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MACROSS DYNAMITE
Prologue: Russian Roulette
Unexplored Territories, Quadrant 9, Macross 7 Fleet, Battle 7
"Captain, there's a call for you."
Maximillian Jenius decided that there was nowhere aboard this fleet he was safe – not on the bridge, not in the library, not while visiting his wife, and definitely not in his own quarters, where he was trying to cook some spaghetti. He hadn't had spaghetti in a while. When Sally Ford had found out he was cooking for himself, she had been horrified, offering to find him a cook to take the chore off his hands. When he'd told her he enjoyed cooking, she looked at him like he'd lost his mind.
I hate cooking, she'd said. But if you say so, sir.With special emphasis on the sir and a skeptical gleam in her eye that told him she doubted the quality of his cooking.
Well. Milia liked his spaghetti. So there.
"Captain, are you there?"
"Just a second," he called, wiping his hands on his apron and folding it neatly over the back of the chair before hurrying over to press the on switch on the monitor. The aroma from the meat sauce made his mouth water, and he hoped this was a quick call. Sally's face appeared on the screen. "Yes?"
"It's the commander of the Varautan defense force. Shall I put her on screen in your room, sir?"
The commander of the Varautan defense force had once been the executive officer aboard Battle 5 before the Protodeviln had destroyed Macross 5 on Lux, and was one of the few fleet officers that Max had ever admired. She was tough and smart and she reminded him of Hayase Misa. Maybe that was why he admired her. And she probably wouldn't appreciate it if he took the call in his quarters with pots and pans steaming in the background. "No, I'll take it on the bridge. Tell her to please hold and I'll be up shortly."
The lift was empty and it took him only half a minute to turn off the stove, shrug into his uniform jacket, and to get up to the bridge and to his seat. Exedore was there, but looked like he was dozing. Max didn't bother to disturb him. There was very little for the Zentradi advisor to do aboard Battle 7 nowadays. He was almost always on the Einstein anyway, but he claimed he liked to come back now and then to check up on them, though he almost always ended up going to sleep while he was there. Max didn't mind. It was a little piece of nostalgia.
"This is Captain Maximillian Jenius," he said, as the visual came up on his screen of a small but fierce-looking micronized Zentradi woman in a UN Spacy uniform, long blue hair pulled about her shoulders. "What can I do for you, General Korhyk?"
Korhyk raised her eyebrows. "Still as polite as ever, I see."
"It's against my nature to be impolite to a woman, ma'am."
She laughed. "Is that so? By the way, it's a shame your daughter didn't want to come to the University of Varauta, Captain Jenius. We have some very fine programs here, if I can say so myself."
Max grinned wryly. "Mylene is old enough to make up her own mind, and I think she wanted to stay close to home."
"I understand that." Korhyk's smile faded and she straightened, all official business again. "And as much as I'd like this to be a pure courtesy call, captain, I'm afraid we have precious few of those to spare nowadays."
"No matter," Max said. "It's always good to hear from you. Is everything all right?"
"You asked to be informed if we came across any more Protodeviln or Protoculture finds."
"And you've found some." It was not a question. Korhyk wouldn't have bothered calling halfway across the galaxy if they hadn't.
"I don't think it's anything we haven't seen before, but it's a rather big find and I thought you would like to know. You've probably heard all about it on the Galaxy Network anyway."
"No, we haven't heard anything..." he paused. Wait, there had been that one brief bit..."well, there was something billed as big news a few weeks back about a Protoculture dig on Varauta, but it faded rather quickly, so I didn't pay much attention to it. Was that it?"
She nodded. "We've got some researchers working on analyzing the data right now, and if there are any new developments, I'll keep you posted."
Beside Max, Exedore stirred. "Data? What data?"
Korhyk glanced to the side, and Max knew she could see Exedore out of the corner of her viewscreen. "Advisor," she said, mock-sternly, "you're getting lazy in your old age."
