Chapter 13: Specialist

—August 1, 2018—
—25:30 GST—
Minmei was no good at standing at attention or playing soldier, but first impressions, she knew, were important for a group of people she would have to work with for at least the next few months. Commander Gouraz had been kind enough to give her the service records of the other eight band members, though she had mentioned that four of these people were little more than common groupies. The guy on the mixing board she already knew, a mysterious Jamaican man known only as "Clem" with shoulder length dreadlocks and narrow sunglasses he almost never took off, but the other three she didn't at all recognize. She thumbed through the service records, but gave up after a two minute effort when she realized she had no idea what they meant. She decided to meet them the old fashion way, and the first order of business was to stop by Lieutenant Doyle's office.

She knocked on the door, listened for a moment, then knocked again. This time there was a very muffled and bored sounding "What now?" as the door opened.

The room was mostly dark inside, and Minmei poked her head inside, not really sure if anyone was there. "Lieutenant Doyle?"

"Come on in."

The lights came up a few levels and Minmei was confronted by a man in a Hawaiian shirt and a straw hat, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk in the corner of his office. The office itself, interestingly enough, looked less like an office as it did a college dorm room the day after spring break; there was a cactus in the corner with a shirt hanging on the thistles, a guitar leaning against the side of the desk at an odd angle and old newspapers lining the floor along the entire left side of the room. The only other thing she noticed right now was that part of the wall next to the desk was completely covered over with clippings of pornography. Minmei stopped standing at attention. "Good morning. My uhhh... my name is..."

"Oh it's you! Good to see you again!"

Only now did Minmei get a good look at his face; under the straw hat and the Hawaiian shirt the face finally matched up in her memory; the executive producer at the Galaxy Boulevard Opera Theatre. She'd worked for him for over a year before the theatre closed for renovations (mostly paid for by her performances in his musicals) but for some reason seeing him again was a source of very little pleasure. "You enlisted, Boss?"

Doyle shook his head. "They reactivated my commission. I was reinstated eight moths ago. Anyway, Minmei— or Ling, if you prefer— I see you followed Kai Chan's advice, huh? Come to sing the enemy into submission?"

Minmei shrugged. "Something like that."

"I thought so. How're the kids? Last time we spoke was..." Doyle thought about it, not able to remember.

"Closing night of The Mikado." Minmei said. "The kids are fine, Taosan stopped getting sick all the time and Yu's finally talking. Doesn't have much to say, but at least he knows how."

Mr. Doyle—rather, Lieutenant Doyle— smiled contently. "I had hoped your family could get off to a good start, I'm glad you're doing alright. You know I always look out for my stars."

"I know that." In fact she knew it perfectly well. Even before he knew of her identity, even before anyone knew his real name, Mr. Doyle had always been watching her back, both on stage and in life. He had given her unexpected bonuses out of his own pocket book when he somehow figured out she was pregnant, and he even offered to pay the medical bills when Taosan and Yu were born. And later, when she opted to go back to work at the opera, Doyle had three times cut checks for toys, clothes, baby food, day care, never asking for anything in return. By no stretch of imagination could he have passed as a father figure to any sane person, but Minmei had noticed a long time ago that he seemed to delight in playing to the part of a careless, deranged grandfather. "Is there anything you need from me?" She said, not sure of exactly what would be expected of her in these new circumstances.

Lieutenant Doyle picked a clipboard out of the clutter on his desk and thumbed through the data. "You haven't worked in a while, but you seem to be in better shape since your kids were born. So, for starters, I'll need your measurements, height, weight and shoe size so we can get your wardrobe together."

"That's all?" She said hopefully.

"No, but I can fill out the rest myself." He picked up a pen and jotted down the rest of the lines in the form, "Original hair color: pink. Past experience: none. Age: fifteen. Racial ethnicity..." He looked at her for a moment. "Spanish or something."

Minmei shrugged. "Close enough. Anything else I can help you with?"

"First of all, don't wear your uniform around here unless the Captain's around. I don't mind it myself, but Clem thinks the uniform cramps his style, and since he's the god of the mixing board, his word is law."

"No uniforms? What am I supposed to wear?"

Doyle looked her over briefly. "Wear something sexy, turn a few heads, you know? With legs like yours you should wear more skirts, and you've got very nice tits so it might help to show some cleavage... a pushup bra can help you with that. And nothing shoulder padded, the hour-glass figure shows off your curves, it'll raise big bugs at the album sales. You never got to do that in the musicals, right?"

Now there was a part of her old director that never changed. She wondered if it was a side-effect of being in the director's chair for too long, or perhaps if he was simply born without tact. "I'll think about it, but remember, I've got two kids."

"That's true, you might not wanna traumatize the little tikes..." He looked her over one more time and sat up in his desk. "Where's your suite?"

"A-Deck, Level Three."

"Address?"

"315 Anderson street, Apartment-D"

"Oh, you live across the hall from Captain Elensh." Doyle said passively.

Minmei's heart skipped a beat. "Are you serious?"

"Yup. She picked that spot closest to the command towers and the number-3 fighter bays, her favorite two places in the universe besides the boxing ring on Level-2. Man am I glad I'm not you!"

