It is the year 187 by the New Western Calendar. Mankind is reeling from a terrible war, which only a late delivery from a distant star could stop. Half the population of the solar system was wiped out in a year of unrestricted warfare, the crash of an alien spacecraft into the South Pacific, and the low intensity skirmishes that followed. As the Earth and her wayward children begin to rearm, looking to finish the war, other, darker forces join the battles, looking to impose their will upon the earth and the stars. To live in such times is, as one reporter put it, to live in the moment before the bullet hits the bone -- knowing that the hammer could fall at any time. If not from the armies of humanity's warring factions, then by powers beyond comprehension who either wish all mankind under their yoke, or merely wish to destroy. For many born to this war-torn future, life is about to change. Watch carefully... *** Rock And A Hard Place Productions presents a Tale of the Super Robot Wars written and directed by SliderDF (sliderdf@hotmail.com) Story copyright 2002, Rock And A Hard Place Productions Kage No Senshi -- Cycle 1: When Your Regular Deus Ex Machina Isn't Cutting It Anymore Phase 1: Ne Cede Malis *** From: jcdenton@mao-ind.com (Jay Denton) To: caitlin_denton@heinlein.k12.luna.orb Subject: Ship-to-Shore Transmission EMS MARATHON Luna Two Trade Route Wednesday, 7 April 0187 Dear Cait, Sorry I didn't write earlier. Things have been a blur, what with pilot school year-end finals and all, and this is the first time in a long time that I have to catch my breath and take stock of the whole situation. It all started just after the Beginning Combat Tactics practical, which I'd've liked to say I aced, but I drew Kazahara for my third bout. I can't say that I busted him up (or even won) -- the day I beat both Captain Voorhees and Ilm Kazahara is the day I can waltz into Giren Zabi's apartments and rifle through his sock drawer. However, you'll be pleased to know I didn't embarass myself out there either. I must have impressed somebody, because no sooner than I got back to my dorm, I had a message telling me to pack for a couple of weeks, because I was going to Side 7. I really can't say much more than that... I could, but then I'd have to kill you. ;) Whatever it is, it must be important, because the Titans' flagship, Alexandria, rendevoused with our convoy a while back. They've since moved on ahead... I'd hate to be the pirate who tries something knowing that ship's on patrol! Anyway, Yuko sends her regards. She made it through her finals ok too, because she's with me aboard Marathon (luck of the draw! :)). Maybe this will all wrap up quickly and get us back in town with something left of our quarterly breaks for a change. See you soon! Love, your cousin, Jay Jay Denton finished composing his email and sent it. He didn't know how much would ultimately be redacted for security reasons, but somehow it didn't really matter. He leaned back in his couch as far as it would go and let his mind drift, a smile of rainy-day contentment playing over his features. "Having fun, Denton?" a deep voice drawled, snapping Jay out of his reverie. "Just got finished sending an email to my cousin, Captain," Jay replied, "and just thinking about the distances we travel." "While you're on the subject of distance," answered Tom Mitchell, captain of the Earth Merchant Ship Marathon, "do you have an ETA to Side 7?" "Yes sir, I do." Jay had already worked that out before he opened the email program. "We should reach Side 7 by 0100 Zulu time." "Excellent work," Mitchell acknowledged, taking a sip of his coffee. "Why don't you get some sleep? We've still got a couple of hours before we get there." "But who--" "I'll cover for you until somebody comes up here. Now get moving." Jay got up from his seat. "Aye aye, sir." He didn't need to be told twice. Bridge duty was not to his liking (he much preferred driving to collecting and reporting data), but on a trip such as this, it was a necessary evil. Merchant ship's masters, even in this day and age, had little tolerance for those who won't pull their weight. Especially in a ship with such a small crew complement as Marathon. Mitchell's regular communications/sensors officer had gotten sick and couldn't be replaced on short notice, leaving Jay and Yuko to switch off on second watch. He was almost halfway to his berth when he bumped into a figure wearing not the regular pressure suits of the Marathon crew, but a green and red environmental skinsuit with two blued-metal shoulder pauldrons. Jay was wearing one like it himself, but it was colored deep blue and silver, and the pauldrons were slightly larger. The skinsuit did things for her trim, athletic figure, complementing her natural beauty in ways that made even Jay (who had all but four of his eighteen years to acclimate himself to her appearance) briefly forget he had the power of speech. She stood a few inches shorter than him, her mousy brown hair cut short, with a few wispy bangs that fell from her left to her right across her forehead, with a couple of tufts coming a couple centimeters short of obscuring her left eye. Her name was Yuko Hashimoto, and she was not only Jay's first love, but also his best friend for as long as he could remember. "Oi," she said by way of greeting. "The Captain finally parole you from the bridge?" Jay scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "Something like that," he replied. "That wouldn't have anything to do with me getting paged, would it?" Jay piously replied, "I can neither confirm nor deny that." Yuko arched an eyebrow. "You forget, the Marathon only has a pilot, a copilot (which would be the Captain), an astrogator, a comms/sensor officer whom we already know is not on board, and the chief engineer. Helm, astrogation, and comms have personnel stationed on three rotating watches. You were on comms last, and I didn't see Ferro or Hudson on the way here. QED." Jay blinked, amazed at Yuko's logic. In spite of her normally brash temperment, Yuko could be rational when she needed to be. He recovered with a crooked smile and said, "Touche. At least, he didn't tell me he requested you specifically." Yuko grinned impishly, her green eyes twinkling. "I try." She took one of his hands in her own as she continued, "I've been thinking about the rest of the break, after we see your uncle's family. How about *we* go somewhere? Just us two, for a week or so?" Jay looked like he was giving the matter serious thought for all of two seconds. At length, his serious mien dissolved into a broad smile. "I'd like that. The way things are going now, I'm going to need it." "Oh? You like robots, you like to drive, and from I hear, this trip will have both in abundance." A thought struck her. "Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise..." Jay chuckled. "Nothing