Original Story and Writing By Nathan Savio
Transcribed by Nikolas Oscar Bell
Macross: Murder is Always Upsetting
I wasn't exactly thrilled to be back in uniform. The last time I had worn one, I was a pilot without a squadron. That had inspired me to get the hell out of the job of flying Valkyries. Leave it to a younger generation, one with quicker reflexes.
Of course, I couldn't leave U.N. Spacy; I didn't have it in me to go out on my own. Instead, I had transferred to the office of Special Investigations. The long and short of it was that I handled criminal matters inside UN Spacy, things we didn't want touched by civilians. I learned the ropes, and I did my job well. With any luck I would earn a few medals and retire a colonel.
That little dream of mine was interrupted rather rudely by a summons to General Hayek's office. So there I was, sitting in the waiting room of a man who ran the fifth mobile battle fleet. I wasn't nervous; I had met the man before. But I was annoyed; it didn't seem necessary to have me come in full uniform. Maybe the General just didn't want his people to know that he had brought in a spook.
"General Hayek will see you now. Commander Decker," came the nasally voice of his secretary, a civilian contract worker. She wasn't much to look at, but then again I was never a fan of human-Zentradi crossbreeds. I wasn't even quite sure how it was possible.
I smiled to the girl, which seemed appropriate, then stood up and entered the General's office. We observed the usual military ceremonies, and then got down to business. The General leaned back in his seat and paused for a moment, giving me a chance to take in his office. It was perfectly military, crisp and as clean as a new ensign. I hated it.
"Do you know why you're here, commander?" The general asked, unnecessarily. Not one for standing on ceremonies, I replied, "No sir, and you know very well that I don't. I got a message from my commander that there was a situation here. You tell me what it is, and I'll see what can be done."
"Watch your tongue commander, the UN Spacy doesn't take well to insubordination."
I grinned in a brotherly fashion, "I'm sure that would matter if I were your subordinate, sir. But I'm not. I'm on detached duty, answerable only to UN Spacy High Command. Roy Fokker could comeback from the dead and issue an order to me, and I wouldn't have to follow it. Now, what's the problem?"
The general grunted, shifted in his seat a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened.
"There's been an incident," he started, rather vacuously, as of course there had been an incident. He clarified momentarily. "A Valkyrie was destroyed during a recent skirmish with Rogue Zentradi."
"It happens," I shrugged.
The general glared at me, then explained, "It wasn't shot down. A mechanical error destroyed it. When he attempted to switch to battleoid mode, his ship ripped apart. The error in the servos was rather glaring, but the techs have no record of that part malfunctioning."
"So sabotage. Simple enough," I stated.
"Not so simple. The 5th fleet is in the middle of a huge ceremony, as you know. An idol singer, Terra, has been brought in to entertain the troops. The place is in a fervor. But that's not the problem."
I assumed he would tell me exactly what the problem was, so I refrained from commenting. I wanted to keep this as quick and painless as possible. The General gratified me after collecting his thoughts.
"The idol singer was the pilot's girlfriend. We can't let her know that his death wasn't an accident, or else it would upset her more than she already is. And if she's upset, my troops will be upset."
I chuckled at that one, and then asked, "So my job is to keep everything quiet and solve things without upsetting everyone."
"Precisely."
I winked at him and got up, "Only one problem general; Murder is always upsetting."
I exited without observing the proper ceremonies. The general was ceremonious enough for the both of us.
Luckily, the investigation could be confined to the Admiral's flagship. The squadron had been based there, the idol was staying there, and the techs who had tended to the Valkyrie were based there. Nice and clean, of course.
I didn't start with the techs, because that's where I was supposed to start. I didn't start with the pilots because they were in another system ridding the galaxy of Zentradi scum, and wouldn't be back for at least another hour. I decided I'd go for the one person who might actually know something, but who I wasn't supposed to upset. That would be just loads of fun, but it had to be done.
My cover was apparently that of a fleet commander who was trying to decide who would receive the pilot's backpay. It wasn't the most creative of course, and it meant I'd have to keep wearing a uniform, but I would survive. That was just more incentive to wrap things up quickly.
