Doomsday

by Jack McKinney

  Doomsday

  By Jack McKinney 1987

  For Shoji Kawamori and the '80s gang at Studio Nue; Haruhiko Mikimoto; Ippei Kuri and Kenji Yoshida of Tatsunoko: Robotech Masters the lot of them—although they didn’t realize it at the time.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Had the Robotech Masters the power to travel as freely through time as they did space, perhaps they would have understood the inevitabilities they were up against: Zor's tampering with the Invid Flower was a crime akin to Adam's acceptance of the apple. Once released, Protoculture had its own destiny to fulfill. Protoculture was a different-and in some ways antithetical-order of life.

  Professor Lazlo Zand, as quoted in

  History of the Second Robotech War, Vol. CXXII

  The dimension of mind...the rapture to be found at that singular interface between object and essence...the power to reshape and reconfigure: to transform...

  Six hands-the sensor extensions of slender atrophied arms-were pressed reverently to the surface of the mushroomlike Protoculture cap, the Masters' material interface. Long slender fingers with no nails to impede receptivity. Three minds...joined as one.

  Until the terminator's entry disturbed their conversation. Offering salute to the Masters, it announced:

  -Our routine scan of the Fourth Quadrant indicates a large discharge of Protoculture mass in the region where Zor's dimensional fortress defolded.

  The three Masters broke off their contact with the Elders and turned to the source of the intrusion, liquid eyes peering out from ancient, ax-keen faces. Continual contact with Protoculture had eliminated physical differences, so all three appeared to have the same features: the same hawkish nose, the flaring eyebrows, shoulder-length blue-gray hair, and muttonchop sideburns.

  -So!-responded the red-cowled Master, though his lips did not move-Two possibilities present themselves: Either the Zentraedi have

  liberated the hidden Protoculture matrix from Zor's disciples and commenced a new offensive against the Invid, or these Earthlings have beaten us to the prize and now control the production of the Protoculture.

  There was something monkish about them, an image enhanced by those long gray robes, the cowls of which resembled nothing so much as outsize petals of the Invid Flower of Life. Each monkish head seemed to have grown stamenlike from the Protoculture flower itself.

  -I believe that is highly unlikely-the green-cowled Master countered telepathically-All logic circuits based on available recon reports suggest that the Invid have no knowledge of the whereabouts of Zor's dimensional fortress.

  -So! Then we must assume that the Zentraedi have indeed found the Protoculture matrix, ensuring a future for our Robotechnology.

  -But only if they were able to capture the ship intact...

  The organic systems of the Masters' deep-space fortress began to mirror their sudden concern; energy fluctuations commenced within the Protoculture cap, throwing patterned colors against all but breathing bulkheads and supports. What would have been the bridge of an ordinary ship was here given over to the unharnessed urgings of Protoculture, so that it approximated a living neural plexus of ganglia, axons, and dendrites.

  Unlike the Zentraedi dreadnoughts, these spadelike Robotech fortresses the size of planetoids were designed for a different campaign: the conquest of inner space, which, it was revealed, had its own worlds and star systems, black holes and white light, beauty and terrors. Protoculture had secured an entry, but the Masters' map of that realm was far from complete.

  -My only fear is that Zor's disciples may have mastered the inner secrets of Robotechnology and were then able to defeat Dolza's vast armada.

  -One ship against four million? Most unlikely-nearly impossible!

  -Unless they managed to invert the Robotech defensive barrier system and penetrate Dolza's command center...

  -In order to accomplish that, Zor's disciples would have to know as much about that Robotech ship as he himself knew!

  -In any event, a display of such magnitude would certainly have registered on our sensors. We must admit, the destruction of four million Robotech vessels doesn't happen every day.

  -Not without our knowing it.

  The terminator, which had waited patiently to deliver the rest of its message, now added:

  -That is quite true, Master. Nevertheless, our sensors do indicate a disturbance of that magnitude.