"That's really good to know..." Minmei felt uncomfortable about all this, knowing Imura to a limited extent and not quite sure how the woman would react to her presence there. She knew she was being alittle too critical of the woman, after all Millia Jenius had been a warm and gentle person anywhere but inside a variable fighter, but something about Imura made her very uncomfortable. "Why do you ask anyway? You planning to ask me out or something?"

"Yes I am. Pick you up at 8:00?"

"Nope."

"How about 9:00?"

"Nope."

"Okay, 9:30."

"Nope."

Doyle pouted, "Is there someone else?"

Minmei grinned, playing his own game as she had learned to do. "It's not that, I'm just out of your league."

"Well you're right about that..." Doyle said, considering it seriously for a few moments, then adding, "Will you marry me?"

"No."

"Shoot... Anyway, listen, there's this tailor shop down the street from you on A-Deck that makes most of our wardrobe. They heard you were coming, so we put in an order to the supply corp. for some fabrics, cotton, polyester, and some genuine Chinese silk. Go right on down there, tell em Doyle sent ya, and they'll custom fit your dress just for you."

Minmei was impressed. There were certainly more shortsighted producers out there than this man, and she had been related to one of them. "When? Right now?"

"The sooner the better. The rest of the band's hanging out in the Starlight room doing... well pretty much just moping around like the pot-smoking retards they are, so you might as well go get acquainted with them."

"Okay, thanks."

"But don't be surprised if they don't warm up to you right away. Our last lead singer got caught in the outer decks when the ship took a reaction missile. The radiation fried her like a chicken. Good an crispy."

"Thanks, Boss, that's a great load off my mind." Minmei brushed the image out of her mind and decided it was best to just head home now. "I'll be back later."

—August 2, 2018—
—13:41 GST—
"Sekkai, I have been patient with you and I've put up with your bullshit, but this time you went too far! It's time I made it perfectly clear that there is only one ranking officer in this fleet and you are not it!"

Sekkai shifted her weight awkwardly in the briefing room, not really sure what kind of response she could give that wouldn't make Imura even more angry with her. "Captain, I was under the impression that we would cooperate in managing the use of the destroyer in combat…"

"And just where the hell did you get that idea!" Imura exploded up from her chair, almost leaping over the desk to strangle her. "You have no experience with military tactics of any kind other than what you've read in comic books! You may have been able to squeak by on your little ARMD carriers, but out here every decision you make affects tens of thousands of my soldiers! This latest embarrassment is all the reason I need to have your ass mailed back to Gallaron in a box!"

"But…"

"Zjendiel is not a dreadnaught, not matter how much you want it to be! Where in the hell did you get the bright idea to try and take on seven enemy destroyers by yourself!"

"What do you want from me?" Sekkai said defensively. "We destroyed all of the enemy ships and we intercepted their reentry capsules…"

"At the cost of over two hundred crewmen and a hundred and fifty pilots who died trying to cover your ass! Our entire battle plan almost went up in smoke this morning because you decided to play hero and go charging the enemy lines, totally blowing our surprise attack! Did you even think about that!"

Sekkai suddenly felt small and cornered, and at last the disconnected exterior gave way to an emotional response. "I don't have to take this from a Zentradi! You're a soldier, you have to obey the commands of your government just as your soldiers have to obey you! The council doesn't want it's fleets running amok out here without someone supervising them and nothing is going to change that!"

Imura immediately saw the inherent dishonesty in that logic. The only reason Sekkai was here was because the council didn't entrust their prized possession to a Queadlunn-Rau pilot. "You just can't let go of your father's pet project can you?"

"That has nothing to do with..."

"Fine then." Imura took a breath and walked around the desk, stopping directly in front of Sekkai and towering over her like a giant once again. "You will remain on the Victory until Zjendiel's cannons are repaired, at which point you will return to your ship and you will be confined to quarters until further notice."

Sekkai knew it was pointless to argue, Imura was pulling both rank and her virtually overwhelming physical superiority. "That reaction missile did alot of damage. It could take another three or four days to fix it!"

"Then I suggest you go into town and find yourself a good book."

"Captain Elensh, don't you care about anything other than rules and regulations! My ship single handedly...!"

"Sekkai," Imura's intensity was completely gone, fading into somber authority, "You're proceeding from a very dangerous misconception. The people who come out here trying to become heroes never live long enough to enjoy it. It would be different if you were some hotshot Valkyrie ace looking for your double-ace, but you are in command of an eight hundred thousand ton mobile gun platform that is also home to sixteen hundred people. You cannot afford to be reckless."

Sekkai stared a moment, then turned and stormed out of the office angrily.

Imura waited until she was well out of the door and down the hall before moving on to her next order of business, tapping the intercom button to the command bridge. "We're ready Mia, send in our guests." She didn't have to wait long; the door to the Captain's office opened a few seconds later and two men and a woman in some strange types of flight suits entered the office single file. "Welcome aboard." She said as friendly as she could. "I am Captain Imura Elensh, I'm in charge of this battle fleet."

The first of the three stepped forward and held out his hand. "Commander Ulyn Zaky, Parankazu 17th division. It's a pleasure to meet you in person."

"Likewise." Imura shook his hand timidly, making an effort not to let any of these three people out of her field of vision. "I was impressed with the design of your fighters. They seem unusually powerful for such small craft."

"What do you expect? My people only have a few capital ships like this one, we've been fighting the... Supervision Army, as you call them, with these fighters for over fifty years. It's only in the last eight months or so that we've started to have so much trouble with them."

