April 5, 2005, Sacramento California UEG
A majestic purple sunset descended on the square, finally a very light evening breeze promised relief after a hot day. Mitchell Hunter walked unhurriedly to the boulevard where his mobile home stood out against the distant city. It was a prefab made of blue-blue wood faded by time with curious golden-framed windows. On the pointed roof stood a scattered rooster paired with other junk: a scattered pinwheel, a vase of metal flowers, a World War II Spitfire airplane painted in bright colors. All in all, the house had the grotesque appearance of a Miyazaki movie in live action. Maybe it was a little sad, but the man had stopped looking at things in that kind of perspective. He grabbed the mosquito net that was swinging on the front door and looked around a couple of times before disappearing into the small entrance of the trailer. Within seconds he came out again, putting his baseball cap on his forehead, "Where the hell is he now?" he said to himself. It was time for the evening news and the man took with his free hand (in the other one he held a half-liter beer) an abandoned deckchair on the patio wall. He tried clumsily tinkering to open it with one hand, then let himself go sitting down for a few minutes. He looked again near the square where his fan racer, covered with a heavy acetate sheet, looked like a big curled up cat in the shade. He almost smiled, a crooked smile that didn't reach his sad eyes. He took his tablet and quickly searched for his favorite site to watch the evening news. In the deafening silence broken only by the chirping of crickets he could hear his tapping on the screen. Then the host's excited voice filled the air. "...United Government Prime Minister Harlean Niven was assassinated this morning... at 10:00 a.m. in Anchorage time zone near his home at the Alaskan Base High Command Operations Center... The manner of the attack follows other attacks by the anti-unification forces ... at the moment no armed group has claimed responsibility for the crime ... the High Command has been meeting for about 8 hours behind closed doors. The death of Niven closes the first legislature of this difficult government. The regular Army and the special forces Robotech, they are in charge of the high command..."
The man spat gurgling a sip of beer, while the transparent liquid dripped between his lips and chin, dismayed he stood up. He remained motionless for very long moments while the beer gushed from the slanting neck of the bottle and formed a puddle on the floor, but the man, lost in his reflection, seemed not to notice. He waited still holding the phone and then entered the house and tried desperately to call his son.
A few seconds later, a thin shadow, which stretched incredibly long in the last rays of the sunset, appeared on the patio floor, under the blue house that in the orange light of the sun shone with greenish hues. The noise of the excited footsteps on the tiles scared away a dove that had perched on top of the roof. The lantern on the door was turned off, but the door was wide open, and the mosquito net revolved on itself to the rhythm of a listless wind. A stirring voice came from inside, "yes Mitchell Hunter, R, Hunter, yes my son! Lieutenant Fokker yes I will wait! Yes..." The man looked out one of the windows and immediately a threatening expression altered his features. He lifted one punch with his left arm while he held the phone in the other. He stood there with his mouth closed and his eyebrows raised until he decided to open the window: he tinkered with the handle until it was turned and then he pulled out his disheveled head, neck and half of his torso: he turned with a threatening air to the person in front of him "Rick!" he grunted "where the hell were you boy?! Come on, I'm trying to talk to your brother!"
The young man smiled, but it was a crooked smile just like his father's. He shook his head slightly, his long, disheveled hair kept falling over his eyes. He wore a mechanic's overalls with grease on his thighs and torso, and a pair of military amphibians. Work gloves dangled from the back pocket of his trousers. He leapt three steps to the front door, and in a moment he plunged into the darkness of the small hall. His pupils dilated by reflection, making his blue eyes almost black. He waited in front of her father with a distracted expression. He was at least two inches taller and looked slightly sideways at him.
"What the hell are you up to now?" he jokingly said.
Mitchell was definitely not prone to irony, his hands were sweating as he pressed the speakerphone button on his smartphone. The voice repeated monotonously: Alaska Base, Aviation Department please hold, we will answer as soon as possible - Then an irritating gipsy music and again - ... Alaska Base, aviation department...
Mitch's eyes fixed on the smartphone screen seemed to want to escape from the orbits that contained them.
