Reality and Alcohol: Roy Fokker Introduction
Roy Fokker was having a good day. The sky was full of enemy pods and Valkyries, streaking back and forth as some of them blossomed into brilliant fire balls. Each new burst of light was a life ending, both Zentradi and human alike. Roy would drink to the fallen among his squadrons when he had time for it, but right now he had other concerns.
Like the two fighter pods coming up on his six. They were throwing laser blasts at him like it was going out of style, nearly winging one of their own side and a stray Valkyrie. Roy didn't like their style, so haphazard and lacking in concern for their fellow pilots. He had been fighting the Zentradi for a year now, loosing people in almost every battle, but it still riled him.
One of the pods was splashed by another Valkyrie, blossoming into fire and burning chunks. The other one strafed out of the path of incoming fire and popped off one last burst at its target. Roy felt his plane shudder from the impact of the coherent light just as something slammed into his back. The Kevlar of his flight suit slowed the shrapnel to the point that it wouldn't tear straight through his body, but the searing pain in his torso told him that he wouldn't last long.
The shaking of the plane drew his attention away from his physical condition. It was expected that there would be some vibration from a weapon's hit, but it was usually short-lived. A prolonged shake like this was a sigh of bad things. Roy spared a glance for the damage indicators, finding nothing to indicate why the Skull One was behaving in this way.
Before he could do much else about the situation the world ceased to exist in a pure white light that seemed to come from everywhere. The last thing Roy remembered was reaching between his legs to grasp the ejection mechanism and jerk with all his might.
ooo000OOO000ooo
"Who do you suppose he is?" Asked Captain Samantha Carter from behind the observation window of the recovery theater. She wasn't used to seeing a patient treated in this way, but when you punch out of a plane, which subsequently plows into the ground, over the most secret military base in north America it tended to raise suspicions. Add to this the fact that you have no form of valid identification and the plane you were piloting held enough advanced technologies that it would keep the engineers busy for years trying to replicate it, and you were strapped to a bed as soon as the surgery was finished.
"I have no idea." Replied Dr. Janet Frasier, the woman who had spent several hours crawling through this man's guts to dig out all the pieces of shrapnel and repair the damage they had caused. "His dog tags read Fokker, R. Commander in some branch of the military or another, though his service number and finger prints don't match anything on file in any of the national databases."
"That and the fact that both his plane and flight suit are more advanced than anything currently in development." Sam responded. "There are even a few alloys that we can't identify, but are harder than anything we know of."
"His body shows signs of repeated high g exposure, almost like a fighter pilot but to a much further degree." Janet mused as she flipped through the medical workup they had done once the commander had stabilized.
"That fits with the wreckage we've been able to piece together. That craft would have been one wild ride, probably able to exceed the g tolerances of the human body by quite a bit." Sam got a distant look in her eyes, "But pilots don't generally push themselves that hard unless they have to. So what kind of combat has this guy seen? And, more importantly, where?"
ooo000OOO000ooo
Roy Fokker struggled his way back to consciousness. He knew this feeling, dull aches and pains despite the heavy sedation, and if his memories of the recent past were any indication, he had been through surgery. He remembered punching out, presumably as his plane was exploding around him. Apparently someone had picked him up, patched him up, and then strapped him to the bed.
His eyes flew open as he felt the restraints. He looked around the room, recognizing most of the displays by what was on them, knowing that he was a prisoner, but also sure in the knowledge that this was more advanced than anything the Anti-Unificationists would have.
"It's good to see you awake Mr. Fokker." Said Janet Frasier as she entered the room.
"Croak." Roy tried to speak but found it a lot harder than usual. He hacked for a moment, clearing the obstruction, and tried again, "Commander, RDF, assigned to the SDF-1. Where am I?" His voice came out as a whisper, but it got the message across.
Janet gave him some water to help his parched condition. "You are indeed a prisoner, Commander. But only because of where you came down, which is a discussion for another time. None of the information that we've gotten from your dog tags checks out though, and I've never heard of the RDF or the SDF-1."