Imura could understand that. There were thousands of Zentradi ships still roving around in the Arturo sector with no affiliation to anyone, and somehow it didn't surprise her that someone else had been disturbed by all this ruckus. "You've been very helpful as of late, your fighter units have started supporting us in more and more battles and we're grateful." Imura gave him the most genuine smile she could arrange before getting back to business. "The reason for this meeting is to discuss some kind of lasting arrangement, a formal alliance of some sort so we can continue to count on each other's help. We're currently undertaking a major operation to attack a large enemy stronghold that should cripple their fighting strength and buy us some time to build up our own fleet."

"I see... well it would be best if we could set something up formally with your central government when we arrive on your home world, but I gather that you want us to actively support your offensive in the long term?"

Imura nodded. "We need all the help we can get."

Commander Zaky shifted his weight awkwardly. "We would like to give your people more tactical support, in fact we recognize that we very much need to, but we've encountered a bit of a defensive dilemma. It seems another one of your allies, a Zentradi group known as the Botoru main fleet has been attacking our outer colonies trying to obtain reactive weapons for use against the Supervision Army. We'd be happy to share the technology with them but…"

"You're sure it's the Botoru fleet? None of the others?"

"That's what they told us, anyway. They're a wild bunch, even for Zentradi. The worst of the lot is a female named Tiamat."

Imura raised a brow. "A Meltran? That sounds like real trouble."

"You have no idea. We've lost four squadrons in the past month in skirmishes trying to defend missiles silos on our outer markers. We've managed to repel their attacks without too much difficulty, but her tactics are so random and chaotic that it's tying up a great deal of our resources just securing our own borders."

Imura nodded. "We will speak to the Botoru fleet on your behalf. Unlike most Zentradi groups, about half of them are female so I'm sure we can come to a sensible arrangement."

Commander Zaky seemed satisfied, but spoke up again before leaving. "One other thing... based on the size and strength of your war fleet it's obvious to us that your manufacturing abilities greatly surpass ours, at least when it comes to building large things like capital. My government has asked me extend an offer to you, if we ever do open some formal arrangements."

"I'm listening," Imura said.

"We will give you access to a sample of our Di'maku heavy fighters and any design notes you may require for the purpose of mass producing the units in larger numbers... or perhaps even building more advanced models based on your own technology. In exchange, we would like to recruit some of your production base to help us build up and eventually modernize our own military forces. Sort of a joint-economic defense agreement. How does this sound?"

"It sounds like a wonderful idea. You would, of course, have to speak to the Elders Council about it when you reach Gallaron, but I'm sure they'd go for it. Anyway, you're busy man Commander and I won't keep you any longer. I'll be in touch."

"Thank you, Captain." Commander Zaky saluted and stepped back out of the office just as he came in, and once the door was closed Imura went back behind the desk and switched on the microphones in the hallway. "She seemed pretty lively to me." Zaky was saying. "Your Korudmo says the Zentradi are neutral warriors without souls... I'm no expert, but I'd say the Korudmo was wrong."

"You're an atheist, I'd expect you to think so," Said the woman of the group, keeping a few steps ahead of them. "But you're right, none of it makes sense. Even Tiamat's got more personality than she's supposed to. If the Zentradi really had that much in common with them, they'd all be zombies just like the Demons. That woman standing in there..."

"It's creepy isn't it?" Anther one said. "If you didn't know better she could almost pass for human..."

Imura clicked off the microphones, satisfied by now with her guests. "I guess Zentradi no longer have the franchise on culture shock."

—August 3, 2018—
—06:30 GST—
If you passed through Morska-Delcaan at any time during day or night, there was a one-in-six chance you would see a major fleet battle. Not just here either, the same was happening all over the exterior edge of the Arturo sector, with the quarter of a million ships of the 182nd Botoru fleet battling half as many Supervision warships in a battle front extending over twenty parsecs. The Supervision ships, armed with reactive weapons of their own, were doing their own fair share of damage against the Zentradi army, but as always the Zentradi could count on their overwhelming numerical superiority and superior resources to come out on top. Not being able to repair their ships on the fly was taking its toll on some of the front line divisions, but Commandant Gyzol had never once challenged the ancient battle doctrine. The automated facilities in his command fortress could build new ships or repair some of the simple damages of the older ones.

Gyzol's fortress was never far from the front line; no weapon known to the Zentradi could destroy such a behemoth in a single mounted attack, even the largest reaction weapons would only blow chunks off the surface. The Commandant was watching the entire ordeal on his monitors when one of his subordinates contacted his command bubble from the lower decks. "Incoming signal, Lord Gyzol. IFF code matches SDF-05."

"General Shikari." He said, recognizing the ship. It had been several weeks since she last contacted him about an update, but every time she contacted him it was always something important. "Put it through."

The monitor clicked on and the feral, vicious looking meltran warlord appeared on the monitor. There were flashes of light around her that Gyzol knew were lights from battle, but based on his last meetings with Shikari he knew the only reason she would bother making contact in the middle of a firefight was if she didn't have a choice. This, he realized, must have been important. "Calling Gyzol, 182nd Botoru fleet."

"We're receiving, Shikari. You have news?"

