Force of Arms

by Jack McKinney

  There was some grumbling, as others were troubled by the enigma, too. Rico considered his answer. He understood only a little more about human existence than the others, but they looked to him for answers, and he didn't want to seem at a loss.

  "Um, because marriage is something important. When two people get married, they go off someplace private and spend their time pressing their lips together."

  This business of pressing lips had been mentioned before among the Zentraedi, had been one of the prime matters of fascination that had led to the defections. But still, the thought of such unbridled contact between the sexes sent the erstwhile warriors into a tizzy.

  "Maybe they won't make us do it?" "My lips aren't ready for that sort of thing!" "I dunno; something tells me it might feel good." "Lemma at 'er!"

  Some babbled and exclaimed to one another; others started shaking visibly or gnawing their fingernails. A few tried rubbing their top and bottom lips together and concluded that they were doing it wrong somehow. At least one swooned.

  At the interview, Kyle found another microphone shoved into his face. "Tell the truth: have you proposed marriage to Minmei?"

  He was calm, unflappable, on the outside. "No, I haven't."

  He and Minmei were not close by blood, although their families had kept close bonds due to friendships and shared business investments in the White Dragon and Golden Dragon restaurants. He had grown up with Minmei very much like an adoring little sister to him.

  But that had changed over time, as much as he'd fought it. It was the tremendous battle inside him compared to which mere physical fights were children's antics. Everyone thought the self-discipline he brought to the

  martial arts was a reflection of his inner calm; in fact, it was a reflection of the iron will that barely kept him from yielding to temptation. He'd spent all his young adulthood locked in fierce battle against his own impulses.

  And most difficult of all were the movies they made together, the shared work and intensity of their scenes, especially the love scenes. It was so easy for acting to slide over into the real thing. The impulses were very patient and unrelenting. He drove them off each day, only to have them return fresher and stronger than ever the next.

  But no more. Being with Minmei aboard the SDF-1, seeing the others who coveted her, had decided Kyle. No one else could have her.

  "Sounds like a pretty weak denial." The interviewer grinned at him. "Maybe you just haven't had the chance, right?"

  Kyle said in his calm, measured tones, "No, I've been thinking about, um..."

  The newsman was watching him like a ferret. "Yes?"

  "Thinking about how I'd actually say it to her. Because I don't mind telling you, it's something I've considered."

  He heard Minmei's gasp next to him, and the mass intake of breath by the reporters. Flashbulbs began popping, and everyone began talking at once.

  "Minmei, what d' you have to say?" "Have you set the date?" "Tell our viewers: Would you accept if he proposes?" "Give us a shot of you two holding hands!" "Kiss 'er, Kyle!" "Where d' you two plan to honeymoon?"

  But they paid the reporters no attention. "Kyle, are you serious?" Her eyes looked enormous. They sat there, gazing at each other, while the furor boiled around them.

  His screen switched off, Rick lay with head pillowed on elbows, feeling utterly wretched. I can't believe it. All this time she's been waiting for Kyle to propose to her.

  There was a knock at the door, and Max showed up, dressed in civvies: sports jacket, slacks, sweater, and tie. He wore a cheerful, eager look that

  made him seem sixteen or so.

  "Sorry to bother you, boss. But I'm thinking of wearing this tie to meet Miriya. And I wondered if it made me look too sophisticated, you know? Or maybe I should go the other way, wear a gold chain..."

  After Rick got rid of Max, he decided to get some fresh air. He wandered up to a parklike area on one of the observation decks and stared out a viewport as high as a billboard and longer than two.

  Earth swung by above him, a crescent of swirling blue and white in the darkness. He sat and tried to spot Alaska.

  After a while a familiar voice, holding a trace of mischief, said, "Well, if it isn't Lieutenant Hunter, as I live and breathe!"

  He looked up to see Claudia standing nearby. "Oh. Hi, how're you?"

  They hadn't seen each other a great deal lately, partly because they had been so busy and partly because they both still ached with the grief of Roy Fokker's death, and seeing each other brought it up all over again.