like that, Yuko-chan." His face turned sober as he continued, "I guess I'm still overwhelmed by it all. Mao Industries entrusting two next-generation Personal Troopers to people barely through their first year of pilot training. It's enough to make your head spin." "Mou!" Yuko planted her fists on her hips. "They wouldn't have given us this task if they didn't feel that we were capable of it, Jay-kun. Are you sure going this long without sleeping -hasn't- affected your thought processes?" Hearing Yuko add the Japanese honorific to his name brought to Jay's mind the fact that she didn't look even vaguely Japanese. That was largely due to genetic mixing in the arcology life that characterized the bad old days leading up to the Terran diaspora, not to mention the early years of the colonies. In these enlightened times, only a handful of old hardline racists paid any attention to that. Jay was no exception, letting that bit of trivia slide. There were new social stigmas these days, anyway. Jay shook his head and smiled that crooked smile of his. "Right now, I'm so wound up, I don't -need- a Personal Trooper to travel the stars." "Careful what you wish for, flyboy," Yuko said, playfully cuffing his shoulder. Her tone grew serious. "One of those PTs could be another Vanishing Trooper." The Vanishing Trooper Incident was a staple of PT program legend. Almost two years ago, a Huckevine equipped with an experimental engine powered by a primordial black hole (which was simply called the Black Hole Engine) seemingly went berserk during a shakedown trial at a secret lunar research facility. By the time the smoke cleared, the test pilot was missing a hand, the research base had to be abandoned, and the experimental Huckevine was nowhere to be found. Only three of the base's skeleton crew of twenty-five survived the Vanishing Trooper Incident: Ilmgard "Ilm" Kazahara, acting as an observer/PT technical expert; Dr. Kirk Hamill, the researcher in charge of the Black Hole Engine project; and Raidieth F. "Rai" Braunstein, the test pilot of the ill-fated Huckevine. Jay forced a brave smile. "Yuko, these are Huckevine MkII's. That could never happen with the graviton systems. No Personal Trooper's had a Black Hole Engine on it since... you know." Yuko looked into Jay's eyes, her emerald gaze meeting his cerulean. "I hope you're right." She closed her eyes and moved in for a brief but by no means perfunctory kiss. "For luck," she said after they had seperated, her fingers ruffling Jay's short, thick, and unruly dark brown hair. "The Captain's going to wonder where I was." She stepped back toward the corridor leading to the bridge, letting her fingers linger over Jay's own for as long as possible. "Ja ne!" Jay waved as Yuko turned to leave. Things are defintely looking up, he thought as he turned back to his berth. He had a dream job, a beautiful girlfriend, and his whole life ahead of him. God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world. Later, while Jay was reviewing the events of the day, he realized that dreams have a bad habit of becoming nightmares when one isn't paying attention. As it would turn out, Yuko's tardiness was the furthest thing from Captain Mitchell's mind. The designated escort for Convoy LM-23 (of which Marathon was part), the Salamis-class cruiser EFC Nightingale, had detected a ship 10 mega-statute kilometers off their port stern. Convoy Command had ordered the convoy to start zigzagging and accelerate while Nightingale moved to intercept. An old spacer like Tom Mitchell had cause to be worried. With Nightingale's intercept and Alexandria yet to return from her vanguard patrol, Convoy LM-23 -- Marathon and the cargo ships Beautiful Dreamer, Cymbelline, and Titus Andronicus -- was vulnerable for a few minutes. The captain stroked his Van Dyke beard contemplatively. "Something's not right," he grumbled. "They shouldn't be leaving us like this." Yuko sat at her station, staring intently at her sensor readouts. A slow beep at her console began to pick up speed and pitch, and her quick eyes looked at the flashing new entry. No, she thought. It couldn't be! She did the only thing she could do under such circumstances. "Conn, sensors! Minovsky particle count increasing to combat density!" The convoy command officer aboard Nightingale swore. Minovsky particles repelled electrically conductive materials, and had replaced chemical-reaction thrusters for use in manuevering on all starships produced today. Because of this property, a sufficiently large cloud of Minovsky particles could also act as an electronic smokescreen, interfering with sensors and targetting computers. Which was why effective gun ranges were still being measured in kilometers, despite distances between human settlements measureable in mega statute kilometers (MSKs). This many Minovsky particles meant a ship was operating in the vicinity, and if the convoy stayed together, they could conceivably be under that ship's guns before they knew it was even there. If the ship carried drones or mobile suits, on the other hand, scattering wouldn't do much good. About the only thing it would do is buy time. The convoy officer did the only thing he could do under such circumstances. "Convoy Command to all ships! Scatter immediately! Repeat, scatter immediately!" Jay sat on a catwalk with his feet hanging off into the air, looking out at the two Huckevine MkIIs while hanging his arms loosely over the railing with headphones in his ears. The headphones, in turn, were hooked up to a mini-disc player strapped to his leg. As he had predicted earlier, he was too wound up to sleep. # Moby "Everloving" _Play_ Brave talk, Jay, he thought. How do -you- know those graviton systems won't produce a second -- or third -- Vanishing Trooper Incident? They haven't been tested, either. Not in Huckevines. He tabbed a wrist control that loosened his skinsuit so he could reach down into his collar and pull out a double-sided photograph holder on a simple metal chain. Yuko's smiling face adorned one side, while the other held a copy of the only surviving photo of his parents. Was all this pent-up energy, he silently asked the faces frozen in time, what you felt everytime you flew? Jay's parents were aerospace fighter pilots, killed in the chaotic aftermath of what was today known as the Second Impact, a disaster that melted the Antarctic icecap; the cause of which nobody could come to a consensus about. Jay didn't have very many memories of his parents. He just knew that one day, they had left home on a reserve call-up and had never returned. He tucked the photo back into his shirt and tabbed the skinsuit back to its snugness. Taking a deep breath, he looked up, his gaze sweeping the two Personal Troopers in the cargo hold. The Huckevine-series Personal Trooper owed a lot of its stylistic design to the original Gundam mobile