"And requests." She stooped just a bit from an impact somewhere on the ship. "We have no confirmed that the enemy is setting up a major base of operations near our headquarters and may attack us soon. We're mobilizing a sneak attack to take them off balance, but by our best estimates we don't have enough firepower to have an effect."

Gyzol looked at the other monitor again, watching dozens of reaction warheads exploding in the faces of his own warriors. The enemy fleet involved in this battle before him was already on the run and had lost thousands of ships already, but he was finding that each of these skirmishes came at a higher and higher price to his army. "We can't spare anything right now. The enemy base is a valuable target. Truly, it's a rare occasion that the enemy even BUILDS bases, but in order to draw their fire away from you I've had to commit everything I have to try and blitz their front lines across half the sector. Two other Zentradi fleets have joined us but we've already paid a high price for this diversion. I've lost 24 of my task force, and your battle here is quickly becoming more trouble than it's worth…"

"Which brings me to my second point. We've had complaints from some of our allies about a meltrandi commander in your ranks known as Tiamat."

Gyzol already knew where this was going. "Tiamat's not one of mine. She commands one of the smaller fleets that joined forces with us a few months ago. Apparently they once belonged to the 127th Glexura fleet from one of the Magellanic clusters. They went awol for some reason and they've been wandering the galaxy ever since. It's about an even mix, male and female ships, but they basically do whatever they want whenever they want. I can't even get in touch with them half the time."

Shikari frowned. "This could be a problem, but that's a matter for another day. Actually, I sent this message because our government has finally approved the transaction we discussed earlier this year."

Gyzol took a step forward. "The reactive weapons you mean?"

"We've finally managed to get a transport convoy past the Supervision Army blockade. It should be arriving there within the next twelve hours. Unfortunately we didn't have time to fashion weapons for you, but the shipment includes reactant mass needed to build such warheads and a few specialists that can teach your computers how to manufacture them."

Gyzol's mouth started to water. "In that case, I think we might be able to arrange something after all. Assuming the main force can't simply push through the enemy lines to join the attack, you can count on an advanced fleet arriving in your area to join the attack. Exactly how much support we can give you really depends on how effective your weapons are against the enemy."

Shikari smiled. "The enemy is very adept at defending against nuclear attacks, but when used properly they can be VERY effective. I look forward to seeing your ships at Kaladan."

Gyzol returned the smile with a hint of anticipation. "Don't go getting yourself killed before I can take the credit for your victories."

"Oh, you'd love that one wouldn't you?" Shikari said mischievously. "Just make sure you pick up that convoy. Getting past that blockade was certainly no easy task for their captain."

"Of course. You have my gratitude, General."

—07:40 GST—
Bennet had been waiting for this. He had been clenching his fists in anticipation for the reversal of decision that he knew would follow the discovery of Vorhalas. With the weapons they had already found below the surface, everyone knew the Zentradi fleet harassing them would soon be a distant memory. The equipment they had captured had repaired the construction equipment damaged by SDF-102's raid during the battle of Soccoro-Delcaan, but aside from that there were also the six fold weapons they had recovered from a storage facility far beneath the largest city, the dry docks across the planet containing several thousand ships of older but still very powerful designs, and then there was always the unfinished hull of the battleship lying half submerged in one of the oceans offshore of the eastern continent. Bennet watched the buildup on Vorhalas eagerly, the rising of bases and gun outposts, the installment of missile batteries and restoration of new shipyards, and even as Lacul's command fortress folded into orbit of the planet he watched the defense forces rip the Gallaron scout ships from the 6th fleet to pieces. And now his time had come.

He didn't quite know why Lacul had summoned him here, but he knew it would be good news. He had done everything right so far, this was sure to be a reward for his vigilance in the performance of his duties. Once called, he quickly arrived in the great chamber of the giant of giants and stood at attention on the catwalk next to Kraken's seat. "Admiral Bennet, reporting Lord." He said solemnly.

Lacul leaned back in his gigantic chair and yawned. "I've been growing increasingly dissatisfied with your work Bennet." He said boredly. "You've been passive, obedient, receptive, I'd even go so far as to call you demure."

He sagged a few inches, slightly embarrassed. "If my work displeases you..."

"Bennet, you do know the reason Lazuli still holds her current position don't you? Even being one of the oldest of the warlords here?"

Bennet shook his head. "I assumed her performance..."

"She follows orders perfectly, she always does what she's told and never deviates from standard tactical guidelines. In this way, she's really not much good to me."

"I don't understand."

Lacul leaned forward slightly, his massive hulk actually compressing the air around him and washing Bennet with a sudden gale of wind. "The reason I control your mind so loosely is because I recognized a long time ago that the normal soldiers are poor tacticians. Their brains lack such properties as creativity and intuition, and I needed someone who would obey my goals but still have their personalities intact. The others, Sarride and Sarron, Lazuli, Kong, Anubas and Osar, none of them are as well preserved as you are, because your mind already had the kind of ambition I was looking for. Do you understand Bennet?"

Bennet nodded. "You chose me because you needed someone who... who could..."

"I chose you because you need the least encouragement to excel in what you do. Your recent work has bored me, you haven't killed anything in almost half a year. Now that our position has been fortified and will soon become impregnable, I will correct that mistake on my part." Bennet smiled widely as Lacul put up a graphic on the monitor. "The protoculture is mobilizing their ships for a major offensive. There's not many of them, but they are quite troublesome in such small groups. We have the advantage in large-scale fleet actions, but Lazuli has somehow allowed the enemy to sneak past our patrols and open communications with the Zentradi forces on the Bokata front. They may be trying to arm the Zentradi with reaction weapons, and if that is the case, Gallaron will had found a way to circumvent our numerical advantage."