  The interior of the Protoculture cap, the size of a small bush on its three-legged pedestal base, took on an angry light, summoning back the hands of the Masters.

  -System alert: prepare at once for a hyperspace-fold!

  -We acknowledge the Elders' request, but our supply of Protoculture is extremely low. We may not be able to use the fold generators!

  -The order has been given-obey without question. We will fold immediately.

  High in those cathedrals of arcing axon and dendritelike cables, free-floating amorphous globules of Protoculture mass began to realign themselves along the ship's neural highways, permitting synaptic action where none had existed moments before. Energy rippled through the fortress, focusing on the columnar drives of massive reflex engines.

  The great Robotech vessel gave a shudder and jumped.

  Their homeworld was called Tirol, the primary moon of the giant planet Fantoma, itself one of seven lifeless wanderers in an otherwise undistinguished yellow-star system of the Fourth Quadrant, some twenty light-years out from the galactic core. Prior to the First Robotech War, Terran astronomers would have located Tirol in that sector of space then referred to as the Southern Cross. But they had learned since that that was merely their way of looking at things. By the end of the second millennium they had abandoned the last vestiges of geocentric thinking, and by A.D. 2012 had come to understand that their beloved planet was little more than

  a minor player in constellations entirely unknown to them.

  Little was known of the early history of Tirol, save that its inhabitants were a humanoid species-bold, inquisitive, daring-and, in the final analysis, aggressive, acquisitive, and self-destructive. Coincidental with the abolition of warfare among their own kind and the redirecting of their goals toward the exploration of local space, there was born into their midst a being who would alter the destiny of that planet and to some extent affect the fate of the galaxy itself.

  His name was Zor.

  And the planet that would become the coconspirator in that fateful unfolding of events was known to the techno-voyagers of Tirol as Optera. For it was there that Zor would witness the evolutionary rites of the planet's indigenous life form, the Invid; there that the visionary scientist would seduce the Invid Regis to learn the secrets of the strange tripetaled flower that they ingested for physical as well as spiritual nourishment; there that the galactic feud between Optera and Tirol would have its roots.

  There that Protoculture and Robotechnology were born.

  Through experimentation, Zor discovered that a curious form of organic energy could be derived from the flower when its gestating seed was contained in a matrix that prevented maturation. The bio-energy resulting from this organic fusion was powerful enough to induce a semblance of bio-will, or animation, in essentially inorganic systems. Machines could be made to alter their very shape and structure in response to the prompting of an artificial intelligence or a human operator-to transform and reconfigure themselves. Applied to the areas of eugenics and cybernetics, the effects were even more astounding: Zor found that the shape-changing properties of Protoculture could act on organic life as well-living tissue and physiological systems could be rendered malleable. Robotechnology, as he came to call this science, could be used to fashion a race of humanoid clones, massive enough to withstand Fantoma's enormous gravitational forces and to mine the ores there. When these ores were
converted to fuel and used in conjunction with Protoculture drives (by then called reflex drives), Tirol's

  techno-voyagers would be able to undertake hyperspace jumps to remote areas of the galaxy. Protoculture effectively reshaped the very fabric of the continuum!

  Zor had begun to envision a new order, not only for his own race but for all those sentient life forms centuries of voyaging had revealed. He envisioned a true mating of mind and matter, an era of clean energy and unprecedented peace, a reshaped universe of limitless possibilities.

  But the instincts that govern aggression die a slow death, and those same leaders who had brought peace to Tirol soon embarked on a course that ultimately brought warfare to the stars. Co-opted, Robotechnology and Protoculture fueled the megalomaniacal militaristic dreams of its new masters, whose first act was to decree that all of Optera's fertile seedpods be gathered and transported to Tirol.

  The order was then issued that Optera be defoliated.

  The bio-genetically created giants who mined Fantoma's wastes were to become the most fearful race of warriors the quadrant had ever known-the Zentraedi.