suit that Amuro Ray used to turn the tide of the One Year War seven years ago. Both PTs were a light purple in color, with the main body a darker shade of purple. A golden v-shaped crest was perched atop the "helm", and shielded sensor booms swept up from both sides of the head. Unlike the Gundam, there was no visible shield on the left arm, but a reinforced vambrace with what appeared to be a wheel at the elbow. Twin pods on the back gave the appearance of furled butterfly wings. A slight gap in the chest plating betrayed the existence of a cockpit hatch. That's odd, Jay thought. I could've sworn that cockpit hatch was closed a minute ago... An explosion shook the ship, nearly sending Jay falling to the floor of the hold, ten meters below him. Hanging on with both of his arms over the railing, he managed to pull himself back up and make his way across the now shuddering catwalk over to the panel for the ship's intercom. Slapping the button hard, he yelled, "Captain, what's going on up there?" Silence greeted his release of the push-to-talk. Jay pushed the button again. "Yuko, are you there?" Silence. Jay looked over the panel, and with a growing feeling of dread building in his stomach, noticed that the power light, let alone the activity light, was not lit. The intercom's out, Jay thought. "Conn, tactical!" cried Nightingale's tactical officer. "I'm reading multiple inbound contacts coming after the freighters!" "What?!" responded Nightingale's captain. "Can you identify?" "Unknown at this time." "Conn, message coming in from the Cymbelline!" shouted the comms officer. "Her drives have been destroyed!" "Dammit," growled the tac-off. "We just lost Andronicus!" He plied his console frantically. "I'm getting better returns on those contacts, and they appear to be mobile suits. In fact, IFF shows them to be--" "Inconclusive," an icy baritone voice replied as its owner stood next to the sensor station. He was average-looking, with neatly combed brown hair, a high forehead, and a thick, well-groomed mustache. "Those are aerospace fighters. Belonging to a well-known pirate organization." He never raised his voice as he pulled a leather wallet out of his black and red uniform blouse. "And I," said Jamican Dannigan, operations officer of the Titans, as he showed his bona fides to the flustered officer, "was never here." Raising his voice for the first time since he came on board, he stated, "This ship is now under Titans authority!" Marathon bucked again from another hit. The lights in the cargo hold began to flicker, and Jay was beginning to think that this would most likely be the way his life would end. He looked back toward the PTs, and the one with the ajar cockpit hatch began to open wider, as if to invite him in. To his dying day, Jay could not explain how or why the chain of events in Marathon's cargo hold came to pass, only that it had. He ran full speed toward the waiting Huckevine MkII, somehow -knowing- that if he could reach it, then everything would be all right. Sparks flew from damaged electrical relays as he ran across the catwalk and jumped in, securing the pull-down shoulder straps to the catches in his skinsuit's pauldrons and pulling on the helmet he found just above the pilot's seat with a speed that would have surprised him if he was viewing this as an observer. He tapped the internal power button and was rewarded with two things: the system status lights turning on, and the vibrations of the engine coming back to life, much like a computer that had been placed in hibernate and was now being reactivated. A smooth female contralto voice began to speak: "Reactor online, sensors online, all systems nominal." Jay ignored her voice and found the communications controls. Punching a few buttons, he made out Yuko's voice: "--any Fed--ration shi-- able to respond, this is the -rth ----- --ghter Marathon, under attack by unknown mobile suits. Hull integr-- failing, can anyon--" Another explosion rocked Marathon, blowing pieces of the cargo hold's walls in for a split-second before it was sucked out into space, along with the atmosphere and everything not nailed down. "Damage report!" barked Tom Mitchell. "Auxillary nav computer is out," said navigator Micah Coltrane as he read out the litany of harm, "drive output at 85% and dropping, main cargo hold open to space!" Mitchell sighed long and explosively. "Jettison the cargo. Hashimoto, bring up the emergency destruct program for the packages." Yuko turned to face him as the ship shuddered some more. "But sir--" "No buts. The rest of you get the hell out of here, get to the escape pods. Go!" Most of the crew ran off the bridge. The computer's voice sounded the abandon-ship as Mitchell got up to go to the comm/sensor station. "What are you waiting for, Hashimoto? Get outta here! That's an order!" "I'm not leaving without you!" "Yuko," said the captain, using her first name for the first time, "I've already lost the Marathon. There's nothing I can do to change that. But I'll be God-damned if I go down in history as the man who lost a cargo of overtech mecha to raiders." The digust in his voice made his feelings abundantly clear. Yuko got out of her seat as Mitchell bent over her station and punched in a complicated code on the numeric keypad placed there. Jay had had worse days. He just had trouble thinking of one as his Huckevine MkII was spinning out of control, sucked out by the cargo hold's breaching. He was frantically tugging the joysticks, trying to level out of the spin, and failing miserably. "For God's sake," he grunted, "how can I get out of this spin?" The female voice of the computer spoke up again. "Are you the designated pilot of this Personal Trooper?" Jay took a breath with a hiss, his teeth gritted against the sudden lurching as he struggled to get the PT under control. "I guess I am now..." "Initializing second level man-machine interface. Neural induction to commence in 3... 