AN:

Aw, yissss! It's update time!

It's been just over a year since my last update, if I recall correctly. I feel like I keep making excuses, but life just keeps getting in the way! The good news is that, after a few scene rewrites, this chapter went fairly smoothly. I'm starting to get to a point in my story that I have been looking forward to for a very long time! The bad news is that I'm off spring break already.

As you may recall, I graduated from my university last spring. I haven't been able to find a job that uses my degree, so I decided to work on my graduate degree at my university while the economy is still in such a stagnant state. But I also applied to the University of Washington's grad school, since I want to specialize in space-access and space propulsion. I got accepted! So, barring any divine influence, I will be moving up to Seattle this summer to continue my work on my master's degree. I'm excited because this is a huge step towards landing a dream job doing what I love.

That also means that my plate will be full again. I need to finish up my current semester and then focus on getting moved to Seattle. THEN, I have to settle in to my schedule at UW. I won't have a lot of time to work on this story, but I could just get the urge one night and hammer out the majority of a chapter in a single sitting. Here's to hoping, right?

Anyway, I hope you guys are all loving life. It's been a lonnnnng journey thus far. We'll get to the end some day, I promise! -(03/16/15)


"These damned Zentradi immigrants are nothing but trouble!"

One of the panelists showed his disgust by pounding his fist on the table. A placard on the desk identified him as Howard Graham, a well-known columnist for one of the major news media giants in the Frontier colony. "I've always been somewhat wary of this huge influx of uncultured giants, but now I can see that my fears were not unfounded!" he continued.

A huge monitor on the wall behind him continued to play various video clips from the riot on the base earlier that day, seemingly putting the emphasis on Howard's grievances.

"I'm sure that you're not alone when you say that," the host agreed. The placard next to him revealed his name to be Everett Crier.

The wall monitor began to display social media posts related to the subject. Each message had the user's handle and avatar, followed by a short response.

"Our social connection feeds are full of messages from people who pretty much say the same thing. Shinji, 43, says 'Send them all packing! We've got no room or tolerance for tens of thousands of uneducated, unskilled giants with the mind of a child who could snap at any moment and kill dozens, if not hundreds, before being stopped.'" The monitor changed to another page of posts. "Aida, 21, says 'All those poor people. I'm not sure if I feel safe around any of these immigrants.' And finally, Charles, 30, says 'Who knows how many more incidents we may have? I don't want to see the death toll get any higher.'"

Everett then turned towards three people seated across the large desk. "This is precisely why this segment of the show is put together nightly. We call it 'The Town Criers'. Across from me, three people sit. Each one of them is from a different walk of life, and each one provides a typical point-of-view that the audience can relate to. Starting from my left, we have Mrs. Paula Cantarell: she is 28 and is a stay-at-home mother of two children. At center, Lieutenant Calvin Wagner, 22, is an active combat pilot in the NUNS. Finally, to my right sits Ivan Kovalovski, 33, who runs his own accounting firm. Great to have you here tonight, folks."

All three guest panelists nodded in response. While the two other guests were wearing their Sunday best, Cal donned a white, crisp NUNS uniform. His garrison cap was neatly tucked under the epaulet on his left shoulder. His service ribbons, while still modest in number, were proudly pinned to his chest.

"Let me get some initial impressions," the host continued, "Paula, let's start with you."

"Um…" she seemed a bit shy to respond, but quickly opened up, "Thanks for having me here, tonight. I am, frankly, very concerned. I have several Zentradi friends, micloned, of course, but I am scared whenever one of those giants gets near me. If he or she wanted to, they could crush me like it was nothing. And nobody could stop them before it happened! I am not racist, but I think that the first thing that all Zentradi should do is get micloned. I just can't trust those giants."

Cal sat in his chair with his arms crossed, struggling keep himself from shaking his head in disapproval. He promised himself that he'd try not to stand out too much. All he had to do was just wait for his turn to speak, but the way things were going, his impulsiveness may get the best of him.

Everett focused his gaze upon the next guest. "Ivan?"

