"The oversight committee has selected Lieutenant Sterling to head up the survey team," Fredericks said. "Naturally, Colonel, we expect you to accompany and familiarize them with the workings of the ship."
"But what about the Nebula mission?" Wolff managed to ask. Fredericks smiled without showing his teeth. "First things first,
Colonel."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALUCE had its share of deserters following Leonard's decision to turn the facility into a Southern Cross base. Many of the decamping scientists, engineers, and technicians ended up in the Southlands, bringing with them not only their expertise but in many cases apparatus and supplies, including shuttles and construction robots liberated from ALUCE before the military arrived. And much of the state-of-the-art equipment would find its way to the Starchildren, who put it to immediate use.
Weverka T'su, Aftermath: Geopolitical and Religious Movements in the Southlands
In central Argentina, southwest of Buenos Aires, under the retractable wings of a massive dome that had somehow escaped the Masters' notice despite its outward similarity to an Invid hive, sat an almost-completed, lozenge-shaped ship its builders hoped would one day take them to the stars. Assembled over the course of ten years by cadres of engineers, designers, and specialists of every discipline—some of whom had participated in the reconstruction and retrofitting of the SDF-1 on Macross Island—the ship had been christened Napperson's Hope, after the woman who had originally conceived the project.
A Robotech systems analyst who had studied under Emil Lang, Kaaren Napperson had become convinced—long before the Zentraedi attack of 2009—that Earth was destined to find itself embroiled in a lengthy and ultimately Human-fatal war, brought about by the controlled-crash arrival of the Visitor—the SDF-1. Caught up in the SDF-1's inadvertent jump to Pluto, however, Napperson had spent two years on board the ship she had helped restore; the following three working on the ill-fated SDF-2; and the next four in the null-gee center of the factory satellite, overseeing the transformation of Breetai's flagship into the SDF-3. It was only in 2019 that she had literally come down to Earth and relocated to the Southlands; and it
was there she had gathered the personnel who would begin work on the ship of her dreams—a ship without weapons of any sort, whose purpose was to house and preserve at least a few specimens of the Human species before time ran out.
The so-called Starchildren had not begun as a cult; the news media were to blame for the name, which found common acceptance after Napperson's perhaps inevitable affiliation with the Church of Interstellar Retribution. Regardless, as word of the project spread, more and more people wanted to lend a hand in its realization, until there were more people living and working in the vicinity of the dome than the ship within could ever accommodate. And even when this became apparent, people weren't dissuaded from coming. Thanks to the lottery Napperson had devised, everyone stood an equal chance of making the final cut of twenty-five hundred passengers. Many believed, as well, that if one ship could be successfully launched, then that ship could be duplicated, and that eventually there would be space for any and all who wished to quit the planet before war reduced it to a barren, hopelessly irradiated ruin.
The Starchildren's motto—"Space for any and all"—referred as much to the lottery as to the fact that the cultists had no real destination other than the void between the stars. Napperson and her teams had utmost faith in the antigravity generators they had fashioned to levitate the ship; but lacking spacefold generators or Reflex furnaces, the ship couldn't even get nowhere fast.
Destination was beside the point, in any case. For the Starchildren viewed Napperson's Hope as an ark that would wander the galaxy for generations, breeding a new kind of Human. A new kind of Earth Human, that is, given the many diverse species known to inhabit the planets of distant star systems.
In itself, the galaxy's sheer abundance of intelligent life was enough to convince Napperson's followers that they would chance upon a species, which, like themselves, viewed war as an abomination . . .
Minutes into the VIP tour that had been arranged for her and Terry,
Misa experienced a sense of nostalgia for a place she was visiting for the first time. She could almost believe that she had been there before—in a past life or something. She was not only astounded by what the Starchildren had created, but profoundly moved by their selfless commitment. More so than the residents of Tokyo, the Starchildren seemed to embody the indomitable spirit of the Human race. And they hadn't had to burrow underground to express it.
Just then, she and Terry were meeting with Kaaren Napperson herself, along with her husband and several others, in a cluttered office that overlooked the ship and the bustle that surrounded it. The dogged activity brought to mind the early days of the geo-grid, when Tokyo seemed to be excavating the future.
