Macross 1/2
Part 4, Section 2
By Tailkinker
[email protected]
PATHS
The newly renamed Invader roared along the surface of the Pacific. Its IFF was constantly broadcasting a Medevac signal, which was not at all true, but definitely would keep people from firing on what looked like an enemy Mecha. As Ranma watched, it wheeled about, and opened fire on a set of target rafts. He winced; the pilot had unleashed a devastating salvo, firing all three particle cannons, the autocannons, missiles, lasers, even the tiny machine guns in the nose, but three of the targets remained unscathed. Not at all surprising, though; nobody on Earth had any training in this model of Mecha.
A second pass finished off the targets, and the Mecha wheeled about and came to rest on the deck of the Daedalus. The machine knelt, the cockpit popped open, and Janos Hendrikksen hopped out.
Ranma walked up to him. "So, whaddaya think of it, Janos?"
The former Destroid pilot shrugged. "The cockpit is same as the Tomahawk. Makes it easy to use, you know, with the gun arrangement being similar. But not the same, you bet." He shrugged again. "I like it, but I came here to learn to fly Valkyries."
Ranma nodded. "I hear you." He considered for a moment, then jerked a thumb towards the fighter bay. "You want Valkyries, you got Valkyries. You can take the B-type. This will increase your work load. I hope you're up to it."
Hendrikksen looked up at the B. "Command unit, eh?"
"Yeah, but the Jaybird does better at it."
"Not a problem." He grinned. "But a B can command a Flight, is true?"
"Third is yours if you want it. I'm giving Michaels command of Second."
"I think he would do well there, or as your XO."
Ranma shook his head. "I don't know him well enough to make him XO. In fact, other than you, I only really know Goldstein, Clark, Kosuji and Green."
"May I make a humble suggestion?"
"Sure."
"Make Clark your XO."
Ranma frowned. "She's shown no leadership qualities to date."
"True. But she started out in U. N. Spacy Communications. Got bored with it and drifted over to Destroid Maintenance. Got bored with that, went to powerplants. Then, when Angel opened up, jumped at the chance." Hendrikksen pulled out a package of cigarettes and lit one up, in flagrant violation of deck protocol. "The girl is intelligent, has a diverse background, and needs a challenge. It's what makes her tick." He leaned closer to Ranma. "Plus, I think she maybe is hot for you, Captain."
"That's the last thing I need." He looked out over the water, where Clark was now taking her turn in the Valkyrie-S. "I'll consider it, Janos. Hell, let's give her the position, see what she does with it."
Hendrikksen laughed, and slugged Ranma in the arm. "You will see, old Janos is right."
A warning klaxon started up; Ranma glanced up to the status board. "Hey, we got some incoming traps."
Hendrikksen glanced over to the Invader. "I'm on an elevator; if they hit me, it's their fault."
Ranma nodded. "Wonder why they're landing here?" It was more traditional to land aircraft on the Prometheus, as it was a dedicated aircraft carrier, rather than on the Daedalus. He glanced over at the Prometheus, but other than a Raptor recon fan jet just now lining up for a trap, there was nothing in the pattern.
The term 'trap' was somewhat antiquated; it referred to the act of catching an arrestor cable with a tail hook. As Ranma watched, the incoming fighter merely reconfigured to Gerwalk, and slid down onto the deck. A quick snap-turn by the pilot brought the bird around, and left it standing on an elevator.
Ranma stared at the jet in disbelief. "That's a Rapier!"
"A what?"
"One of the new generation variable fighters."
Janos scratched his head. "I thought Earth wasn't going to give us any more variable fighters?"
"They weren't." Ranma scowled. "I wonder why they sent us these?"
* * * * *
"Because they suck."
Ranma snorted. "Come on, how bad can they be?"
"Trust me. They're quite poor." Jameson kicked his feet up onto his desk. "First off: They don't have the funky Zortrium armour that the Valks do."
"That's easy enough to fix."
"Sure, but it's gonna take a while. Can't exactly snap your fingers and produce Zortrium. Second: They don't have fusion engines."
"No way."
"Atmospheric systems only. Useless in vacuum."
Ranma sighed. "Yeah, and we've got a serious shortage of fusion engines."
"Third: No Reflex energy system."