"I normally don't pay too much mind to this issue," the large, balding man quickly replied, "But this riot has opened my eyes to the possible dangers of letting too many Zentradi run around unchecked. I'd be for a micloning policy, if it came up for a vote. Besides, there are not enough resources to house and feed these giants in their current form. Bringing them in and letting them live as giants will cost the rest of us too much. This is going to cause hunger and unemployment to become rampant and lead to the deaths of many colonists. How many people died or got hurt today?"

"Three dead, dozens injured," the host replied. "It's clear that what happened today was tragic—"

His words were interrupted by a chuckle coming from Cal; that promise didn't hold out for very long. The host's face scrunched up a bit, as if preparing for outrage.

"Is… there something funny about innocent people dying?"

"Some people got hurt, but nobody died," Cal stated matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me?" The host was surprised to be interrupted, "I don't know where you got that information, but this is what we've been told by the official sources from the investigation." He scoffed in Cal's direction after his rebuttal, "I take it that you have a slightly different opinion than Paula and Ivan?"

Cal smirked, as if he knew what to say all along. It was finally his turn to speak. He unfolded his arms and sat straight up in his chair with an overwhelming smugness to his posture. "I am so tired of hearing the same excuses: 'There's not enough food… healthcare… jobs… housing…'" He counted each of the items off by extending a finger on his hand in front of him one by one. "What happened to the spirit of exploration and settlement of a new land? It sure did thrive back when the New World was discovered on Earth several hundred years ago. Even after settlement by European colonists on the east coast, many more people seeking freedom and adventure journeyed out into the wilds of the Americas. Not but a few months ago, we were all colonists exploring the galaxy for a new home to settle. Now that we've found it, everyone's changed their personal policy and refuse to share it with others?"

Paula and Ivan looked down at the table for a moment upon hearing Cal's response. Everett, however, appeared unfazed.

"I can understand why you'd be concerned," Cal continued as he looked to his left and right at the other guest panelists, "If the information given here was all I knew about what happened at the starport today, I might have similar sentiments on the issue. However, the riot was not spontaneous; the Zentradi didn't just snap and go crazy on the miclones. They were provoked by protestors."

The room fell silent for a brief moment before the host jumped in again.

"How can you say something like that? You don't have any proof!" He turned towards the screen behind him, "The footage shows no evidence of any provocation, just senseless violence. Of all of the eye-witnesses, none of them reported such a thing happening. None of the footage shows what you are claiming. How could you know what we don't? Were you there?!"

"Actually… Yes."

Cal was just waiting for that question to be asked and took almost no time to respond. Again, the host paused for a moment as if he didn't know what to say.

"What?" he asked incredulously, "That's preposterous. You couldn't prove it if you were there anyways."

Cal had to keep himself from snickering on air. "Wait, back up to that last clip again," he responded as he pointed at the footage playing on the huge monitor behind the host.

The video feed paused, blanked out, and then replayed a clip that showed Cal's RVF struggling with the soldier who had grabbed the two miclones.

"There."

"What?" the host asked.

"That's me; I'm in that Valkyrie."

"Can you prove it's you in there?"

"Not…" Cal paused and grunted under his breath. "Not right at this moment."

"See? You should learn that you can't say whatever you want without being able to back it up with sources and facts. That's what real journalists and political pundits do."

Needing to save face, Cal had to act quickly. "Look, I have the cockpit footage saved on a memory stick at home. I could have it uploaded onto the internet an hour after the show's over. Then the whole colony will see that you guys are just trying to fan the flames of discontent with your so-called 'journalism'."

"That's not true," the host interjected, "I can assure you and all of our viewers that we are using mostly uncut and unedited footage."

"'Mostly', huh?"

"We use the footage that is given to us by the military and we have to pick and choose that which will show the most information in the least amount of time. If the government wants to censor their footage, then you're pointing that finger at the wrong person, buddy."

By now, Cal knew something was up. Part of his debriefing included submitting the cockpit footage, but he knew that the military had no reason to hold back any of the incriminating evidence. Cathy even said that he was allowed to keep a copy for himself, as if she knew that he was going to need it for some ultimate purpose. Her skills of foresight almost bordered on true clairvoyance. All he had to do now was just double-down.