  But now she came over to sit next to him. "Not bad. But what're you doing up here at this hour?"

  "Couldn't stand my quarters anymore." "Ah. You saw the press conference." "Mm-hm."

  She sat down, crossing her knees, resting her chin on her hand, helping him watch Earth. "You could get along without her. She isn't that terrific."

  "She is to me!" Rick wouldn't have taken that from anyone else now that Roy was gone. But Claudia had an honesty that was hard not to respect and give its due. And she was quite capable of getting mad right back at you if she felt it was warranted. Claudia was not someone you wanted to be mad at you if you could avoid it.

  "You're bright; you should be with somebody else," she said after a bit. "I don't know that I want to be. I'm stuck on her."

  "Why, Rick?"

  "I don't know why! Maybe she's just my type."

  Claudia put one finger to her chin, eyeing him sidelong. "I don't know.

  I sorta picture you being with somebody more mature. You know: someone more experienced? Who's been through a big romance and a broken heart?"

  Oh, great, just what I need! Rick thought. Some other walking wounded to hang around with! But he couldn't help listening very closely.

  "It'd be good for you to be with someone who can appreciate a relationship. Those people're around, y' know. Sometimes they turn out to be your next door neighbor. Or even...your superior officer."

  "Huh?"

  She rose. "Gotta go."

  "Claudia, you mean Lisa, don't you?"

  She glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Did you hear me mention anybody by name? I only said people like that are around. Sometimes they've been known to pass by so close, you can't even see them."

  She started off once more, throwing back over her shoulder, "Now, don't stay up too late. Things will look a lot better in the morning."

  He watched her go and said very softly to himself, "Wow."

  Rick sat, watching Earth again. The way he had it figured, the SDF-1's orbit would bring Alaska into view in a little while. He went over the message he had flashed to Lisa by prosign dots and dashes.

  He wished he had said more.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The myths of selfless humility and humble allegiance to ideals aside, there is no warrior culture, not that of Japanese samurai, medieval knight, or any other, that does not, upon close scrutiny, have a ruthless, entirely practical side to it. Also universal are egotism and a hypocritical willingness to dispense with all the high-flown language and poetic vows when the grim business of life and death is at hand.

  How much more so, then, among the cloned, bred-for-battle Zentraedi? In the case of Miriya Parino, female warlord of the Quadronos and arguably the greatest fighter of her race, the matter is certain: Her soaring pride and utter self-confidence had been her hallmark until she was bested both in the air and on the ground by Max Sterling. Her emotional ferment was such that the law of her kind, the vendetta, was the only road open to her-vengeance, by any means possible.

  Is it any wonder, then, that what happened next has provided fuel for songs, arguments, dissertations, and grand opera for generations since?

  Altaira Heimel,

  Butterflies in Winter: Human Relations and the Robotech War

  The super dimensional fortress prowled cautiously through the void, vigilant against attack and yet resigned to battle as only a seasoned veteran can be.

  The Zentraedi had come pressi
ng battle upon the ship many times before, would come again. Life in between clashes was, therefore, to be lived that much more fully. Death was all around-the war had gone on for years; nobody aboard thought, any longer, that it couldn't as easily be their number that would come up the next time around.

  In the center of Macross was a park, lovingly and carefully put together by the inhabitants almost blade of grass by blade of grass. Overhead was an Earthly summertime evening, courtesy of the EVE system. There was even

  the sound of crickets-descendants of good-luck pets who had somehow survived the war.

  Max Sterling paced fitfully under a streetlamp near the Peace Fountain that trickled and gurgled a few yards away. He checked his watch for the seventh time in two minutes.

  "Jeez; it's almost nine. I hope she's all right."

  He was worried that Miriya wouldn't show up-worried even more, really, that she would. Just an average-looking young man straightening his necktie and hoping his only sports jacket didn't look too shabby, and recalling with a sudden sinking feeling that he had forgotten to pick up the flowers he had ordered.