2..." "Neural induction?" Jay exclaimed with an edge of panic in his voice. He didn't like the way this was going at all. "1..." "Wa--" Everything turned white. "Transmitting destruct codes now," stated the voice of Marathon's computer. Far from the wounded freighter, an explosion lit the void of space. "Package 1 destroyed," muttered Mitchell, before an electronic raspberry answered him. "Damn! Package 2 is refusing the destruct codes! Just gotta retransmit, that's all." Then Tom Mitchell looked up through his bridge klaster, at the scarlet mobile suit filling it. A techno-samurai, training a most un-samurai-like beam rifle at the windows. And realized he wouldn't get the chance. "Get in my pod! NOW!" He shoved Yuko into the waiting escape pod door and closed it just as the world outside the window turned yellow. And then Tom Mitchell never saw anything again. "Marathon just went off the screen," reported Nightingale's tactical officer. The captain bit short a muttered curse. "Range to target?" he asked mechanically. "4 MSKs. Captain, aspect change in target, he's flying away from us and the convoy. Should we continue pursuit?" "Affirmative," answered Jamican before the captain could. "Maintain course and speed." "Sir," the captain asked, "with your permission, I'd like to leave a sensor buoy here, so we may go pick up any survivors of the convoy." "Captain," replied Jamican, "have you considered the possibility that your sensor buoy may be destroyed, or that the target may double back around it?" "No, but if we chase this ship any longer, we might not have anybody left -to- rescue." The comm officer broke in with, "Message from the Dreamer. She's got fires on multiple decks." After a drawn-out pause, Jamican said, "The convoy scattered toward Side 7. Any survivors will be picked up by the Alexandria. Continue on original course and speed." "Yes, sir," the captain growled. Something stunk around here, and it wasn't in the ventilation system. # Dave Matthews Band "The Space Between" _Everyday_ It was a grey overcast day at the cemetery. An oddly fitting day for then four-year-old Jay Denton to say goodbye to the parents he never knew fully and would never get the chance to. Standing there in his Sunday best, one of his hands enveloped by his uncle Morgan, before the mausoleum spaces he knew contained the ashes of his parents. His cousin Patrick was being escorted by his aunt Ceilidh, herself already six months pregnant with his other cousin Caitlin. As the party stood outside the mausoleum, his aunt and uncle talking with others who had made the funeral, a girl in a black bib-overall dress with light brown hair in a pixie cut and soulful green eyes detached herself from her mother and walked over to the boy about her age in the suit with fresh tear-tracks on his face. She held out a daisy toward him. Jay looked out at the girl with a "For me?" expression on his young face. The girl nodded. Jay reached out to take the flower... The girl said, "My name's Yuko. What's yours?" The scene faded to white again. Jay was sitting in a locker room, bent over with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. It was after the Lunar High School Robot Clash, and the team from Robert Heinlein High School in Copernicus Dome had just been beaten in the finals. He didn't know whether to break down crying, smash everything in the room, or both. A female voice broke him from his reverie: "Excuse me, but are you Jason Denton?" He looked up, half-mumbling "Jay, please." And found himself looking at a blonde in her late twenties dressed in a business suit, colored in the most eye-destroying shade of puce imaginable. "Hi. Julie Reeves. My card." She shook Jay's hand with her right while handing him a card with her left that identified her as Vice President of Lunar Operations for Mao Industries. "What do I owe this honor, Ms. Reeves?" "Jay, I'll get right to the point. We want you to come join our pilot training program." "But I didn't win the race. My team didn't win the all-around. Why would you pick from a second-place team?" "I could say that Anaheim Electronics already has their hands on the winners of this event, but that's beside the point. My point is that your performance out there was some of the best piloting I've ever seen, right to the point where you got put into the crevasse." Her voice lowered to a conspiratoral whisper. "(I was involved in one of the Federation's early exo-technology projects during the One Year War, so I know about piloting.)" Her voice rose back into its normal range as she said, "And still you managed to climb out and finish second. A lot of people would have just waited for the tow-hopper, but you didn't. And that took guts." "But I've still got a year of high school left to go." "We can arrange a cooperative education agreement with your school. There's no risk; if you decide it's not right for you, you can leave and go back to finish out your education there. But I think you can hack it. You've already got the reflexes, the instincts, and the spirit needed. All that's missing is merely the opportunity to show what you can do in the Real World. "So, are you interested?" Jay started to nod as the tableau faded into white. They were in the auditorium commons of Heinlein High for a special graduation ceremony for cooperative education students. Today, only two were being honored, and they were seated in a place of honor in front of the stage, facing it. Jay looked at Yuko, turned out in her formal dress uniform of school blazer, dress shirt, neckerchief, pleated skirt, and knee high socks and smiled warmly. She smiled back at him with the same warmth. At the front podium, the principal had just finished with his remarks and started calling the roll. "Hashimoto Yuko," he said, using the ancient Japanese custom and giving the surname first. She stood up with a clearly spoken "Hai!" and walked over to the stage to collect her diploma, waving to her other friends and family as she walked back to her seat. "Jason Charles Denton." Jay stood up. "Here, sir." The scene faded to white as he started his trip to the stage. Jay and Yuko had decided to spend their last night on the moon outside the domes, gazing up at the Earth that would be their home throughout the Mao Industries pilot training program. They were reclining against a craterside, with Yuko nestled in the crook between Jay's arm and his body, with her head on his shoulder. At length, Yuko threw her arm around Jay's middle and moved her hand up his side. She touched her helmet to his and said, "We are bonded now, you and I." Jay looked at Yuko with a start. He certainly didn't remember her ever saying that to him. Their bond was much more implicit and better understood than that, he was sure. And that's when it hit him. He was dreaming! Jay's eyes snapped open, focusing and allowing him to take in his surroundings. Somehow, during that dream sequence, he had managed to stop the Huckevine's spin and level out. But his attention was firmly on the last thing he'd ever thought he'd see in a PT cockpit. She was slender and slightly translucent, sitting on Jay's knees with hers at his hips, even though he felt no weight on his legs. She was also quite beautiful, although hers was more of a hard, angular beauty. Her skin was a light purple, and her short-cropped hair was the same color. The only feature of her face that wasn't purple were her eyes, which were a deep blue. She was dressed in the most unusual skinsuit Jay had ever seen; black with no shoulder pauldrons, with luminescent light panels in her color strategically placed all over the suit in a pattern resembling circuitry, as if Eiji of Macross had designed her skinsuit himself. For a brief second, Jay thought he could see little 0's and 1's move through the