"You, and everyone watching will get a true glimpse of the sad state of journalistic integrity by tomorrow morning."

Everett recomposed himself and scoffed at the threat. "Just empty words. The people trust us because we bring them the news that they need to hear."

The soft glow of Cal's cell phone lit his face as he walked towards the parking garage adjacent to the news studio. He wore his new Skull Squadron jacket and a backpack hung from one strap over his shoulder. His attention was fixed upon his cell, which displayed a text message from Klan.

"Saw you on the TV! You owe me an explanation when I get back, soldier! ;)" The winking smiley at the end of the text aptly expressed her playful demeanor.

Meanwhile, a vehicle turned the corner behind Cal and suspiciously turned off its headlights as it crept up on him. He was aware of the vehicle approaching and stepped off to the side of the driveway to let it pass. Instead of passing by, it stopped next to him and the sliding door of a cargo van was thrown open. He only saw a flash, coinciding with the impact of a hard object on the back of his head. Three men dragged his disoriented body into the van as the vehicle peeled out towards the parking garage exit.

Sound and sight were impaired for what seemed like an eternity. Cal struggled to keep himself from passing out entirely. All he could hear were the muffled voices of his captors and the only sight was the silhouette of two men in the front seats against the glow of the van's instrument panel cluster and the occasional passing street lamp outside. Suddenly, he felt his sinuses burning.

Cal jumped up, gasping for air; his heart raced, eyes darted in all directions as his mind tried to make sense of his surroundings. One of the captors put the lid back onto the smelling salts that had just been administered. He could see that he was surrounded by four to five men, all wearing masks. Two of the men picked up Cal by the shoulders and sat him up on the bench seating against the wall of the van. One of the men had Cal's tablet and phone in his hands. His backpack was certainly lying around somewhere in the back.

"You don't know what kind of mess you're getting yourself into", the man said with a slightly muffled voice from behind his mask, "You're screwing with powers that go well beyond you or anyone you know." From what Cal could see, the man had already used a device to hack through the initial unlock password and was trying to access his files.

"What? No no no NO… Damn!" the man exclaimed as the screen color turned bright red for a moment and then flickered out. The tablet had other security measures in place outside of a simple password. He then tossed the tablet aside like a piece of trash.

"Either you are really good with electronics and place a lot of importance on your personal security, or you have friends in really high places. This is military-grade hardware security. You have some very sophisticated systems in place for just some grunt NUNS pilot."

"He's a pilot?" One of the other men asked, inspecting Cal's jacket and uniform. "Pfft… probably not a very good one," he scoffed. "Spacy pilots are good target practice. They can't fly for shit in an atmosphere."

"I'll take you on any time, any place," Cal sputtered. It was noticeably hard for him to talk, but he couldn't let something like that go unanswered. He flashed a cocky smirk, then felt the sudden impact of a fist into his abdomen. For a few seconds, Cal was sure that he was not going to get to breathe ever again. Right when he thought he was going to pass out from asphyxiation, the air suddenly came rushing back into his lungs again.

"We do the talking, you do the listening. Got it?"

Cal could only gasp for air; the lesson was well-received.

The man sitting across from Cal hooked up a device to the confiscated cell phone. Only a moment passed and an affirmative set of beeps were emitted.

"Got it! I now have all of the information off of your phone, your contacts, pictures, addresses..." The man stood up and leaned into Cal's face; the mask still obscuring his identity. "If you post that video to the public, we're going to make you disappear. If that's not incentive enough for you, we will also go after the people you know and make them disappear. We have their information, thanks to this," he said as he dangled the cell phone in front.

Cal reeled back a bit with a disgusted look on his face. "Ugh. Use that information to find my dentist; he might be able to help you with that halitosis."

The man dropped the cell phone onto the floor and smashed it with his foot. One of the other men then landed a cross square onto Cal's left orbital bones.

Cal reeled in pain for a moment and then lunged towards the man in front of him, fighting his restraints. "I just bought that phone, asshole!"

The next punch connected him on the jaw. He instantly noticed the metallic taste of his own blood flooding into his mouth.