"You'll excuse me for saying so, Terry," Kaaren Napperson was remarking, "but your visit comes as quite a surprise." She was a handsome woman of sixty or so, with shoulder-length gray hair and big, blue-gray eyes.
"Mr. Shimada knew it would," Terry told her, a container of coffee in hand. "And we're encouraged that you could set aside your wariness, at least for the time being."
Napperson traded looks with her much-younger husband, Eric Baudel, a slight, balding man with hairy, muscular forearms. "To be honest, Terry, I'm not sure we have set aside our wariness."
Eiten Shimada had paved the way for Terry and Misa's visit. That had been accomplished easily enough, since the Nappersons had been trying to solicit Shimada interest in their project for the past several years. Also, Kaaren knew Terry from the time she had spent in Monument City in '24, when she had been asked to investigate a glitch that was plaguing the Alpha Veritech. That glitch had ultimately been traced to cyber-control experiments being conducted by one of Anatole Leonard's minions, the brilliant though misguided Joseph Petrie.
"Are we to assume that the Shimada Family has finally taken an interest in what we're trying to accomplish here?" Eric Baudel asked.
"The Shimadas have always taken an interest."
"Now they're considering taking a more active interest." Misa added. Terry seemed pleased with the confusion their statements sowed.
"'Why now?' you're probably asking yourselves. Why, after all these years? Well, it all has to do with the ship that recently arrived from Tirol."
"Colonel Wolff's ship," Kaaren said. "But what does that have to do with us, or the Shimadas?"
"Before I tell you," Terry said, "you have to understand that the Shimadas think of Tokyo in much the same way you do your ship. As a kind of ark."
"We've said as much," Baudel thought to point out. "But where Tokyo's future is largely dependent on the very ground in which it's ensconced, Napperson's Hope will be a world unto itself."
Terry put his tongue in his cheek and nodded. "Assuming you can launch it before the Invid arrive."
"We're certainly working toward that end," Kaaren told him. "We could launch tomorrow—"
"But you have concerns about the ship's power core."
Kaaren smirked. "We've never tried to hide that fact, Terry. But given a choice, wouldn't you rather have the power of a sports car at your disposal than a Volkswagen? The fuel for sustained burns has always been our major problem."
"The Shimadas understand that. That's why we want to suggest that some of the parts you need have arrived—from Tirol."
Napperson, Baudel, and the others regarded one another in uncertain dismay. "That ship is REF property," Kaaren said at last. "And the Shimadas are very much mistaken if they think we'd stoop to piracy to realize our aims."
"These are desperate times for Humankind," Misa said on cue. "The Shimadas fear that the REF ship will be used to attack the Invid the moment they appear in Earthspace, and that it will be destroyed as a result."
"Your sports car, Kaaren," Terry interjected. "Reflex furnaces capable of propelling a ship to better than light speed The Starchildren's ticket out of her
e."
Kaaren shook her head in disbelief. "Yes, and all we have to do is steal it out from under the noses of the GMP and the Tactical Armored Space Corps."
"That's where we come in," Terry said, without missing a beat. "What if I told you that we'll soon be in a position to provide you with information about the ship's security, Reflex drives, and other features. All you'd have to do is launch Napperson's Hope and position it where it can receive and make best use of the data."
"Terry . . ." Kaaren started to say, but he spoke over her.
"We're not saying that you have to do anything with what we provide you. But bear in mind that once you people leave Earthspace, you're essentially home free. There's not a ship between here and Tirol that could catch you."
"Of course, the Shimadas can't afford to take a direct hand in the matter," Misa quickly added. "But they can provide funding for what you'll need to launch Napperson's Hope."
"In exchange for what?" Baudel demanded to know. "Our promise to make room for them aboard?"
"Nothing of the sort," Terry said. "They're thinking only of the survival of our species."
Baudel made a plosive sound and sat back in his chair, shaking his head back and forth. "You seem to forget that only twenty-five hundred of us will be leaving. The people left behind will have to live with the stigma of our actions."
Terry mirrored Baudel's posture and spread his hands in a gesture of wily Openness. "We're not twisting your arm, Eric. We're simply saying that we'd like to contribute to the success of your project."