  Engrammed with a false past (replete with artificial racial memories and an equally counterfeit history), programmed to accept Tirol's word as law, and equipped with an armada of gargantuan warships the likes of which only Robotechnology could provide, they were set loose to conquer and destroy, to fulfill their imperative: to forge and secure an intergalactic empire ruled by a governing body of barbarians who were calling themselves the Robotech Masters.

  Zor, however, had commenced a subtle rebellion; though forced to do the bidding of his misguided Masters, he had been careful to keep the secrets of the Protoculture process to himself. He acted the part of the servile deferential pawn the Masters perceived him to be, all the while manipulating them into allowing him to fashion a starship of his own design-for further galactic exploration, to be sure-a sleek transformable craft, a super dimensional fortress that would embody the science of Robotechnology much as the Zentraedi's organic battlewagons embodied

  the lusts of war.

  Unbeknown to the Masters, concealed among the reflex furnaces that powered its hyperspace drives, the fortress would also contain the very essence of Robotechnology-a veritable Protoculture factory, the only one of its kind in the known universe, capable of seducing from the Invid Flower of Life a harnessable bioenergy.

  By galactic standards it wasn't long before some of the horrors the Masters' greed had spawned came home to roost. War with the divested Invid was soon a reality, and there were incidents of open rebellion among the ranks of the Zentraedi, that pathetic race of beings deprived by the Masters of the very essence of sentient life-the ability to feel, to grow, to experience beauty and love.

  Nevertheless, Zor ventured forth in the hopes of redressing some of the injustices his own discoveries had fostered. Under the watchful gaze of Dolza, commander in chief of the Zentraedi, the dimensional fortress embarked on a mission to discover new worlds ripe for conquest.

  So the Masters were led to believe.

  What Zor actually had in mind was the seeding of planets with the Invid flower. Dolza and his lieutenants, Breetai and the rest, easily duped into believing that he was carrying out orders from the Masters themselves, were along as much to secure Zor's safety as to ensure the Master's investment. The inability to comprehend or effect repairs on any Robotech device and to stand in awe of those who could was programmed into the Zentraedi as a handicap to guard against a possible grand-scale warrior rebellion. The Zentraedi had about as much understanding of the workings of Robotechnology as they did of their humanoid hearts.

  So, on Spheris, Garuda, Haydon IV, Peryton, and numerous other planets, Zor worked with unprecedented urgency to fulfill his imperative. The Invid were always one step behind him, their sensor nebulae alert to even minute traces of Protoculture, their Inorganics left behind on those very same worlds to conquer, occupy, and destroy. But no matter: In each instance the seedlings failed to take root.

  It was at some point during this voyage that Zor himself began to use the Flowers of Life in a new way, ingesting them as he had seen the Invid do so long ago on Optera. And it was during this time that he began to experience the vision that was to direct him along a new course of action. It seemed inevitable that the Invid would catch up with him long before suitable planets could be sought out and seeded, but his visions had revealed to him a world far removed from that warring sector of the universe where Robotech Masters, Zentraedi, and Invid vied for control. A world of beings intelligent enough to recognize the full potential of his discovery-a blue-white world, infinitely beautiful, blessed with the treasure that was life...at the crux of transcendent events, the crossroads and deciding place of a conflict that would rage across the galaxies.

  A world he was destined to visit.

  Well aware of the danger the Invid presented, Zor programmed the continuum coordinates of this planet into the astrogational computers of the dimensional fortress. He likewise programmed some of the ship's Robotech devices to play a part in leading the new trustees of his discovery to a special warning message his own likeness would deliver to them. Further, he enlisted the aid of several Zentraedi (whose heartless conditioning he managed to override by exposing them to music) to carry out the mission.

  The Invid caught up with Zor.

  But not before the dimensional fortress had been successfully launched and sent on its way.

  To Earth.

