Reentry
A Robotech Fanfic by Exar
My name is Roy Harris, and I am dying.
I should start at the beginning. I was born in space, in a geosynchronous orbit on the dark side of the moon.
I was born on the SDF-3.
I'm told my birth was hailed as a sign of healing, celebrated as a milestone in humanity's recovery from the destruction wrought by the Zentradi armada. I'm told that Admiral Hunter himself named me after a fallen hero of the war. All I know is my first memory is of a catastrophic gravity plating failure that turned a three-year-old's life into a scene from a nightmare.
My mother was laying on the bed in our quarters when it happened. She was reading from some book, I think it was Dr. Seuss. I was in my playpen, doing whatever it is that toddlers do. I don't remember the details before the accident, but once it happened, the memories are crystal clear. I remember hearing a boom in the distance, and feeling the floor shake violently. I remember crying from the sudden noise, then laughing happily and clapping my hands as I began to float upwards in the sudden zero-g. I remember seeing my mother's face as she was crushed under seventeen gees of pressure. Her bones snapped under their own weight, and her lungs collapsed. She never made a sound, she probably couldn't. But her eyes never left mine until her head was pressed through her mattress. Within a few minutes, the gravity was rebalanced. But the damage was done. Thirteen people died that day. Some were unlucky enough to be straddling the gravity plates when the accident happened. Sgt. Franklin, my training officer, was one of those. He had full prosthetic legs, and his right arm from the elbow down was mechanical, as well.
I look up at the canopy over my head. The thick plastic has spiderweb cracks running across it, but it should hold for a while longer. It's a multilayered polymer sandwich of materials, all strong by themselves, and bulletproof together. Not that that will help in another 369 miles.
Where was I? Oh yes, the SDF-3 gravity accident. We left earth shortly after that. Through simple bad luck and timing, I never managed to visit the planet before then. So it was that I got my first and only view of the blue-green jewel of space. I was sitting on my father's shoulders as the SDF-3 moved away from the moon's gravity well so she could spacefold.
Of course, that's not completely true. I could see Earth right now, if circumstances were slightly different. And I saw it briefly on the flight in, I just had other things to worry about at the time.
Like the Invid.
When I was six, we made contact with a group of strange aliens that called themselves 'The Sentinels'. There were bear people, space amazons with a robotic horse, and others stranger than that. They had a bone to pick with the Invid we found there, on the far side of the galaxy. So we allied with them. They taught us a lot of useful things. We gained a lot of new alien technology from them.
My specialty, outside of flying the Alpha type transformable fighter, is demolitions. Everyone in my squadron has an 'outside the cockpit' skill set that makes us usable as a commando team. In order to stretch limited manpower to its maximum, the REF has formed a lot of dual-purpose squadrons. The Zentradi Corp of Engineers is awesome to watch in action. Crews of destroids and full-sized Zentradi working together to erect massive earthworks, dam mighty rivers and build fortifications in a matter of hours. On the other hand, they are also tremendously adept at removing earthworks and dams. And in combat, they are as effective as, well, a squad of destroids and Zentradi in Mk. II Officer's Pods. Which is to say, highly effective.
As the squad's demo guy, I have a underbarrel detpack launcher on my GU-34 gunpod. The detonator is attuned to my cockpit controls, or to my handheld unit, for maximum versatility. It's very handy to be able to place charges at range, while in a mecha, and then be able to detonate them hours later while on foot and ready to capitalize on the destruction they cause.
Of course, it doesn't always work out perfectly. 324 miles to go. I check my distress beacon again, to see if might have magically started working. It hasn't. It might have to do with the Invid claw jabbed through the communications sphere on the underside of my fuselage. I look up again. If it weren't for the dead Invid mecha there, I would have a spectacular view of my home world as I wait to die. But instead all I can see is a squat, bug-like metal shell with a jagged hole where its 'head' used to be. I try my vernier jets again, but to no avail. The huge lobster claw has me tight, and even in death, refuses to let me go. The bottom part of the claw crushed my IFF communications package, the top part is the source of the spiderweb I see above me. It crushed the forward part of the fuselage and the front edge of the canopy. If it did let go, I would probably lose atmosphere in a matter of minutes.
I think I would prefer that to the death that is coming. 307 miles.
When I was 17 we dealt a telling blow to the Invid Regent with the help of the Sentinels and some native Zentradi that Breetai talked into joining us. They had lowered the minimum joining age for the military to 15 by that point, so low were our numbers. I had been a proud member of the REF for two years. I was a Lieutenant, with men under my command and lives hanging on my decisions. The pressure didn't bother me much. I had good examples of leaders all around me, and simply emulated them to the best of my ability. I must have done something right, for today it's the stripes of Captain that will burn up on my uniform.