Rick was tempted to laugh, but he wanted more than anything to understand why all of a sudden his father was so eager to communicate with his brother. Roy had enlisted 11 months earlier and they hadn't seen him since. He had been assigned directly to the High Command base in Alaska, but often traveled to other bases as a test pilot. Rick recalled that the last stop was in Russia for flight tests on war fighters. That was the last time they'd ever really talked, because then it was as if something had broken between them. Rick had snapped and called him a murderer, although as far as Rick could tell, he hadn't killed people yet. For Rick, war was something confusing and indefinite, always just around the corner. He grew up with that habit... war was close, yes, but not close enough to smell it. He would never admit that he really wanted his brother back in the house with them. Mitch became sad after he left, and as usual, when sadness came his way, he was more likely to get drunk as an asshole. But now things were better, they had stopped traveling around the country, perhaps because of Roy's absence and they hadn't moved from Sacramento since Christmas, Rick had even started studying again. He'd received another almost new fan racer, in addition to inheriting Roy's one. Mitch had met a woman in town and often they both went to dinner or lunch with her, she was quite young and younger than Mitch, certainly. What are called the circumstances of life had made them similar, a bit melancholy and addicted to alcohol.
"No one will answer you in that switchboard, NEVER," Rick said, waving his right hand softly in the air and jumping on a gutted chair behind him. He shook his hair by throwing his head backwards, a gesture that had always had the power to irritate his father in the most unlikely way.
Shut up! He growled - Haven't you seen the evening news? Well of course not, who knows where the fuck you've been hiding until now!
Rick kept watching him from under the long eyelashes, exhaling with his nose.
-I didn't - he said irritated - surprise me!
Mitchell Hunter, who with one ear hadn't stopped listening to the Alaska Base answering machine, turned three-quarters to find himself in front of the boy's mocking smile.
He gritted his teeth to moderate his nerves, breathed heavily from his mouth...
it just so happens that Prime Minister Niven... Well, he was murdered this morning.
Rick was surprised, really, though in some abstract way. As if President Niven was suddenly a living, flesh-and-blood person and could die, just like all of them.
-Your brother? He could be in danger or...
he would have wanted to say "dead" but some sort of ancestral terror prevented him from even formulating that thought.
But the boy thought the same thing, and in an instant it was as if his young heart was running after him, beating painfully in the veins of his neck. He marveled at how deafening the sound of fear could be.
He stood up, trying to maintain a detached irony.
-Look, I'm sure Roy has absolutely no problem with it. -Mm-hmm. Besides, he's a fighter pilot, not the Prime Minister's fucking bodyguard.
Rick endeavored to appear casual. He stood at the front door defying the last glow of the dying sun with his eyes wide open, trying to tame the adrenaline rushing through him -Don't worry old man! -he screamed from the square where he landed with a leap -you're getting too sentimental.
That night he was late coming down on the quayside, and Rick was more than happy about it. He hated lying in the total darkness and suffocating darkness of his bunk at the back of the house, with the windows sealed and the air stagnant, like in a fucking locker. She stayed on the square lying on a beach bed next to Mitch who, like almost every night, got drunk while telling war stories. But that night, if possible, he was more melancholy.
He was still planning to go back to racing as an aerobatic pilot! An old drunkard, Rick thought tenderly - how old will he be? 42, 45? I always forget. - He still looked at him sideways, wondering if we should tell him what he had in mind.
Maybe it was the right time, he was toasty enough, maybe he'd take it too.
Before he fell asleep, he sent a message to his brother.
Hey Roy let me know if you're dead, it's important.
He smiled in the darkness feeling terribly funny. No Roy couldn't be dead, he felt it. No, in fact, he knew it. He closed his eyes.
April 6, 2005 Sacramento California
Mitchell Hunter awoke in the late morning accompanied by the light hangover that followed an evening of beer and little else. He felt guilty that he had succumbed to that lousy pastime again. He put his hand through his still dark hair and groped himself trying to lift the shutters of his little locker,
Rick! He shouted from behind the door, hoping that his 14-year-old son was in class and not somewhere in the airspace above his head giving gas to his little new fan racer. He laughed at the thought: leaning cautiously against the door frame and feeling every muscle in his suffering body, he thought of the little boy, not that he wasn't smart: he thought of him with pride. Just like his mother. It's that he has a fixation, after all, who doesn't at his age? He himself couldn't have forgotten the adrenaline rush of flying: Mitch had also been an irresponsible prick - and maybe I still am - and he still thought so nebulously.
