"I blame you for this Riggs," the older, balding black man snarled at the younger white male standing nearby.
He got a goggled look of utter bafflement. "What did I do?" Sergeant Martin Riggs said a bit defensively.
"Weren't you the one who suggested this little fishing trip? Take out the whole family for a little spin on my new boat? Now look at us! Watching a buncha aliens replaying War of the Worlds and we're smack dab in the middle!" Sergeant Roger Murtaugh snapped as he tried fiddling with the radio again, getting nothing but static. He smacked it and adjusted the frequency. "Come in Coast Guard, come in Coast Guard!" he barked into the microphone.
"What the fuck is the Coast Guard going to do Rog? Ask to see their fucking license and registration?" sneered a shorter, pudgier man bouncing nervously on the small bridge. "Call the fucking Army! No, better! The Air Force!"
"Why don't I call the White House Leo!" Murtaugh retorted with no little sarcasm, "The radio doesn't broadcast on those frequencies."
Leo who was biting his fingernails fretfully as he stared out of the window at the growing energy superstorms in the night skies. "Well … how 'bout the Navy?" he asked at last.
Riggs leaned closer. "I gotta say Rog, I'm kinda with Leo on that one. The Navy does have bigger guns and shit."
"All I'm getting is static!" Roger complained, twisting the dial bitterly getting nothing but the harsh stream of static while struggling to think just what frequency would the Navy be on.
"Might not be the radio that's the problem here Roger," Lorna said, sticking her head into the bridge. "There's a lot of lightning and static discharges up there," she said, gesturing at what practically a second sun in the sky. It was throbbing and throwing off aurora borealis and waves of lightning that looked over five miles wide. "We just might not be able to punch a signal through all of the atmospheric disturbances."
Everyone looked at her for a long moment and she defensively stated, "Look, I did a tour of duty in Dispatch when I started out because I refused to be a meter maid."
"Great, any bright ideas?" Roger snapped.
Riggs pulled out his Beretta and held it up, frowning. "We're gonna need bigger guns to bring down the mothership Rog."
Roger scowled as he opened his mouth to say something extremely pungent when his son came running up. "DAD! C'mere!"
"What's wrong?" Roger demanded, getting up.
"It's—you gotta come see this!" Nick urged, grabbing his dad's arm and tugging it frantically. "We were looking—y'know with the binoculars? And those ships? They're not alien!"
"Say what?"
"I mean, some of 'em are alien! But I—look, I recognize some of them!"
"Huh?"
Sergeant Roger Murtaugh lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes with his fingers for a moment before he stuck them back to his eyes and squinted through the lenses once more. Nope. Hadn't changed.
Nick crowed, "—that's a fucking Star Destroyer!"
"Hey! Don't swear when your mom's around!" Roger snapped reflexively. He lowered the binoculars and passed them to Leo who had been bouncing around and snatched them up and began frantically adjusting the focusing knobs.
"So whattya think this is? Some sort of fucking promotional gimmick for the next Star Wars movie or what?" Leo asked as he fiddled with the knobs.
Rog took a deep breath and then reached over and grabbed Riggs' collar and dragged him a few feet away. "HEY! Rog—what!"
"This is some sort of practical joke isn't it Riggs! A gigantic Candid Camera hoax you're concocted right?" Roger hiss-snarled. "It ain't fucking funny Riggs! It's not fucking funny at all!"
"Are you kidding—you know, I am sorta flattered that you think I'm capable of something like this Rog—but I mean really! Do you think I could pull something like this off?" Riggs jerked a thumb at the midair disturbance, "Shit man, I don't think even George Lucas could pull this off."
Roger Murtaugh studied his partner for a long moment. Weighing him against his bullshit detector. And he wasn't liking what it was telling him.
This situation was getting a lot more complicated.
And a whole lot weirder.
"I'm getting too damn old for this shit," Roger muttered closing his eyes.
HALLOWEEN UNIVERSAL
BOOK ONE: Farewell Earth
Chapter Three: Auf Wiedersehen
Bridge
United Planets Space Force Destroyer Soyokaze
Irresponsible Captain Tylor
Brenda Stewart—although she was now known as Lt. Yuriko Star—grimaced, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It didn't help her migraine as she half-listened to the rag-tag group of people crowding onto the bridge of the Soyokaze.