Bennet understood. "Then it really comes down to picking a focal point, doesn't it?"

Lacul smiled. It was as if Bennet was reading his mind, or else the little man was some kind of copy of himself. "We have two options available to us. The first, most obviously, is to destroy the Gallaron fleet before they get to us and cause trouble. Without them, the Zentradi forces will loose a valuable ally and we will be able to capture Gallaron and her factories."

Bennet shook his head. "Too long term. I have no doubt that the Zentradi will attack Vorhalas in cooperation with Gallaron. If we try to intercept the GSDF before they arrive, they will simply evade our attacks as a delaying tactic."

Lacul smiled wider. "Then the second option is self evident."

"Destroy the Zentradi." Bennet said. "And I think you'll find that option to be quite a bit easier, but it will still be no small task. I'll need many ships, and I'll need Kong's expertise with guerilla warfare."

Lacul was boundlessly amused. "You've already thought this through haven't you? What little scheme are you dreaming up in they microscopic brain of yours?"

"With your permission, I would like to undertake this operation myself. For its success, I will be needing four of the fold weapons we captured and a class-three strike fleet."

Lacul stopped smiling. "Four fold weapons? Using our trump cards already?"

Bennet stood up straighter. "If this works out the way I intend it, we'll be in full control of Gallaron by the end of the year. I can remove the Zentradi threat completely in just one attack, but it will have to be perfect in order to work. I'll need to find the right star system, and I'll need time to lure the enemy fleet into an ambush."

Lacul smiled again. "Your people single handedly defeated Bodolza, so for now I'll trust your judgment. I suggest you deploy immediately and start making preparations."

Bennet's stomach twisted in a knot. This, above all, would be his finest hour. "Yes My Lord! Just you watch, the Zentradi will never know what hit them!"

—12:10 GST—
Minmei opened the door to the broadcast dome on the top of the command tower and walked faced first into a bombardment of an angry voice berating someone for some offense she could not be sure. The room was extremely large; the only door into the room was set between two metal platforms, in front of which was a larger floor lined with holographic imaging/projection panels. The entire dome was enclosed in Plexiglas, polarized against radiation and hardened against impacts or other stress the ship might encounter.

The arguing was coming from a wild-looking woman in black clothing, rainbow-colored hair down to to her shoulder blades in black clothes decorated with metal chains. Minmei recognized the two people her argument was directed against; a Zentradi vocalist dressed in a long black overcoat, and the woman behind him in a micron-sized traditional Meltrandi flight suit with an electric guitar in her hands. Zombie Zentradi's Ash and Enki, she thought, recognizing them from their posters. She had never worked with them before in person, but she had seen them perform on stage countless times without having the privilege to introduce herself. Their kind of music was far from her style, but as the galaxy's first official Zentradi rock group, they had her admiration and respect.

But the shouting woman in the center of the room did not seem to share that sentiment, "Why even pretend! You pod-born genetic freaks got nothin to contribute to anything, you oughta just go out and find some babies to eat or whatever it is you do!"

The two Zentradi exchanged a short glance, then Ash retorted ominously, "What's wrong with that? Babies are very tasty."

Enki nodded in agreement. "Oh, yeah. It's like the most tender side of BBQ pork you'll ever have. Once you've had baby, you might go crazy."

The angry woman seemed to boil over with renewed rage, "Oh, you think that's funny, freak! You think that makes you civilized that you can joke about that! That's your whole culture, Zentradi don't know how to do anything but hate and kill innocent people! Everything about you... you make me sick!"

The other occupants of the room seemed bored by this display. Minmei found a man sitting on the edge of the stage with a sullen expression; he was a sight to behold, a tall man covered in an array of jagged scars as if from a thousand and one consecutive knife fights. He greeted her with a nod as she approached and she sat down on the edge of the platform next to him, "What's going on?" She asked in a whisper.

"Gretta's always on about Zentradi. It's kinda stupid really."

Minmei could relate, in fact the young woman's ravings sounded uncomfortably familiar. "Are you with Starlight? I just transferred here."

The man extended one hand at the end of a gnarled arm, "I'm Larz, the keyboard guy. Do you have any music experience?"

Minmei smiled and shook his hand. "Some. My name is Lynn Minmei, I've, uh... been in the business awhile."

Larz smiled. "Oh, I've heard of you. Aren't you the dame who started that whole "get your hands dirty" thing?"

Her smile faded slightly, "Not on purpose."

Larz stood up from the platform and pointed around the room, "Well over there is Gretta... jack of all trades and master of none," He said to the angrily shouting woman, "And behind you is our Messiah, Lord Clem." Minmei turned around and almost jerked back in surprise. Clem was a massive individual, a black man almost eight feet tall with a barrel chest and shoulder-length dreadlocks. She couldn't see his eyes beneath his sunglasses, but somehow she had the strangest feeling that he was staring right at her.

"H-Hi, I'm... I'm Minmei."

Clem nodded a slow greeting, and turned his attention back to watching Gretta's continued outburst.

