Macross 1/2
Part 4, Section 3
By Tailkinker
[email protected]

DATA

Ranma pounded on the front door of the small house.

"Come on, Pop. I know you're in there!"

No answer. Ranma scowled at the door.

"Pop! I heard ya snorin'. I know you're there. Open the damned door!"

No answer. Ranma fumed.

"Hi, Kasumi! I see you brought some of that tako sushi--"

The door flew open, and Genma charged out, looking around expectantly. It took almost thirty seconds for him to realize that he'd been had.

Ranma smirked. "About time you opened up. I got some questions for ya."

Genma shook his head. "I don't have time to deal with you." He was still craning his neck and looking around, as though expecting to spot tako sushi.

"Make the time." Ranma frowned. "I just ran into a guy that practices Anything Goes."

"What?" Genma turned his full attention to his son. "Are you certain of that?"

"Why don't we step inside, and I'll tell ya?"

Genma sighed. "Very well. Come in." He raised a finger. "But I don't have a lot of time."

"Sure. That's why you were fast asleep when I got here."

* * * * *

"What was the boy's name again?"

Ranma stared down at his as-yet untouched tea. "Lin Kyle."

Genma rubbed his chin. "Hmmm...the name seems familiar."

Ranma snickered. "It should. I've been talking about him for the last ten minutes."

"No...Not Kyle. Lin." He sighed. "I remember a boy, named Lin, who came to train under the Master."

"Which Master?"

"The one who trained Tendo and I."

Ranma scoffed. "Lin Kyle is maybe a year or so younger than me. No way it could have been him!"

"Foolish boy! I've already said it wasn't Lin Kyle. I believe the boy's name was Lin Max."

Ranma rolled his eyes. "Lin Max is a fat little guy who has trouble lifting a frying pan."

"Exactly. And when the Master's...training regimen...proved to be too much for him, he quit." Genma shrugged. "I always wondered about that. The Master had a fairly firm rule about quitting."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well...The Master was somewhat perverse." Genma grinned at some memory. "For example, one other student that tried to quit was required to bring the Master every article of...clothing...from a nearby religious institution."

"What's so perverse about that?"

Genma's grin widened. "Including the clothing that the nuns were wearing."

Ranma's eyes widened. "Oh!"

"But Lin Max...Well, he just let him go." Genma shrugged. "It doesn't make sense."

* * * * *

"All right. That concludes our briefing on the Zentraedi Officer's Battle Pod."

Ranma had been a bit bored; after all, most of the data on the Officer's Pod had been gathered by his own squadron. But the next item on the agenda was of great interest to him.

"Next up: The VF-2A Rapier Variable Fighter." Lieutenant whoever-it-was - Ranma sucked at remembering names - was small and dark, and rather broad. He tapped the remote in his hand, and a technical layout drawing of the Rapier appeared on the screen.

"These fighters were transferred to our ship, ostensibly to reinforce our Variable Fighter strength." He tapped the remote again, and the screen now showed one of the fighters in flight. "Unfortunately, the six of these that we received are, at best, woefully underequipped."

Ranma grimaced. "No kiddin'."

Click. And the screen now showed a Rapier, torn down to the frame. "Luckily for us, we have a tech aboard who's a bit of a maverick. He tore down a Rapier that we happened to have aboard, and spent about a month rebuilding it. Among other things, it carries J-Type avionics, a more advanced battle computer, a new class of gun pod, and two Kustonov Heat-Pile Engines."

Ranma looked up in astonishment.

"So these six new fighters are being torn down as well, and upgraded to the same standard as the prototype. The prototype has already been assigned to Saotome's Irregulars, and the other six will be as well."

"Why us?"

The Lieutenant turned towards Ranma. "The original intent behind your squadron was threefold. First, the mixed-platform concept, giving your team a wide variety of Mecha and missions. Second, your team was meant to serve as a test-flight squadron for any new designs."

"That wasn't in my brief."

Doctor Lang spoke up. "Until we captured that Officer's Battle Pod, it wasn't really considered."

Ranma nodded. "Fine. And the third part?"

The Lieutenant had the good grace to look at least a bit embarrassed. "Well...to give us a place to put all the screwed-up Mecha."

Ranma snorted. "Figures."

