Robotech Freedom Fighters
by Naia Zifu
Chapter Six: Welcome to Blue River
My wife was in an unusually good mood even she was at a loss to
explain. Sitting dangerously close to the campfire, she happily
strummed her acoustic guitar and sang Yellow Dancer songs, encouraging
others to join in if they knew the words.
"Do you believe in the causes you're fighting for?" she sang,
somehow making the song sound cheerful and optimistic. "You used to
believe yesterday. Now what can you say, now that you're so far from
home? You're out there on your own. . ."
"Lonely soldier boy," Raymond and Tracey chimed in, trying not
to be too off-key.
I sneaked away when no-one was looking, wishing to be alone
with nature for a while.
The moon was full and bright in the sky, making the fresh snow
glisten like diamonds. I threw myself onto it and made an angel, then
wondered why. I listened to the snow crunch beneath my boots as I
walked, and tried to get a persistent Hot Soy song out of my head.
Thanks to Nyankomago's T'sentrati lessons I was beginning to
understand some of the lyrics, and I wasn't liking them. Every one of
their songs was about death and violence. Why were there no T'sentrati
love songs?
I rested in the cold, wet snow again, gazing up at the stars
and daydreaming.
I'd heard the stars were getting farther apart as the universe
expanded, and eventually the constellations we know would cease to
exist. I wondered idly if that would happen in my lifetime, then if
I'd even _want_ to live that long. . .
"Whatever Nyankomago's on today," I said aloud, heaving a
sigh, "I think I could do with some about now."
So I got up and started back for the camp, humming that
infernal Hot Soy song and wishing it would go away. Nyankomago smiled
at me as I approached, and continued leading everyone in song.
I sat close to my wife, nervous about being so close to the
fire, but trying not to think about it. Her good mood was contagious;
I couldn't help singing along.
Invid? What were Invid? That night we knew of no such word.
Dawn crept up on us quietly, unnoticed until the sky was ablaze
with the pinks and purples of morning and the sun was a red ball on the
horizon. We hadn't slept at all.
Invid? What were Invid? They thought to remind us then, the
morning sun shining on their armour as they patrolled the peaks and
valley.
Sleepy warriors were shocked awake as they scrambled to their
mecha, ready to risk their lives again for the sake of their planet.
Missiles left trails of smoke as they sought out their targets,
dropping bits of Invid onto the pristine landscape. Larry, still
unused to fighting in Cyclone armour, took a swat with a claw before
Yasuharu blew the lobster's arm off and holed its armour repeatedly
with autocannon fire. Tracey was forced into battloid mode after her
Alpha's wing was damaged, but even so caught another in the belly as it
dove in for its attack. Raymond took some pretty bad gashes from one
agile, persistent Pincer before finally managing to hole it with plasma
cannons. Henry went for a ride on Lobster Airlines, his Cyclone
leaping onto the back of a Pincer so a nearby Shock Trooper would fire
upon it, jumping clear before it exploded, then taking care of the
Shock Trooper with a couple of well-placed missiles.
"They're getting better," Tracey observed once she was safely
back on the ground again, "you've got to give them that much."
"Yeah," Raymond agreed, "unfortunately for us."
Yasuharu frowned as he surveyed the damage to the mecha,
muttering harsh-sounding words in Japanese. Kimiyo handed little Taka
off to Nyankomago and was at her husband's side in an instant, asking
if there were anything she could do to help. It was easy to forget
she'd been quite the grease monkey herself before her pregnancy had
forced her to take some time off.
Larry spoke up, "Well, we can't stay here how, guys. Some-
body's bound to miss those lobsters and send more to see where they got
to, and I don't wanna be here when they arrive!"
"That goes double for me," Henry said. "So where are we headed
now?"
I was already poring over a map of the area, looking for any
signs of civilisation.
About a day's travel away, the map showed what seemed to be a
small city. We could probably stop there for a couple of days to give
Yasuharu and Kimiyo a chance to repair the damaged mecha, providing the
Invid hadn't gotten there first.
"Welcome to Blue River," read a sign posted at the edge of the
city, which, I was astonished to find, was intact and populated.