black portions of the skinsuit much like blood through arteries and veins. She also seemed to -glow- from within, looking for all the world like the personification of a program from an ancient vid about programs in a computer trying to throw off the yoke of a tyrannical master control program. (Under different circumstances, Jay would have found the thought of such a creature sitting on his lap very... stimulating, but not now.) "Well," she said with a crooked smile and the same smooth contralto he'd heard when he first boarded. "Your brain hasn't turned to runny tapioca pudding and oozed out of your ears yet. I'd say we got a good match." She paused, lost in thought for a second. "High amounts of cerebral cortex activity, that's good. You're definitely not the typical CHOOH-head, overgrown-frat-boy blowhard fighter jock I was expecting." Jay blinked rapidly. "Who are you," he asked, "and how did you get here?" "My name's Cortana. I'm the onboard AI assigned to this Huckevine MkII, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I first became operational at the Tesla Reich Advanced Artifical Intelligence Laboratories in Colorado Springs, Colorado on May 25, 0186. I was created by Dr. Catherine Halsey, who based her work on the late Dr. Naoko Akagi's research in advanced neural net processing--" "All right, all right!" Jay snapped. "Can you get me back to the Marathon?" "There's no need to snap at me," Cortana replied, her color darkening slightly. "Anyhow, that's only something I wish I could do. You see, I'm resident in the Level 2 interface, which is also why only you can see my icon right now. I can only point you toward your destination, but you're the one that's gotta get us there." "Close enough." Jay tried to bring up a radar screen on his HUD. "Uh, Cortana, can you -- oh how can I say this? -- not take up so much space? I can barely make out my HUD." "Sure thing." She flickered like a CRT resizing its resolution. "How's this?" she asked, sitting Indian-style a centimeter above his right knee, not more than six inches high. "Great, thank you." A worried frown creased Jay's forehead. "I'm not seeing the Marathon anywhere on the scopes. Could we be getting interference?" "The Minovsky particle count's still high," Cortana replied. "It's quite poss-- heads up! I've got 5 mobile suits inbound. One's a Gaplant, the rest are Marasais." A window in the upper left hand corner of Jay's HUD opened, showing a stylized eagle in profile facing to the dexter on a circular red field. Jay recognized that icon -- it belonged to the Titans, one of two elite organizations charged with keeping the peace in human space. "Thank God you guys are here," said Jay. "I was wondering when the cavalry would show up." A gaunt, drawn face behind a pressure helmet appeared in the window. "Unknown pilot," a gravelly voice imperiously demanded, "shut down your PT and prepare to disembark." "Say again?" Jay asked. "There's no other ships in the vicinity." "Shut down your PT and prepare to disembark. I gave you an order." [Jay,] said Cortana, her voice urgently echoing inside his mind, [watch your back. I don't trust him!] Jay's eyes widened. [How is it that you can talk to me like this?] he asked. [It's part of the Level 2 interface. We can communicate directly through the neural induction link. To any observers, it just looks like you're sitting there silently.] [Right... I'll have to remember that.] To the pilot in his comm window, he asked, "Shouldn't you be chasing down the raiders instead of shaking down a civilian pilot?" "That," spat the Titans pilot, "is none of your concern." "Why would you give a -civilian- pilot an order that would certainly lead to his death? Answer that for me, if you please," replied the unknown pilot over the channel, and Titans Lieutenant Yazan Gable had had all he was going to take from this little shit. He growled back, "If you are not out of your PT in the next 15 seconds, we are authorized to use lethal force to get you out of it. This is your first and -only- warning. Do you copy?" Cutting the transmission to the stupefied civilian, he then changed to his squad channel. "On my signal, break formation and open fire." Best to let him stew in his own juice for a bit. The tactical officer aboard Nightingale noticed a brief waver on his scopes. Not much of a jump, but enough of one to get his attention. If memory served, it was right around the last known position of the Marathon... "Range to target," asked the captain. "2500 meters," replied the tactical officer, all thoughts of the sensor flutter forgotten. "We're in visual range now." "On my viewer." The captain's viewer showed that the ship they had spent the past five minutes chasing was broad with a largish observation deck. The comm officer was also radioing the vessel while this was going on, and the reply came back immediately: "Nightingale, this is the independent passenger liner Orbital Princess, en route to Earth from Side 7. We're on our way back from a cruise." The captain looked over at Jamican, who looked back at him impassively. "I hope this trip was necessary," the captain said, his voice projecting a dead calm he himself did not feel. "Number One, you have the conn." "One word before you go, Captain," Jamican said. "And this goes for everyone on this ship. The events of today have been classified Compartmentalized. There -is- no Convoy LM-23. There never -was- a Convoy LM-23. You are not to discuss the events of this day, even amongst yourselves. Any violation of this directive will be punished with the full weight and rigor of the Official Secrets Act, the Federation Defense Act, -and- the Universal Code of Military Justice. "That is all. I'll brief the rest of the ship's company later." The captain then slowly got up out of his command chair, retired to the private head in his quarters, and cursed for two minutes straight. [Any ideas?] Jay asked. [Hold on to something,] Cortana replied, lip-synching as her words were broadcast into Jay's mind. [This will feel a little weird.] Colored images of systemry blurred behind Jay's closed eyes as he straightened bolt upright in his seat. After about two seconds of this, his eyes snapped back open and he took a deep, ragged breath. [There,] Cortana sent as she smiled serenely like a techno-Buddha. [You now know kung fu.] Jay turned a half-lidded gimlet stare on Cortana's icon, still sitting cross-legged "on" his knee. She took her hands off her knees and placed them in front of her ankles. [You've just had the advanced training course for the Huckevine MkII Personal Trooper flashed directly into your memory,] she replied woodenly. [Hokay... if you were in my shoes, what would you do?] [Find a defensible position. They didn't load the drivers for the weapons systems, ostensibly for 'safety during transport'. Idiots.] Cortana grimaced as if