"Looks like you may need the dental work, now," one of the captors remarked with a laugh.

Cal spat out some of the blood onto the man's shoes in front of him. His own antagonistic nature continued to provoke physical harm, but it didn't do anything to break his spirit.

The man in front of him drew a pistol from a side holster and wound up to strike Cal with the butt of the gun just as the driver interrupted their warm, cozy moment together.

"We're being followed!"

The van suddenly lurched to the side as the driver made a suicidal turn to evade his pursuers. The man in front of Cal revealed himself as the ringleader when he suddenly began barking orders to the other men in the van.

"Head for the extraction point! Ditch the cargo to distract them!"

Cal suddenly found himself being thrown out of the van. Fortune seemed to be on his side, however, as his fall was partially broken by some garbage on the side of an alleyway. But his head came to a stop against the hard metallic side of a dumpster, another flash of light preceded another blackout. The sounds of screeching tires in the distance began to drown out into a slight hum in his ears just as his vision blurred out.

Cal's eyes popped open just as he gasped for air. The familiarity of his room felt soothing. Sunlight shone through the window next to his bed and his covers felt more comfortable than he could remember.

"Was it a dream?" he thought to himself, trying to recollect his experiences from the previous day. The sudden sensation of agonizing pain on the side of his face quickly jogged his memory. He carefully touched the bruises with his fingertips, occasionally recoiling from the shock.

Things didn't look as bad in the mirror. The bruises looked like they had been treated; only a slight tinge of purple remained. However, the familiar yellowing under the skin was still fairly visible. Cal took extra care when washing off his face, trying to put the events of the previous night behind him. From there, he didn't hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. He only heard the sound of someone walking up the stairs as he gently dabbed his face dry.

"You had a hell of a night," an unexpected female voice said to him.

Cal turned to the bathroom door as he lowered the damp towel from his face. Cathy stood there with a small knapsack tucked under her arm. Her uniform and smile both seemed to shine a bright white glow.

"We found you taking a nap in a pile of garbage. That will make for quite a story, huh?"

Cal could only groan in response as he walked past her into his room, purposely avoiding eye contact with her.

"How did you know where I was?"

"I had someone keeping an eye on you, of course. I can't trust you to keep yourself out of trouble anymore." Her smarmy answer somehow made his bruises hurt a bit more. "You'll notice we treated you a bit, but the rest of that is up to you," she remarked in reference to the remaining evidence on the side of his face, "I came to replace your lost merchandise." She produced a new tablet and cell phone from the knapsack and placed it on the small desk next to Cal's bed as he rummaged through the dresser to find a shirt. "Did you do as I asked? You backed up everything, right?"

"Yes, yes…" Cal rolled his eyes. He reached up and tapped on a portable storage device sitting on the dresser to finish answering her question.

"I trust the security measures on the tablet worked."

Cal nodded. "They got to my phone, though."

"Oh, don't worry too much about that. I had my guy encrypt the data on it, too."

He couldn't help but smile. After all of that ruckus the night before, the bad guys didn't get a thing out of it… except for a few free punches. Cal promised himself that he would somehow return the favor soon.

"Sorry that you got roughed up," Cathy said with sincerity, "I hoped that things wouldn't escalate that much." She laughed to herself for a moment, "You were more effective than I thought you'd be. I think you pushed the right buttons last night. I just need you to lie low for a while. I'll contact you when I have something else, if you're still interested."

Cal nodded affirmatively as he began fiddling with his new cell phone.

"Oh, and one more thing," Cathy said as she stopped short of the doorway and looked back at him, "I wouldn't post that video just yet. I don't think it's worth the risk right now. I don't have the necessary resources in place at the moment. I can't be there to keep you out of trouble all of the time, you know."

He didn't like it, but Cal begrudgingly agreed. For now, he was going to have to trust Cathy; she certainly had earned it up to that point. He had one nagging question burning a hole in the back of his head, though.

"Cathy." He waited for her to turn around again. "We did submit my video, right? Is it one of ours that's obstructing the truth?"