We concealed our mecha in a convenient stand of evergreens on
the outskirts of town before we entered in our conventionally-powered
ATVs.
Fatigued by the long drive and suffering from extreme sleep
deprivation, we all agreed it would be best to check into a motel right
away and get some rest. Of course, that was perfectly fine with
Nyankomago and me; being what we are, we naturally prefer to sleep
during the day. But come nighttime, we were all ready to get out there
and explore the city.
We had followed the sounds of music into a night-club called
"Graveyard Shift" at the centre of town. There was something about
that place. . .as I entered the building I felt a strange sensation, as
if the air inside were electrically charged. On stage was a pretty
good punk-rock band, the lead vocallist of which was a stunning
T'sentrati woman with unruly green hair, who wore a torn, dingy David
Bowie t-shirt and shredded jeans.
She was the only T'sentrati I'd seen in Blue River, and sang in
English for the benefit of the entirely human audience. Her voice was
clear and quiet, and against the steady pulsing beat of the music took
on a sort of hypnotic quality.
"Isn't this the most beautiful music you've ever heard?"
Nyankomago whispered, her dark eyes dancing.
Perhaps it was. Something about the woman's voice made me feel
so calm and content, or maybe it was just the song. . .
"I love you more dead than alive. There's a captivating
quality in your hollow eyes. Bones scrupulously cleaned and shining
white, make good company on these cold winter nights."
When the band stopped for a break, the vocallist came directly
to our table. Without asking, she took a chair from the next table and
sat backwards on it, near my wife and me.
"All right, who the hell are you and what are you doing in _my_
city?" she hissed.
Nyankomago and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"Don't play with me, micronians," the woman snapped, "you
think I don't know what you are? I _felt_ you the moment you came into
the building!"
©1997/2001 Naia Zifu, all rights reserved. Originally published in the
Backstabber Preservation Society publication "Sten Yar" Volume 2, Issue
7, July/Aug 1997. Slightly altered for electronic use. Robotech
and all borrowed elements thereof are trademarks of Harmony Gold, used
without permission. I'm not trying to infringe on anyone's copyrights
or trademarks, or profit from anyone else's ideas.
by Naia Zifu
Chapter Six: Welcome to Blue River
My wife was in an unusually good mood even she was at a loss to
explain. Sitting dangerously close to the campfire, she happily
strummed her acoustic guitar and sang Yellow Dancer songs, encouraging
others to join in if they knew the words.
"Do you believe in the causes you're fighting for?" she sang,
somehow making the song sound cheerful and optimistic. "You used to
believe yesterday. Now what can you say, now that you're so far from
home? You're out there on your own. . ."
"Lonely soldier boy," Raymond and Tracey chimed in, trying not
to be too off-key.
I sneaked away when no-one was looking, wishing to be alone
with nature for a while.
The moon was full and bright in the sky, making the fresh snow
glisten like diamonds. I threw myself onto it and made an angel, then
wondered why. I listened to the snow crunch beneath my boots as I
walked, and tried to get a persistent Hot Soy song out of my head.
Thanks to Nyankomago's T'sentrati lessons I was beginning to
understand some of the lyrics, and I wasn't liking them. Every one of
their songs was about death and violence. Why were there no T'sentrati
love songs?
I rested in the cold, wet snow again, gazing up at the stars
and daydreaming.
I'd heard the stars were getting farther apart as the universe
expanded, and eventually the constellations we know would cease to
exist. I wondered idly if that would happen in my lifetime, then if
I'd even _want_ to live that long. . .
"Whatever Nyankomago's on today," I said aloud, heaving a
sigh, "I think I could do with some about now."
So I got up and started back for the camp, humming that
infernal Hot Soy song and wishing it would go away. Nyankomago smiled
at me as I approached, and continued leading everyone in song.
I sat close to my wife, nervous about being so close to the
fire, but trying not to think about it. Her good mood was contagious;
I couldn't help singing along.
Invid? What were Invid? That night we knew of no such word.
Dawn crept up on us quietly, unnoticed until the sky was ablaze
with the pinks and purples of morning and the sun was a red ball on the
horizon. We hadn't slept at all.
Invid? What were Invid? They thought to remind us then, the
morning sun shining on their armour as they patrolled the peaks and
valley.