The first reaction when they realized that they were a bunch of random strangers turned into anime characters was fear and panic and more than a little gratuitous violence. Basically the Space Marines had decided to kill Captain Tylor. Why? Yuriko wasn't sure, maybe they decided he was to blame for this whole screwed up situation. He was the titular protagonist of the series after all. Or they were just bored. Either was equally possible.
Lieutenant Commander Yamamoto had started waffling—as usual—torn between having the Marines shot for mutiny/attempted murder and throwing their useless commanding officer to the wolves and letting them kill him.
Then came the frantic distress call about the impending destruction of Sunnydale and now everybody were busy shouting. One-third of the crew thought it was a trick, one-third wanted to do something about it, and two-thirds were trying to dodge responsibility for the situation entirely. And yes, Yuriko Star knew that wasn't mathematically possible but somehow that's how it broke down on a broken down destroyer filled with lunatics and madmen who were all somehow led around by the Biggest Madman of them all.
"Unacceptable!" Lt. Commander Yamamoto roared, as he slammed his hand on a console. "Allowing civilians onto the Soyokaze? It's a security risk at best! The potential for espionage is—"
"Espionage? This wreck?" Andersen scoffed before he and a bunch of the Marines started laughing hysterically at the notion while Yamamoto fumed. "We are still sworn members of the UPSF! Our Oaths—"
"Oh c'mon!" Cryburn protested accompanied by a babble of Marines.
"Are you serious?"
"Do they even count anymore? I mean … it is an anime series—" one of the Marines asked out loud.
"Yeah—"
"Ah, ah, calm down everybody…" a languid figure drawled out, waving his hand lethargically. Everyone turned despite themselves to look at the slender man sitting slumped in the Captain's Chair. "You're right. The situation is … unusual. We seem to be ordinary people in a science fiction series. Denying it at the moment is rather pointless though," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I mean … this ship is real and I remember everything that my character did so probably everybody else does as well."
Lieutenant Yuriko Star stepped forward gazing at her Captain. "Sir? What should we do?"
"Well … it would be awfully messy if lots of people were to die. I mean … I'm pretty sure that we're supposed to protect civilians too…" Justy Ukei Tylor remarked blandly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as though seeking answers written on it. Perhaps it was. After a moment, his eyes rolled back as he pointed at Lt. Kim, "Call that Captain Ramius fellow. Tell him we'll help."
Yuriko couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and admiration for Tylor. The part that used to be Brenda reminded herself that the stupid writers for this damn series had decided to make her character nurse a crush on the oblivious, charming, and irresponsible Captain Tylor and to get a grip—it wasn't even a particularly good series in her opinion.
Yamamoto nodded gravely and not a little pompously. "Excellent idea Captain! Protecting civilians is our highest responsibility!"
Not just Yuriko gave him a dubious look at his sudden about-face considering he had been the biggest proponent against the whole situation not even five minutes ago. The part of her that was Brenda Stewart was suddenly reminded of an old sitcom that her mom used to watch. Yamamoto bore a striking resemblance to a weaselly army officer known as Frank Burns … only with a better chin.
"Thanks Commander Yamamoto!" Tylor said with a bright and goofy smile. Then he turned his dopey look at the others. "So uh … any ideas how we're going to do it?"
Yuriko sighed and buried her face in her hands. She should have known.
Willy's Bar
Sunnydale, California
Willy Lomax cursed as another table went flying and shattered.
Halloween was usually a good night. Vampires and demons stayed indoors on this particular evening and thus the bar which usually had a fair sized crowd most evenings was fit to bursting on Halloween and more customers meant more drinking which meant more profit for Willy. For Demon Bars, Halloween was their version of Christmas.
Unfortunately, some sort of fucking Spell went off and all of his customers starting having fits, some of them undergoing some bizarre metamorphoses followed shortly by a huge brawl or a small riot. He himself had gotten a bit dizzy for a few seconds but otherwise, he felt fine. Although he did seem to know how to mix a shitload more drinks than before … he wasn't completely sure where to acquire some of more esoteric ingredients though. What the Hell was Romulan Ale anyways?
He ducked a hurled glass and winced as it cracked the mirror behind the bar. Oh great, he just replaced that after the V'aargorsh Demon had broken it last month. His maintenance budget was going to be shot straight to the Hellmouth for the next six months. Another table shattered.