Rick Hunter had decided in a completely arbitrary way and following only the logic of his head that there were days when his priority, flying, could be integrated with other activities, such as studying or maybe a trip to the city: but this was not one of those days. The flight contest to which he had signed up by forging his father's signature would be held next week and Rick, who kept his plane in a private hangar in the city's industrial area, had got up at dawn so as not to waste even a precious minute of training. The wheels on his skateboard were throwing sparks on the already hot asphalt as it entered the main artery that connected the suburbs with downtown production districts. The sensation of speed increasing with each thrust made his jaw tighten and his eyes ajar, he felt his young body vibrating at every turn, in the tension of his balance: his concentration was at its highest his senses were incredibly sharp. He would whizz through the cars as if he had a rudder in his hands directing the old board under his feet. He arrived in the semi-deserted hangar, only a couple of mechanics, early risers like him greeted him in the square.
-Hey flyboy's skipping school again today?
-School? -School? I don't know what you're talking about! -Rick laughed as he passed them through the dark, cool hallway. His eyes had just enough time to get used to the darkness that he barely managed to stop in and almost ended up at the feet of an air force officer who came imposingly towards him in his flight suit.
-I'm sorry, sir! Rick take his skate off the floor and pulled it behind his back.
The man, a young man in his late twenties, was looking at him from several inches high and looked very threatening
-Are you somebody's son here? -he raised his voice -hey who's the father of this crazy sliver!?
-I'm sorry- tried to babble Rick.
He never thought he'd get taken for a brat by the military. He felt humiliated. But he cleverly thought not to expose himself because of his age, and that he had skipped school, of course.
One of the two mechanics from just before stepped forward, coming up against the light from the huge hatch: he was the older of the two, wearing his suit down to his waist with his sleeves crossed at stomach level. His face was beaded with sweat
- what do you say, sir? - he answered vaguely, trying to distinguish something in the darkness.
-the boy, this kid! -pointed the soldier moving his hands overthink - maybe it's not clear that this isn't a roller rink.
Rick looked at him grim - what the...
-Rick! The mechanic interrupted him -Get out of here, son. I'll meet you in the yard.
As he walked away from the two of them, he could hear the reproach tone and a few words, but he couldn't hear the two of them saying to each other.
Look at you! - he sat down on the step of a flowerbed mentally calculating how much time he was wasting and wondering if his take-off should be further delayed.
-Maybe he won't let me get on the plane! His thoughts were blinded by rage: he clenched his fists and was about to stand up but was distracted by the sound of his cell phone.
-Roy! The name on the display was just that, he couldn't believe it.
His eyes gleamed with pure joy, making his features even more delicate: a slight blush caressed his nose and cheeks: the phone almost slipped out of his wet hands because of the heat, and emotion.
-Roy! -he cried out
-Heyyy Rick! - answered him a warm, voice on the other side- how are you little brother! I got your message
Rick smiled, squinting his eyes
-You mean you're not dead, is that it!?
The two of them laughed simultaneously
-but where are you now? Are you with Mitch?
-I'm... -No, I'm...
-Well, it's 9:00 in California, so you should be at school, right...?
Rick didn't answer anything for a second, and they both just burst into laughter...
-Actually, I'm... I'll... I'll explain it to you later, okay?
Rick started to walk away from the hangar entrance looking for shade under the palm trees that surrounded the driveway. The sun was already too hot.
-but tell me, where are you? Are you in Alaska?
-No, I'm... - Roy took a break too, lowering his voice in an increasingly casual tone.
-I'm really sorry I haven't been around as much as I should have been, but fuck, we're gonna get it all back, Rick. First of all, I gotta tell you... oh, you gotta see the fighters we're testing here, I can't tell you exactly where I am, but you should just see these planes...
-Send me some picture or video, will you? -he replied suspiciously.
-Of course I can't send you a dick, bro, but get this. In a few days I'm gonna get a license, and guess what...
-that means you're coming!? Rick interrupted him with a scream of pure excitement
-that's right, but don't piss in your pants just yet! -I don't want you to piss in your pants!
-Fuck off Roy!