Ranma looked disgusted. "They aren't even Mecha."
"Yeah, but that's probably easiest to fix. Truth is, you just gotta toss a Reflex battery in the ship somewhere, and it'll work. Don't even need to wire it up."
"I don't get it."
"Okay." Jameson pulled open a desk drawer - an interesting maneuver, since he did it without taking his feet off the desk - and pulled out a small cylinder. It was an inch across by four long, and was dull grey, save for four small silver terminals. He tossed it across the desk. "Here, catch."
Ranma reached out and grabbed the cell.
~It is a sadness--
--to think that the one--
--two in one, and mutable--
--you choose not to be.~ He dropped it like it was a live wire, and stared at it in shock.
Jameson was nodding. "It can be kinda unnerving--"
"Unnerving, hell."
"Hm?"
Ranma pointed at the cell. "I caught it, and I heard voices."
"Voices?" Jameson glanced down at the cell.
"Yeah. Seemed kinda familiar."
"Most people feel like they're holding onto something living. But I've never heard of the cell talking to them."
"It wasn't talking to me...It was more like, someone was talking, and I could hear them. Through the cell."
"Hm." Jameson considered the cell. "Maybe you should talk to Lang."
"No thank you."
"Well." He picked up the cell. "I can tell you a little more about Reflex. For one, we once popped open one of these babies. Found a plant matter of some sort inside. It decayed far too rapidly for us to get a sample."
"A flower, right? Sorta pink?"
"No." Jameson looked confused. "Just some brown goop." He looked down at the cell again. "The term 'Reflex' is just a contraction of 'reality flux'. It's what allows the Mecha to act alive, and allows the ship's space-fold generators to work. And it tends to make any machinery within its Reflex power radius act more alive."
Ranma nodded. "I get it." He indicated the cell. "Can I hang onto that one?"
"Eh? Sure." Jameson set it down on the desk. "Just don't try to open it."
"No problem." Ranma picked up the cell, and stuffed it quickly into a pocket. "Just wanna study it, on my own time."
"No problem. We still don't understand Reflex batteries." He grinned. "Lang managed to decipher one other word, from this ship's memory banks. It relates somehow to the Reflex energy, though we don't know how."
"What's that?"
"Protoculture."
* * * * *
It had taken almost five days for the party to wind down. People were no longer dancing in the streets of the city, but the festive air had not entirely left the ship. So it was that, when Ranma entered the White Dragon, he found it packed.
In one corner, at the Skull's usual table, Rick Hunter sat with two of his underlings. One of them was Ben Dixon, an old friend of Ranma's from OCS. Ben had been two years behind Ranma in the flight training program, but due to a lack of housing, the two had been assigned the same quarters. The other one, Ranma didn't recognize, a short, skinny fellow. His hair was dyed a bright blue, and he wore large corrective glasses. That in itself was unusual; even with all the modern sensors that a Valkyrie boasted, there was still no replacement for a Mark-1 Eyeball, and under normal circumstances, this guy would never have been considered for a fighter pilot. The fact that he was not only a pilot, but a decorated one--Ranma spotted, among his chicken guts, a Medal of Valour and an Ace's Ribbon--spoke an awful lot for his piloting skills.
In another corner of the room, Ranma could see Lisa Hayes, apparently back from whatever mission had taken her off of the ship. With her were the infamous "Terrible Trio", Sammie Porter, Kim Young and Vanessa Leeds. In the center of the room, surrounded by fans, was Lynn Minmei.
Ranma was of two minds when it came to Minmei. On the one hand, Minmei had been a fairly good friend of his. They'd had some good yaks, discussing his ambitions and her dreams. He was genuinely pleased that her own dreams, for a singing career, had come true. Granted, her music wasn't really his style--he preferred traditional pieces--but he could tell that she was talented, and truly loved her work.
On the other hand, ever since she had won the talent contest, and as her fame aboard the ship rose, she had become more and more distant towards everyone. It had been months since Ranma had seen her last, and she had barely remembered who he was. Now, her glance slid right over him as he walked in.
Oh, well. Perhaps, eventually, she'd remember how she came up. Until then, he mentally wished her well, and walked over to the Skull's table.
Rick glanced up as he approached. "Hi, Captain. Join us?"