I knocked on the door to the idol's quarters, and put on my best solemn expression. It seemed like the right thing to do. But when the door opened, I was greeted by a girl who seemed as mournful as an old earth Mardi Gras festival.
"Terra Lasinki?" I asked carefully, raising my brows. My wife tells me I look intelligent when I do that; I don't know about that, but it usually seems like the right thing to do when I end up in less then ordinary situations.
"Oh yes," she replied, her voice sparkling like a fresh brook in the morning.
"The General told me to expect you. Really, I don't know why: I want all of John's pay to go to his family."
"Of course," I smiled, keeping with e consolotation angle while I took her in, analyzed her, "I just need to clarify some things, about his death."
If I had been twenty years younger, Terra would have been just the right girl for me. I had a feeling, though, that she would have been just the right girl for every man alive. Her Joh had just been exceptionally fortunate. Right up until the moment his ship exploded.
She let me into her quarters, and we took a seat on one of the couches. As soon as we had settled in, she asked, "Why would you want to investigate John's death?"
"Just routine, ma'am." I replied.
She nodded bravely. I decided to go on. "Did Lieutenat Terryson ever write you any letters, or keep a diary, ma'am?"
She looked puzzled, "Yes, of course he did... but I couldn't possibly see how that could help you...."
"Would you mind letting me see them?" I asked. Sometimes the brash approach is the best approach.
"Certainly," she almost whispered. Her cheery exterior was starting to fade. I would have to move quickly if I didn't want to deal with a bawling female.
The letters were all the quick jottings of a fighter pilot who was both in a hurry and in love. Short bits, each filled with emotion. It was pretty horribly written love prose, but that was to be expected.
"Where's his diary?" I questioned, paging through the notes.
"He kept it in his locker, in the pilot's prep area. He would always write in it, and let me see what his thoughts were whenever he was here... he had a way of expressing himself..." A tear was beginning to trace down her cheek. It was time to wrap things up.
"I'll go check on that, then, ma'am. Thanks for the help. Should I have his things sent to you or his parents?"
"His parents... I don't need his things to remember him."
I thanked her and left the room, heading down to the pilots' area. Something she had said had interested me just enough to care a little about this case.
The pilots' locker room was exactly as I remembered mine. Messy, smelly and chaotic even in the absence of its inhabitants. I made a bee line for the lieutenants locker and keyed my security override code. As expected, the usual remnants of a pilots life were there: I had become accustomed to sending those things back to loved ones in crates after my squadrons little disaster.
But no diary. Or writing of any type. No notes, no mission outlines, no unfinished love letters. Everything was gone. It was something of a curiosity... why would anyone care about what a pilot had written in his diary?
I hoped it wasn't anything as dramatic as the killers name. That would be too clichéd, even for me, and I admire clichés.
When the pilots returned, I went through the usual twenty questions routine. It was pretty obvious that they knew who I really was, but we all kept up the charade for appearances sake.
It was also pretty obvious who they thought the killer was. Lieutenant Hardaway was particularly vehement. "You seen the techs yet." He asked, almost as if he were accusing me of being in league with them.
"No, I haven't had the chance yet," I replied pleasantly trying to keep the brotherhood of man intact.
"Chief Kara Signosa. She hated him. There was no one in the world who hated John more than Signosa."
"Doesn't that seem a little obvious, then?" I asked, grinning slightly.
Hardaway looked at me like I was insane. "She's half-Zentraedi!" he spat, as if that explained everything.
When I made it clear, through a pleading look in my eyes, that that didn't quite explain everything, Hardaway clarified. "Those Zentraedi don't ever do anything subtle. It's not in their nature. Besides, she was in a huge fight with the lieutenant before he took off. Something about his maintenance of his fighter. This was probably irony or something."
I thanked Hardaway for his helpful suggestion, and then headed off to the techs' lounge. The way things were shaping up, I could have this wrapped up in another day.
When I entered the lounge, it was obvious that the wings I still wore on my uniform would be less than welcome here. Still, I had to talk to Signosa, and it was pretty clear who was the brooding young woman at a corner table was. The greenish darkish skin might have given it away, but that's why I was a detective. To notice little details like that. It would have taken an ordinary man more than a minute to come to the same conclusion.
