Chapter 17

Minmei looked casually into storefront windows, as she strolled through downtown New Macross. In the distant sky, RDF fighter planes were performing limber aerial maneuvers in practice for the coming airshow. Excited shoppers were lined up along the boardwalk, watching the powerful machines with awe. Minmei was glad; it gave her a chance to shop unnoticed.

I'm so nervous! she thought. It's been ages since I've sung for a live audience. What if they don't like me? What if...they don't want me anymore?

As a child, she had watched her favoite pop stars come into the spotlight, and then fade away just as quickly. She had been too young, too naive to care what happened to them. As long as she had a pretty face to admire and a tune to sing in the shower, she was happy. But now she stood in that very spotlight, giving everything she could to the people. And the people took her hard work for granted. Minmei could bare her soul in song, and if the audience was in a bad mood, she would be rejected.

Rick used to encourage me, she smiled distantly. In his own way. He was quiet, a little shy...but just knowing he was there...and that he'd be watching...it was enough to calm my nerves.

She took a deep breath. I hope you're watching this time, Rick...

A pair of elevator doors slid open, and Dan Martinez stepped into a cold draft. Assault rifles with flashlights bore over him. Soldiers' hands reached through the blinding light and caught his shoulders. They threw him on the ground and quickly searched him for weapons.

Dan was surrounded by a crude military base, in some sort of dark warehouse. Ammunition was boxed up on folding tables. Communications equipment lay tangled on the floor. Armed soldiers patroled the area, bearing patch on their shoulders with a yellow cross.

Lynn Kyle stood over Dan with his arms folded tightly. The former admiral Jameson Sever was at his side, once again in military fatigues.

"Get up," said Lynn coldly. "You're a soldier, it's time you started acting like one."

Dan rose to his feet. The toxins in his system were still making him groggy. "What's going on?" he asked, with a tired voice.

"I needed a word with you," said Lynn. "So I had one of the Cross members bring you here."

"The girl..." he groaned.

"She said you talked big," Lynn frowned. "Hopefully you're more than the worthless braggart you appear to be."

Dan shook away his drowsiness. "What do you want with me?"

Lynn motioned for a pair of troopers to guard him. "I want you to hear me out," he said, "and decide for yourself if I'm as evil as you say I am."

He addressed the guards. "Get him a Veritech flight suit, and take him to sub-level five."

Dan looked up at the massive device before him. It was an ice cold, tubular container that was several stories tall. Robotic arms hung from the ceiling around it, prepared to move the giant container if need be. Soldiers in bulletproof armor stood all around it. Their guns were lowered, but their eyes were on Martinez.

Lynn Kyle stepped into the spotlights, between the Veritech pilot and the device. His black business suit seemed like an extension of the shadows around him. His long, blue-streaked hair was tied in a neat ponytail. Dan looked him defiantly in the eye; Lynn returned the cold stare.

"What are you doing with a Protoculture matrix?" Dan sneered.

"We salvaged it from a Zentraedi ship's wreckage," Lynn replied solemnly.

"Any warcraft wreckage is the property of the Robotech Defense Force!"

Lynn shook his head. "The Freedom Cross is deticated to peace. I couldn't hand it over to the military. They'd use it for more killing machines."

"So what are you going to do?" Dan snapped. "Use it for yourself?"

"No," said Lynn. "We're going to find a way to destroy it. But until we do...we have to defend it."

He patted his hand on the icy metal surface. "Let me ask you a question, a serious one. Based on your knowledge, how many Veritechs could you build with a matrix this big?"

Dan stood in silence for a moment. "I don't know," he said. "They haven't built new Veritechs in years."

"An estimate, then," said Lynn.

"I don't know. It could power a Robotech factory for months."

Lynn nodded his head. "That sounds about right. Now, do you have any idea what it could do in Zentraedi hands?"

"What, like the Malcontent? They wouldn't even know what it was."

"No," said Lynn. "The real Zentraedi."

"No," Dan replied. "And you know what? I'm getting sick of this, so why don't you just..."

Lynn pounded the side of the giant matrix. "It could power a starship, Lieutenant!"

His words bounced off the cold walls, and came back in threatening echoes. Dan held his tongue. Lynn stared with threatening eyes and a hand on the matrix, his fingers running down the rusted steel.