"He doesn't talk much, but when he does you be sure to listen." Larz said, moving on to the other stage platform, "And over here we have Amon," A younger man was slumped over a drum set, fast asleep with a peace sign tattooed on his right shoulder, "Amon is a part-time pacifist."

"Part time?"

"Yeah, whenever he isn't stoned out of his mind—which isn't often—he's got a really bad temper." Larz guided Minmei over to the where the verbal combat was taking place.

"Seven billion people!" Gretta was saying, still shouting with no sign of relenting, "What does that mean to you? Men women and children! And you Zentradi did it without even hesitating!"

"Well gee, I guess I owe you an apology then, huh?" Ash said, the dry sarcasm painted on his voice, "Seeing how I personally killed seven billion people with my own two hands. Boy, what a hard days work that was!"

"That's all you do is joke about it, don't you? How Zentradi of you!"

"We aim to please," Enki said with a smirk.

"And what did you do to please the Supervision Army? Why don't you just tell the truth, so GSDF will stop protecting you?"

"Truth?" Larz said, jumping into the conversation, "Do we have a new conspiracy theory, Gretta?"

"It's not a theory, it's a fact! The only reason the Supervision Army fight us is because there's Zentradi with us! If we kicked all the Zentradi out of Gallaron they'd totally leave us alone!"

"That's not true," Minmei said suddenly, "Where do you get such a silly idea like that?"

"It's not silly! Remember that raid on Gallaron last year? Did you know the Supervision troops that landed in Gallaron city only shot at Zentrans and Meltrans! The only humans they got hit were killed in a crossfire—"

"Pris was human," Minmei cut her off, her voice cut the air like a knife, "She was fifteen years old. One of their riflemen shot her in the head as she was carrying my son to safety. And as for me... I was shot nine times by enemy troops before they left us alone. Do I look Zentradi to any of you?"

All of them stared at Minmei, then back at Gretta for a possible rebuttal. She shifted her weight slightly and then blurted out, "There was probably a Zentran standing behind you that you didn't—"

"It's impossible to take people like you seriously, Gretta." Ash said, staring her down, "And kid, let me tell you, I was rockin the Supervision Army for fifteen years before the Miclones taught me how to rock worlds! I've forgotten more about them then you'll ever know!"

"All you know is how to murder innocent people, Zentran! I can't even stomach how they let you on this ship, you make us a target for the Supervision Army! Don't you know, they would have come to us in peace if we didn't try to protect the damn Zentran all the time—"

"Little girl, you are a riot." Ash turned and started for the door, but on the way out he seemed to notice Minmei standing there. He leaned close to her, hovering his face just an inch away from her, and before she could react, sniffed her like a dog. She stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to do or even say as he turned again and headed back towards the door.

Enki gave him a head start before following, turning to Minmei on the way out, "That's just how he greets people. Don't take it personal."

"I guess I won't," She rubbed the back of her neck nervously, "Hi, I'm Minmei. I just transferred here..."

"Yeah, I know who you are. You've been a huge inspiration for me." With a charming smile, she reached out and shook Minmei's hand, "I'm Enki Tanlil. Welcome to the Victory."

Gretta's rainbow hair seemed to turn ashen white, "Minmei? As in Lynn Minmei!"

Enki laughed and followed Ash out of the room, leaving the remainder of Starlight band to settle their grievance.

Minmei put her hand on Gretta's shoulder, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Then you must be too young to remember."

Gretta looked puzzled. "Remember what?"

"The Zentradi that came to our aid at the final battle, when Bodolza's fleet destroyed Earth. If they hadn't been there we wouldn't be alive today."

Gretta shook her head violently. "I don't expect you to understand... you remember when they boarded us? The battlepods marching all over the ship... they murdered my parents right in front of me!"

"I was there Gretta, I remember. That's in the past."

"But you didn't—"

"That's in the past." Minmei said again, "What do you want from them, anyway? Are we still at war with the Bodolza? Did they not surrender, was that all an illusion?" Minmei's hand gripped her shoulder tighter, "I don't expect you to listen to me at all, but how dare you go around judging people just because of how they were born! Humans are capable of perfectly horrible things too, and I don't see you shouting at them!"

Gretta and Minmei exchanged one very long look, one filled with acid and lined with bitterness towards each other and what each represented. Larz watched it all from the side, shaking his head in disappointment. "Well, it looks like we're all going to get along just fine."

—29:50 GST—
Culture shock wasn't the only rude awakening for Yulin Zaky and his small crew of the Parankazu assault ship. Part of him realized this was intentional, a political ploy to shape his opinions and perceptions that he would eventually carry back to the royal family of Suran when he presented his report. Doctor Varcus had personally given them their flight path when they arrived in Gallaron space, a winding semi-circular orbit that seemed unnecessarily scenic.

The first leg of the approach had taken them within four thousand kilometers of Alpha Factory, and yet even from that distance the bulk of the massive space station eclipsed the sun for seven minutes before they passed out of its shadow. Hundreds of space craft large and small were berthed to dry docks and ports along its outer skin, some receiving minor repairs, others being reloaded with fresh ammunition. One or two were gutted hulls with emergency crews swarming over the wreckage; Zaky guessed that there had been an attack here recently, probably one of thousands of small-scale raids probing the planet's defenses.

