.
* * *
“Patient progressing steadily,” the robby told itself. “Prognosis good. Anticipated return to consciousness in approximately one hour.”
* * *
Rick and Minmei went through their pretend wedding once more. But as he kissed her, Dolza came crashing through the bulkhead, and suddenly Rick was standing beside Lisa on the football field-size table in Zentraedi HQ.
“You shall never have Minmei!” Dolza promised.
“You belong to my world now, Rick; you belong to the service,” Lisa told him gently, with love in her eyes.
* * *
Then it all dissolved into white light for what seemed like a half second. But when he opened his eyes, he was lying in a hospital bed.
Rick sat up, groaning and dizzy. “What a terrible dream that was,” he slurred.
Terrible, yes, in parts, it occurred to him, as the dream fragments blurred even as he sat trying to gather them into memory. But some were wonderful, sending emotional surges through him.
And some had just plain shocked him.
* * *
The nurse was taking his pulse to verify what the instruments had told her, which made Rick wonder why they bothered with the instruments.
He groaned, bored stiff, and wondered when they would let him get back on active duty; he had the flight surgeons to worry about in addition to the attending physicians.
That was assuming, of course, that fighter ops and Gloval would entrust another VT to a pilot who’d managed to stumble into a barrage of his own side’s missiles and get shot down by them.
“Oh, brother; what an ace,” he muttered, thinking that a slightly different pronunciation of the word might be more appropriate.
“Hmm?” asked the nurse. She was young and attractive, with nice legs displayed by the daring hemline of her uniform.
But somehow he wasn’t interested. “Nothing. Will I live?”
She dropped his hand and checked his chart. “Basically, you’ve got a bad bump on the canopy, flyboy. I think you’d better plan on being our guest for a while, Lieutenant, at least until we get the results of your tests back from the lab.”
“How come?”
She made a wry face. “So the doctors can find out if it’s really true that pilots’ heads are made out of granite.”
“Why aren’t you telling jokes for the USO?”
She patted his shoulder. “Cheer up, Lieutenant. You’ll be out of here before you know it.”
She turned to go, and he looked out the window at Macross’s beautiful EVE sky. “I’ve got rounds to do,” she said. She opened the door. “See you later.”
He didn’t hear the door close. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t alone. “Well, look who’s here.”
Lisa stood in the open door, looking down at her feet. Then she looked up at him miserably.
“Hey, why the long face? Didja come to bury Caesar?”
“Hello, Rick.” She walked to his bedside, a small bouquet dangling from her hand. He had a flashback of her face from his delirium but pushed it out of his mind. “I came to apolo—to say I’m sorry,” she confessed.
“Apologize? Apologize for what, for Pete’s sake?”
She turned to put the flowers in a little vase, arranging them so that she wouldn’t have to meet his stare. “For your being here. We both know it’s my fault that your VT was downed and you were injured.”
He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard from the ever-in-control Commander Hayes. “Lisa, I have nobody to blame but myself. I made a mistake in judgment and that’s it, see?”
She brought the flowers to his nightstand. “Thanks for your generosity.”
He snorted, “What’s happened to that old command confidence? This isn’t like you at all.”
He still sees me as just a martinet, an old lifer! She went to crumple up the wrapping paper angrily and toss it out. “No, Lieutenant, I don’t suppose it is, at that! Anyway—I’ve said what I came to say, and now I have to get back to my duties on the bridge. Get well.”
“Thanks, Lisa. Drop by again?”
As she closed the door: “I don’t think so, Lieutenant. I’ll be too busy.”
* * *
On the bridge, Claudia stopped trying to pretend she was taking care of minor duties and turned to where Lisa stood with head bowed over her console, lost in thought.
“How is Lieutenant Hunter, Lisa?” Lisa turned around, startled and downcast. Claudia sympathized. “Come on, baby; it can’t be as bad as all that.”
“You’re wrong.”
Claudia held folded hands to her bosom. “‘And now the sting of Cupid’s arrow strikes home!’”
Lisa’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“You needn’t be ashamed to talk about it, Lisa. I know what it’s like to be in love, y’ know. Roy and I started out the same way.”
“But you two love each other!”
Claudia put her hands on hips. “Of course, silly. So what’s the difference?”
Lisa was practically gnawing her fingertips. “I don’t think Rick cares.”
Claudia leaned close, towering over her. “It’s very simple, Lisa. If you’re in love with him, go after him! You’re in love with Rick Hunter, isn’t that true?”
She sighed, nodding slightly. “What should I do, Claudia?”