Misa felt a shiver of longing pass through her. Gazing at the rapt expressions on the faces of Napperson and some of the others, she suddenly
wanted nothing more than to see the Starchildren get their wish.
"Maybe Senator Pauli and the rest were taken in by Wolff's performance, but I'm not," General Vincinz told the dozen members of the now-defunct Southern Cross command. Two weeks had passed since the briefing at GMP headquarters, and the group was meeting in secret conclave in the back room of a strip club in Denver. "From what I hear, Wolff leaped out of his chair when Pauli informed him that a bunch of Tokyo geeks had been granted permission to survey his cherished ship."
"Can you blame the man?" Senator Grass said. "Who knows what damage they could do?"
Vincinz gestured dismissively. "Damage, my ass. Wolff's worried that they're going to discover the truth."
"Which truth is that?" the general's adjutant, Major Stamp, asked.
Vincinz leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and interlocking his blunt fingers. The room smelled of body odor and stale beer, and was faintly illuminated by colored ceiling spots. The stage and the chrome poles the strippers wrapped themselves around sat in darkness.
"Emil Lang wouldn't have dispatched a second ship on a one-way trip to Earth," Vincinz said. "I'll stake my life on it that that ship is foldworthy, and that Wolff is just itching to get his crew back on board so they can fold out of the mess they've landed in."
Everyone took a moment to consider the possibility. Senator Grass was the first to speak. "Are Shimada's people clever enough to determine the capacity of the fold generators?"
Vincinz nodded, narrow eyed. "Maybe even too clever. Think about it: All at once the Shimadas change their minds about giving us a look at their research—providing that their people are allowed a look at Wolff's ship. Why? Because ole Kan Shimada-san has his own suspicions about Wolff. I mean, what's to stop the Shimadas from cutting a deal with Wolff to be included among his cargo in exchange for keeping their mouths shut about the fold generators?"
Grass snorted a laugh. "Kan Shimada would never abandon Tokyo— even for a shot at immortality. It doesn't get much better than what he's already created for himself."
Vincinz conceded the point. "All right, maybe he wouldn't leave. But he might expect Wolff to pay for Tokyo's silence in other ways—in Protoculture or weapons."
Captain Bortuk, Vincinz's ferret-faced chief of staff, shook his head. "The last thing the Shimadas want are weapons. And as for Wolff smuggling 'culture down to Tokyo, I don't see how we can prevent it. Unless, of course, we're willing to share our suspicions with the GMP."
"We don't need to go that far," Vincinz said bitterly. "The way I see, all we have to do is keep Wolff away from that ship."
"You're too late," Grass said. "He and that Tokyo bunch are already on their way."
"I'm talking about making sure that Wolff isn't assigned the Nebula mission."
Grass pulled down the corners of his mouth. "Unfortunately, we no longer have much say in that. Although, I suppose we could argue that Wolff and his crew—having fought the Invid on Tirol and elsewhere—are too vital to our defenses to place at risk."
Vincinz grinned wickedly. "That's the idea. We need Wolff and his people to advise us. Ideally, we would want to get some of our own people assigned to the Nebula mission."
"That mission isn't exactly going to be a cakewalk," Bortuk commented. "There's high probability that the Sensor Nebula isn't as innocuous as it appears to be. I've read Rolf Emerson's after-mission reports on the counterattack Leonard launched against the Masters' fleet. Some of the pilots under Emerson's command who passed closest to the cloud reported serious problems with their mecha. Spontaneous reconfiguration, scrambled communications, laser malfunctions . . . So why not let the GMP have run of the mission, rather than jeopardize any of our own people?"
"Because we would benefit from familiarizing ourselves with the ship."
Vincinz paused for a moment. "Particularly in advance of our commandeering it."
"Are you out of your mind?" Grass's voice was shrill with disbelief. "What do we want with that ship?"
Vincinz grinned faintly. "Power. The power Aldershot, Constanza, and the rest are afraid to hurl against the Invid. The power to reassert the authority of the Southern Cross. The power to determine our own fate in the coming war. And one final thing: a way out of it."
"The war?" Major Stamp said dubiously.