"Chief Signosa?" I inquired politely.
"You that investigator I heard about?" she asked abrasively. She held out her hands in mock surrender, "Cuff me, I'm a danger to society."
"Nonsense!" I replied, smiling sweetly, "It'll be at least a year before we kick you up for being needlessly sarcastic. You get a certain number of strikes before it becomes an official crime."
"Obviously you haven't hit your limit yet," she observed.
"I do my best," I admitted, then continued, "I have only one question to ask of you, Ms. Signosa."
"And that would be?" she prompted impatiently.
"Did the Lieutenant ever write anything on his fighter?"
"Are you clowning?"
"Maybe, but humor me."
"Alright, yeah, and I bitched him out about it. We weren't on the best of terms, and I didn't appreciate the anti-Zentraedi sentiment expressed on his fighter."
I chuckled and asked, "You salvage any portion with writing on it?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh, just an urge to see some ant-Zentraedi slogans. You people make me extremely uncomfortable."
She rolled her eyes, "Right. Come on, Mr. Detective."
'We prefer the term investigator."
Sure enough, there were pieces of the Valkyrie scatter all over the maintenance bay. But not one of them had a scrap of the late Lieutenants penmanship.
Signosa looked frustrated, which is disconcerting in a woman who stands a foot taller than you.
"I swear we had a piece with some of his bullshit on it..." she growled. It was a true to life growl, as close to a lion as you can get without getting one of the cats. I was very impressed by the range of Zentraedi vocal chords.
"No problem chief." I patted her shoulder, which probably wasn't the best of ideas in her current mood.
"And why is that, commander?" she asked harshly.
"Because I know where it is. I just enjoy bugging half-Zentraedi techs. I'll see you in a while," I tossed a wave out and jogged to my quarters.
Once I was there, I placed an extremely long distance call to Earth, to see if my curiosity could be satisfied on a certain matter. Another OSI agent who is stationed on that particular planet received the call, and quickly patched in a couple quick orders. I'd just have to wait a day. My estimate had been perfect.
I then took a walk over to the Generals office and rushed past the secretary. The General looked up from whatever work he might have been doing and barked, "What do you want?"
"Have Lieutenant Hardaway, Chief Signosa and Terra Lasinski in your office at 2000 tomorrow. The murder has been solved, and as promised, I was as upsetting as possible," I declared, then dodged back out before I could receive any imprecations.
I then made a quick stop by Terra's room to pick up a letter or two, just for the sake of it. She protested a bit, but soon gave in. Damsels in distress are always remarkably pliable.
The next day I was seated next to the General in front of three less than excited looking UNSpacy crewmembers.
"Well, I'll wrap this up quickly," I proclaimed, "Terra, you might not want to date a murderer. They're pretty ornery."
Terra's eyes went wide.
I asked, "Did you think that John's accident was just luck, after it cleared away all those sticky emotional relationship problems you didn't want to deal with?"
The General felt like interrupting but a look I shot him quelched that feeling.
"These letters from John don't match his handwriting," I explained, "And I'm pretty sure that a little research will reveal they match Lieutenant Hardaway's. You want to demonstrate, Lieutenant?" I asked. Hardaway just glared and remained silent.
I turned to Spinosa, "A little bit of checking should reveal that Hardaway has your missing salvage stashed in his room. He didn't have enough time to ger rid of it."
She grinned slight, but also kept silent; she knew when not to talk. Terra's eyes were still wide, but she had begun talking to Hardaway.
"Lance, How could you? I would have dumped John, I swear. You didn't have to kill him!"
Lance Hardaway remained inedimplacable. I smiled to the General, "Just call in the MPs to wrap things up. I'm sorry I upset your idol."
The General still looked somewhat confused. "But....how?" he stuttered.
"The Handwriting's only part of the case that interested me. Simple enough to hide, if no one is looking hard enough."
The MPs entered and were standing behind Hardaway. They recognized the look of a man who knows he's destined for the gallows, or whatever the UNSpacey is using these days. I tossed a wink to Spinosa and walked out.
I could have done it without causing emotional stress to the idol singer, but I don't like orders. It was that simple. Maybe UNSpacey wasn't the ideal choice for a guy like me, but hey, what are you gonna do?