"At any rate...these seven fighters will be assigned to the Irregulars, as will their technician. Three more techs are being reassigned to the Irregulars as well."

Commander Hayes spoke up. "Captain Saotome, this brings your TO&E to sixteen Mecha; this is more than enough for you to field two flights in combat. Therefore, you'll be put back onto the duty roster. See what you can dig up from Supply, and try to get up to twenty as soon as possible."

"No problem, Commander."

The Lieutenant returned to his briefing. "The Rapier carries a pair of ROV-type lasers on the head, two high-powered lasers, and four Scorpion missiles, two on each side. Two hard points exist, one under each wing, rated to twenty-six hundred pounds each."

"That's rather light."

"Well, yes, it is." Click. And now the screen showed a concept drawing, of a rather different ship. "This was the original plan, to produce a light dogfighter with two built-in cannons. Note that where they're placed, they interfere pretty badly with the reconfiguration gear. The technology wasn't up to the challenge. As a stopgap, the two particle cannons were mounted in gun-pods, and suspended from underwing pylons.

"We don't have any of the cannons meant for this model, so the tech who rebuilt the ship gave it standard pylons. You can lift two Jackhammer missiles, four Javelin missiles, or two packs of five Coral Snake missiles. You can also carry the standard bombs, up to the Mark-84, rocket packs, or extra gun pods. But the weapons must be expended or jettisoned before reconfiguring to Soldier mode."

Ranma nodded. "You mentioned a new gun pod?"

"Yes. The Rapier is too small to carry the GU-11 or GU-12. Hibiki dug around in supply, until he found one of the old GA-33 cannons from the LVT Adventurer II. Since we can't use those aircraft in space, he requisitioned the cannon, and had it mounted in a custom-built gun pod. We've designated it the GU-10. It's a six-barrell, twenty-millimeter cannon capable of six thousand rounds per minute. Standard payload in the GU-10 is nine hundred rounds per clip of ammunition. The gun can be set for quarter- or half-second bursts, or for full automatic fire."

"Not bad."

The Lieutenant grinned. "It's probably more than enough to wreck conventional battle pods, and might even do the trick on an Officer's Pod, if you hose it down real good. But don't expect it to do jack against a Female Battlesuit."

"That concludes today's Science and Technology briefing." Dr. Lang stood. "Dismissed."

* * * * *

It was, of course, impossible for Miriya to directly seek her foe. An agent who wished to live beyond the moment would not walk up to a Microne on the street and say, "Excuse me. I am a Meltraedi spy, and I am looking for your greatest pilot so that I may assassinate him."

For that matter, even requesting the name of the greatest pilot aboard would be likely to draw attention. No, the best way of smoking out her game was to be patient. Certainly, a pilot of that calibre would be spoken of rather frequently. All she had to do was wait.

For the moment, however, she had to eat. She had quickly figured out the Microne labour-based requisitioning procedure, and had secured lodgings, food vouchers, and a few changes of clothing. She had noticed, almost immediately after her arrival, that nobody in this insane society dressed the way Saotome apparently did. But at least nobody stared. So she wore the neo-silk gi only when she wasn't working. Such as now.

Miriya pushed open the door to the mess hall, scowling slightly at the small bell placed above the door. If she ever needed to enter this place silently, she was out of luck. She paused at the door, and looked around. No chow line, and the tables were round instead of rectangular, but aside from these details, it could well be a mess hall back home. She looked around, trying to figure out where to start.

The stupid little bell rang again, and a male Microne voice said, "Excuse me." Miriya jumped, and stepped to the side, allowing the Microne - a combat pilot, judging from his uniform - to enter. She watched as he wandered over to a table near the back, and sat down. A young female, dressed in a fashion similar to herself, walked over to him.

Ah. So that was the procedure. Merely take a seat, and a food services specialist would accomodate your needs. The only free seat was directly across from him, so she took it.

The female turned to her. "Would you like a menu?"

"Menu?" Was this a foodstuff? The woman handed her a small document, then said, "I'll be back in a second, okay?"

The Microne pilot answered. "Not a problem, Eri."

Miriya examined the document, and discovered that at the top, where Micrones tended to put headings on documents, was the word Menu. She scanned it, and realized that it was a list of foodstuffs, as well as the number of food vouchers she'd need to submit to acquire each one. Of course, she had no clue what any of the dishes were.