He shoulda went into Business School like his cousin Bernie. But no, he was a people person.
"WHAT THE HELL!"
The last table had gone and knocked one of his patrons to the floor. Amazingly, the guy had managed to sleep through the Spell and battle afterwards. Willie blinked and took a closer look. This guy wasn't a regular. Oh right, this bozo had wandered in a couple of hours ago and started running up a small tab and didn't even bat an eye at some of the other customers despite the fact that Willy would have sworn that this guy was human.
Some demons were adept enough to pass for a casual inspection as a human but Willy had a trained eye and experience enough to spot them. Even vamps who were pretty good at passing as norms still gave themselves away. They just couldn't help it.
He had to give the old guy credit—for a human, he was tough. He simply shoved off the dead weight of the whatever it was and got to his feet scowling. Not the best move, Willy decided as it attracted the attention of most of the brawlers who took offense that somebody was apparently not getting beaten up.
One of the transformed demons who now had grown some sort of weird knobby skull lunged forward to seize the guy.
Willy barely saw the guy's hand went for a holster strapped to his leg. Then there was a flash of orange light and knobby skull was down and a smell of burned flesh pervaded the atmosphere of the bar.
Everyone froze. Willy stared. Fistfights were one thing but frickin' laser guns?
The old guy simply raised the smoking barrel of his heavy blaster pistol up to his mouth and blew the smoke away before reholstering the weapon. He looked over at the rest of the suddenly frozen bar crowd and smirked. "Now, I'm a fairly reasonable, easy going kinda guy so let's all just calm down—"
Unfortunately some of the other guys with knobby skulls started growling. "He shot Kaf!" one of them shouted.
Another sniffed and scowled. "Not demon! Hew-mon," he spat in disgust.
"Hew-mon killed Kaf!"
The growling started getting uglier and louder.
"—or this can get ugly. C'mon guys! Racial differences notwithstanding, I thought we were all just a couple of Californians and all that shit," the human said with a disarming grin.
Willy winced as now knives and other sharpened implements were being pulled out. Probably more like eight months, he decided wearily.
"OK, you boys probably think you're pretty hot shit but let me tell you something…" the human drawled. "I have seen the earth quake, and the poison arrows fall from the sky, and the pillars of Heaven shake. And I have just looked that big ol' storm right square in the eye and told 'em, 'Give me your best shot, pal. I can take it.' So if you want to start something, go right ahead. But I'll finish it for you."
He gave a nod at their weapons, "And it's probably not too smart bringing a knife to a gunfight," he remarked, tapping his holstered weapon.
That insult finally broke the straw on one of the knobby skulled guy's back because he reared back and let the knife fly straight and true towards the human's head. It would have impaled itself into his forehead except his hand flashing up and grabbing it by the handle, stopping the blade just a few inches away from skin.
The human examined the throwing blade. "Nice knife," he commented casually.
The knobby skulled guys all started exchanging wary looks at the display as the human grinned at them. "It's all in the reflexes," he informed them casually as he flipped the knife around and lobbed it, handle first back at the thrower who caught it. He studied his returned blade for a moment. And then sheathed the knife and backed away.
The human brushed his clothes off casually and pulling out a wad of bills and tossed it to Willy. "For my tab. See you boys later," he said casually as he strolled out of the bar.
"Who the Fuck was that guy?" one of the bystanders blurted out once he had left.
"I dunno," another patron remarked scratching his head. "I think he said his name was Jack."
World Welfare Works Association Light Cruiser Lovely Angel
The Dirty Pair
Amy Madison poked a set of muscled abs. Strangely enough, they belonged to her. While Amy hadn't been that overweight, nobody would have called her very fit either.
She raised an arm and flexed, staring at the mirror at her reflection as she saw her biceps tense and her stomach muscles ripple. Holy fuck, she was ripped. And hot! She realized that her body upgrade had included her boobs getting firmer too. If only her Mother could see her now, she thought as she posed seductively. It helped that she was wearing some really tight and shiny swimwear.
