Macross 1/2
Part 4, Section 1
By Tailkinker
[email protected]
CONVERGENCE
"Enter."
Ryouga Hibiki, Recruit Third Class, stepped into the Commandant's office and saluted. The Commandant glanced up from his notes.
"Ah, Mister Hibiki. I understand that you've requisitioned the fusion engines that came out of the GH-1."
"Yes, sir." The GH-1, or 'Micro-Valk', as his instructor had dubbed it, used engines very similar in size to those from the VF-X-2 Rapier that was his own pet project.
"I'm afraid that I can't release those engines." He sighed. "Doctor Lang has requested that instead, you fit the Rapier with Kustonov engines. After both Saotome and Sterling demonstrated the advanced handling capable with these engines..."
Ryouga nodded. "I understand, sir."
"Oh, and in other good news: The UEG has decided they're going to reinforce our fighter wing. With what, is anyone's guess, since the only fully functional Valkyrie factory was on Macross Island..." He chuckled. "But it'll be good to have some more hardware." He opened a folder and extracted a document. "And good work on that Rapier's electronics." He passed the document across the desk. "Here's your certification. Congratulations."
* * * * *
The cell door opened.
"Captain Saotome, step forward."
Ranma hopped off of his bunk, stretched, and stepped out of the cell. The fact that he had been called by rank told him that he was already a free man. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, just outside the cell.
"Hey, five minutes early."
Major Frederick smirked. "Time off for good behaviour."
"I've been a saint."
Frederick chuckled. "That you have. All right, let's get you signed out, then you can get back to your unit."
All of Ranma's good humour drained away in an instant.
* * * * *
The position of Detailer was, by custom at least, expected to be held by a civilian. It had not actually been true for an awfully long time. Nonetheless, the fiction was maintained. The Macross' Detailer held the rank of Colonel in the Ground Forces, but one was not expected to salute him, or refer to his rank. He was merely "Mister Edwards". But one did not show any disrespect to the Detailer; he could make or break a career with a single word. Plus, he had lost an eye in the service of his country during the Global Civil War, but despite the injury, had remained an active pilot for three more years.
"I'm sorry, Captain Saotome." Edwards shuffled his forms. "I have no record of any posting listed for you."
Ranma scowled. "That can't be right. I was told by Commander Hayes to expect a posting as soon as I was sprung. In fact, she told me to bank on having a command again."
Edwards sighed. "Perhaps you should take it up with Commander Hayes, then." He pulled another form. "If you want, I can find a posting for you. Always room for more in Skull--you've flown with them before, right? Vermillion has been disbanded, so they're not an issue. Blue--"
Ranma raised a hand. "Whoa...jet back. Vermillion was disbanded? Why?"
"Aaah, they ran into some powered armour, got chewed up pretty bad. So did Blue, for that matter." He reached across his desk and pulled up another form. "Yeah, the command elements of Blue came through all right; they lost six files, though, so they're clamouring for replacements. Vermillion, though...only three of that outfit survived, and all three were transferred to Skull. In fact, Vermillion's CO was put in charge of Skull."
"Huh?" Ranma was getting more confused by the minute. He was about to enquire further, but Edwards' phone chose that moment to ring.
"Hold on one..." He picked up the phone. "Detailer. Yeah, he's here. Okay." He hung up the phone, and looked up at Ranma. "That was Commander Hayes. You're to report to her immediately."
"Before I--"
Edwards scowled. "'Immediately' means now, quickly, on the bounce, move it, why are you still here?"
Ranma clamped his mouth shut, turned, and left.
* * * * *
Commander Hayes was extremely busy when Ranma reached the bridge.
"Stupid political meetings." She grabbed a file folder, examined the contents quickly, and dropped it in her briefcase.
Ranma cleared his throat. "Reporting as ordered, ma'am."
"Captain. Excellent." She didn't slow down, just tossed a folder his way. "Details on your new command. Study it. I had something slightly different in mind, but Lang overruled me."
"Lang, eh?" Ranma flipped open the file folder. "Since when can he overrule the first officer?"
"Since he has the Captain's ear, and rarely uses it without good reason." She snapped her briefcase shut. "This job he's given you isn't unreasonable; just unusual. Personally, I wanted to give you Skull, but--"
"Yeah, what's up with that?"
The door to the bridge snapped open, and Captain Global stepped in. "Lisa, are you ready to leave?"
"Yes, Captain." She grabbed the briefcase.