"Nonsense," Exedore said, his creaky voice amused. "I am merely enjoying my well-deserved rest. Is there any way I could perhaps access this data?"
"I thought you might be interested. I'll transmit all the data we have so far on the finds to your historical office on City 7 as well as the Einstein 7 and your battle analysis records division aboard Battle 7. We've just gotten underway with the project but there isn't much."
"A little is better than nothing," Max said. "Especially if this might be important."
Her bright Zentradi gaze met his. "I wouldn't bother you otherwise, Captain. You'll see what I mean when you read what I send you."
"Most interesting," Exedore said, stirring. "I will of course be examining the reports rather closely when they arrive."
Korhyk gave a curt nod. "If you need further information, you should call the point of contact directly. I'll include her information."
"Who is the contact?" Exedore wondered.
"She's the best archaeologist and scientific analysis researcher we've got. She's only been here for a year – immigrated from Eden recently, but her name's already made it to the top of the galactic science circles. You even might have heard of her. Myung Fang Lone Dyson."
Varautan System, Third Planet, Varauta City
The contact in question was sprawled out on the couch in her living room, listening to the kettle whistle merrily on the stove and hoping Isamu could get breakfast on his own today so that she could enjoy a few minutes more of peace and quiet before she had to leave for work. In the kitchen, she could hear the clanging of utensils and the top of the bread box being opened, then a startled yelp.
"Myung!"
"I've told you to watch your head," she called, not bothering to get up. He did the same thing every morning. "The ceiling's low there. Then again, one of these days you're going to get a callous on your head from bumping it so much, and then it won't matter. "
Her husband emerged from the kitchen with his breakfast in one hand and his work bag in the other. "You're cruel."
"I know," she said, getting up from the couch to kiss him goodbye, hoping her tiredness didn't show. "Have a good day."
Apparently it did, because Isamu glanced at her, concerned. "You're wearing yourself out again. Stop it. I swear I'm seriously going to go down to the research lab at the school and give them a piece of my mind."
Myung laughed. "I'm putting in my own hours on this, so it's not their fault this time. Besides, I've got a new project. That Protoculture dig, remember."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, how's that going anyway? It was big news a few weeks ago but the media seems to have forgotten all about it already, huh? Though I guess that's good for you."
She shoved him towards the door. "You'll be late for work. I'll tell you about it when you get home."
He kissed her quickly, then was outside in two steps. "See you later." The door slammed.
Myung leaned against the wall, watching the sun rise through the sheer curtains covering the window. Isamu had left the radio on in the kitchen and it was blaring some unidentifiable song – Fire Bomber again most likely. She didn't keep track of the hit charts anymore…she couldn't even remember when she'd stopped listening to the radio, but somehow these past few years, she had. The radio and the charts had been a passion of hers in grade school, when she'd had dreams of becoming a singer, but after Sharon Apple, she'd decided she had enough of the music business altogether and had gotten out of it. For good.
Isamu said it wasn't for good. Isamu said that she'd get back into it sooner or later, but Isamu said a lot of things. She'd gone back to school on Eden and discovered that she had a passion for archaeology almost as fulfilling as the one she had had for music, almost as large as the passion Isamu had for flying.
But apparently Isamu's passion for flying hadn't overtaken his passion for her, because one year after Sharon Apple, when the uproar over the fiasco at the Macross celebration had died down and everyone had gone back to their normal lives and forgotten about her, he'd asked her to marry him. Both of them had known that it would happen. She had thought that Guld's death would hang over them like a pall of sadness, but instead it was almost refreshing to think about him, as if he was giving them his blessing.
They both missed him, but that was the way of things.
Isamu had been the first to hear about the Protodeviln, being high enough in the ranks of the UN Forces that he would be privy to that sort of thing. He'd scoffed at the idea of using reaction weapons against them. If they're the people who created the Supervision Army, he said, it's useless. Even the Grand Cannon couldn't stop Bodolzaa then. And from what I've been hearing from people, the Supervision Army was at least a hundred times as powerful.