Transcribed by Nikolas Oscar Bell
Macross: Murder is Always Upsetting
I wasn't exactly thrilled to be back in uniform. The last time I had worn one, I was a pilot without a squadron. That had inspired me to get the hell out of the job of flying Valkyries. Leave it to a younger generation, one with quicker reflexes.
Of course, I couldn't leave U.N. Spacy; I didn't have it in me to go out on my own. Instead, I had transferred to the office of Special Investigations. The long and short of it was that I handled criminal matters inside UN Spacy, things we didn't want touched by civilians. I learned the ropes, and I did my job well. With any luck I would earn a few medals and retire a colonel.
That little dream of mine was interrupted rather rudely by a summons to General Hayek's office. So there I was, sitting in the waiting room of a man who ran the fifth mobile battle fleet. I wasn't nervous; I had met the man before. But I was annoyed; it didn't seem necessary to have me come in full uniform. Maybe the General just didn't want his people to know that he had brought in a spook.
"General Hayek will see you now. Commander Decker," came the nasally voice of his secretary, a civilian contract worker. She wasn't much to look at, but then again I was never a fan of human-Zentradi crossbreeds. I wasn't even quite sure how it was possible.
I smiled to the girl, which seemed appropriate, then stood up and entered the General's office. We observed the usual military ceremonies, and then got down to business. The General leaned back in his seat and paused for a moment, giving me a chance to take in his office. It was perfectly military, crisp and as clean as a new ensign. I hated it.
"Do you know why you're here, commander?" The general asked, unnecessarily. Not one for standing on ceremonies, I replied, "No sir, and you know very well that I don't. I got a message from my commander that there was a situation here. You tell me what it is, and I'll see what can be done."
"Watch your tongue commander, the UN Spacy doesn't take well to insubordination."
I grinned in a brotherly fashion, "I'm sure that would matter if I were your subordinate, sir. But I'm not. I'm on detached duty, answerable only to UN Spacy High Command. Roy Fokker could comeback from the dead and issue an order to me, and I wouldn't have to follow it. Now, what's the problem?"
The general grunted, shifted in his seat a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened.
"There's been an incident," he started, rather vacuously, as of course there had been an incident. He clarified momentarily. "A Valkyrie was destroyed during a recent skirmish with Rogue Zentradi."
"It happens," I shrugged.
The general glared at me, then explained, "It wasn't shot down. A mechanical error destroyed it. When he attempted to switch to battleoid mode, his ship ripped apart. The error in the servos was rather glaring, but the techs have no record of that part malfunctioning."
"So sabotage. Simple enough," I stated.
"Not so simple. The 5th fleet is in the middle of a huge ceremony, as you know. An idol singer, Terra, has been brought in to entertain the troops. The place is in a fervor. But that's not the problem."
I assumed he would tell me exactly what the problem was, so I refrained from commenting. I wanted to keep this as quick and painless as possible. The General gratified me after collecting his thoughts.
"The idol singer was the pilot's girlfriend. We can't let her know that his death wasn't an accident, or else it would upset her more than she already is. And if she's upset, my troops will be upset."
I chuckled at that one, and then asked, "So my job is to keep everything quiet and solve things without upsetting everyone."
"Precisely."
I winked at him and got up, "Only one problem general; Murder is always upsetting."
I exited without observing the proper ceremonies. The general was ceremonious enough for the both of us.
Luckily, the investigation could be confined to the Admiral's flagship. The squadron had been based there, the idol was staying there, and the techs who had tended to the Valkyrie were based there. Nice and clean, of course.
I didn't start with the techs, because that's where I was supposed to start. I didn't start with the pilots because they were in another system ridding the galaxy of Zentradi scum, and wouldn't be back for at least another hour. I decided I'd go for the one person who might actually know something, but who I wasn't supposed to upset. That would be just loads of fun, but it had to be done.
My cover was apparently that of a fleet commander who was trying to decide who would receive the pilot's backpay. It wasn't the most creative of course, and it meant I'd have to keep wearing a uniform, but I would survive. That was just more incentive to wrap things up quickly.