  Subsequent events-notably the Zentraedi pursuit of the fortress-were as much a part of Earth's history as they were of Tirol's, but there were chapters yet to unfold, transformations and reconfigurations, repercussions impossible to predict, events that would have surprised Zor himself...had he lived.

  "Farewell, Zor," Dolza had said when the lifeless body of the scientist

  was sent on its way to Tirol. "May you serve the Masters better in death than you did in life. "

  And indeed, the Robotech Masters had labored to make that so, having their way with Zor's remains, extracting from his still-functional neural reservoir an image of the blue-white world he had selected to inherit Robotechnology. But beyond that Zor's mind had proved as impenetrable in death as it had been in life. So while Dolza's Zentraedi scoured the quadrant in search of this "Earth," the Masters had little to do but hold fast to the mushroom-shaped sensor units that had come to represent their link to the real world. Desperately, they tried to knit together the unraveling threads of their once-great empire.

  For ten long years by Earth reckoning they waited for some encouraging news from Dolza. It was the blink of an eye to the massive Zentraedi, but for the Robotech Masters, who were essentially human in spite of their psychically evolved state, time moved with sometimes agonizing leadenness. Those ten years saw the further decline of their civilization, weakened as it was by internal decadence, the continual attacks by the Protoculture-hungry Invid, a growing rebellion at the fringes of their empire, and heightened disaffection among the ranks of the Zentraedi, who were beginning to recognize the Masters for the fallible beings they were.

  Robotechnology's inheritors had been located-"Zor's descendants," as they were being called-but two more years would pass before Dolza's armada made a decisive move to recapture the dimensional fortress and its much needed Protoculture matrix. There was growing concern, especially among the Elder Masters, that Dolza could no longer be trusted. From the start he seemed to harbor some plan of his own, reluctant to return Zor's body twelve years ago and now incommunicado while he moved against the possessors of Zor's fortress. With his armada of more than four million Robotech ships, the Zentraedi commander in chief stood to gain the most by securing the Protoculture matrix for himself.

  There was added reason for concern when it was learned that "Zor's descendants" were humanoid like the Masters themselves. The warrior race

  literally looked down on anything smaller than itself and had come to think of normally proportioned humano
ids as "Micronians"-ironic, given the fact that the Masters could have "sized" the Zentraedi to any dimension they wished. Their present size was in fact an illusion of sorts: Beating inside those goliath frames were hearts made from the same genetic stuff as the so-called Micronians they so despised. Because of that basic genetic similarity, the Robotech Masters had been careful to write warnings into the Zentraedi's pseudo-historical records to avoid prolonged contact with any Micronian societies. Rightly so: It was feared that such exposure to emotive life might very well rekindle real memories of the Zentraedi's bio-genetic past and the true stuff of their existence.

  According to reports received from Commander Reno (who had overseen the return of Zor's body to Tirol and whose fleet still patrolled the central region of the empire), some of the elements under Breetai's command had mutinied. Dolza, if Reno's report was to be believed, had subsequently elected to fold the entire armada to Earthspace, with designs to annihilate the planet before emotive contagion was spread to the remainder of the fleet.

  The Zentraedi might learn to emote, but were they capable of learning to utilize the full powers of Robotechnology?

  This was the question the Robotech Masters had put to themselves. It was soon, however, to become a moot point.

  Hyperspace sensor probes attached to a Robotech fortress some seventy-five light-years away from Tirol had detected a massive release of Protoculture matrix in the Fourth Quadrant-an amount capable of empowering over four million ships.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Throughout the territories we traveled (the southwest portion of what was once the United States of America) one would encounter the holed hulks of Zentraedi warships, rising up like monolithic towers from the irradiated and ravaged wastelands...At the base of one such apocalyptic reminder sits the crosslegged skeleton of a Zentraedi shock trooper, almost in a pose of tranquil meditation, still clad in his armor and bandoliers, a Minmei doll insignificant in his huge metalshod hand.