The Macross Quarter's hangar was not terribly lively as eyes were on Klan's Queadluun while it walked to its docking area. Most of the maintenance crews were standing clear from in front of the power armor, as if a red-hot plume of flames was ready to belch forth when the hatch opened. This wasn't quite the case, though. Klan opened the hatch, stumbled out of the Queadluun, and assessed the exterior of her machine. It was the appearance of her beloved fighter that tipped her off. You could swear that she was reacting to it as if she had a child who was beaten up at school by a bully.
The Queadluun looked like someone had vandalized it. The parts of it that weren't covered in dripping, orange paint showed extensive damage from dents and scratches. Jagged pieces of metal peeled away from the body, just waiting to snag something. The fierce melee combat with Cal's RVF and the intense maneuvering and fighting in the debris field took its toll on the body work.
The mechanics gawked at the condition their Queadluun was in, as well. In an effort to soothe Klan's about-to-burst temper, the technicians assured her that they would have repairs done by the next morning.
Klan couldn't answer the technicians' attempts to make her feel better. She just got beaten in a one-on-one match with an overly-cocky NUNS pilot. Klan dropped her helmet on the hangar deck and stormed off to the micronization chamber. The entire crew in the hangar seemed to exhale in unison, now that the Nephilim was gone. The technicians and mechanics dipped their heads back into whatever they were working on before Klan's Queadluun had entered the hangar.
Cal inspected the damage to his RVF after having been mobbed by hordes of pilots and crew when he first got out of the plane. Everyone had gotten the congratulations out of their systems and had more or less returned to work. Several mechanics and pilots could be heard still chattering about the duel in the background, while Cal made circles around his fighter. Like Klan's Queadluun, there was extensive physical damage to the armor, minus the new paint job her machine now carried.
He began to think to himself about the kind of nerve-wracking, teeth-grinding, butt-clenching combat it takes to do this amount of damage; despite never having fired an actual live round or missile! The only thing on his mind now was "When can we do this again?" He left the hangar in a charged up mood about facing Klan in friendly combat again some day.
The door to Ozma's office flew open to reveal a pissed-off Klan. She stormed in without even asking permission to enter and plopped down in the chair in front of Ozma, who was still in his flightsuit. "To what do I owe this uninvited intrusion, Lt. Commander?" Ozma smugly asked. "Did you see what he did to my power armor?! He trashed it! It wasn't enough to just hit me in the face with a purposely-aimed round. No, he hit me at least 10 more times while I was blinded; just to rub it in. AND THEN, he illegally filled the comm lines with music, if you want to call it that! His conduct is absolutely unacceptable and I demand that he be disciplined!" Klan yelled, slamming her fist on his desk. Some of Ozma's figurines and desk ornaments rattled or fell over from the shock.
"Your concerns are already being noted, Klan. I have also observed his cheeky behavior first-hand and read about it from your reports. I will make a decision soon," Ozma replied. Klan calmed down a little bit after his reply. Ozma stood up to pace a bit while he continued his conversation with Klan. "I'm going to change your patrol schedule," he said. "I don't think it would be wise to continue to pair you up with Lt. Wagner, considering your disapproval of his behavior. I'll let his superior officer deal with that; along with my recommendations, of course."
Klan was a bit surprised at Ozma's decision. For a split second, she thought that maybe she was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. When he's not acting like a jackass, Lt. Wagner is actually someone with whom she enjoyed serving patrol duty. He was even someone who she felt could understand the pain she's gone through in losing Michael. She then snapped out of her temporary state and continued the conversation, "May I ask why I was not made privy to the munitions that Lt. Wagner was allowed to carry with him into the simulation?" Ozma smiled upon hearing her question. "Klan, you know as well as I do that sometimes in combat, you run into something you've never seen before. It's up to the good pilots to learn to deal with the unknown. For what it's worth, I thought you did extremely well!" Ozma replied.