Did I forget to mention that part? Could have sworn I did. I'm dying, a mile at a time. Because 285 miles from here, I'm going to hit the atmosphere of Earth, and this hollow Invid mecha and I are going to burn up like a shooting star.
When I was 19, a mere six months ago, we got word that a separate part of the Invid fleet had slipped past us, and were on Earth. And not only were they there, but they had taken over. Naturally, that didn't sit well with either of the Admirals Hunter. So Commander Wolff was dispatched to mount a recon and if possible, establish a beachhead.
We never heard back from him or any of his men.
I plug the cheap earphone into my left ear and press the memory crystal into the audio player I smugged in my flight suit. An incredibly tinny and low-fi version of Lynn Minmei's 'My Boyfriend is a Pilot' starts playing. It keeps me occupied for about 100 miles. I try the beacon again. I try transforming my veritech. Nothing. I try to rig up my suit radio to the batteries in my music player before I remember I'm not McGuyver and give up. I key the mic of my suit radio, well aware that it only has a two miles range, totally useless in space.
"Is anyone out there? I could really use a rescue about now.
"This is Captain Roy Harris of the Robotech Expeditionary Force. My position is 57 degrees north of Lagrange point 3 in a degrading orbit. I am unable to control my descent and will enter the atmosphere very soon."
It makes me feel better for a few seconds. I play the song again, after I find the battery I dropped. 98 miles to go.
I felt so thrilled to be here. Coming home triumphantly, saving the world from alien invaders. I never thought it would end like this. My squad and I tore through the first several waves of Invid like they weren't even there. My wingman separated his Beta from my Alpha because it simply didn't look like we needed the concentrated firepower. We could be more effective apart. Of course, that was before my gunpod jammed. When I was suddenly faced with an Invid enemy faster and more powerful than before, and deprived of my primary weapon, I was forced to improvise. I launched a detpack at its central 'eye', since I knew from experience that it was the weakest point on the mecha's armor. I hit my afterburner and tried to boost clear before triggering it, but in its blind thrashing, the Invid managed to get a claw around my fuselage. I blew the Detpack anyway. As soon as it started crushing my canopy, I knew I had no choice.
I play the song one more time. I really like that song. Just about every pilot does. It makes us feel like there's someone waiting for us to come back, even if no one really is. Our generation on the ship is about 65 male, so there are a lot of bachelors. Attrition hasn't helped either. What available women there are don't want to have a relationship with someone who could be blown out of space any day, any time.
I met Minmei once. She came to my middle school class and sang for us. She did regular shows that were broadcast over the ship's internal TV network, but except for one show on the hangar deck, she didn't do live shows much anymore. As she grew older, there was a sadness about her that was profound. I heard a rumor that she dated Admiral Hunter before he married, and that she stayed single because she never stopped loving him. I don't know if that's true, but I feel for her if it is.
24 miles to go. God I'm scared. I don't want to die.
I try my suit radio one more time. I don't hear an answer. I watch in wonder as perfect spheres of salt water lift free of my cheeks and float in front of me. Crying in freefall. That's a new experience. Pity I won't be able to tell anyone about it. They look pretty cool. 6 miles. I start the song again and try to think happy thoughts.
It's starting to warm up in my cockpit. I can see wisps of gas fly past the canopy. I'm truly grateful for the toilet bag built into my flight suit, because I wet myself at this point. My ship begins to shake violently as the first turbulence of reentry hits.
Suddenly, the claw tears free with a squeal of protesting metal. My vision is filled with the blur-green orb that I have never set foot on, yet call home. I start to cry again, but desperate hope fills my heart. I pull the lever marked with a large 'S' and hear the familiar sound of robotechnology. My plane reconfigures into a forty foot tall humanoid robot. Most importantly, a blast shield slides into place over my much-abused canopy. Seizing the controls, I command my vehicle's robotic arms to clutch at the Invid mecha. I hold it below me and curl my veritech into a fetal position. The two of us shake violently, and I watch the altimeter with a horrific combination of glee and dread. My visual sensors short out, but before they do, I catch a vision of the Invid ship burning with the fury of a newborn sun. But burning below me, and shielding me from the worst of reentry's peril.
At some point, I black out. My veritech continues its death grip on the Invid craft, and so it is hours later that I come around, thirty feet under water, multiple systems offline and general controls dull and slow to respond, but oh so alive, and still holding on to the scorched remains of an Invid invader.
I'm alive. I'm home. They better watch out.
My name is Roy Harris, and I'm not dead yet.
-fin.