Of course, she studied her reflection again—there was something off, she frowned. She peered closer and squinted. That was … funny. Aside from her hair growing about a foot and darkening in shade; her lips, cheekbones, and chin were the same as before and yet—was there a slight slant to her eyes now? She cocked her head one way and then another. She squinted and then widened her eyes as far as they could go. Nah, probably just imagining it.
As if the Universe were mocking her, a chiming alert vibrated throughout her skull following by a voice suddenly echoing inside her head. [This is Captain Ramius aboard the SDF-1! We have lost control of our Space-Fold Engines! This ship and a wide region including the city of Sunnydale will soon be displaced, possibly into deep space. I urgently request that any ship that is capable of assisting us in moving out of the planetary atmosphere contact us immediately! If you are incapable of doing so, I urge—beg—you to take on as many civilians as possible and give them shelter!]
Amy blink blinked and suddenly touched her head and then reached back behind her ear and felt the metal ring of the WWWA standard issue neurosocket plug that she knew was there. Memories of jacking in hundreds—thousands of times flooded her brain suddenly. Yuri. She was Yuri of WWWA Trouble Consultant Team 234. Code named, "Lovely Angels". And … and …
[AAAAAAHHH!OHMYGOD!I'mgoingcrazy!Ijustheardavoiceinmyhead!]
Amy slapped herself at the stream of babble-consciousness. Kei. Or rather, whoever was Kei right now was tapping the neurojack comms. She sprinted for the door and it slid open for her.
[Hard override! Code X-Ray, Papa, Echo, Tango, Eight, Four, Dash, One, One!] Amy neurolinked to the ship's apparently active AI as she took a few steps down the corridor to Kei's room and slapped the door control using her command code to override the privacy locks, striding into Kei's personal quarters. She saw a sort-of-familiar redhead rocking back and forth in a crouch on the floor in front of her closet, clutching her head and wide-eyed in a panic.
"KEI!" Amy barked and got a flinch from the redhead who blink-blinked as she instinctively reacted to the name.
"Kay—Kay—who?"
"I'm …" Amy felt herself trip over her own tongue as she was about to introduce herself as Yuri. "Amy. Amy Madison," she said, even though part of her only half-believed it.
"Amy?" the redhead shot up, clutching her in frantic relief. "Isthatyou?OhGoditshappenedtoyoutoo!IdunnohowbutsuddenlyI'mbuiltandtanandsomebodyshavedmeand—"
Amy struggled to follow the rapidfire babbling stream. Geez! It was like trying to decipher Willow—Amy blink-blinked and squinted, studying the redhead's face, ignoring the yammering mouth. "Rosenberg?"
"—andthenIwasaghostforawhile—" the redhead took a breath and then, "Uh … yeah?"
"It is you." Amy said dryly. "I dunno what just happened but you're not crazy OK? You … you're Kei. You just heard the Lovely Angel's AI neuro-flashed a priority alert."
"Kay? Who Kay? Lovely Angel—wait—huh?"
Amy frowned. She had a strong surge of familiar irritation. Oh just typical of Kei to cause me problems, the part of her that was Yuri was muttering. Huh. My … memories of Yuri appear to be stronger than Willow's of Kei, she realized, shaking her head metaphorically.
"C'mon!" Amy barked, grabbing Willow's hand and dragging her out of the room.
"Huh? HEY! Wait! I can't go out in this!" Willow shrieked, her arm reaching up to try and shield her barely covered breasts.
"Deal with it!" Amy snapped, "We gotta move! Lovely Angel—this is WWWA Trouble Consultant Yuri, give me a Status Report and open a comm frequency to Captain Ramius of the SDF-1! Tell him we are responding!"
Sunnydale, California
OK, maybe he was losing his mind. But considering how weird tonight had been so far, Angel decided to just suck it up and go with it. It helped his peace of mind at least as he ignored the frigging USS Enterprise in a holding pattern above good ol' Sunnyhell.
He began a basic breathing exercise and a meditation formula to center himself. Surprisingly, that helped.
Cautiously, he took the deactivated lightsaber and grasped it. Then he frowned—and adjusted his grip slightly. No—like that! He adopted the First Stance of Form III. Angel blinked as a rush—a torrent of memories flowed through him as he suddenly knew how Obi-Wan had been trained in all those years ago…
Simply … accepting the premise that he was alive and human again was the biggest hurdle. Now, he was remembering more and more. Bits and pieces were jelling together and Angel was remembering another entire lifetime. Of being a Jedi Knight. And he could feel the Force flowing through him.