Sleepy warriors were shocked awake as they scrambled to their
mecha, ready to risk their lives again for the sake of their planet.
Missiles left trails of smoke as they sought out their targets,
dropping bits of Invid onto the pristine landscape. Larry, still
unused to fighting in Cyclone armour, took a swat with a claw before
Yasuharu blew the lobster's arm off and holed its armour repeatedly
with autocannon fire. Tracey was forced into battloid mode after her
Alpha's wing was damaged, but even so caught another in the belly as it
dove in for its attack. Raymond took some pretty bad gashes from one
agile, persistent Pincer before finally managing to hole it with plasma
cannons. Henry went for a ride on Lobster Airlines, his Cyclone
leaping onto the back of a Pincer so a nearby Shock Trooper would fire
upon it, jumping clear before it exploded, then taking care of the
Shock Trooper with a couple of well-placed missiles.
"They're getting better," Tracey observed once she was safely
back on the ground again, "you've got to give them that much."
"Yeah," Raymond agreed, "unfortunately for us."
Yasuharu frowned as he surveyed the damage to the mecha,
muttering harsh-sounding words in Japanese. Kimiyo handed little Taka
off to Nyankomago and was at her husband's side in an instant, asking
if there were anything she could do to help. It was easy to forget
she'd been quite the grease monkey herself before her pregnancy had
forced her to take some time off.
Larry spoke up, "Well, we can't stay here how, guys. Some-
body's bound to miss those lobsters and send more to see where they got
to, and I don't wanna be here when they arrive!"
"That goes double for me," Henry said. "So where are we headed
now?"
I was already poring over a map of the area, looking for any
signs of civilisation.
About a day's travel away, the map showed what seemed to be a
small city. We could probably stop there for a couple of days to give
Yasuharu and Kimiyo a chance to repair the damaged mecha, providing the
Invid hadn't gotten there first.
"Welcome to Blue River," read a sign posted at the edge of the
city, which, I was astonished to find, was intact and populated.
We concealed our mecha in a convenient stand of evergreens on
the outskirts of town before we entered in our conventionally-powered
ATVs.
Fatigued by the long drive and suffering from extreme sleep
deprivation, we all agreed it would be best to check into a motel right
away and get some rest. Of course, that was perfectly fine with
Nyankomago and me; being what we are, we naturally prefer to sleep
during the day. But come nighttime, we were all ready to get out there
and explore the city.
We had followed the sounds of music into a night-club called
"Graveyard Shift" at the centre of town. There was something about
that place. . .as I entered the building I felt a strange sensation, as
if the air inside were electrically charged. On stage was a pretty
good punk-rock band, the lead vocallist of which was a stunning
T'sentrati woman with unruly green hair, who wore a torn, dingy David
Bowie t-shirt and shredded jeans.
She was the only T'sentrati I'd seen in Blue River, and sang in
English for the benefit of the entirely human audience. Her voice was
clear and quiet, and against the steady pulsing beat of the music took
on a sort of hypnotic quality.
"Isn't this the most beautiful music you've ever heard?"
Nyankomago whispered, her dark eyes dancing.
Perhaps it was. Something about the woman's voice made me feel
so calm and content, or maybe it was just the song. . .
"I love you more dead than alive. There's a captivating
quality in your hollow eyes. Bones scrupulously cleaned and shining
white, make good company on these cold winter nights."
When the band stopped for a break, the vocallist came directly
to our table. Without asking, she took a chair from the next table and
sat backwards on it, near my wife and me.
"All right, who the hell are you and what are you doing in _my_
city?" she hissed.
Nyankomago and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"Don't play with me, micronians," the woman snapped, "you
think I don't know what you are? I _felt_ you the moment you came into
the building!"
©1997/2001 Naia Zifu, all rights reserved. Originally published in the
Backstabber Preservation Society publication "Sten Yar" Volume 2, Issue
7, July/Aug 1997. Slightly altered for electronic use. Robotech
and all borrowed elements thereof are trademarks of Harmony Gold, used
without permission. I'm not trying to infringe on anyone's copyrights
or trademarks, or profit from anyone else's ideas.