She'd wondered how the Supervision Army had been defeated, and he had shrugged. I have no clue. Apparently no one knows. They just were.
After she'd gotten a job at the UN research lab on Eden, she'd heard bits and pieces of the story, about something called spiritia and the power to seal Protodeviln. She didn't pay much attention to it. As long as they were safe and she could go about her research. When Isamu had been transferred to Varauta to head up flying operations there, she'd applied for a position at the University of Varauta's research lab, not thinking she would get it. For a lab that had been established for just two years, it had a high reputation.
But she had gotten the job. And now she had gotten the directorship of what they were calling the "Protoculture Find," a network of caves in the mountainous wilderness outside the capital city, caves filled with…things.
She wasn't sure what the things were. Apparently it was her job to find out.
The kettle was still whistling, and she wanted a cup of hot tea before work. It would be a long day and she could use the caffeine. Taking one last look at the sunrise, she went to look for a teacup in the dishwasher, because Isamu refused to do the dishes.
UN Spacy High Command Fleet Satellite, Earth Orbit
"It's not that I disagree with the policy, sir," the man on the screen was saying for the billionth time, eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown. "It's just that-"
"We don't have the funds. I understand, General. Put in a project scale back request and see what Maintenance Command can do with it."
"They'll never allow it," the commander of the Fourth Quadrant Fleet said mournfully. "Combat Command wants all the VF-11s cut by next year, and Grayson will have my head."
"Tell Grayson I'll have his head if he doesn't back down."
The man sighed. "I'll talk to him. Thank you for listening, Admiral. I'll call back." The screen flickered and blanked.
Fleet Admiral Britai Kridanik, UN Spacy commander, stood up from his chair and paced to the side window of his office, watching the VF-11 patrols flash back and forth outside and the busy whir of the maintenance drones on the docking platforms as they puttered from one craft to another. The office lights were a little too dim and the air conditioning didn't quite work, but all in all, it was a nice office. He'd have preferred the bridge of his old craft, but the UN Spacy commander just couldn't go galloping around the galaxy in a Zentradi flagship anymore. It was improper, and if nothing else, Britai had a keen sense of what was proper and improper.
Right now, the only thing he could think of that was improper was the insistence of the UN Combat Command that they could have the VF-19 phased in by next year. It had been five years since the fighter had started being mass-produced, and they were nowhere near the projected number of ten thousand that Shinsei Galaxy had promised by 2050. And the UN Spacy had not the funds to give Shinsei Galaxy what they were asking for in order to complete the remaining craft for the order. Furthermore, the VF-11s they still had were perfectly functional, and Grayson was advocating widespread decommissioning of the craft altogether.
Sometimes Britai had to admit he just didn't understand humans. This was one of those times.
That was not the biggest problem in the military right now, but it was the easiest to deal with, so Britai dealt with it. He didn't want to think about the other problems if he didn't have to – Protodeviln, Protoculture, the Supervision Army. Anima Spiritia, whatever that was.
He had thought the battle was over with the defeat of Quamzin's fleet, but apparently that had just been the signal for a long period of hiatus in which they sat and waited. And then sat and waited some more.
Britai Kridanik was Zentradi by birth, and that meant he was a warrior. And sitting and waiting for the enemy to show himself was not a tactic that he had in his blood. But unfortunately, it was the humans' way of doing things, and though he didn't understand it, humans had proved to be intelligent in the way of strategy. So he let the military sit and wait, while internally, instead of preparing their resources and training their troops, commanders argued about the prices of new fighters.