"Good. The Tunny's prepping, and we're already behind schedule. Let's move."
"Yes, sir." And without another word to Ranma, she turned and hurried from the bridge.
Ranma glanced around the bridge, but it was deserted except for a rated tech. He shrugged, and left.
* * * * *
Five minutes later, he was in Skull's ready room. It was also mostly deserted; two pilots that he didn't recognize were playing gin rummy at one of the tables.
"Hey. Where's Roy?"
One of the pilots glanced up at him. "Roy who?"
Ranma frowned. "You know. Tall guy, blond hair, your CO?"
The fighter pilot stood, and faced Ranma directly. "I don't know who you're talking about, Captain. My CO is Rick Hunter."
Ranma felt a cold ball of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. The pilot's chicken guts held a ten-mission ribbon and an Ace's ribbon; he'd been in Skull for a while, was an experienced combat pilot.
The young men - and now women - who served in deep-space combat knew that it was a very deadly game. In all likelihood, enlisting in U. N. Spacy was as good as committing suicide. No pilot needed that kind of reminder. And when a combat pilot falls in battle, especially a leader, and most especially a well-liked leader like Roy, the pilots could not afford to let their emotions affect their flying.
Therefore, the pilot in question simply never existed. An inexperienced pilot might have made the mistake; an Ace would not.
Ranma sighed heavily. "Sorry...Musta been confused."
The other pilot, still seated at the card table, nodded. "Yeah. That can happen."
The Ace glanced down at the folder in Ranma's hands. "Not on duty?"
"No."
"Neither are we." He walked over to the ready room's bar fridge, and pulled out three beers. "Have a cold one with us?"
"Sure." Ranma popped the cap on the beer and raised it to his lips, but the Ace touched his arm.
"Not yet, mate." He uncapped his own beer. "Gotta have a toast first, right?"
"Yeah. Sure."
The Ace raised the bottle. "To fallen comrades."
* * * * *
For over three thousand years, the Zentraedi had practised the art of war. They had learned thousands of tactics, strategies, the use of almost every form of weapon, psychological warfare, space warfare, naval warfare. They had learned mechanized combat, infantry tactics, dash-and-cover, supporting fire and bombardment. They had refined the ritual of the duel, the code of the warrior, and the art of mecha combat.
One thing that they had never touched on, however, was espionage.
Rico, Bron, and Konda were among the brightest and best of the Zentraedi warrior caste. They had been entrusted with the operation of complex recon electronics, and were formidable warriors in their own right. However, that still wasn't saying very much. They had found themselves considerably out of their element aboard the Protoculture Fortress. The Micrones seemed to exist in a constant state of chaos. Amazingly, they had managed to avoid being uncovered. After puzzling out the Micronian requisition and billeting system, they had found themselves put to work at reconstruction. It was a new and interesting challenge to them; rather than destroy, they created. And like the other construction workers, they quickly began to appreciate a hot meal and a cold beer at the end of the day.
"My feet are killing me." Rico dropped into a chair. The Nekohanten had become their favourite restaurant; after the blandness of Zentraedi rations, the spicy Micronian 'ramen' was a treat for the taste buds.
"Yeah, it was definitely a hard day." Konda had removed his boots, much to the disgust of his companions, and was massaging his feet. "But I think it was worth it. We only made one mistake today."
"Yeah. For us, that's a record." Bron was the largest of the three, standing six foot and bulking huge; he could barely fit his knees under the table.
"Welcome to Nekohanten!" The waitress bounced over to the three companions. "You want usual?"
"Yeah." Rico proudly dropped several bills on the table. "And I'm payin' for all of us."
"Hey, that's not fair, Rico." Konda scowled at his one-time superior officer. "You have to let us perform our duty."
"Don't worry. You can get the next one."
Xian Pu shook her head in bemusement. Even for foreigners, these three were odd. She dashed off to the kitchen to fetch three extra-spicy super-deluxe ramen, with extra everything.
The bell over the door rang, and a uniformed Microne stepped in. The spies had managed to learn that only some Micrones were warriors; those who wore one of some forty different uniforms. This man wore a uniform of a type they didn't recognize, one that seemed to be a variant of a pilot's off-duty uniform. Bron was the only one of the three that could decipher the combinations of badges that marked rank and position; his eyes swept over the Microne and took in his gold bars, wings and stars.
"Good afternoon, Captain." Bron waved him over. "Join us, will you?"