"Impossible." Roy thought aloud. "Everyone has heard of the Robotech Defense Force and the SDF-1, the Visitor."
"Impossible or not, those are things that are unknown here, so why don't we try again." Frasier suggested.
Roy sighed. As he considered his options, few as they were, he decided that being open was the only way he would get any answers. "My name is Roy Fokker, Commander, Robotech Defense Force. I'm stationed aboard the Super Dimensional Fortress out of Macross Island. We were attacked during the Launch Day festivities, almost a year ago. After a fierce battle to defend the fortress and a failed attempt to rendezvous with the space based elements of our fleet, which resulted in the destruction of most of those ships, our commanding officer, Captain Henry Gloval, initiated a fold operation. Though our target was the far side of the moon, we ended up out around the orbit of Pluto, along with all of Macross Island and the surrounding part of the Pacific. Since then we've been trying to fighting almost constantly on our way back to Earth. We splashed down two weeks ago and have been trying to get permission to relocate the civilian population that survived the destruction of the island."
Janet was floored. The whole story was incredible, and every indicator she could see from his monitors said he was telling the truth.
A new voice entered the conversation. "Excuse me, Commander. What year is it?"
Roy swiveled his head to look at the pretty blond sitting behind what he could only assume was reinforced glass in the raised observation gallery. "It's 2010, last time I checked." He knew this got to them by the way they looked at each other. Before they could recover he decided to capitalize on their shock, "What year is it here?"
"1993." Sam answered before thinking.
"So the global wars haven't started yet." Roy sighed and relaxed into the comfort of the bed. "I really don't want to live through that again."
"I don't think it's that simple, Commander." Sam said, "We have no record of you, either in the military or as a civilian. I don't think you belong in this reality."
"How could he not belong in 'this reality'?" Frazier asked.
"According to Quantum Physics," Carter started to explain, "there are an infinite number of universes, each playing out different scenarios based on differences in probability, some minor and some major. His universe is probably a good ways from ours, based on the differences in events that we've already seen. Now we just have to figure out what happened to get him here, though it may not be something that's readily apparent."
"So I'm probably stuck here?" Roy asked the attractive blonde. At her nod he continued, "Could be worse." He then turned to the doctor, "So, what's the bad news?"
Janet Frazier hated telling her patients that their life, as it was before, was gone. She decided to use the details of his injuries to stall for time, "We had to do extensive reconstruction of your internal organs, as well as removing three ribs than had been partially shattered. You've lost a kidney and we had to remove part of your liver and…"
Roy held up his hand, "Hold on Doc. Just tell me how long it's gonna be before I can get back in the cockpit."
She took a deep breath to brace herself, "You won't be able to fly combat anymore, Commander. Without those ribs, and considering the extent of the damage, it would be too much of a strain on your body."
Fokker blinked for a few seconds. Not fly anymore? Him? It was something he had never considered. He had always wanted to be a combat pilot, but, as the reality of the situation sunk in he realized that there were other things he could turn his hand to, some of which would still involve planes. He finally said, looking at Sam again, "Okay, what else can I do around here?"
Carter and Frazier smiled, both glad that he hadn't given up like could happen to someone in his condition. Sam answered, "Well first, so long as your doctor doesn't object, what can you tell me about that craft of yours?"
ooo000OOO000ooo
Roy took his many times a day walk around the hanger deck. Around him were many people, engineers and technicians, studying and reassembling the wreckage of his once proud Skull One. The thing looked like crap, but what did one expect after the thing plowed into the ground at nearly three hundred knots, but the frame, hydraulics, and engines were still mostly intact.
He noticed a familiar, short-cropped, head of blond hair moving toward him. Waving with his hand not holding a cane, he called, "Hey Sam. How's it going?"
She waved back, "Not bad." Gesturing at the work in progress, she continued, "Looks like you've just about got it back together."
The former ace pilot smiled, "Yeah. She won't be back in the air ever again, but we should be ready to start that in depth analysis you've been itching for in the next week or so."