  He didn't know that death hunted afoot and that the pounce was near; he wouldn't know for several seconds yet that cruel eyes were watching him from the shadows.

  "I can't believe I asked her to meet me in the park-a girl, at night!" he muttered. "She could get mugged or something."

  In fact, street crime in Macross was all but nonexistent. And punishments were such that recidivism was just about nil; but that sort of reasoning meant nothing to a young man waiting for a woman who had him mesmerized, entranced, enraptured. A woman he had met only a few hours before.

  A woman who stood in the dark poised, to kill him.

  Then he heard running footsteps behind him, and her voice. "Maximillian, prepare for your doom!" It was a literal translation of a Quadrono war cry.

  Miriya had gotten to the spot well in advance, seen him arrive, watched him. She had been set to kill him precisely at their appointed meeting time, a quarter hour before. But she had only watched him, hating him all the more but feeling strange-feeling drawn to him in some mysterious way she couldn't fathom.

  She told herself she was merely studying her enemy's movements and possible vulnerabilities and fought down the liking she had for seeing him

  in motion. She told herself that she was merely waiting for the most opportune moment; yet though that part of the park was absolutely deserted, she let the minutes slide by.

  Miriya observed his eyes, his lips, the way he moved. She felt a trembling in herself that no military mind /body discipline known to her could quiet. But at last, by a tremendous application of will, she hurled herself into battle.

  Max was unaware of all of that, of course. At first he thought it was some kind of joke.

  He saw her charging at him with the quick grace of a panther, a gleaming knife held high. Miriya's heavy waves of green-dyed hair snapped and flew behind her like a flag. She still wore the brown body suit, the kneehigh boots of blue-dyed leather, and the yellow scarf at her throat.

  Her eyes started madly. She was Quadrono, a Zentraedi warrior, and yet this miserable human had somehow made her vacillate-made her feel weakness where once there had been only strength! But that would end; Sterling would die, to expiate his sin of defeating her, and she would once more be Miriya the unconquerable.

  Max was fumbling through a little greeting he had been rehearsing, his habitual whimsical half smile appearing on his face. "Miriya, it's nice to see you...glad you could...uh..."

  This, while she bore down on him, the blade gleaming. The knife was a kind of hybrid cross between a Japanese-style tanto and one of the midlength Randall hunting models, with a circular guard. She saw that she had a lot of ground yet to cover and, afraid that he might elude her, hurled it at him, clawing in the meantime for her second blade.

  The knives weren't quite like the Zentraedi weapons she was used to, but the balance and heft weren't too different. Although a firearm would have been faster, her incandescent need for revenge had made Miriya choose a more traditional weapon. It had to be reflexes, muscle, eye-to-eye confrontation, and cold steel that settled her score with the hated human.

  And in that moment Max Sterling proved that all those dogfight kills

  weren't some kind of fluke. His psychomotor responses were the fastest the SDF-1 meds had ever measured-his coordination and reflexes were unprecedented.

  Max was still trying to figure out what she was talking about when his body saw the flash of steel, understood, and ducked; he was doing his best to recall the awkward, rather romantic little speech he had meant to make to her when those supreme and somehow strangely given combat reflexes cut in.

  His evasion was barely a flicker of movement; the knife flashed past him to land solidly in a tree trunk.

  This was the first time she had ever missed. But she kept coming at

  him.

  Stunned, Max watched her charge headlong toward him. She threw the

  sheath of the first knife far from her; it made no sound, landing in the grass. "Hey, are you crazy?" Everything had suddenly slid into place within him; he already loved her so, but the physical Sterling, the part that made him unbeatable, was broadcasting warnings and threat updates, putting his

  body in motion.

  She drew a second, sheathed blade from the open front seam of her body suit. "I am Quadrono Leader Miriya Parino: Zentraedi warrior!"

  Max gulped. "There goes our first date."

  But something in him had already changed; his balance was forward, on the balls of his feet-he felt nearly weightless-and his hands were curled into the fastest fists on the SDF-1.