Konda leaned over, scowling. "Are you nuts?"
"Don't worry," whispered Bron. Louder, to the Captain, he said, "Can I buy you a beer?"
"No thanks." The Captain sat down. "Though some tea would be great."
"Not a problem." Bron leaned back, and glanced around for the waitress. "It might take a bit of time--"
The Microne shrugged. "I'm not in a hurry."
"Okay, then." He looked back at the pilot. "Just in from a mission?"
"No, actually." The Microne laughed. "Just got out of barbwire city."
"There's another city on board?" Rico looked surprised. He'd been rather stunned to learn that there was even once city within the Fortress; by Zentraedi standards, the Protoculture ship was quite small.
The Microne shook his head. "No. The stockade. Y'know...military jail."
"Ah." Not that Rico was any less confused, but...
"Just got my orders, for my new squadron."
Bron nodded. "As a Captain, and an Ace, you rate your own command group, correct?"
"Essentially, though there are other factors." He looked Bron up and down. "Y'know, you should consider joining up. Bet they could put you to use among the ground pounders."
All three of the micronized Zentran looked at Ranma blankly for a second, then burst out laughing.
Ranma was rather disconcerted. "What?"
"Oh, we couldn't join the--" Rico paused. They had not actually learned the word for the Micronian Armed Forces.
Bron butted in. "They wouldn't take us."
"Why not?"
Bron considered some of the things the construction crew chiefs had said of them. "Something about being a flat-footed, knuckle-dragging, slope-headed lice-infested excuse for an illegitimate son of a syphilitic jackal and a dyslexic orangutang. Or something to that effect."
Ranma shrugged. "Sounds like you'd fit right into Fourth Cav."
Xian Pu chose that moment to arrive with three bowls of soup. "Here is too-too-delicious bowls of--Airen! You come take Xian Pu on date, is okay?"
Ranma groaned. "Forget it, Shampoo. I want nothin' to do with ya, okay?"
Xian Pu set the bowls on the table and launched herself into a full Amazon Glomp (tm). "You no want to refuse Amazon woman. Is very bad thing. We go on date now!"
"I ain't interested in--"
"Male who defeat Amazon woman is good catch!"
"Forget it!" Ranma jumped up, grabbed his docket, and ran from the restaurant, purple-haired Amazon in pursuit.
* * * * *
"Well, whatever this 'date' thing is, it is obviously of great import to Micrones."
The threesome, having consumed their ramen, had retired to their single-room apartment and were rehashing their experience in the restaurant.
"So we're almost certain that she is in fact a Meltran." Rico tipped back his beer.
Bron nodded. "Yeah, it makes sense. She attacked the Captain for no reason I can discern, and she often assaults other males. She is extremely skilled in battle. Her hair is naturally purple - even down to the roots, so we know it's not an artificial colour. And purple is not a normal hair colour for Micrones."
Rico set down his beer and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That Captain called her an 'Amazon'. I looked it up, in the book of words, and it means a female warrior."
"But if she is a Meltran, why is she here? And why is she Micronized?"
"I dunno. Maybe she's like us. Y'know...spies."
Bron considered this, then shook his head. "Naw. Couldn't be. I mean...us Zentraedi *invented* espionage." He avoided mentioning that they had invented it only very recently.
Konda spoke up. "You guys have forgotten the other possibility."
"What's that?"
He leaned forward. "What if she was captured?"
"Capture a Meltran?" Rico snickered. "Even if it were possible, why has she not escaped? Surely even a single Meltran should be able to mow her way through mere Micrones."
"She might be brainwashed."
Bron grinned. "A very good point. And since we're to be extracted by Azonia..."
"We must capture this poor creature, and return her to her proper home." Rico snickered again. "Or use her for a bargaining chip."
Konda shook his head. "And how exactly are we to capture a Meltran warrior?"
The threesome fell silent. For the sad fact was that, every time they had faced off with Meltraedi in the past, they had lost.
* * * * *
Captain Saotome surveyed the faces of his new command.
Fending off Xian Pu had taken quite a lot of time; he had had little time to go over his docket, so he had covered the mission details, and left personnell till later. Some of the faces in the wardroom he recognized; Amy Clark and Kosuji Minako, former Angels - Fallen Angels, in the current Macross slang. Janos Hendrikksen, a former Destroid pilot, cross-trained as a Falcon jock, and now here to learn how to fly the Valkyrie. And Abraham Goldstein, a former member of Green Squadron, which Ranma had flown with as XO.