"A Zentraedi battle cruiser is a semi-sentient organism," Kyle said, stepping up to Dan. "It runs on a single matrix of Protoculture, which it replenishes whenever it's active! This is all it takes, Lieutenant. In the right hands, this matrix could decimate the RDF, the Freedom Cross...and the legions of innocent people left on this world."

"You're dreaming," said Dan with disgust. "Every Zentraedi cruiser on the planet has been vaporized. And there's not enough Zentraedi left who know how to operate one!"

Lynn waved his finger in Dan's face. "You think you know it all, don't you?"

From the pocket of his suit coat, he retrieved a handful of photographs, paper-clipped together. The first one was black and white, and showed a landscape of desolate rocks and dust.

"What if I told you," said Lynn, "that there's a Zentraedi battle cruiser still intact. It's on the moon, buried in half a mile of rocks. And with a full matrix of Protoculture, it could free itself and make the journey back to Earth."

The second photo was a military spy picture. A tall, broad-shouldered Zentraedi warrior in full armor, standing beside a Robotech TC-1.

"Zerol," said Dan.

"That's right," Lynn nodded. "Zerol. Leader of the biggest Malcontent faction there is. There isn't a Zentraedi alive who hates Earth more than he. And do you know what Zerol did in the war?"

"...He was commander of a starship."

Lynn smiled coolly. "We've run background checks on a handful of his followers. They were all officers on Zentraedi battle cruisers."

Dan gasped. "He...he's not amassing an army...he's forming a crew!"

Lynn folded his arms, his hands disappearing into the shadow of his business suit. "Zerol knows about the cruiser on the moon. He's been there...we can prove it." His eyes grew thin, and he stared down at the Veritech pilot before him. "And he's found out about our Protoculture."

'Sup Mike!

Gonna take a few days off - meeting that chick today and we're going to her place.

Wish me luck,

Dan

"You've gotta be kidding me, Mike."

Michael Joons stood in Dan Martinez' apartment, fully dressed and armed with RDF weapons. A note, scratched hurriedly on a napkin, was in his hand. He spoke into a small cellular radio. Rick Hunter was on the other line.

"No sir," said Michael. "There's no sign of a break-in. All the doors and windows are still locked."

Two soldiers came down the stairs from the bedrooms. "Nothing upstairs," said one.

Michael nodded. "Looks like he ditched us, sir."

Rick cursed under his breath. "I'm setting up a search for him anyway. Do you seriously think he'd do this to us? Even this close to the show?"

"I wouldn't put it past him, sir."

"All right. Come on back to the airport. We'll have to plan this whole thing differently."

"Roger that," said Michael, and he clicked off the small radio. "Alright guys, that's it for the day. Let's pack up and--"

The apartment's windows smashed in violently. Bullet holes ripped open the walls and tore the furniture. One of the soldiers fell and shouted, clutching his arm. Peeling tires sounded just outside the door.

"Stay with him!" called Michael. He unlocked the safety on his assault rifle and burst through the front door. A stolen taxi cab was accelerating fast into the shadows of night. Two young men hung out the windows, screaming angered threats and firing into the air.

"Death to micronians! Long live the Zentraedi!"

Michael quickly put on his helmet. An infra-red visor slid over his eyes and, he followed the car's path down the street. He calmly rested the rifle butt against his shoulder, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. His visor flashed with the white-hot flash from the gun's muzzle.

A volley of automatic fire broke the cab's windows. The car slid out of control and collided with a telephone pole. Tangled metal and splinters of wood showered the pavement. Michael stepped into the street, and slowly approached the wreckage.

One of the young Zentraedi was kicking at the door from inside. Michael could see his heat signiature through the sheet metal of the car. He lowered the gun to his side and waited in stillness.

The young man freed himself from the smoldering vehicle. He gripped a semi-auto pistol in his blood-soaked hand. His dilated eyes found the man responsible; Michael's visor glowed in the shadows of the dark city street.

The Zentraedi lifted his gun with a shaking hand. His face was drawn tight with rage.

"We...are superior! ...We will not stop...until every last micronian...is dead in these streets!"

Michael raised the assault rifle with one arm. His thumb switched the weapon to its alternate firing mode. He stepped into the light of a streetlamp, and stared the revolting Zentraedi in the eye.

"They were here first," he sneered. "And they belong here."

Michael pulled the trigger tight. The assault rifle launched a grenade into the taxi's broken window. Roaring a terrible explosion into the night, it buried the Malcontent in liquid fire.