"As much as I'd love to talk shop all day." Sam began.
Roy snorted, "I know. I think I dictated a few hundred-thousand pages while I was still strapped to that bad in the infirmary."
Sam smiled, continuing as though he had not interrupted, "My superiors were wondering if you wanted to make this arrangement a little more official."
Roy winced, wondering what this could mean, "They want me to sign a contract or something? It's been three months since I got here and I think I've been pretty accommodating, considering I'm a prisoner on this base."
Sam smiled mischievously, loving Roy's confusion. Sam, like most professional scientists, liked having to explain things to others, showing off her brilliance. This may not be a scientific matter, but the principles of the conversation were the same.
Roy's sense of apprehension only grew at the look on his colleague's face. He once again drifted toward confusion as she pulled a flat case out of her pocket and handed it to him.
As he opened it and sat the pair of silver leaves attached to the backing, she commented, "They were wondering if you wanted to be a soldier again, Lieutenant Colonel."
ooo000OOO000ooo
Jacob Carter hadn't seen his daughter in a while, given that she was involved with some secret project out at Area 51 and he no longer had the clearance to find out more. He did want to try to catch up a little though, and was determined to meet her, so he found himself stalking his daughter as she left the base, in the presence of a uniformed man he didn't know.
He followed them away from the base, a bit curious if her daughter had finally met someone special. When she pulled into a local service dive, he pulled in and parked a few spaces away. Getting out he, approached the pair of active duty military, saying, "Hey Sam, how's it been?"
Carter looked up, a bit surprised to see her father, "Hey dad. What brings you here?"
Jacob closed the distance and threw his arms around her, "Can't an old soldier just drop by to see his daughter?"
Sam smiled warily, "Sure you can, It's just never happened before."
The elder Carter released his hold and gestured toward his daughter's companion, "So, who's this young man?"
The younger remembered her guest, "Dad, this is Lieutenant Colonel Roy Fokker. He works with me at my current post. Roy, this is my father, Retired General Jacob Carter."
Roy relaxed, now that any possible threat had passed, and extended his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
Jacob didn't miss the release of tension, knowing that mindset very well. He decided to probe for a little more information, "So what is the new project?"
"You know we can't talk about right now, dad." Sam scolded her father. "But we can say that it will revolutionize aircraft technology as we know it."
Knowing a good bit about aircraft tech, having worked with the design branches for a good part of his later career, Carter pushed a little more, "Some new kind of stealth, or a new power plant design?"
"We really can't say any more, sir." Roy said, "Your daughter tells me you were a pilot in your time."
Going along with the change of subject, Jacob answered, "I flew quite a bit, most of it was classified at the time. Do you fly much, Fokker?"
"Roy is fine, sir. I was a test pilot a few years ago, and was flying combat up until a nasty accident a few months ago."
Sam was surprised to find herself enjoying a conversation with her father. The man always seemed so distant, but as they walked into the bar she saw a completely new side of him. They spent the rest of the evening sipping beers and talking about combat flying, though Roy had to deflect a few questions about where, and more specifically when, he saw action.
A few hours later a group of three aviators, two former one current, exited the bar and made their way toward the cars they had come in.
"Are you sure you're okay to drive home dad?" Sam asked.
Jacob nodded, "Yeah, honey, I'm fine." He turned to Roy and held out his hand, "It's been good meeting you Major. If you ever need anything, let me know."
Roy shook the offered hand, responding, "I appreciate that, sir. It was my honor to meet you."
Jacob then reached out and took his daughter into a tight hug, "It's good to see you again Sam. We should do this again some time."
Samantha Carter was a bit surprised, her father had never been this open or jovial with her, and certainly not this affectionate since her brother died.
"Don't be such a stranger Dad." Sam said as she hugged him.
"I won't kiddo, I promise." Jacob replied.
ooo000OOO000ooo
Reality and Alcohol is a multi-part introduction collaborative fic, the main part of which will be hosted on the profile id vs ego.