  However, he was still infatuated with her; he held himself in check when all his impulses were to counterattack. A little thing like attempted murder couldn't alter the fact that he was hopelessly in love with her.

  She had seen him pacing, heard his concern for her. The weakling human fears-for the safety of an imagined loved one, of all things!-were so contemptible and misplaced, and yet...

  Somewhere deep inside of her she knew; with a clear and pure knowledge, that Max's worry was a reflection of his regard for her. Who else,

  in the course of her matchless military career, had ever shown such simple, loving concern for Miriya Parino's well-being?

  No one. Not ever. The very thought galvanized her, launched her forward to murder.

  The sheath hissed briefly with a metallic rasp as the blade glimmered wickedly under the soft park streetlights. "You're such a fool! Fight for your life!"

  There was something nauseatingly vulnerable and adoring in his eyes; the expression with which he regarded her was unworthy of any true warrior-but it sapped her determination so.

  Yet inside her, a furnace as hot and powerful as any Protoculture engine burned. Kill him! Kill him now, at once! Before...before he can...

  "My life? But why attack me?" Max asked bewildered; but his body was already set-they were both so locked into the physical language of hand-to-hand that a fight was inevitable.

  She brought the glitter of the blade up into their line of sight like a fencer so that they could both consider its cold blaze. "I will have my revenge!"

  His hand went to the hilt of the knife embedded in the tree trunk, and she made new calculations based on his being armed. Sterling's having a knife was so much the better as far as Miriya was concerned; she wanted to kill him in a fight on equal terms, wanted to humble him as he had humbled her-before...before he could...

  His hand came away from the haft of the knife-very reluctantly, very slowly, very deliberately. He turned back to her. "I'm afraid I don't know what this is all about."

  He left the weapon aside when he might have taken it. His life was in danger, but in another way his life was there, staring at him, a knife in her hand-the person, he was sure, he couldn't live without.

  I wonder what the court-martial punishment is for falling in love with the enemy?
/>   "What d' you mean, revenge? If you're a Zentraedi, I understand why

  we have to-to fight." He barely got the word out. "But why d' you want revenge?"

  She held the short, tanto-style knife high, a miniature samurai blade, burnished and keen, that threw the light back like a mirror. "I...have...reasons!"

  With that she sprang at him, fast as any jungle cat.

  But Max Sterling's emotions and misgivings were subject to a sudden override; body and reflexes took over.

  An edge so fine that it would have cut a hair floating in the air sliced through the spot where he had been standing, with a curt, sinister sibilance. Max was already aloft.

  She spat a Zentraedi oath in frustration, watching him dive and flip to momentary safety. He whirled on her when he might as easily-and more sanely-have run for it. "Miriya, what'd I ever do to you?"

  She wasn't blind to his decision to stand when it would be more advisable to run. Like a Valkyrie, she lifted the knife blade again, so that it threw back shards of light.

  "You defeated me. And you don't even know who I am, do you?"

  She swirled the blade around, en garde, so that there was a contoured trail of light between them. "I am the Zentraedi's greatest pilot! And I will not be humiliated by a human insect!"

  She plunged at him, the razor-sharp edge slitting the air. In less than a second she executed two masterful infighting moves that would have disembowled a lesser opponent.

  But Max Sterling simply wasn't there. He made no countermoves, but he avoided the cuts and thrusts like a shadow. Miriya was even more enraged to see that he wasn't terrified, but rather mystified. That he still felt weakling human emotions for her.

  She fought down the chaotic impulses that flared up within her. She slashed again, but the knife hissed through empty space once more.

  And she began to know a certain fear. By the Protoculture! He's so fast! Her fear had nothing to do with dying; she was Zentraedi. In this strangest

  battle of her life, she wasn't quite sure what that ultimate and most dire of terrors was, the dread that was somehow bound up in Max Sterling. She had had many mental images, wondering about what this utter demon of war would be like; none of them were anything like the truth.