I knocked on the door to the idol's quarters, and put on my best solemn expression. It seemed like the right thing to do. But when the door opened, I was greeted by a girl who seemed as mournful as an old earth Mardi Gras festival.
"Terra Lasinki?" I asked carefully, raising my brows. My wife tells me I look intelligent when I do that; I don't know about that, but it usually seems like the right thing to do when I end up in less then ordinary situations.
"Oh yes," she replied, her voice sparkling like a fresh brook in the morning.
"The General told me to expect you. Really, I don't know why: I want all of John's pay to go to his family."
"Of course," I smiled, keeping with e consolotation angle while I took her in, analyzed her, "I just need to clarify some things, about his death."
If I had been twenty years younger, Terra would have been just the right girl for me. I had a feeling, though, that she would have been just the right girl for every man alive. Her Joh had just been exceptionally fortunate. Right up until the moment his ship exploded.
She let me into her quarters, and we took a seat on one of the couches. As soon as we had settled in, she asked, "Why would you want to investigate John's death?"
"Just routine, ma'am." I replied.
She nodded bravely. I decided to go on. "Did Lieutenat Terryson ever write you any letters, or keep a diary, ma'am?"
She looked puzzled, "Yes, of course he did... but I couldn't possibly see how that could help you...."
"Would you mind letting me see them?" I asked. Sometimes the brash approach is the best approach.
"Certainly," she almost whispered. Her cheery exterior was starting to fade. I would have to move quickly if I didn't want to deal with a bawling female.
The letters were all the quick jottings of a fighter pilot who was both in a hurry and in love. Short bits, each filled with emotion. It was pretty horribly written love prose, but that was to be expected.
"Where's his diary?" I questioned, paging through the notes.
"He kept it in his locker, in the pilot's prep area. He would always write in it, and let me see what his thoughts were whenever he was here... he had a way of expressing himself..." A tear was beginning to trace down her cheek. It was time to wrap things up.
"I'll go check on that, then, ma'am. Thanks for the help. Should I have his things sent to you or his parents?"
"His parents... I don't need his things to remember him."
I thanked her and left the room, heading down to the pilots' area. Something she had said had interested me just enough to care a little about this case.
The pilots' locker room was exactly as I remembered mine. Messy, smelly and chaotic even in the absence of its inhabitants. I made a bee line for the lieutenants locker and keyed my security override code. As expected, the usual remnants of a pilots life were there: I had become accustomed to sending those things back to loved ones in crates after my squadrons little disaster.
But no diary. Or writing of any type. No notes, no mission outlines, no unfinished love letters. Everything was gone. It was something of a curiosity... why would anyone care about what a pilot had written in his diary?
I hoped it wasn't anything as dramatic as the killers name. That would be too clichéd, even for me, and I admire clichés.
When the pilots returned, I went through the usual twenty questions routine. It was pretty obvious that they knew who I really was, but we all kept up the charade for appearances sake.
It was also pretty obvious who they thought the killer was. Lieutenant Hardaway was particularly vehement. "You seen the techs yet." He asked, almost as if he were accusing me of being in league with them.
"No, I haven't had the chance yet," I replied pleasantly trying to keep the brotherhood of man intact.
"Chief Kara Signosa. She hated him. There was no one in the world who hated John more than Signosa."
"Doesn't that seem a little obvious, then?" I asked, grinning slightly.
Hardaway looked at me like I was insane. "She's half-Zentraedi!" he spat, as if that explained everything.
When I made it clear, through a pleading look in my eyes, that that didn't quite explain everything, Hardaway clarified. "Those Zentraedi don't ever do anything subtle. It's not in their nature. Besides, she was in a huge fight with the lieutenant before he took off. Something about his maintenance of his fighter. This was probably irony or something."
I thanked Hardaway for his helpful suggestion, and then headed off to the techs' lounge. The way things were shaping up, I could have this wrapped up in another day.
When I entered the lounge, it was obvious that the wings I still wore on my uniform would be less than welcome here. Still, I had to talk to Signosa, and it was pretty clear who was the brooding young woman at a corner table was. The greenish darkish skin might have given it away, but that's why I was a detective. To notice little details like that. It would have taken an ordinary man more than a minute to come to the same conclusion.
"Chief Signosa?" I inquired politely.