Ranma grinned. "I dunno...this table's for the Skull Squadron, right?"
"You're still a Skull, Ranma."
Ranma shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'm a Fallen Angel." He sat. "But I'll accept an invitation to sit with the Skull."
Rick looked down. "I'm really sorry what happened to your command, Ranma. Less than six months commissioned, and they struck the colours."
"Aah, don't worry, Hunter. Word is, they're gonna reactivate it, with a new commander and new girls. After all, there's almost thirty in the Academy now."
Rick snorted. "They'll probably get that fiancee of yours to command it. Lieutenant Tendo." He slid a cup of tea across the table.
"Maybe."
For some reason, Ben seemed somewhat nervous. "How's your new command coming along, Ranma?"
"Not too bad." Ranma picked up his tea and sipped it before continuing. "I wish they'd give us more machines. Until they fill our ranks, we don't have enough rides to go around."
Rick looked up. "What do you have?"
"A B-type, four Jaybirds, an A-type, my modified Super, a Destroid, a Rapier and a captured Zentraedi thingy."
Rick blinked. He opened his mouth to comment, but was cut off by the television suddenly switching on.
Ranma turned and looked up at the screen. The TV sets in the city were wired for global remote control, and the only times they were activated like this was if there was some official statement coming from the Command Staff. Others had noticed, and a hush quickly fell over the restaurant.
The face on the screen was that of Captain Henry Gloval.
"May I have your attention please." Gloval glanced down at his notes, shuffled the papers, then discarded them. He looked back up at the camera.
"As of yesterday, at fifteen hundred hours ship-time, I have been ordered to launch the SDF-1 Macross and leave this planet.
"My orders are to attempt to lead the Zentraedi forces around the planet away from Earth, damaging or destroying as many of them as possible.
"I have also been ordered not to allow any person to disembark from this ship."
Mutters could be heard in the restaurant. Ranma glanced around; the room was turning ugly. No surprise; the orders that Gloval had been given might as well have been a suicide mission. And for this crowd, most of whom had expected to return to their families and loved ones, it was a particularly bitter pill to swallow.
Gloval continued his speech. "I immediately appealed the last order. Certainly, the mission of this ship is to defend Earth against alien invasion. But none of you have volunteered for this mission. Because of a tragic accident, you have been thrust into this against your will.
"Accordingly, I have begun requesting, of each individual regional government, permission to disembark the civilian population. Hopefully, very soon you will be able to go home.
"Thank you."
The screen faded to black, but the noise level in the room continued to rise. One fellow, dressed in a green sweater, was particularly vocal.
"I knew it! I knew that the military wasn't gonna let us go! We know too much!"
Ben scowled, and stood up. "Look, pal. Weren't you listening to the Captain? He said he was tryin' to get you home."
"Yeah, right!" The man in the green sweater shook his fist. "More likely it was his idea to keep us here." He glanced around the room. "There's the first officer. Let's get some answers out of her!"
All of a sudden, Max Sterling had a hand at his elbow. Ranma blinked; he'd barely seen the little guy move.
"Excuse me, sir." Max adjusted his glasses, looking self-conscious. "Perhaps you should--"
He didn't get the chance to finish; the rabble-rouser threw a wide punch at his head. Max ducked the punch by mere millimeters, and twisted the man's arm. The bigger man was flipped end-for-end, and landed undignified on his rump.
"Oh, I'm sorry about that, sir."
The rabble-rouser jumped to his feet, and began rolling up his sleeves. "You were just lucky, punk. Let's see you do that again!"
Max obliged him. This time, Ranma got to see exactly how the leverage was applied. ~Must remember that move.~
The rabble-rouser stood up again, more slowly this time, and rubbed his arm. "Tough guy, eh?"
Max merely smiled.
The big man grinned back. "Let's get 'em!"
Six more toughs burst forward and attacked the Skull. The green-sweatered fellow launched himself back at Max. Ranma shook his head in disgust; the lummox didn't know when he was outclassed.
Rick and Ben snapped into action. Both had been through ROTP, which included hand-to-hand lessons. Rick had studied shotokan, and was throwing quick punches and kicks that left combatant after combatant lying on the floor, clutching limbs and stomachs. Ben's style mixed a bit of savate, a bit of judo, and a bit of WWF pro wrestling. His opponents flew far and wide. But the two were outnumbered.