she'd swallowed something sour and bitter. [I can load them, it's just going to take some time.] Her icon began to grow brighter as the flow of bits through it quickened. The comm window displayed the Titans' icon again. "Time's up, buddy," growled the Titan. "What's it going to be?" "Well," Jay replied, "since you put it that way, I say come and take it." "It's a little late to grow some balls to go with that mouth, -spacenoid-. Now somebody's going to have to teach you some manners. Break and attack! Keep the damage to a minimum, men. I don't want my new toy more banged up than it's gotta be." And with that, the comm window closed. The four Marasais peeled off and burned straight for the Huckevine. "There's a colony cylinder under construction 900 meters away," Cortana said, over the internal speakers as well as in Jay's mind. Jay burned toward the half-finished cylinder, taking out the mini-disc in his player as soon as he pointed the PT in that direction. As Jay reached over to slot the mini-disc in the Huckevine's player, he noticed a small process window open in the HUD: cortana% init Emergency Defense Protocol Alpha Password: ne cede malis Hearing the question in Jay's mind before he could voice it, Cortana answered, "It's Latin. It means 'do not yield to misfortune'." "Oh." "Combat protocols finished loading," Cortana noted, providing a running commentary of the Huckevine's revival. "Designating Marasais as Cancer wing, Gaplant as Scorpio One. Weapons coming online, now." In response to that last item, a weapons window opened in the lower right hand corner of the HUD: VULCAN 2000 LIGHT SWORD SUBACH PR-7 10 CHAKRAM SHOOTER The Subach PR-7 (Photon Rifle, type 7) Jay knew to be Subach-Innes's latest specialty mecha-scale energy rifle, following on the heels of the NPC-9 (Neutron Particle Cannon, type 9). In the wake of various advanced mecha-beasts incorporating radiation absorbing materials into their cybernetics, which allowed them to heal when hit by conventional beam rifles, the Earth Federation turned to Subach-Innes to produce energy rifles capable of bypassing said materials. Their first effort, the NPC-9, was originally packaged with the Personal Trooper that put Mao Industries on the map: the PTX-001 Geshpenst. However, a switch had been made to conventional beam rifles as a cost saving measure, although a few Geshpensts still carried the NPC-9. When the call came for weapons that would not be absorbed, Subach-Innes retooled a few of its assembly lines to produce NPC-9s again. With the defeat of this mecha-beast army, the demand for NPC-9s diminished. (Jay noted, not for the first time, that Cortana's research was nothing if not thorough.) Jay did, however, notice something else. "Cortana," he asked, "why is the Chakram Shooter grayed out?" "It just needs longer to charge than the other weapons systems," was her reply. "Ready to go when you are." Jay selected the Subach and bracketed an oncoming Marasai that was just about to bring its beam rifle to bear. [They're coming in Black Ninja style, one at a time,] Cortana noted, with more than a touch of glee. [They have NO idea who they're messing with.] Just then, a beam streaked past the Huckevine's right shoulder from Jay's four o'clock high, impaling the approaching Marasai just under the left shoulder and flensing armor away with a hiss of smoke and sparks. The internal structure under the shoulder joint grew molten under the hellish kiss of the beam and snapped off, sending the Marasai's left arm flying into space, spoiling the pilot's aim enough so that the return shot scored only a piece of hull plating on the cylinder. "Cortana, is somebody behind us?" Jay asked. "Yes, but they're not locked on to us," she answered. The comm window in Jay's HUD opened again, this time with a rotating design of planets around a sun with what looked like an eye opening, using the sun for its iris. A different face, wearing a hot pink and maroon pressure suit, soon replaced it. "Attention Personal Trooper," the man said in a deep voice. "Looks like you've got yourself in some trouble." Jay ducked the Huckevine behind a section of cylinder wall to get a peek at his would be rescuers. Three mobile suits of an unknown design, two dark grey, one bright scarlet, took up positions in the cylinder. The "UNIDENTIFIED" under the target identification screen pulsed rapidly for a second before vanishing in favor of "Rick Dias". The color of the brackets around them was the blue indicating neutral parties. "More mobile suits!" Jay exclaimed. "How do I know you won't stab -me- in the back after these jokers are all gone?" Pink-and-Maroon replied, "You'll just have to trust me on that. Besides, if I'd wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation." "What do you mean by that?" Jay asked, more than a little flustered. Of all the things that could happen, being sought by parties on both sides of the law took the cake. At least that's what he figured, since that comm icon matched no Federation unit flash that he knew of. "There'll be time enough for that later, after the coast is clear. Right now, keep your eyes open, watch your hull integrity, and we might just get out of this one alive. Roberto! Apolli! Keep their heads down! I don't want to lose this kid!" [I think I recognize that voice,] Cortana sent. [But he's supposed to be dead...] "What?" asked Jay. "Who's supposed to be dead?" [Never mind that now. Let's see if we can help them out first. The enemy of my enemy...] [Doesn't appear to be anyone I'd want seeing my cousin Caitlin,] Jay answered back as he toggled the shuffle on the mini-disc player and pressed play. # Bad Religion "You've Got A Chance" _The New America_ Jay had lost track of the damaged Marasai, but there was another Marasai within range of his Subach. He dropped the targetting reticle on the Marasai and pulled the trigger, catching the mecha high in the right chest with a bright amethyst beam, tearing a hole clean through it. Plasma poured from the cracked drive casing like blood through a sucking chest wound. The other pilot proved himself game by firing back, wildly missing the Huckevine MkII with a yellow beam. "You've got to do better than that!" Jay yelled. "Jay, bogey above us!" Cortana shouted as the one-armed Marasai fired its beam rifle between its legs with its only remaining arm, out of reach of most of the Rick Dias' guns. The yellow beam left a starburst-shaped scorch mark on the Huckevine's left shoulder pauldron, and a brief wisp of smoke from what little armor plating was vaporized. Other than that, the Huckevine MkII was completely unharmed. One of the grey Rick Diases took a shot at the high-flying Marasai, which the Titan dodged easily. Unfortunately for him, the shot wasn't intended to hit the Titan, but to drive him. Right into the waiting gunsights of the rest of the squad. To