-Don't say anything to the old man, I'm gonna surprise him!
-He could have a heart attack, you know that!
The two brothers kept laughing and joking, just like they'd seen each other a few hours earlier.
-then how's it going with the women's situation instead? -Well...
-I met a girl...
-Is she pretty?
-yes she's hot. She's 18.
-Damn, brother, you amaze me. Eighteen years old, huh? Have you done anything with her yet?
Rick blushed for a moment and looked up, the sky was so clear, a pale shade of heaven.
-something... he answered timidly.
-Well what do I care- he said to himself- let's say that technically I haven't done anything about it yet ... but Roy will never know anyway.
-I can't wait to meet her then... you'll let me meet her, huh?
-Forget it, you'll never see her.
-What is it you're afraid I'll take her away from you! I've met girls, too, by the way... a lot of girls actually... at the Military Academy.
-Of course they'll be old shit.
-Feel it! Some old shit, huh? Poor you... you should see them... but that's never going to happen!
Rick's attention quickly shifted from the conversation with Roy to the figure of the mechanic at the entrance to the hangar who was waving to call him back.
-Rick, come on!
The young pilot rose up, snapping towards the man who was calling him and at the same time waving to his brother on the phone.
-I gotta go, Roy. Talk to you later.
He didn't leave time for a breath that was back across the hall with the best innocent face he could compose.
-Listen, son... -the mechanic started, but was immediately interrupted by a thunderous voice that was amplified by the rumble inside the corridor.
-Boy, the military would like to let you know... ehr ...you can't keep your fanricer in this warehouse anymore.
Rick's face was turned upside down in a grimace he couldn't contain, his character didn't include patience among his virtues.
-What do you mean! He cried out in an already grown-up voice
-I mean...- the soldier emerged slowly from the darkness, the flight suit open on his chest, the insignia indicating the rank of second lieutenant - that this hangar will be requisitioned for army use. All non-military aircraft are required to make room for RDF ships.
-But I pay the rent!here!- Replied Rick, still nervous but much less convinced than just before
The soldier looked at him, as if he was studying him.
-I know, kid.
He paused while pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
-We're at war, but I think you know that... They told you that in public school? - A sarcastic smile crossed his imperturbable features - all air traffic facilities have been requisitioned. Until further notice.
Rick suddenly overwhelmed by such technical and formal speech felt the words die down his throat. He couldn't articulate a thought that could very well counter what had just been said to him, only, his blood was boiling with rage. He felt that he hated that man and everything he stood for, that he hated the war and the Robotech Defense forces. He felt a great contempt for something enormous, which he could barely understand but which, he knew, was slowly taking away his whole world.
Perhaps Rick's lost look made an impression on the military pilot: he looked him in the eye again, this time with a more conciliatory look.
-You're a pilot, so...
Rick looked back with pride.
-Yes, sir, aerobatic pilot.
-You're very young, don't tell me!
-in a few months I'll turn fifteen - he said repenting immediately - shit! I'd have said eighteen - he thought
The mechanic encouraged him with a look and a smile and Rick suddenly felt he could speak with more conviction - I'm training for a flight contest and this is where I keep my plane. It's very valuable and I can't leave it out here.
The officer smiled as he caught the flash in Rick's eyes, a glow that he knew very well
-you really love to fly! - he rolled the cigarette from his fingers, the embers fluttered in the hot air.
-Yes, sir.
-well in a couple of years, you could apply for the army, what do you think.
Rick made a grimace of disappointment
- no sir, I don't think I ever will.
The mechanic gave off a nervous giggle, while the pilot laughed really tasty.
-you really have a temper!
Then he turned to the chief:
-prepare the kid's plane, I still have half an hour here and I want to see what he can do.
Rick's face went pale and then started to burn, his lower lip was shaking slightly.
-what... I... you want me to show you...?
-Yes, a few tricks, a few stunts... he looked at him intensely - or don't you feel up to it? What's your name, boy?
Rick suddenly felt stung with pride, and reacted by raising his chin and staring intensely at the brown eyes of the soldier who looked back.
Rick Hunter. Of course I feel like it.
The pilot held out his gloved hand with a satisfied smile.
-Nice to meet you, Rick. My name is Jack Archer. Second Lieutenant of the RDF.