Shaizan growled slightly through clenched, vestigial teeth, yellow with age and disuse.
“Enough,” said Dag, putting a quick end to the argument. “Commence override….”
From his chambers in the United Earth Headquarters, Commander Leonard spoke with the Republic’s prime minister via video-phone. A white-haired mustachioed politico who had served like Leonard under T. R. Edwards, Chairman Moran wore his badge of office on his right breast, and his sidearm to bed. He had learned tactics from Edwards, and that made him a dangerous man indeed.
“Your Excellency,” Leonard said deferentially, “we must wait until we know more about the aliens before launching a preemptive strike. Frankly, my staff is split—”
“The final judgment is of course yours,” the chairman interrupted. “But I hope you understand that it’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to defend your inaction. If you’re not up to it….”
Leonard tried to keep his emotions in check as Moran left his threat unfinished. “I understand my obligations to the council,” he said evenly.
Moran’s head nodded in the monitor’s field. “Good. I expect you to coordinate your attack plans as soon as possible.”
The screen image de-rezzed and Leonard drew a hand down his face in frustration. Curse Edwards for leaving me to this! he said to himself.
But suddenly the screen was alive again: Leonard opened his eyes to wavering bars of static and multicolored contour lines. Then there was a voice attached to the oscillations—high-pitched and synthesized, though its message was clear.
“Consider this a final warning,” it began. “Interfere with our attempts to leave this planet and you face extinction.”
A second threat in as many minutes.
The monitor screen went blindingly white.
CHAPTER
NINE
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 rend
ezvous 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 Alphas 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.
Robotech Page 26