“Be a woman! Stop moping and—” She gave Lisa a light cuff on the shoulder. “Smile more often!”
The hatch had slid open, and Gloval was on the bridge. “Let me know as soon as logistics has loaded all supplies.”
The two women saluted. “It’s already been ordered, Captain,” Claudia replied.
He studied the two women, so vital to the survival of the SDF-1. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“No, sir,” Claudia said blithely. “I was updating Commander Hayes on other military procedures just now.”
“Umm.” Gloval stroked his dark mustache. “Well, it’s unlikely we’ll need much hand-to-hand combat expertise up here on the bridge, but carry on.”
He turned to go, and Claudia slipped Lisa a wink.
* * *
Rick was listening to Minmei singing on the radio, alternatively recalling shards of his dreams and putting them out of his mind, when the door opened and uniforms started pouring through.
“Hi there, buddy. How goes it?”
Roy Fokker grinned, Max and Ben bringing up the rear. “Big Brother!” Rick said happily, sitting up in bed.
“Y’ just can’t keep outta trouble, can you? Here.” He tossed Rick a gift-wrapped package that was just about the right size for a new robe he had no use for.
Ben cocked an ear to the little radio. “Hey, it’s Minmei! That’s great!” He fiddled with the volume control.
“Aw, can it, Dixon.” Rick slapped the thing off.
Ben stood looking bewildered and hurt. “Whatsa matter?”
“I just like it quiet, all right?”
Ben wore his bemused, goodnatured look, scratching a hairstyle that resembled a fuzzy brown turnip. “Absolutely! Anything you say, skipper! You’re the boss!”
“So tell me something, y’ big loafer,” Roy intervened. “When’re you gonna quit playing invalid?”
“‘Playing’ isn’t the right word, Roy.”
Max grinned. “What you need is a visit from someone like Minmei, to come over and give you a command performance right here.”
Rick turned on him so angrily that Max clapped a hand over his own mouth. Then Rick leaned back on his mound of pillows, head resting on hands. “I don’t imagine Minmei’s very interested in a washout like me.”
Ben sounded his heartiest. “Well, then maybe you oughta introduce her to a certified flying ace like myself, Lieutenant.” He laughed loudly.
Rick sat up again, fist clenched. “How about a punch in the nose?”
Roy was on his feet, one hand on Ben’s shoulder. To Rick, he said, “Easy, tiger; Ben didn’t mean anything.”
Big as Ben was, Roy lifted him onto tiptoes without much trouble. “Let’s go, ace, before you make his condition any worse.”
As he dragged Ben off, Roy threw back, “Glad to see you’re okay, kid!”
Max asked Rick, “Has Minmei been here? I thought the flowers—”
“No; they’re from Commander Hayes.”
As Roy paused to open the door, Ben got out, “So what’s wrong with that?”
Roy caught his arm. “I said c’mon!”
Ben got off a salute and a “See ya later!” before Roy yanked him out of sight.
“Well, it was nice of her to bring flowers, wasn’t it?” Max persisted. “Uh, skipper?” Rick wasn’t listening, arms folded and chin sunk on chest.
Max saluted uncertainly. “Well, get well soon, sir. Be seein’ ya.”
Out in the street, Roy told Ben and Max, “At this rate he’ll be laid up for months. Guess I’ll have to do something to get Little Brother out of this depression.”
Ben wore an even more baffled look than usual. “But how, Commander?”
Roy wore a rakish smile. “There’s only one kind of medicine that I can think of that’ll cheer him up.”
* * *
Variations, his favorite coffee shop, was fairly busy for that time of day, and so Claudia had a little trouble finding him.
She gave him her bright, winsome smile as she joined him at a window table for two. “Hi, hon; what’s the urgent summons all about?” She leaned closer to breathe, “Official business or personal?”
He showed a roguish smile. “A little of both.”
She looked him over. “This Minmei business you mentioned better be the official part.”
“Yep. I have a friend who could use some cheering up; I need to talk to her.”
She considered that. “Easy enough; she’s making a motion picture. You’ll find her on the set every day. Now, could we get to the personal part, Commander Fokker?”
He leered at her fondly. “How personal d’ you wanna get?”
“Dinner tonight?”
He was corning to his feet. “You got it, kid, but only if you make your famous pineapple salad. But I’ve gotta get going. See you about seven, okay?”
She watched him rush off again. The SDF-1’s new predicament—the work to reequip and rearm combat units, train replacements, restock all supplies, do all maintenance and repair work possible—still left them little time together.
Sure, Commander Fokker, she thought calculatingly. Dinner tonight and, although you may not know it yet, breakfast tomorrow.