Klan frowned at Ozma's words. "Please, Sir, do not patronize me. I failed to achieve victory. I let a nobody win a fight against me," she said, hanging her head in disappointment. Ozma couldn't believe he was hearing this from his squadron XO; one of the best pilots in the NUNS. Ozma slammed his hand on his desk and leaned into Klan. "Dammit, Klan, I watched you out there fighting with more intensity than I've ever seen from you before. I don't know what you and Lt. Wagner have going between each other, but it looked as if you were on a whole nother level. You know what I see in that kid? Someone who pushes you to fly harder, faster, more precise, and more effectively than you thought possible of yourself."
"Then how did I lose?!" Klan yelled back in response. "Because he remained patient," Ozma replied, "It took a lot of luck, but more importantly, it took a lot of planning and execution on his part to even stay in the fight with you. I saw the previous dogfight you had with him yesterday, and it was very similar. He had to use classified weapons to fight on your level. I think that's a pretty damn big compliment to your skills, if you ask me." Klan looked away from Ozma's face. She knew he was right, but she didn't want to admit it. "Your pride is your biggest enemy, Klan. Be proud of who you are and what you've accomplished in your life, but don't be so proud that you think you can do anything," Ozma said, sitting back down in his chair, "Everyone looks up to you as a role model of a pilot. I am willing to put money down that even Wagner still sees you as his."
Klan thanked Ozma for giving her mind something to munch on for awhile. Again, it's those pesky miclones who still manage to push her warrior-like ways onto the next level, while at the same time teaching her the quality of humility. Her lesson was going to be difficult to learn and accept, but she will grow from it eventually.
Cal nervously walked the halls towards Commander Junzou's office near the hangars. Junzou sounded pissed when he paged Cal over the intercom. Cal knocked on the door and heard Commander Junzou give him permission to enter. Cal stood at attention and saluted. "Reporting as ordered, sir." Junzou nodded his head, as if to give him permission to have a seat. Cal accepted the offer and made himself comfortable in front of Junzou's desk.
Commander Junzou peered out into the hangar area through his window, holding his hands behind his back. "I just want to start out with a congratulations on your win today. Everyone on the ship is damn proud of you, son," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm concerned about your misconduct and how it reflects on this ship's reputation." Cal sunk into his seat and strained to swallow the baseball-sized lump in his throat. The temperature in the room seemed to rocket about 100 degrees hotter.
"Every once in awhile, I see hotshot pilots go through here, thinking that they are allowed life's extra benefits because they happen to know how to operate a flightstick a little better than the rest of them. Flying isn't just about getting the kill, it's about working as a teammate. It's about doing your duty without hesitation and it's also about respecting both your friends and your enemies," Junzou continued. "Enemies, sir?" Cal asked. "Enemies. Be they humanoid, or something else, they're still fighting to protect something that's important to them. If you are fortunate enough to kill your enemy, he'd expect you to allow him to die with dignity... like a soldier. His death is not something you make fun of or belittle. That soldier gave his life for something he felt was valuable enough to justify its sacrifice. That gesture alone is deserving of the respect of even his enemies," Junzou said.
Cal was enlightened by the Commander's words. He slowly began to regret his childish behavior since he started flying again. Even before the descent operation, he was a real trash-talker when he was out flying. The NUNS is a different show from his days as a test pilot for Bell-Casse.
Junzou turned to sit down at his desk. "I wanted to try punitive correction with you, but with recommendations from Commander Lee of Skull Squadron, I'll just let you go with a stern warning. I wouldn't be surprised if he calls you up to join Skull Squadron, but it's my understanding that your conduct is not what he's looking for. I suggest you do something about it if you want to be a Skull pilot," he said, "Dismissed."
Cal got up and saluted. Just as he opened the door, Commander Junzou stopped him. "Lieutenant..." he said. Cal turned around with a "oh god, what is it now" look on his face. "On a more personal note, I suggest you apologize to Commander Klang. She's one of our best pilots, but more importantly, you don't want to be on her bad side," Junzou said with a smirk. "I think I know exactly what you mean, Sir," Cal replied. Cal left the room gritting his teeth as he remembered getting knocked to the ground in his battroid and having a gun pointed directly at him a few days ago because of her explosive temper. Nephilim, indeed.
Back in his quarters, Cal sat on his bed thinking about Commander Junzou's words of advice. He's damn lucky he wasn't spending the night in the brig or hand-washing all of the exterior surfaces on the Azusa's hull.
Ensign Kyung Bae entered the room, just returning from his patrol duty. "Hey, if it isn't the giant-killer! What's going on, champ?" "I just got back from Junzou's office," Cal said in a depressed tone. Kyung's amicable expression changed into a concerned one. "I went and made an fool out of myself and alienated one of the fleet's best pilots. The Commander was ready to put my ass to work spit-shining the shoes of every officer onboard because of it," Cal continued.
"I think you deserved to gloat a little bit," Kyung said. "That's not really the point, dude. I fly and fight with no respect for my opponents," Cal said, "If I'm not careful, it may cost me my career; or even worse, mine or a wingmate's life." Kyung stopped what he was doing to think about what Cal said. "That shit is kinda deep," he replied, "I have noticed some arrogance in your behavior, but not enough to really bother me. Maybe I have the wrong impression of the NUNS too." Cal had to clarify himself a bit more, "The officers are in their positions because they warrant the skill and respect of the rank. The NUNS has no room for showboaters... I'll bet you can look at all of the officers in this fleet and all of them behave like gentlemen and ladies of the military. Right now, I don't deserve those ranks and I certainly don't deserve the recognition I have been getting for beating Commander Klang in a duel."
Cal went to sleep with a lot on his mind. He's going to have to figure out how to leave his ego at the door and serve his post with distinction. Only when he's earned the respect of his fellow pilots and soldiers can he afford to have a little fun with them. "NUNS officers aren't just complete robots; I'm sure they have fun with each other sometimes too," Cal thinks to himself. He also begins to think of a way to approach Klan to apologize. Unfortunately, his experience with her and the stories he's been told of her temper and ferocity make it difficult to work up the courage to even speak to her again.
Back on Aimo, the city of Laplamiz was quickly being annexed by construction sites popping up all around the city limits. Some miles away, several Zentraedi warships in the water were moored offshore, with dropships ferrying personnel back and forth between the ships and the new base under construction. An enormous tent structure stood alone in between several buildings under construction around the base. NUNS vehicles were neatly parked outside, along with several rows of Queadluun and Nousjadeul power armor units.
Inside, Cathy Glass directed a meeting involving NUNS personnel and Zentraedi officers from the newly-arrived fleet. Fleet Commander Raozj sat at one end of the table, surrounded by his immediate subordinates. A smaller table was set up on top of the main table, to accommodate the micron NUNS officers. A projector was set up to magnify Cathy's image for the Zentraedi to see while she spoke.
"Fleet Commander Raozj, we wanted to thank you for submitting this report as quickly as possible. NUNS HQ has reviewed it and we find most of your plans to be acceptable. We did have a couple of questions for you, if you don't mind," Cathy said. Raozj nodded in response. "Our first concern is that of utmost importance. Our available resources are extremely limited as of this point. We want to do what we can to help facilitate your assimilation into our colony, but we are definitely going to need a lot of help from you and your men," Cathy said.
Raozj responded with confidence, "We are ready to assist our miclone friends in any way we can." His subordinates all nodded in agreement. Cathy continued with her cross-examination, "Gentlemen, please note that what I am about to tell you is classified." The NUNS officers nodded as Cathy looked at them for approval. The projection changed to a diagram of the Coral system, animated to magnify the current location of the Macross Quarter fleet in orbit around Coral-5. "We are currently working to remedy this problem by prospecting the Kihnes Asteroid Belt for resources. Our sensors are being obscured by their high EM signatures, which means that the asteroid belt contains high concentrations of metals. We intend to begin harvesting these resources as soon as we deem the area to be clear of any hostile threats," Cathy continued.
The projector changed to show looping footage of Frontier's conflicts with the Vajra swarm and Macross Galaxy. "As you have read in our reports, our battle with the Galaxy-controlled Vajra swarm and the Galaxy's military forces themselves resulted in victory on our part and the subsequent colonization of this planet. However, City Galaxy's whereabouts are still unknown and we have reason to believe that the colony ship could still be located in this system... most likely hiding somewhere in the Kihnes Asteroid Belt," Cathy reported. Raozj and his command staff murmured amongst each other at the report.
Cathy turned off the visual aid and the projection returned its focus on her. "Our needs from your fleet are twofold. We need your help domestically with planetary security and construction. We also need help securing the system; most notably, the Kihnes Asteroid Belt," Cathy said as she waited for Raozj and his staff to deliberate.
The enormous Zentraedi commander turned back to Cathy to answer. "Your requests are far from unreasonable. We will submit a report outlining our deployment strategies as soon as you can get us a chart with your personnel needs," he said. Cathy nodded at the Commander's request.
"Our next order of business, gentlemen, is your plans to build a factory to create new power armor units. We understand your need to replenish your lost fighters, but until we secure a reliable supply of resources, we cannot allow your factory to enter full production. You're free to develop prototypes and parts, but we just can't support mass production at this time," Cathy said. Raozj nodded, "Acknowledged."
"Okay, and finally, your assimilation into the NUNS... Your fleet will be absorbed into NUNS as soon as we are done cataloguing and processing your ships and personnel. All of your soldiers will be given the option to become civilians or remain in the service with comparable ranks after evaluation from our senior staff. We require that each soldier reads up on a copy of the Frontier Government's constitution and bill of rights, and the NUNS serviceman's manual," Cathy said. She paused for a moment to let her words set in with the Zentrans.
"I cannot stress to you how important it is that you understand what it is we truly stand for here on Aimo," Cathy continued, "We want each and every citizen, regardless of their race, to enjoy the fruits of liberty and freedom. Please do not assume that because the city of Laplamiz is intended for Zentraedi to live in, that we intend to segregate your people from ours. You are free to choose to miclone yourselves and live with the Humans, and Humans are free to choose to macronize themselves and live with Zentrans. Do you have any questions, Commander?"
Raozj and his staff deliberated for a minute. The Fleet Commander stood up and answered, "No, Ma'am. I speak for all of us when I say that we're delighted to be able to finally live with the ability to make our own choices. We and our ancestors have spent our entire lives living in space. The opportunity to live en terra with our miclone compatriots comes with our deepest blessings." The Zentraedi command staff chimed in with "hear hear"s.
Cathy started to walk towards the table with the other officers sitting at it and remembered her conversation with Ranka a few days before. "Oh! Commander? I almost forgot! I take it you and your men are fans of Ranka Mei Lee?" The command staff began to chatter with excitement. "We're making arrangements to have her perform a concert just for you and your men to welcome you to Aimo. She's already agreed to perform and we just need to work out the logistics to make it happen!" Cathy declared.
Raozj's command staff cheered in excitement. Even the Fleet Commander smiled at the news. Cathy was pleased at their reaction to her announcement. The feeling of job satisfaction swelled within her as she turned to leave with the other NUNS officers.
Cathy's route back to Frontier City took her straight through Laplamiz. From what she could see, she made mental notes of the subtle differences in the way the Zentraedi live their lives as civilians. Small crowds of Zentrans bustled about the town, going about their business as they have been doing since the Macross Frontier colonization fleet launched many years ago. Their family structures and traditions were among the many nuances that made them slightly different than their Human counterparts, but the basic humanitarian principles still remained.
Cathy began to fear that anti-Zentraedi sentiment could rise because of the already-limited supply of resources now needing to be stretched thinner to help accommodate the new Zentran citizens joining the colony. The citizens of Macross Frontier had no problems living in symbiosis with the Zentrans who chose to live in their natural state, but now that supplies were starting to run scarce, the innate selfishness and desire for self-preservation in Humans could create problems down the road. Cathy looks up to the sky, as if she was looking at Ozma millions of miles away. "I hope they can finish their operations quickly," she worriedly says to herself.
Cal's RVF-171EX cruised over the rings of Coral-5, heading to his patrol rendezvous point. The moment of truth is nigh, as he thinks over how he's going to make things up to Klan. As he approaches the proper coordinates, he can see the familiar sawtooth-delta shape of a VF-171EX floating in space to the backdrop of the orange glow of the nearby planet. "Oh no..." Cal said to himself, as he realized that Klan would not be serving patrol duty with him this time. He had to do something or he'd miss his opportunity to make things right.