She sighed as she pieced together a response in her mind. "I don't know exactly who yet, but if it is internal, they have to be working together with someone in the private sector. I am working on finding that out. For now, I'll keep you updated on a need-to-know basis."

The events of the previous day led to an increase in base security at the Zentradi starport. Scores of protestors were spread out along the fences near the base's main entrance. Many of the signs they were holding had messages condemning the military for "harboring murderers" within the confines of the starport. While the real truth was known only by those individuals who were directly involved in the incident from the previous day, it seemed as though the general populous was complacent with the story that was being told to them by the media. Everyone was more concerned about delivering justice, rather than investigating the case and evaluating the evidence.

The mechanical footsteps of an approaching grey and white RVF battroid were almost drowned out by the voices of the discontent coming from the other side of the enormous fence. The mecha stopped just short of the fence, its gunpod safely pointed towards the ground.

Inside of the cockpit, only the gentle hum of the RVF's engines could be heard. However, the monitors clearly displayed the raucous demonstration going on outside. Cal took the time to read a few of the protestors' signs and let out an exasperated sigh. All he could do from his seat was shake his head. His thoughts turned to the memory of his appearance on the talk show last night and how he had the brief ability to let his voice be heard. It's a power that almost everybody wishes they had: to be able to change the world around them. He knew that being a pilot afforded him the ability to protect the colony, but he was merely one of thousands of pilots; one of a million soldiers in all of the branches of the colony's military. Somehow, it just didn't seem like it was enough now.

Satisfied with the state of security at that part of the base, the battroid continued its patrol along the base border.

In contrast, the harbor on the other side of the city remained relatively undisturbed. The Macross Quarter was peacefully moored in the water while normal operations took place on her decks. About twenty Valkyries were methodically arranged in rows upon the flight deck, indicating that the ship was under standard alert; ready to jump into action, should the need for a deployment arise. After all, she was due to leave for space within the next few days. Aircraft launches and landings had subsided for the time being, however, as the deck crews were performing a visual inspection on the flight deck. Each member, shoulder-to-shoulder, slowly walked the entire length of the catapults, looking for pieces of debris or any surface abnormalities.

Somewhere behind the rows of Valkyries, Cal sat on the edge of the deck with his legs hanging over the water below and a soda can in his hand. A pizza box laid next to him with the lid haphazardly closed. The cool, seaborne breeze was really helping to dry out his wet, matted hair. Being stuck in a cockpit for several hours with a helmet on will do quite a number on your hairdo. It was the clearest of days and the entire city could be seen across the bay. A voice startled Cal out of his thoughts.

"I thought I might find you out here."

Jen had already started to make herself comfortable next to Cal, using the guardrails to guide herself down to the ground. Too cold for her usual uniform skirt, she sported slacks and a heavy coat that day. The ocean breeze kept her brown hair fluttering in the air, refusing to allow it to rest against her back once again.

"Just thought I'd take advantage of the lull in the deck activity," he remarked. Expecting her to take over the conversation as usual, he grabbed another slice of pizza from the box and took a couple of bites.

Jen's eyes immediately fixated on the bruise on the side of his face.

"Your eye, it—," she reached out to touch it, but Cal recoiled his head.

"Don't! I don't even want to talk about it."

"Have you been in a fight?!" she pressed.

Cal merely gave her a stare that indicated the seriousness of his response. Jen tried her best to put it out of her mind, but that bruise was practically glowing. She had to fight off her maternalistic nature and just let it be. They both fell silent, but Jen couldn't help but try to change the subject.

"I keep finding you in these pensive moods. Is there something bothering you again?"

Jen always seemed to show up when Cal needed someone to talk to. He always acted as if he didn't want or need her around, but there was a part of him that was glad that there was someone to bounce some thoughts off of. He also felt a bit uncomfortable when they were alone together. Commander Ortiz always gave him a bit of a death stare when they walked by each other in the halls of the ship. Not because he hated Cal, but probably because he knew of Cal's history with Jen. If only there was a way that he could convince the Commander that he was no threat, then maybe he wouldn't be so paranoid about being caught in a cliché, misunderstood situation with Jen.