"You that investigator I heard about?" she asked abrasively. She held out her hands in mock surrender, "Cuff me, I'm a danger to society."
"Nonsense!" I replied, smiling sweetly, "It'll be at least a year before we kick you up for being needlessly sarcastic. You get a certain number of strikes before it becomes an official crime."
"Obviously you haven't hit your limit yet," she observed.
"I do my best," I admitted, then continued, "I have only one question to ask of you, Ms. Signosa."
"And that would be?" she prompted impatiently.
"Did the Lieutenant ever write anything on his fighter?"
"Are you clowning?"
"Maybe, but humor me."
"Alright, yeah, and I bitched him out about it. We weren't on the best of terms, and I didn't appreciate the anti-Zentraedi sentiment expressed on his fighter."
I chuckled and asked, "You salvage any portion with writing on it?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh, just an urge to see some ant-Zentraedi slogans. You people make me extremely uncomfortable."
She rolled her eyes, "Right. Come on, Mr. Detective."
'We prefer the term investigator."
Sure enough, there were pieces of the Valkyrie scatter all over the maintenance bay. But not one of them had a scrap of the late Lieutenants penmanship.
Signosa looked frustrated, which is disconcerting in a woman who stands a foot taller than you.
"I swear we had a piece with some of his bullshit on it..." she growled. It was a true to life growl, as close to a lion as you can get without getting one of the cats. I was very impressed by the range of Zentraedi vocal chords.
"No problem chief." I patted her shoulder, which probably wasn't the best of ideas in her current mood.
"And why is that, commander?" she asked harshly.
"Because I know where it is. I just enjoy bugging half-Zentraedi techs. I'll see you in a while," I tossed a wave out and jogged to my quarters.
Once I was there, I placed an extremely long distance call to Earth, to see if my curiosity could be satisfied on a certain matter. Another OSI agent who is stationed on that particular planet received the call, and quickly patched in a couple quick orders. I'd just have to wait a day. My estimate had been perfect.
I then took a walk over to the Generals office and rushed past the secretary. The General looked up from whatever work he might have been doing and barked, "What do you want?"
"Have Lieutenant Hardaway, Chief Signosa and Terra Lasinski in your office at 2000 tomorrow. The murder has been solved, and as promised, I was as upsetting as possible," I declared, then dodged back out before I could receive any imprecations.
I then made a quick stop by Terra's room to pick up a letter or two, just for the sake of it. She protested a bit, but soon gave in. Damsels in distress are always remarkably pliable.
The next day I was seated next to the General in front of three less than excited looking UNSpacy crewmembers.
"Well, I'll wrap this up quickly," I proclaimed, "Terra, you might not want to date a murderer. They're pretty ornery."
Terra's eyes went wide.
I asked, "Did you think that John's accident was just luck, after it cleared away all those sticky emotional relationship problems you didn't want to deal with?"
The General felt like interrupting but a look I shot him quelched that feeling.
"These letters from John don't match his handwriting," I explained, "And I'm pretty sure that a little research will reveal they match Lieutenant Hardaway's. You want to demonstrate, Lieutenant?" I asked. Hardaway just glared and remained silent.
I turned to Spinosa, "A little bit of checking should reveal that Hardaway has your missing salvage stashed in his room. He didn't have enough time to ger rid of it."
She grinned slight, but also kept silent; she knew when not to talk. Terra's eyes were still wide, but she had begun talking to Hardaway.
"Lance, How could you? I would have dumped John, I swear. You didn't have to kill him!"
Lance Hardaway remained inedimplacable. I smiled to the General, "Just call in the MPs to wrap things up. I'm sorry I upset your idol."
The General still looked somewhat confused. "But....how?" he stuttered.
"The Handwriting's only part of the case that interested me. Simple enough to hide, if no one is looking hard enough."
The MPs entered and were standing behind Hardaway. They recognized the look of a man who knows he's destined for the gallows, or whatever the UNSpacey is using these days. I tossed a wink to Spinosa and walked out.
I could have done it without causing emotional stress to the idol singer, but I don't like orders. It was that simple. Maybe UNSpacey wasn't the ideal choice for a guy like me, but hey, what are you gonna do?