Vincinz nodded. "Pretend for a moment that I'm right about Wolff and the ship. Or, if you don't like that, consider that Shimada's geeks will be able to work some magic on the fold generators."
Stamp ran a hand over his mouth. "All right, but how's that provide us with an 'out'? Where are we going to go—to Pluto?"
"Tirol," Vincinz replied evenly.
Grass stared at him, then burst out laughing. "That's rich, Vincinz. With Edwards probably hanging from his boot heels in Tiresia? I'm sure Reinhardt and Hunter would love to have a couple of more Southern Cross renegades drop in on them."
"To hell with Edwards," Vincinz snapped. "And how would Hunter know we weren't sent to Tirol by the UEG? They won't have a clue. Besides, we'd be doing the REF a service by apprising them of what's been happening on Earth." He glanced pointedly at everyone. "Where would you rather be: here, condemned to some Flower of Life labor camp, or there, cozying up to Mr. and Mrs. Hunter with a couple of elaborate lies of omission?"
"Seems a risk either way," Grass said, relenting somewhat. "After all, we don't know what's been happening on Tirol. We could be jumping from the frying pan to the fire."
Vincinz shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll take the fire over the long sizzle. I didn't enjoy waiting for the Masters, and I know I'm not going to enjoy waiting for the Invid. And the way Wolff makes it sound, we're going to get
our asses kicked no matter what we do. So where's the harm in our leaving? My guess is that by the time we return to Earth, there won't be a person alive who could denounce us for what we did."
The Homeward Bound had neither the blockish, articular countenance of the SDF-1, nor the bulbous, organic mien of the SDF-3. In profile the modified Garfish approximated the fore-tapered sleekness of the deep-sea denizen after which it had been named, though it was cinched amidships by a beltlike housing, from which hung a fish-shaped spacefold module. Twice the length of the Garfish HSTC frigates the SDF-3 had carried in its belly to Tirol, the
ship contained more than eighty mecha in its belly and had space for a crew of six hundred, though The Homeward Bound had arrived with a force only half that size.
Wolff had supplied opticals and schematics of some of the other prototypes the REF had manufactured in Tirolspace, including considerably modified versions of the bird-of-prey Horizont DTTS and the goliath Ikazuchi Command Carrier. But of all of them, the Garfish alone looked as though it would have been at home among the dreadnoughts of the Zentraedi Grand Fleet.
The shuttle that had lofted Dana, Wolff, Louie, and the Tokyo tech detachment docked alongside the Garfish, and everyone cycled through the air locks without incident—though Gibley and company remained nauseated until well after they were safely on board. As an accommodation to them, The Homeward Bound's artificial gravity had been enabled by the GMP and TASC guards who had been stationed aboard the ship since Wolff and crew had debarked for ALUCE a month earlier.
Once over their queasiness, Gibley, Shi Ling, Strucker, and the others began to behave like kids on a school trip to a hands-on museum. The only old hand among them—having flown combat missions upside and toured the interiors of many a warship—Louie was slightly more reserved, though Dana could see that even he was itching to disassemble some component to see how it functioned. Wolff had further supplied that the ship's spacefold
generators were not empowered by Karbarran Flower of Life peat, as Carpenter's had been, but by a more conventional dialogue between unadulterated Protoculture and the monopole ore the REF Zentraedi had mined on Fantoma. But while it seemed unlikely that the generators could be revitalized by Earth technology, no one appeared discouraged. Except for Wolff, of course, who was beside himself with concern. So, in a sincere effort to distract him, Dana suggested that he show her around the bridge while Shimada's team went to work.
Compared to the SDF-3, or indeed to the now-crippled destroyers of the Southern Cross fleet, The Homeward Bound felt cramped and disorderly. The passageways were narrow and in many cases unlighted, and only a few of the cabin spaces were finished. Conduits and fiber-optic lines were exposed, and most of the partitions had obviously been erected in haste. The bridge was a variation on the tried-and-true design incorporated into the SDFs, though almost intimate in its proportions. Centered among the various duty stations sat the signature, solitary command chair, with its vantage of the two forward viewports. And taking up most of the starboard bulkhead was the vertical stack of monitors that comprised the threat- assessment display.
Before the Invid Storm Page 11