Max was doing somewhat poorly. Someone had tagged him from the side, and he was obviously dizzy. The green-sweatered fellow was taking advantage of the fact, and was pressing him hard. Ranma decided that enough was enough; he set down his tea, stood up, and threw himself into a spin kick. His foot connected with the rabble-rouser's head, throwing him across the room. Ranma realized with a start that the rabble rouser was about to impact a civilian--
But the civilian merely sidestepped the flying body, and with a quick downward snap of one fist, slammed him into the ground. Ranma blinked; the civilian, whoever he was, was very economical in his movements, very precise. And his style signature was clearly Anything Goes.
Max shook his head. "Thanks, Ranma." He glanced over at his teammates. "We'd better help out Rick and Max."
"Yeah, sure." Ranma glanced back at the civvy. "Who's he?"
"Hm? Oh, some relative of Minmei's. C'mon."
And it was back into the fray. But with four trained fighters against half a dozen brawlers, it was a short fray. When it was over, Ranma turned back to watch the newcomer.
Whoever he was, he'd managed to draw a lot of attention. Some fifteen goons were all over him. And as Ranma watched, he simply tossed them halfway over the horizon. A quick punch here, a wrist-lock there, all calculated to throw his opponents as far as possible. His style wasn't nearly as aerial as Ranma's, and he hadn't kicked at all yet. It was like he'd chosen the two-meter wide zone around him as his battlefield, and would not abandon it.
But for all the differences, it was still Anything Goes. ~Maybe a sister branch of the school...have to ask Pop about that.~
Eventually, the weaker fighters had dropped out, leaving five skilled opponents. They pressed him harder than before, acting in co-ordination. And now he started kicking, the same high-angle and wide-sweep kicks that Ranma used. And with the same effect. Very quickly, he dispatched the last five. Ranma distinctly heard the snap of bone as the man kicked the last in the side, leaving him face down on the white tiles.
The man straightened, and adjusted his shirt. "Terrible."
Ranma walked forward cautiously. "Whaddaya mean?"
The stranger looked up at him. "This violence...it has unsettled me."
"Yeah, it can do that." Ranma tilted his head. "You sure fight good."
"I'm not proud of it." The young man looked around. "I had to defend myself. But I hate violence."
Ranma raised his eyebrows. ~Is this guy for real?~ He glanced over at Max, but the blue-haired pilot merely shrugged. Ranma turned back to the stranger. "Hey, I hate it too, but these guys brought it on themselves, right?"
Minmei walked up to the stranger. "Are you all right, Kyle?"
"Yeah...they weren't very good." He rubbed his side. "One got a hit in on me, though."
Ben spoke up. "Hey, if you need a hand--"
Minmei waved him away. "No, Kyle doesn't like the army. Come on...let's go." She led the young man out of the restaurant.
Max shrugged again. "I don't get it."
"Yeah." Ranma rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He fights like a demon, but complains that it disturbs his peace. He says he doesn't like fighting, but he's a great martial artist. Not as good as me...but close."
Rick frowned. "I don't like him, either." He glanced over at Ranma. "Something's bugging you, Ranma?"
"Yeah. That Kyle guy...he practises Anything Goes." Ranma scowled. "As far as I knew, only two families practise that style. Mine and Akane's." He turned and walked towards the door. "I gotta go see Pop."
* * * * *
From across the room, Lisa Hayes had watched the battle, and the parley between Ranma and Lin Kyle.
~He's a phenomenal fighter, but dislikes violence. Like Karl. He's willing to fight to defend himself, or others. Like Karl. Hell, he even looks like Karl.~
Sammie poked her in the side. "Hey, boss. You in there?"
~But he's obviously taken. There's no way I could win him. Not away from her.~
"Hello! Earth to Lisa!"
Lisa blinked. "What is it, Sammie?"
"We'd better get back to the bridge. We're gonna have a huge write-up to do over this."
"Yes, that's a good idea..." Lisa's eyes drifted back over the crowd, but he was gone.
~Karl is dead...I've admitted that. I have to get on with my life. But is this the right path? And why have I not considered it before now?~