Gallaron itself was even more impressive. The short flight over the terrain after re-entry had given him a false first impression. For a hundred miles the only thing he could see was trees—humongous trees the size of sky scrapers built up in forests ten or twenty miles across. Most of the planet was covered by grasslands prairies, but the forests here were a site to behold. Flying along for a bit more, Zaky noticed that most of the forests were rimmed by a dense collection of small stone and wooden houses of remarkably artistic workmanship (had he come from Earth, he might easily have mistaken this for a Japanese colony). Then the realization struck him like a thunderbolt as they passed over one of the sparser canopies of the giant trees: the forests were the cities. Each one of these trees had become the scaffold of a massive wooden building that wrapped around the trunk and climbed hundreds of feet in the air like a second bark. Every tree in every forest was host to one of these tube-buildings, and in some part of his mind Zaky realized that the inhabitants themselves had been responsible for the massive size of their forests.

Protocrans didn't build cities. They grew them.

At least until recently, as was evident once the assault ship began its final descent on the spaceport section of Megaroad City. He was actually a little surprised to see it at first. The city closely resembled some of the ancient ruins in Suran, but unlike the rubble he had seen from the air on his world, this city was a thriving metropolis that was home to just short of a million people. Fifteen kilometers across, the city was laid out in concentric circles that became increasingly denser and more built up with taller and more modern looking buildings the closer they got to the central hub, which was an uncommonly high-tech two kilometer dot on the face of this world. Imura had called this place "Megaroad Central," the traffic controller's in Varcus' office had called it "Megaroad New City." Whatever one choose to call it, this portion of Gallaron's capital city with its steel and plastic sky scrapers and high rise apartment buildings was quite obviously the contribution of Megaroad-01.

The spaceport zone lay on the outskirts of the city where the outermost rings broke their circular pattern and conformed to the shoreline of a massive lake. There was an airfield here too, and Zaky counted almost a dozen hangars packed full of variable fighters lined up near an airfield across from a row of berths occupied by a half dozen ARMD-class escort carriers bobbing peacefully in the water. Paradoxically, Megaroad City was considered the capital of the Republic of Gallaron despite the fact that its central government was seated elsewhere, a city called Otanipsun in one of the forest zones ten kilometers to the south. When Zaky's ship landed, an armored car and an escort of marines arrived to carry them on the last leg of their trip.

Once again, they took the scenic route, but this time there was nothing here that really surprised him. Megaroad City wasn't all that different from one of Suran's cities, but the alien culture that permeated it wasn't surprising either. More and more he came to realize that Gallaron and Suran wouldn't have too many ideological differences, just from the look of things—but then he passed something that made his hair stand on end.

A nude woman was standing in a grassy park area with her arms held out in front of her as if expecting to catch something falling out of the sky. There was something sticking out of the ground in front of her, a wooden stake about waist high that seemed simultaneously ancient and high-tech. There was a small crowd around her, protocrans, terrans and Zentran, singing a song in a language he didn't recognize. The driver of the armored car saw it as well, and actually slowed down to make sure his guests could see it. Zaky and his crew watched, first in confusion, then in growing wonder as a tiny light appeared between her hands, growing in size and intensity until it expanded to swallow the woman in a five meter orb of light. It hung there for a moment or so, then snapped out of its round shape and began twisting rapidly and chaotically around her in bizarre shapes like an aurora gone mad. The crowd around here grew even more excited, and the tempo of the song sped up—as they did, the swirling lights intensified, even began to converge on the woman in the center who by now had begun to throw herself around in the middle of it as if imitating the luminous madness around her. And in the last moments before Zaky's driver moved on, some of the light congealed into a column around her, seemed to become solid until it her feet left the ground and lifted her nearly ten feet into the air. And still the dance went on, and the tempo of the song picked up its pace.

Zaky leaned over the man's shoulder in the driver's seat, speaking so quickly his translator circuit barely managed to spit out the words, "What the hell was that?"

The driver looked over his shoulder and grinned, "I figured you'd get a kick out of that. It's an ancient Protocran tradition, used in healing rituals and can also be used to power certain mechanical devices. They call it light dancing."

Zaky's navigator furrowed his brow, "As in making light dance or dancing with light?"

"A little of both, really. It's a practice from an old religion that nobody believes in anymore, but it's so ingrained in the culture that they keep it alive almost as an art form. That particular dancer is a priestess in training, sort of an amateur, but it looks like she's been practicing."

Zaky whistled in amazement, "I can't even imagine what the professionals look like."

Again, the driver grinned, "Let me put it this way: at the Festival of Lights, this kind of thing takes up an entire stadium."

Twenty minutes later, Zaky and his crew were standing on the 17th floor of a white building coiled around a tree four hundred meters high with fruits the size of cars. Zaky understood this was called a Kyshu tree, and the enormous fruits growing on its branches could be fermented to created a form of Zentradi liquor known as Kyshien. So it didn't surprise him much when, upon entering the chamber of the Elder's Council, Zaky was handed a wicker basket containing four bottles of Kyshien and a yellow chopped cylinder of something the security guard called "cheese." The council chamber itself was well lit, comfortable temperature, with a relaxingly subtle scent of pinewood hanging in the air—probably artificial, he reasoned. It was a circular room with three rows of seats wrapped around an open space with a table in the center. Most of the people here were female, but one section of the chamber with raised desks and a lectern in the center was occupied mostly by males. Zaky guessed, correctly, that this section was reserved for the highest ranking council members.