his credit, the Titan managed to dodge two other yellow beams before being impaled upon an amethyst beam. The Marasai stayed impaled on that beam for a split-second, hanging suspended in time. For Jay Denton, it seemed that time had slowed to a crawl -- he could see everything in stark, crystal-clear detail. The HUD graphics stood out with razor-sharp intensity, and he could make out little things like the HUD counting down the Subach's ammo meter from 9 to 8 and the white-hot edges of the hole where his shot was boring through the Marasai, its after-image already starting to fade away. Then time picked up its regular remorseless cadence as the Marasai's reactor shielding gave way, consuming the war machine in its own uncontrolled fusion reaction. Jay watched the Titan pilot die with his own widened eyes. Please, God, he thought, tell me I didn't just kill a man. "Jay?" Cortana asked. He just sat there, taking ragged breaths. "C'mon, Jay, now's not the time to space out on me!" The man in the scarlet Rick Dias had been in this situation before. Seven years ago, in another life. Except that time, he distinctly remembered having to fight -against- the seemingly invincible prototype. Seeing the Titans having to deal with that tactical problem was easily the most amusing thing he had seen all year. Already he could see that the second shot from the other Marasai was more on-target, but was stopped short by a an energy field that flared brightly for a second as the bolt impacted, but faded back to invisibility. All that, he thought, and an I-Field too? He had gone by many names in the past. He had been born Cassval Zum Daikun. Today, he was Quattro Bajina. But the name by which he was best known was that of the Red Comet, Char Aznable. Top ace of the Principality of Zeon during the One Year War, and inspiration to scores of imitators. At this very moment, he was once again the Red Comet. And he was looking for a workout. He brought his sights on the Marasai that had just shot the Personal Trooper. It was an easy target, flying straight and level. They really should've come as one formation and exploited their superior numbers rather than breaking formation and coming in single file. As it was, well... He had wanted a workout. This didn't even qualify as exercise. "I'm telling you, sir," Nathan Campbell's voice said over the radio, "it's the Red Comet--" Static assaulted Yazan's ears as a brief flare in the distance signalled the doom of Campbell's Marasai. And beyond that, in the half-finished colony cylinder, he could see a red mobile suit. Yazan's eyes narrowed and his lip curled away from his teeth in a rictus grin. This would be a welcome challenge. He redlined his engine, sending the Gaplant toward the seething firefight. "My wing, ignore the red mobile suit," he said. "That bastard's mine." "What the hell was that?" Jay asked. "That," answered Cortana dryly, "was a Gravity Wall. And it saved your life! Now get your head back into this! You got Cancer Three coming in hot, and the Chakram Shooter's ready to go." True to Cortana's word, the third Marasai was coming in on Jay's position, thrusters in full burn, waving a beam saber. Jay pressed the weapon selector switch, highlighting the Chakram Shooter. "Here's why you don't bring a knife to a gunfight!" he shouted. "Chakram Shooter, go!" The Huckevine's left arm shot forward as if to deliver a punch, but the vambrace on the arm opened, letting the wheel on the left elbow shoot out on its own momentum, much like a mecha-scale yo-yo. The weapon began to reveal twin cutting heads mounted along the diameter, and those spun up a split-second after launch. The projectile sailed unerringly on a path right for the body of the Marasai, and the Titan's scream of rage changed to one of fear as it cut a deep furrow right up the middle of his mech. Debris streamed from the wound as the Marasai was knocked back, and Jay reeled the chakram back in by the cable attached to it. The Marasai exploded a second later. "Cancer Three is down!" Cortana cried. "One more!" The fourth Marasai had merely advanced while the third one had charged in, and was readying its beam rifle. Again the chakram flew forth, neatly amputating the Marasai's weapon arm at the elbow on the initial pass, and boring through the back, severing such important systems as the power coupling and the head on the return trip. Three yellow beams crashed into the Marasai at roughly the same time, one on each side of its chest and the third in the right leg. The corpse of the mech, electricity arcing from its destroyed power systems, drifted away lifeless. "Scorpio One's coming in fast," Cortana said. "He's tracking us, but he's locked on to the red mech. He must be looking to make a name for himself." He came to help me, Jay thought as he locked on to the Gaplant and waited for his opening to strike. The least I can do is help him. Yazan failed to notice this, so intent was he on his target. Smiling with a grim ferocity, his grin got wider as the beep-beep-beep of his targetting reticle took on a steady tone. "Rats," he growled, "are meant to die!" He squeezed the trigger that fired one of the heavy beam guns built into his Gaplant's oversized vambraces. A wide yellow beam shot forth, clawing towards the red Rick Dias. However, the Rick Dias saw the shot coming in, moving away from it with near-superhuman agility. The beam went on past the scarlet mech, melting away a half-finished section of framework on the colony cylinder. The Rick Dias drew a bazooka and trained it on Yazan's Gaplant. "Sloppy," said its pilot over the radio as he returned fire, catching the Gaplant low in the right side. "I don't fucking believe this!" muttered Yazan. That shot should've sent him to Hell! "It couldn't have been the Red Comet! No goddamned way!" "Bet you wish you'd gone after the raiders now," sang the voice of the kid. Yazan snorted. "Are you really that fuckin' naive? Who do you think the 'raiders' were, anyway?" Jay's eyes widened. I couldn't have possibly heard that right. [He's right,] Cortana sent grimly. [While we were spinning out of control, I tracked those suits as they strafed the Marathon.] [Why?] Jay asked in response. [I think we both know the answer to that one.] "You'd murder innocents just to get this Personal Trooper?" Jay asked plaintively over the intercom. "NO FUCKING SHIT!" Yazan replied. "News flash, cherry -- it's what soldiers are paid to do: kill people!" "You're not soldiers," Jay growled. "You're goddamned BUTCHERS!" The Huckevine MkII took off at full thrust, heading straight for the Gaplant, left arm cocked back, the chakram spinning in its holster. The Gaplant turned to face this new target, raising its own left arm and bringing the beam cannon to bear. Jay took a deep breath and screamed, "I WON'T FORGIVE THIS!" The left arm shot forward, once again sending