It was like playing Russian Roulette. He'd read about the game once and thought it a particularly interesting premise, pointing a gun to one's head with a single bullet in the chamber. The UN Spacy was playing Russian Roulette with itself, and sooner or later, they would lose. The bullet would find its way out of the chamber into the barrel and into the brain, and the military would self-destruct. He'd seen it time and time again as a commander in Bodolzaa's fleet, except it had been on a much accelerated scale, because Zentradi didn't like to sit and wait. It had been how new warlords assumed power – the previous warlord's fleet would tear itself apart internally, and then it was a simple matter of a show of force. Whoever had the most ships claimed the prize.
Sometimes he even wished it was the case with the UN Spacy, because it would be much simpler.
They'd almost lost with the reaction weapons. General Cleric, the former commander of Combat Command, had gone ahead and told the fleet to use reaction weapons against the Protodeviln if necessary. He had neglected to mention this fact to Britai, as well as the fact that he'd basically abandoned the Macross 7 fleet to its own fate. Britai was concerned for the welfare of all the colonization fleets, but he had friends aboard the Macross 7, and he had not been pleased with Cleric, to the point where Cleric was now Colonel Cleric and Lieutenant General Kevin Grayson was now commander of Combat Command….though Britai was now beginning to wonder if that appointment had been a mistake as well.
He wondered if Exedore had ever heard of Russian Roulette. The archivist would probably find it a fascinating study.
He missed Exedore these days.
The air conditioning machine creaked and died yet again, and Britai sighed. If he had been any other man, he would have said he was getting too old for this, but he really didn't think that was the case. He'd been the commander of the UN Spacy for thirty-three years, and he anticipated being the commander for some years yet. He was just restless. He needed to be out there, among the men, not fighting this war from behind a desk.
Regardless of what his staff said, there was a war. The Protodeviln might have been defeated, and the Supervision Army scattered, but that didn't mean it was over. To be a Zentradi meant to be always prepared, and Britai Kridanik was always prepared.
It was the rest of his command that was the problem.
Zola
The waves lapped gently against the wood boards of the dock, and Elma's lantern cast little bobbing lights on the water. If she squinted hard enough she could pretend they were fairies. Water fairies, maybe. Her mother had told her stories when she was little of water fairies, who could fly in water like birds flew in air, and brought presents to those who believed in them.
She bent closer to the water, trying to see if they were really there, and lost her grip on the lantern. It fell into the harbor with a splash, sinking quickly. The light went out.
Elma sighed.
The docks were deserted at this time of the evening, except for the occasional fishing boat that would putter by quietly, the shadowy figures of fishermen moving about busily on the decks. Behind her, the radio loudspeakers recited the story of Zomeo and Zolliette for the tenth time tonight. It was always the same episode. She wanted to hear a new episode, but word was that the voice actress who had played Zolliette and also wrote the storyline had grown tired of the project and quit, and no one was willing to put it up for grabs again. So it was forever stuck at six episodes.
"That night, Zomeo crept to the forest, with the moon shining down on his determined face. 'I cannot go back to Macross 11!' he thought to himself, with much sorrow. The trees…"
Elma tuned out the radio, resuming swinging her legs over the dock and mourning the loss of her lantern for a minute before deciding that it wasn't worth it. Around her neck, the strange snake-like creature she called Cappy nuzzled her gently, and she petted it. Cappy was getting tired. And it was late anyway. She should be getting back home. Her father would be worried, and Liza didn't like her sneaking down to the docks at night, though she knew her sister would never say anything.
She got up to go and noticed a strange light on the water. For a second she thought it was a fairy, and she clapped her hands to her mouth, but no, it was only a reflection, a reflection from something high in the sky. She craned her neck, trying to see.
A shooting star?
But no, it moved too regularly to be a shooting star, and it was too bright. A ship? There were no ships out at this time of night, and it was not whale hunting season yet.
Maybe it was an angel.
That's what it was, she decided, and stuck her tongue out a bit, deep in thought. She'd never seen an angel before. It had to be one. A Zolan angel.
"Zolan angel," she said to Cappy, who squeaked his approval as they padded silently off the dock onto the dirt road towards home. "That's nice. I like it."