Just from the look of them, rank was assigned by criterion of age.

The oldest of the council members stood up as the four of them entered the room and greeted them with a clumsy approximation of a Parankazu salute. "Gentlemen: welcome to Gallaron," He said, somehow in perfect Tarsic without even the need of a translator.

Zaky tried not to look surprised, or embarrassed at the fact that the Council had one-upped him on the language department. He relied on his translator to answer, "Thank you sir. It's good to be here."

"I am Dumokai Verten," the oldest said, transitioning this time to somewhat accented Zentradi, "High Elder of the Council. On behalf of all of our people, it is my sincerest hope that..."

"I'm a military man, Dumokai, not a diplomat." Zaky said in Zentradi—and part of him realized that his accent probably rubbed Verten a little funny, assuming the man was fluent, "Our purpose here is not to exchange political well wishes or platitudes. There's a war going on and thousands of our people are dying every day. We are here to see if we can help each other."

Verten seemed annoyed, but one of the female council members off to the side gestured for him to take his seat and rose slightly to get his attention. Zaky could tell just from looking that she was a Terran. "I'm Dumo Khaled, the military/economic liaison standing in for Dumo Sekkai during her deployment," and she smiled, "You'll be getting to know her fairly well in the future. Anyhow, I was forwarded a summary of your requests from Captain Elensh this morning. You said you wanted use of our factory satellites?"

Zaky nodded. It was comforting to finally get to the business end of this trip. "We were attacked by the Supervision Army by--on your calendar would be the year 1875. It was a war that lasted seven years, and we finally drove them off our world and even managed to chase them out of our solar system. The Parankazu was formed in the flames of the war, an international military complex that as of twenty years ago is the official armed forces of our world. The Supervision Army resurfaced and attacked us again about thirty years later and began attacking our colonies sporadically after that, then a Zentradi squadron some time later mistook us for hostile forces and attacked as well. We've been using high speed, fold-capable strike craft against both of them ever since, but in your year 1996 or 97 we captured several Supervision Army cruisers and converted them into battleships for our own defenses. Six more are still undergoing reconstruction, and one is scheduled for deployment later this year. This after twenty years of work on captured space craft--is you can guess, our manufacturing abilities don't even compare to yours."

Khaled's expression suggested this was all very familiar to her. "I gather your people were technologically more advanced than hours in your first contact situation, but we were in a similar position on Earth about ten years ago. We had captured a single Supervision Army warship and converted it into a battleship called the Macross, supported by a few hundred much smaller vessels of our design. It didn't do us much good when the Zentradi decided to exterminate us to avoid cultural contamination."

"In that sense, we got lucky," Zaky said, "The Bodolza fleet never did locate our home planet. They carpet bombed one of our colonies after an entire division of their soldiers joined forces with us. That was sixty years ago, so it's safe to assume he never bothered looking for us before your people somehow eliminated him.."

"Then you understand, just as we do now, the need for a military force that can take them head-to-head."

Zaky nodded gravely, "As a matter of fact, I do."

Khaled turned to Verten at the head of the lectern with a gentle smile, "Dumokai, we're not communists, are we? Surely we can sell them some space on Alpha Factory with a small discount?"

"It's better for those resources to be controlled by people who know how to use them," Verten said, slightly agitated, "On the other hand, I'm inclined to trust that Doctor Varcus's technical department would be able to get them up to speed before long."

Another of the council members, this one a Protocran woman, said from the opposite end of the chamber, "The reliance on automation is keeping war costs down, but the factory facilities themselves still need to be repaired and serviced from time to time. With the amount of space in Alpha and Omega Factories, it'll be a few more decades before the repairs are completed."

Khaled smiled, realizing the suggestion as it came, "How's your home economy, Commander? Unemployment problems?"

"Not that I know of..." Zaky's navigator gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow, at once jogging his memory, "Ow... oh, um... there is a class of individuals in our eastern hemisphere that has had alot of employment difficulties. They're... well, little more than anti-unification malcontents. Their primary concern was the loss of revenue for their local nations and provinces after centralized government brought the entire planet under the Suran Royal Family."

Khaled read between the lines. Your corporations globalized and the little guy got screwed. "This might be a golden opportunity for you to be more inclusive of your citizens who—well, didn't stand to gain much from one-world-government."

Zaky felt as if he had just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "I should warn you," he said carefully, "About a third of those malcontents are impoverised Zentradi."

"I don't see a problem with that," Dumo Silen, one of the women nearest the central desks said, "Do you, Dumokai?"

Verten looked at her quizzically, then shrugged, "My personal opinion is not important."

Silen, and everyone else in the room, took it as agreement under protest, "Poverty is the same no matter who it afflicts," Silen said, and added with a smile, "The wealth of our Republic is measured by the value of the things it controls. If your workers are willing to contribute to the defense and safety of both of our nations, you can assure them that they will be well paid for it."

Zaky turned to his crew and searched their faces. This was about as political as it ever got with him; of the four man crew, he was the only one of them who had actually grown up in Suran proper. All of the others had come from all over his world, children of farmers, factory workers, nomads. All of them gave their approval, and Zaky passed it on to the council members with a simple word, "Then I believe we have an alliance."