"You ever feel as if you're not doing enough?"

She didn't speak, merely lifting an eyebrow as a response.

"I mean…" Cal laughed at his own vague question. "What we do here… This," he stated as he gestured his hand towards the rest of the ship, "Is it enough to ensure that the colony survives?"

"I know that we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for this ship… and the rest of the fleet, for that matter."

"Yeah. We can say that we protect this colony from outside threats, but what about threats from the inside?"

Jen tilted her head to the side a bit, as if she was curious to know more.

"Civil unrest," Cal simply stated. He suddenly wondered if Jen was in the know. "Have you been watching any news lately?"

"I occasionally tune in and hear things from time to time while listening to the radio, or whatever. And then Stephen tries to talk to me about current events, but he doesn't do a very good job of explaining anything. He usually ends up getting worked up about this or that…"

"Oh." Cal turned his head back out towards the harbor. "What does he tell you?" He had heard stories about Commander Ortiz's political orientation and social views. He'd been told that the Commander was very verbose about his beliefs.

"Well, I caught him kind of yelling at the TV last night and he was worked up about some kind of attack that happened at the Zentradi base."

Perfect. Exactly what was on Cal's mind. "Do you know what happened?"

"Well, some of the immigrant Zentradi went berserk and started attacking the miclones nearby."

"Why?"

At first, Jen looked at Cal as if he was stupid for asking. After all, he started this conversation. "Be-cause… I don't know. Maybe they got scared or were culture shocked."

"How does that make you feel?"

"You're starting to sound like a psychiatrist," she scoffed. Still, she answered, "I'm not sure yet. It's a bit scary being around macronized Zentradi, but having been around a few here on the ship, you kind of get used to it. You learn to trust that they're not going to accidentally step on you, or whatever."

They both laughed at the end of her response. "I'm glad you are smart enough to at least think with your head and not rely solely on your emotions," Cal said.

It was minor, but it was enough of a compliment to give her a bit of a boost. She may not be romantically pursuing Cal, but it felt good to hear that from him. All women love to be complimented on things other than their body. However, she quickly changed her demeanor back to one of concern.

"Why are you asking me all of this?"

Cal sighed and continued looking out over the bay. "People are so quick to rush to judgment. In their zeal, they overlook the possibility that what they've been told may not be factually accurate."

Jen could only shake her head. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

"What if you could change their minds in a heartbeat?" Cal continued, "To lead them to make the right decision?"

"If it was only that easy," Jen laughed.

"Yeah…" Cal offered her a slice from his pizza. She declined and decided to join him in silently gazing over the bay towards the city.

The sound of footsteps accompanied by the slight creaking of the wooden floors preceded the opening of the door to Cal's room. Inside was dark, but the hallway light illuminated part of the bedroom once the door swung open. Cal dropped his duffel bag onto the chair at the desk and immediately opened the nightstand drawer. He took out a small, metallic device and hooked the replacement tablet up to it with a cord.

Closing the door behind him, he chose not to turn on the bedroom lights. Instead, only the glow of the tablet lit his face as he sat at the edge of the bed, pondering. The tablet prompted him with a simple message: "Upload?"

Cathy's voice rang in his head, reminding him of her warning that morning. He had to consider the consequences of what he was about to do. Were those threats real? Did those masked men have enough information about him to pose a danger?

Then he thought about the challenge being laid out before him. To make such claims on live television and then not be able to back it up with real proof? He was no better than those basement-dwelling lowlifes who spent their days and nights on the internet debating the issues, making preposterous claims simply because those claims supported their opinions.

"Damn the consequences," he thought to himself as he confirmed the prompt. It was a mantra that he'd lived by thus far throughout his life. In many ways, it's gotten him to where he is now. However, it has also gotten him into a lot of trouble. Sometimes, old habits are hard to break.

The progress bar quickly filled up and changed to inform him of its completion. Cal turned off the tablet and flopped down on the bed. Maybe he could muster the energy to get his clothes off before he passed out.

Cathy had just sat down at her desk and could barely take a sip of her coffee before she was greeted with the first news of the morning: Cal's video had spilled out all over the internet. She was initially enraged somewhat, but her mind quickly turned towards the possibilities.