the chakram on its deadly path. Which came within less than a meter away from the Gaplant's head, just wide to its right. "Ha!" Yazan shouted. "After all that, you missed!" Jay stared straight ahead, breathing for a couple of heartbeats. Then he smiled. A crooked smile. Then the ear-splitting din of damage alarms resounded through Yazan's cockpit. The chakram had wound itself around the Gaplant, coming around under the outstretched left arm before rising back up to lodge itself into the right side of the robot's neck. It was the cutting damage to that area that triggered the damage alarms. Jay guided the Huckevine's left arm up and over, taking the cable in its hand before giving a sharp tug, digging the chakram deep into the guts of the Gaplant. Within seconds, the mech had been cut in half, the upper left torso along with the head and left arm flying off into space. Small explosions wracked the remaining half of the Gaplant as it spun away from its severed parts. "ARRRRGGGHH!" yelled Yazan. "Impossible! How could I have *lost*?" His hands groped wildly for the eject lever. "This isn't over, pipsqueak!" Then the hatch shot away from the mortally wounded Gaplant, followed by the pilot floating out, inflating an emergency survival bubble as he drifted away. Jay retracted the chakram's cable and turned back toward the cylinder. Behind the Huckevine MkII, a bright corona lit the eternal night as the self-destruct charge on the Gaplant destroyed what was left of it. [You could have finished him off,] Cortana noted. [Why didn't you?] [What's he going to do,] he replied, [get out and throw rocks at us? Besides, I don't want to kill anyone if I don't have to. Even if they are sadistic scum.] [Ah. I can't complain about the results, though.] Jay could detect a hint of amused pride in Cortana's voice. The rotating solar system icon appeared once again in the comm window. "Not bad, kid," Pink-and-Maroon said. "Need a lift?" "Why not?" Jay asked, without a hint of rancor in his voice. "I got nowhere else to go." A shadow briefly played across his face for half a second. "All right, fall in behind us and we'll escort you to the carrier." As the mechs hurtled away from the scene towards whatever ship they called home, Jay was in a pensive mood. "Look at it this way," Cortana said as her icon appeared on his leg once again. "You kept this Huckevine MkII out of the hands of the Titans and made it out alive. That's all anyone can really ask for in this situation." "Thanks," Jay replied. "Couldn't have done it without you." She smiled, her voice carrying a tone of dry, mischevous humor. "I know. And you're welcome." Seeing no change in Jay's expression, she continued, "Besides, can you imagine what would happen if I had to work -with- that barbarian?" She gave an exaggerated shudder. "I'd sooner run a 16-bit command interpreter." "What about the graviton system?" She stood up and put both hands leisurely on her hips. "Given what we've just been through, I'd say we can call that a successful test." Far away, amidst the wreck of the EMS Marathon, nobody noticed a white stag beetle-like drone begin to pick its way through the debris, as if looking for something. # Queensryche "Revolution Calling" _Operation: Mindcrime_ TO BE CONTINUED... Acknowlegements --------------- To Banpresto, for making one hell of an anime crossover game. To all the anime production houses that contributed to Super Robot Wars... neither the game nor this fic would have been possible without you. To Zhou Tai An and Mark Neidengard, for making the incomprehensible comprehensible. To Rurounin Mao and Ryoga316 from the SRWG Message Board, for inspiring this old fanfic myrmidon to get back on the horse and represent for the real robot contingent. To my prereaders, including the incomparable Jan Michael Aldeguer, for their valued assistance in making my words make sense. I also added (or will be adding) my own embellishments from other works I particularly enjoy: The FREESPACE series and RED FACTION by Volition Inc. STARLANCER by Digital Anvil The MARATHON series and HALO: COMBAT EVOLVED by Bungie Studios DEUS EX by Ion Storm INTRON DEPOT by Masamune Shirow SCUD: THE DISPOSABLE ASSASSIN by Rob Schrab SPACE: ABOVE AND BEYOND (TV) THE MATRIX (movie) CYBERPUNK 2.0.2.0. and MEKTON ZETA by R. Taslorian Games HEAVY GEAR and JOVIAN CHRONICLES by Dream Pod 9 The RENEGADE LEGION series, originally by FASA Corporation Capt. Jack Voorhees and Julie Reeves come from a short-lived Mekton Z PBEM that I was a part of several years ago. Julie was created by Chris Meadows, and the creator of Jack went by the name Mechaman. Others from that series will make their appearances in future chapters. If anybody sold you a hardcopy of this work, they ripped you off. I'm not writing this fic for monetary gain (it's freely available and distributable as long as the credits and disclaimer remain intact), nor to challenge the copyrights on enough characters, likenesses, and indicia to fill a major metropolitan area. Besides, I'm just this guy struggling to make ends meet, you know? OMAKE: THINGS THEY WOULDN'T LET US DO -- "SUPER ROBOT WARS ZERO" ---------------------------------------------------------------- In NWC 187, war was beginning... Marathon shuddered as another direct hit wracked the massive freighter. "What happen?" barked Captain Tom Mitchell. Micah Coltrane replied from his navigation station, "Somebody set up us the bomb!" "We get signal," Yuko Hashimoto interjected from her station. "What?!" asked Mitchell. Yuko said, "Main screen turn on." A view of a cockpit came into being on the screen, with a pressure-suited man with a gaunt face leering at them. "It's you!" Mitchell cried. Yazan Gable cackled. "How are you gentlemen!" he asked at length. Yuko glared at him with a look that could melt titanium, but said nothing. "All your base are belong to us," Yazan gloated. "You are on the way to destruction." Mitchell stood up out of his chair. He shouted, "What you say?!" "You have no chance to survive," Yazan said as he took his Gaplant on a slow, swooping turn, preparing to make his run on the freighter. "Make your time. HA HA HA HA ...." Tom Mitchell sank back into his chair, a look of despair washing over his face. At length, he said, "Take off every Huckevine." Mitchell's viewer showed Jay Denton running toward the waiting Huckevine MkII. "You know what you doing," Mitchell intoned softly. "Move Huckevine... for great justice." "CUT!" bellowed the director, and as if on cue, everybody on set broke. When everybody finally settled down from laughing, the director said, "That was the funniest thing I have seen in a while. Now let us never speak of it again." "You think they'll let us put that in the movie?" asked a crewperson. "Hell no." "Do we save the footage?" "Hell yes." Jay Denton will return in "The Kid With The Broken Halo"