The pilot was staring at her. She glanced up at him, then realized that it wasn't her; it was her clothes.

"Is something amiss?"

The pilot gestured towards her. "The outfit...I..." He shrugged. "Guess you caught the talent contest, way back when, eh?"

"Yes." She looked back at the menu.

The young man spoke up again. "There something in particular I can help you with?"

"No, thank you."

"Um." He scratched his head. "Then why didja sit here?"

She set down the menu and looked at him. His phrasing was rather coarse, compared to most of the people she'd heard here, and his words were rude by even her own standards. "This was the only free space left."

"Okay." He raised a hand, as though in self-defense. "No need to be touchy, okay?"

"I am not being touchy." Miriya frowned at him. "I am merely answering your questions."

Whatever the pilot might have responded with was lost, as the food services specialist returned. "Ready to order?"

"Sure, Eri. I'll take a Number Three plate and a Number Six plate. Four egg rolls on the side. And a coffee. Please."

"Big appetite as always, eh, Ranma?" She turned to Miriya. "And you?"

Miriya closed her menu. "The same."

The pilot blinked.

Eri chuckled, and turned back to the pilot. "What's Akane gonna think, you dating another girl behind her back?"

"She ain't gonna think nothin'. This chick just sat down here 'cause it was the only free space."

"Then why is she wearing that gi, huh?" Eri chuckled. "A fan?"

"I doubt it."

"Don't worry. I won't tell her." The girl turned and left.

Miriya was somewhat confused. She was certain that she understood the Microne words 'chick', 'date', and 'fan'. But here, they had been used considerably out of context. She turned her attention back to the pilot.

The pilot - Ranma? - was still looking at her oddly. "You an Amazon?"

Another word she was not familiar with. She decided to counter his question with one of her own. "You are a combat pilot?"

"Yep."

"Valkyries?"

"Until recently."

She leaned forward. "What happened recently?"

"Got transferred. My entire squad got shot to hell, fightin' the alien Amazons. Nearly got their leader myself."

Miriya's eyes narrowed. 'Amazon' was apparently the Microne word for the Meltraedi. Had she found her quarry so soon?

"Now I'm leadin' a bunch of misfits, with goofed-up Mecha. So--" Ranma stopped, as the fine hairs on the back of his neck went up. He jumped back, his chair falling to the ground.

Miriya stood, grabbing the table and flipping it to the side. From one sleeve she drew a wicked looking dagger. "Now you die."

"Woah!" Ranma snapped into a defensive position. "Look, lady--" She leaped forward, and the man was forced to sidestep to avoid the thrust.

"You may be a great man, but what is a man compared to an Amazon?" She struck again, and again he dodged.

"Man, this freakin' Kiss of Death thing is really getting out of hand!" He dodged her next swing. "I ain't gonna fight you, okay?"

"Then you shall die."

"Nope." He continued to retreat. "But we can just keep dancin' until the MPs get here. How's that?"

She was starting to get frustrated; all he did was avoid her. "Stand still! I will have my vengeance!"

"Look, I don't even know who the heck you are, okay? But I ain't gonna fight you. Get over it!"

Miriya opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by the sound of approaching sirens. Microne emergency or law-enforcement vehicles. She snarled at him.

"You are a coward!" She turned, but the doorway was choked with people attempting to escape. She threw herself into the window next to her, smashing it and rolling out onto the street. The police vehicles were approaching via the main street; she ducked into an alleyway and ran as fast as she could.

She berated herself for her stupidity. This Ranma person was obviously not the warrior she sought. He showed a high level of skill and grace, but none of the precision that marked the male that had defeated her.

But at least she hadn't blown her cover.

* * * * *

"Freakin' Amazons!"

Ranma flipped the table back onto its legs. Luckily, nothing but a soy sauce bottle had been broken. Well, and the window, but the civil defence forces would fix that for them.

Eri cautiously stepped out of the kitchen. "Does this mean she wants to cancel her order?"

The bitch box chose this unfortunate time to blare. "Captain Saotome, report to ready room six."

Ranma cursed. "Gonna have to cancel my order, too, Eri. I'm betting I'm about to launch."