As if to answer her thoughts, the e-mail notification blipped on her computer's desktop. After quickly scanning through the text, she hurriedly put down her mug and picked up the phone.

"With my resources and operatives tied up, there's only one person I can count on to take care of this," She thought to herself as she scrolled through the numerous contacts in her virtual address book.

The ocean water sparkled in the morning sunlight, gently caressed by the cool breeze. With the enormous Island-1 barely visible in the background, only the sound of a distant roaring jet engine could be heard. Suddenly, the water's surface was broken by the emergence of an olive-green and yellow Queadlunn-Rhea. The power armor treaded water like a human swimmer as the head angled its view towards the sky. Red paint slowly drizzled off of the body of the craft and dissolved into the boisterous ocean water.

"How the hell did you do that?" Kaiel's voice crackled over the radio.

Up in the sky, a familiar grey and white RVF-25 cruised just under the cloud line. Cal's smirk could be clearly seen through the tinted visor on his helmet.

"You have much to learn, tiny Grasshopper."

"Tiny?" Kaiel was noticeably agitated. You never call a 10-meter-tall giant any synonym of small without consequences, a lesson that Cal never followed during his experiences with Klan. The Queadluun burst out of the water and immediately ascended to a higher altitude with newfound ambition. "I'm going to make you eat those words!"

"Come get some!" Cal taunted. He couldn't help but laugh at the situation; this is the environment in which he thrives. There was next to nothing that could match the thrill of a good dogfight.

"Guys," a flight controller's voice chimed on the radio, "We're just about done with this test flight. Let's get another set of data on the recorders and we – it - a day" The message was interrupted by some unexpected static on the frequency.

"El Dorado Tower, come again. You're breaking up."

While the control tower at the Bell-Casse airfield on Island-1 was several miles away, it was still well within communications range of the test flight area over the ocean. David Nguyen, chief engineer, rushed up behind the communications officer and put a hand on his shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"Something's interfering with our communications. It's most likely a jamming signal."

One of the flight control officers gazed out of the window with a pair of binoculars. "Someone else is up there with him."

"What?" David shot back up and checked the radar screen to his left. There was no return signal coming from the craft. "Are they using active stealth? What kind of birds do we have?"

The officer at the window strained to confirm what his eyes were seeing through the binoculars. "I… think they're 171s. Yeah, they are. There's an RVF with three VFs."

"That would explain the jamming. What the hell are they doing up there?!"

David didn't hesitate to pick up the phone to notify the military. However, it may be too late before any kind of action could be taken.

Back up in the air, Cal briefly considered the possibility that the guys back at the control tower weren't going to believe him since he'd played that trick before. Whenever he didn't want to return to base or perform a certain task, he'd play it off as if he didn't get the whole message. This time, he might be treated as the boy who cried "wolf".

"El Dorado?"

No response, only the sound of distorted static. He turned his attention towards the MFD in front of him to see if he could tweak the radio settings and clear up the interference. Then his eyes caught movement in the mirror to his left.

A quartet of VF-171EXs with NUN Air Force markings took position directly on his six. Their white color schemes made it difficult to see them against the clouds in the background, but the grey and red trim made it possible to see them.

"We tried to be very clear on what it was that we wanted you to do," a slightly-familiar voice sounded over the radio, "But you just think that you can do whatever you want without consequence."

At this point, Cal continued flying in a straight line as he tried to gauge their intent. His hands tightened on the throttle and stick and he straightened out his posture. The lead VF was centered on his overhead mirror, enabling him to see the machine gun port protective cover retract from the GU-14B stored in the VF-171EX's engine nacelle.

"Let's see how quickly a Spacy pilot dies in an atmosphere," the voice taunted, "Any of you guys want to bet on how long it takes?"

Cal was immediately reminded of the spat between him and one of the masked individuals in the van from two nights before. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the lead VF behind him. With his instinct kicking in like the crack of a whip, he stomped on the left rudder pedal and yanked left on the flight stick just at the same time that the lead VF opened fire on his Valkyrie.