He had flown starships. He had walked on hundreds of other planets! Met real live aliens! By comparison, his life—such as it was—as a vampire was pathetic and small despite having lived several centuries beyond Obi-Wan Kenobi's span.
He lifted the lightsaber in one hand and ignited it. Instead of flinching like he had before, he smiled at the familiar hum as the glowing blue blade as it ignited the oxygen molecules in the atmosphere, creating a pervasive smell of ozone in the air. "A weapon of a more civilized age," he heard himself recite softly.
He shifted his weight and assumed a new stance and with a sharp spin, he brought the lightsaber around in an arc and watched as a light pole and then a gigantic tree trunk toppled over having been sliced through cleanly. He whistled as he studied the glowing saber with newfound respect. He had absolutely felt no resistance to the beam whatsoever.
He shut down the blade again and attached to his belt with some fiddling.
He gazed out into the night, his brow furrowed. The Future was clouded and obscured. A Great Darkness surrounding this time and place. Destinies were intertwined and being reshaped at this very moment.
But he could sense them. Buffy. And her friends—Willow, Xander, and Giles intermeshed in this chaos. They needed his help. Well … one mere vampire might not be worth much in the whole scheme of things, but he was no longer a vampire and he had a powerful ally. He had the Force. And a Jedi Knight might be able to turn the tide, he reflected as he caressed the hilt of his lightsaber.
Angel let the Force guide him as he picked a direction and started to jog, trusting in his instincts…
Bridge
U.S.S Enterprise
Naval Construction Contract (NCC) 1701
Star Trek
Were the situation any less grave, Jonathan Levinson might have squeed like a fanboy and ask for an autograph but the Captain in his head killed that temptation and reminded him what was at stake. Over 38,500 people had less than 30 minutes to live.
Instead, he nodded sharply. "Your credentials speak for themselves Mister Data," he simply said. "What do you need from us?"
If he hadn't believed him before, Buchanan-Data proved it as he stepped up to the Engineering Console and then starting tapping keys with increasing speed and surety until his hands were a blur as he quickly adapted to 23rd Century hardware. Diagrams and blueprints began flashing on screens as Data began to speak, detailing a shopping list of bits and parts he needed to mix and match together.
Jon glanced at the guy who was apparently Montgomery Scott and surprisingly, not much taller than himself who was looking like he was torn between worshipping the design specs that Data had just whipped up or the android officer. "Doable?" he snapped.
Scotty blink-blinked and straightened, "Uh … yeah, absolutely. I just—just don't know if we can do it in time."
Jon nodded mentally. Time was the sticking point. Unfortunately unless they went and did a slingshot around the Sun, they were stuck with an impossible task and a brief deadline.
"Then you better get to it," he barked as Scott and Data bolted for the turbolift, the door hissing shut behind them.
"Are you crazy?!"
Jon glanced over at the scowling, beady eyed Principal ranting, "This isn't our responsibility! Let somebody else handle it!"
Jon felt a red haze descend on him. "This is our responsibility," he said coldly. "We are Starfleet Officers aboard a Federation Starship—"
"YOU'RE JUST A STUPID KID!" Snyder roared, spittle flying out of his mouth.
Ordinarily, Jon would have cringed. Instead, he abruptly turned his back on Snyder and stepped up to his chair, thumbing a button on the armrest. "All Hands," he said slowly and clearly for the enunciator to pick up his voice. "I am … sure that most of you are a bit baffled and a trifle bit … confused at this situation. Most of you … like myself, probably have memories of another life. A life in which you were ordinary. It seems like a lifetime ago.
"Yes, you are aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. NCC-1701. You're not watching TV anymore ladies and gentlemen … you're living it. And your ordinary, regular, humdrum life is over."
"I don't know how this happened, I don't know how it changed but I do know this … we have received an emergency communiqué that Sunnydale is in grave danger. And if we do not act and act quickly … tens of thousands of lives will be lost. Our friends, our families, our neighbors, our parents, our children, everyone that we love and care about … all of them will die. So I am asking you now … are you going to let that happen?!"
Jon glanced around the Bridge and saw everybody was silent. Thinking. Wondering. Fearful. