CHAPTER 7
The chrome finish of the kitchen sink was smattered with blood. Michael Joons watched it drip from his arm and slowly pool in the drain. His Zentraedi battle knife lay on the counter. It was sharp enough to cut through bone, but Joons had been careful, and the cut had been painless.
He watched his arm with a pounding heart. He needed to see this for himself.
His blood stopped dripping. It slowly changed color, until it was a bright silver coating over his wound. The blood flattened on his arm, and it spread into a honey-comb pattern.His muscles tightened to pull the incision closed. Only seconds passed before the blood liquefied again, and seeped into the pores of his flesh. His wound was healed without a scar.
Joons breathed uneasily. He looked down at the sink; his blood was still pooled around the drain, and still red. But when he dipped his fingers into it, the blood came to life. It turned silver and formed the same honey-combs, and they slid onto his hand methodically, like pieces of a puzzle. The separations disappeared; his hand was wrapped in a shining silver glove.
He tapped it against the counter. It was strong as steel, but he manipulated it like flesh. With his own fingers, he could pull on the glove as though it were his own skin. He ran the glove through his hair, and his sense of touch was just as strong. When he touched both hands to his face, he could not feel a difference between them.
But when he touched the countertop or the sink, or anything but his own body, he felt nothing.
With his other hand, he picked up the battle knife. He flicked his wrist, and lightly tapped the blade on the faucet. It cut the faucet in half. And he took a deep breath, and gently did the same to his protected hand. Sparks flew off the blade. His hand was without a scratch.
From the shining surface of his hand, he could see every feature of his face. His dark brown hair, in a mess from days without sleep. His thin, bloodshot eyes, and the sweat that ran down his face.
He slowly shut his eyes and tried to ease his nerves. And he felt the shield breaking up, and drawing into his flesh. When he opened his eyes, his hand was just as normal.
Joons stood by the counter for a long time, rubbing his hand. He felt suddenly cold.
He picked up his phone and pressed the speed dial. Several rings later, he got an answering machine message that he could recite by heart.
Hello! You've reached Minmei...for now, anyway! I'll be doing my monthly number-change soon. But don't worry! If you're on my list, I'll call you and give you the new one! Oh, and please leave a message!
She gave an infectious giggle, and a shrill beep blasted Joons in the ear.
He cleared his throat, but his voice was still raspy. "Uh...ahem...um, hi Minmei. It's Joons...I mean Michael. Just calling to say hello...haven't seen you in a while. Call me tonight if you have a chance..."
He caught himself before please. With a quick goodbye, he hung up the phone. He found a spot on the floor in front of the dormant television. And he sat and stared at the floor, hoping that he might hear Minmei's voice again that night.
The stars were shining
On the battlefront
But nobody bothered to look
To the sky
A star was shining
Within my heart
But nobody bothered to look
In my eyes
- Excerpt from "A Star Was Shining" by Lynn Minmei
The RDF had been watching the Warehouse District for a long time. They knew about the Zentraedi mistreatment was beginning to emerge, and the gangs that patrolled the blocks every night. If Admiral Reave had gotten his way, this part of town would be under constant watch. But he couldn't convince Mayor Saul to let his forces that far into New Macross. For the time being, the Warehouse District was a terrible place to live.
And it was noplace for a frail, blue-haired girl to be wandering the streets.
Her slippers were soaking wet, and her feet ached. Her ragged dress was too thin to keep her warm. It had always been too big on her, and as she staggered through the dark alleys, she held it against her breast with her hand.
I should not have run... she thought. I was meant...to stay inside...
She reached the end of the alley, and leaned against a rusted light pole. The night wind blew viciously at her. She quivered and shut her eyes, but never cried.
A beat-up car drove slowly towards her. Its stereo system pounded out a terrible noise, and words that she could barely understand. The vibrations shook her body. She screamed and ran back into the dark alley.
Her shaking legs ran as fast as she could manage. But she felt something move in front of her, and before she could stop, she had tripped. Her eyes closed tightly as she crashed against the pavement.
A slavering jaw snapped closed around her arm. She gasped and struggled to crawl away. A wild dog was clawing and biting at her. Its eyes glowed madly as they peered down on her.
She could barely keep it away from her face. Whenever she pushed, the dog would bite her harder. It growled and barked and refused to back down. Its muzzle was dripping with her blood. She did the only thing she could think of, and begged the animal for mercy. But her pleas only grew louder as the dog attacked harder.
But suddenly the dog stopped. It yelped in pain and bolted away from her. The blood that once soaked its fur was shining brightly, and slowly losing its color.
She slid away and fell on her face. She could barely move from the pain. Like a thousand stabs of the knife that still lingered in her dreams.
She was too afraid to lay where she was, so she labored to bring herself to her feet. The wounds didn't seem as bad when she looked at them; only cuts and scratches. But they still hurt immensely.
The dog was laying in the street not far away. It was curled up tightly, and dead, with its tongue hanging loosely from its muzzle. The once-fierce eyes had lost their shine.
The blue-haired girl drew her hand over her mouth. She knelt beside the dog and tried to wake it up.
Oh...he must have been sick...
She sat in the alley beside the dead animal, gently stroking its fur. "I am sorry," she whispered. "You poor thing..."
The test results, at first, were disappointing. I will not deny it; I was expecting an easy solution. But now I can tell you, with total certainty, that the Human Race will not be afforded such a luxury.
We conducted brain scans, neural analyses, and bio-chemical research with the best scientists and equipment on the planet. The test subjects were even administered psychological tests. And every result was the same. Based on the exhaustive research of myself and my research group, we have found no major structural difference between Human and Zentraedi beings. Thus, we must not pass off this "Malcontent Syndrome" as a genetic disability.
And this is where my colleagues, esteemed as they are, have erred. The Zentraedi are "malcontent" not because of what they are, but who they are forced to become. Their lives were completely dedicated to war; they could not achieve honor or pleasure without performing well in combat. And now they are citizens of an alien race, one that stands against the only thing they understand. Perhaps the true answer is the simplest after all.
The bull is lost in a china shop. Must we demand that it stock the shelves?
- Excerpt from "Brothers From a Distant Star" by Dr. Emil Lang.
Rick ran his gloved hand along the wing of the Skull One fighter. He looked up at the giant wing as he slowly walked, and stopped under the RDF insignia that was almost as big as he was.
"I needed one last ride," he smiled painfully. "Thanks, Max."
His best friend hadn't changed since they'd flown together in the days of the SDF-1. Max Sterling was still a thin young man, with a meek smile and a pair of round glasses. He still dyed his hair blue, and Rick had never asked why. But it matched his determined blue eyes. Max never looked much like a pilot, but he was. In Rick's eyes, he was the best pilot in the sky, and the only one who could handle the responsibility that he had just gained.
Max waited for him in the hangar. His blue Vermillion fighter was dormant far behind him, and he was still in his flight suit.
"Sure," he smiled back, just as pained. "Feels like we still have it."
"Yeah...we do."
Rick stepped out from the shadows of the wing. He poked his head into the fighter's engine intake, and thought of all the times the engines had propelled him across the sky.
Max placed his hand on Rick's shoulder. "...You're sure about this," he said. "You can still change your mind."
"Nah, I don't have a choice," said Rick. "Orders are orders. I've been...reassigned. You've read about it. I'm leaving Skull Squadron. They've got a new assignment for Joons and I."
"Rick...the commander-in-chief of the RDF thinks of you as his brother!"
Rick laughed uneasily. "Breetai?"
"Yeah! He can get someone else to run those new missions. You and Joons can stay where you are."
"I...don't think so," Rick sighed. He leaned against the giant engine, with his head resting on the steel. "I've been thinking about this for a while. Now is a good time. And you're not making it any easier on me!"
Max chuckled and shook his head. "All right, all right." He gave the distant Rick's shoulder a shake, and leaned against the engine beside him. "Where are they going to take you?"
"I dunno," said Rick. "I don't think I'm going far. Maybe to Monument...that's where the bigger uprisings are." He shook his head, downcast. "I guess I'm a 'Ghost Eagle' now."
"What's that?"
"Not sure. Sounds like a dead bird to me."
They laughed together, but not for long. As Rick loosened the collar of his flight suit, he stared up at the sharp tail fins of his Veritech fighter. The white skull and crossbones stared back at him, perhaps for the last time.
The TC-1 transport rumbled over the dust, barren ground. It had left the boundaries of New Macross a long time ago for a trek into the wastelands beyond.
A convoy of Urban Assault Vehicles rode alongside. Two Veritechs cruised over the sand in Guardian mode, just behind. Their gun pods were armed and ready; their robotic heads swiveled around to check the area.
Rick Hunter sat in the back of the armored TC-1. He looked out the small window in the side, watching the desert as he bounced around from the bumpy ride. Michael Joons was seated beside him.
Two RDF soldiers sat across from him. They told him to stay away from the window. Rick nodded, and slid a bulletproof plate over the glass.
Rick turned to Joons. "Sorry to drag you along on a Saturday night," he said.
Joons shrugged tiredly and looked at the floor.
The TC-1 driver shouted back to them. Get your gear, everyone! We're arriving in five minutes.
"Where are we going?" Joons called up.
The graveyard! said the driver.
Rick and Joons exchanged a quizzical look.
They arrived right on schedule – to a place the RDF had kept a complete secret. It was an old, dilapidated military bunker, surrounded by an empty, endless desert. It had somehow survived the Zentraedi war.
It was surrounded by three squadrons of Veritech Valkyries – blue and black fighters of the Wolf Pack. They were elites, stationed aboard the G.S.S. Ultimatum in the planet's obit. Their presence here was foreboding.
The Wolf Pack Valkyries stomped across the ground in Battloid mode, standing like massive soldiers in the desert. The sun began to set as Rick and Joons walked towards the bunker, between the legs of the mighty giants who stood guard.
They were shocked to see a familiar face – none other than Dr. Emil Lang.
"Welcome, gentlemen!" he said, in his deep, accented voice. "Welcome to my home away from home. This is the RDF graveyard."
Joons eyed Doctor Lang sternly as they entered the bunker. The doors sealed tightly behind them, locking the soldiers and the Wolf Pack Veritechs outside.
Within the structure was a carefully-organized system of shelves and storage containers. Fork lifts drove through the alleys, moving crates around and replacing them somewhere new. Scientists were everywhere – making notes, taking pictures. And there were armored soldiers guarding each of the halls.
Doctor Lang sped up his pace; the pilots followed behind.
"All the things you see," he said, "all these pieces and parts…all of them were salvaged from the SDF-1. We began this project two years ago. It continues today. Teams of researchers are venturing into the hull of the SDF-1 and harvesting its technology so we can learn more about it."
Rick glanced at a giant cannon barrel on a shelf. "I don't know how I feel about this," he said. "That thing's more than just a machine…it's almost sacred to us."
Doctor Lang nodded. He replied with words that surprised even Lieutenant Joons.
"It is a sacred place, my friends. It's a burial ground. Many men and women perished inside…and it's disturbing to send people in for research. But at this point…we have no choice."
The steel gates of a freight elevator swung open. Doctor Lang led the pilots into a dark sub-level of the bunker. They were stopped three times by guards to check identification. All of the guards recognized Rick Hunter, but they still demanded his ID card – at gunpoint.
The lights flashed on. The sub-level was completely empty – a massive cave made of steel and concrete. It was enough space to hold a small battleship. But there was nothing inside.
"What's this all about?" asked Joons.
Doctor Lang stepped into the empty space. "Gentlemen," he called out. "What you're about to see is of the utmost secrecy."
With the sound of a quiet, whispering hum, Eo Prime appeared in the room beside the doctor. He was clad in an armored black pilot's suit, like nothing Rick or Joons had ever seen.
"We found something on the SDF-1," said Lang with a smile. "Something amazing."
The whispering sound grew louder. And the silhouettes of three Veritech fighters slowly came into view. They appeared out of nothing – three VF-1X fighters, just like Eo Prime's.
They were the Ghost Eagles.
They were thicker, lower-slung versions of theValkyrie, with angular-shaped fuselage and much bigger tail fins. Their canopies were made of steel, not glass. They were painted in a deep black, with no number markings on the wings. The only decals present were the Ghost Eagle emblem -- the raptor's skull -- on the tails.
Doctor Emil Lang presented the fighters with pride.
"These are the most advanced fighting mecha on the planet. They can out-maneuver any Veritech in any mode. They have a higher top speed. They carry specially-modified gun pods with new energy-based weapons. They utilize a brand new Eyes Anywhere Canopy that leaves the pilot's view completely unobstructed."
Eo Prime nodded gravely.
"And best of all," said Doctor Lang. "Your enemies will never see you coming."
The sun had nearly fallen into the desert for the night. Dusk was casting long shadows from the sand dunes. Soon, the RDF graveyard would be hidden by darkness.
Rick, Joons, and Eo Prime walked together outside the bunker. The Wolf Pack Guardians pounded around behind them. Soon they would take off for their home in space, the G.S.S. Ultimatum.
"So…these fighters were onboard the SDF-1?" asked Rick. "The whole time?"
Eo Prime nodded. "As was I."
"You were onboard?"
"In a state of hibernation sleep, yes."
"What were you doing on the SDF-1?"
"I was part of the ship's mission. Its original mission…before it crashed. The ship was Zor's best expeditionary vessel. And I was the crew's protection, in case of danger."
"So the VF-1X always belonged to you," said Joons.
Eo nodded. "The other two craft belonged to my squadron. The RDF has modified them to look like your Veritechs…but their effectiveness is the same, if not better."
Rick looked up at the darkening sky. "We could've used you…during the war."
"I have thought of this, many times. But then, if I had been active…perhaps I would have sided with Breetai and Exedore."
"Like me," said Joons quietly.
"It was a terrible thing," said Eo Prime. "The Zentraedi were so eager to fight. But we were misled. Even our leaders…like the great Breetai…were fighting for the wrong reasons."
They reached a half-buried Zentraedi battle pod, long since abandoned. Rick leaned against its rusty hull. He looked to Eo Prime, the mechanized Zentraedi warrior.
"Why do you want me to lead this squadron?" he asked.
Eo Prime looked down at Rick and Joons. To their surprise, his cold face gave them what appeared to be a smile.
"You outrank me," he said. "You two are Lieutenant and Commander. I am nothing."
Rick shook his head. "But…what were you before?"
"It does not matter anymore. Now, we are brothers."