Cal hailed the Azusa's FCO, "This is Helios 14 to Azusa Control." "Go ahead, Helios 14," the tower crackled over the radio. "I need to know if Skull 5 was slated to return to patrol duty with me," Cal requested. The radio remained silent for a moment. "Helios 14, I don't have that information. I will have to speak with Macross Quarter's FCO. Please stand by," the radio replied.
Cal waited patiently for the tower to respond to his request. After a couple of minutes, the radio channel opened again, "Helios 14, the Quarter's tower tells me that Skull 5 is currently serving patrol duty in another sector." "Thank you," Cal responded. After closing the channel, Cal slammed his fist on the canopy. Disgusted with himself, he proceeded to meet up with his new patrol partner.
In a nearby sector of the secured area, Klan began to detest her new assignment. "Why do you do this to me, Ozma??" she asked herself. She had been paired with yet another chickling pilot to make her patrol shift a torture session. The recon patrols were laborious, to say the least. This pilot couldn't keep up with her, and he insisted on constantly asking stupid questions. The final straw was the question "So, why do they call you the Nephilim?" This young, inexperienced pilot learned a valuable lesson that day about the stories that are passed on amongst the NUNS pilots about Lt. Commander Klang.
On the Quarter, Alto sits quietly on his bed, staring at the envelope that Sheryl gave him. He had some ideas about what was written inside, but coming from Sheryl, it's still a guessing man's game. Alto finally decided to open the envelope and read the contents.
"Alto, the past several months have been nothing short of exhilarating. You've been the catalyst that started a chain reaction in my life. I used to not care about anyone but myself and my career, but all that has changed. All my life, I've had no time or desire for a relationship with anyone. When I met you, I first thought that I'd never give a damn about you after that. However, the events that transpired between that time and the end of the colony's journey made me realize how lonely I really am. I've been acting like a child all this time and I have decided that it's time to grow up and show you who I really want to be. I know that my personality sometimes rubs you the wrong way. What's so amazing to me is that I realized that I am willing to do what it takes to strengthen our relationship together. I don't want to make this too long, but I wanted to tell you that you're important enough for me to take a good, hard look at myself and realize that I no longer wish to push you away with my personality quirks. I hope to make these changes while you are gone. Please come back alive, so I can prove to you how serious I am about doing what it takes."
Sheryl signed her name "with lots of love," and a hint of perfume wafted off of the page. Alto flopped backwards onto his bed, not really willing to deal with this kind of drama right now. He tells himself that he does indeed love Sheryl, but there are different kinds of love. Unable to exert the energy to give it more thought, he puts the letter away, telling himself that he'll deal with it when he returns to Aimo. Caught between a rock and a hard place...
Somewhere out near the rings of Coral-5, Cal was dealing with an "admirer" of sorts. Finding out who he was after they introduced themselves, the VF pilot assigned to patrol with Cal could not believe he was working with the newest "celebrity" pilot. Just about everyone in the fleet had heard of the big duel the day before, but Cal was already tired of being put on a pedestal for it. For one, he felt like crap because his behavior disgraced himself and his ship. Secondly, he knows that he disrespected a highly-decorated pilot in front of everyone in the fleet to see.
He laughs to himself as he thinks about how he would have been taking all this if he had not been reprimanded by Commander Junzou. In his mind, he visualizes his former self consistently floating farther and farther from his current self. He has made the decision to adjust himself in order to be able to better meld in with the people he cares about. His wingmates, his superior officers, his shipmates, the entire NUNS, Planet Aimo, and... Klan?? Her face seems to involuntarily jump into the collage of pictures in his mind. He shakes his head to rattle things back in place. What's she doing in there?
At least there's two people who have realized that shedding away their negative qualities leads to newfound confidence in themselves. Like how a snake sheds its skin, it takes a sharp object to cut deep enough so it breaks it open. The newly-emerged snake seems to have a glossy sheen to its new outer layer. The old skin is left behind; its purpose has been served and outgrown by its former host.