The other faces were all new. Three of them were Firefly graduates, posted directly here; most of the rest came from Aces High, Diamondbacks and Mad Hatters, the male training squadrons. One was a former Skull, orphaned from his unit two months ago and left in the lurch by an overworked Detailer.
"Good morning." Ranma leaned on his desk. "Welcome to the first day of your new squadron. My name is Saotome Ranma. Some of you may know me as Saotome Ranko." He grinned. "As per usual, Commander Hayes has handed me a wierd one. An unusual assignment, that is. But I think we're all really gonna enjoy this one.
"Chief Science Officer Lang is of the opinion, and Commander Hayes agrees with him, that the traditional uniformity of a mission unit is a bad plan. He has pointed out that of all the successful missions we've pulled off against the Zentraedi, every last one was pulled off by a unit with a broad mix of mecha. The Ferryboat Assault was a combination of Destroids, everything but a Heavy Howard going ashore, with Valkyries for backup. The Mars attack was made up of several makes and models of Valkyries, including a heavily modified S-type and a few augmentation packages." He controlled his features; Angel had gotten chewed up that mission. "And the force that successfully infiltrated a Zentraedi battle cruiser, and came back with important data on the enemy, was composed of two A-type Valkyries, a J-type with Stinger augmentation, and a single leg-trooper.
"Therefore, it has been decided by Dr. Lang to form a unit of irregulars. We currently have four Mecha assigned, and have been promised at least another twenty. And not one of the four we have now are standard Valkyries."
One of the Diamondback grads leaned forward. "So what mecha do we have?"
Ranma picked up the remote and clicked a button. The lights dimmed slightly, and the picture screen behind him lit up.
"First, we have a modified S-type, which has the engines replaced with Kustonov reactors. This was my personal bird, and I sweated every time I got in the damn thing. Kept expecting it to fly to bits on me." There was a chorus of chuckles around the room. Ranma grinned, and clicked a different button.
"This thing was dreamed up by a tech, and Jaime Wolff's people swear by it. Some geek got the idea of removing the gun arms from a Defender, and replacing them with a Spartan's Crow hands. The whole thing is lighter and faster than even an unmodified Defender - traditionally the fastest of the Destroids. But it has only a pair of TZ-IV gun clusters in the upper shoulders, plus a single gun pod."
Click. "This was supposed to be the second-generation Valkyrie, but the whole project got waylaid. They call it a Rapier; it's essentially a high-maneuverability version of the Valkyrie, and has the same Kustonov piles as the Super."
Click. "And this..." He grinned. "We managed to damage and recover a Zentraedi officer's combat pod. Intel tells us that the Zentraedi call it a standard Destroid cockpit. It's surprisingly fast and tough, about on par with a Gerwalk-mode Valkyrie, but with better armaments all around. We're calling it an Invader."
"So if we only have four Mecha, what are the rest of us gonna use for rides?"
"For the moment, unassigned Mecha from the motor pool." Click. The lights came back up. "Plus, the Kami alone know what else Command is gonna think to send our way. I'm gonna insist that we get issued at least six regular Valkyries, preferably A-, J- and G-types."
The ex-Skull pilot stood. "Sir...how official is this unit?"
Ranma shrugged. "That's gonna depend on the brass. For the most part, I intend to run this as any other unit. We will have a name. We will have a unit flash. And we damn well will have a solid chain of command."
"Good enough for me. And the name of this unit?"
Ranma paused. None had been given in his orders. "I'm open to suggestions."
Five minutes later, the room had unanimously agreed upon, "Saotome's Irregulars."
* * * * *
The Meltraedi learned quickly.
Miriya watched her entry pod dissolve down into so much slag. Its scuttling devices left absolutely nothing identifiable behind. Her insertion had been carried out by a single Queadlunn-Rau, modified for stealth and recon jobs, and had not been noticed by the Micrones at all. And unlike the other three 'spies', she was dressed in Micronian clothing, patterned after those worn by Saotome Ranko, the female Microne pilot she had bested twice before. The clothing had been made based on intercepted Microne message traffic. Miriya found the gi to be comfortable, practical, and very easy to move in.
She smirked. Perhaps wearing this would draw Saotome into a confrontation, so she could finish her off. But Saotome was only her secondary goal.
Before anything else, Miriya pledged to herself that she would find and execute the Micronian male who had humiliated her.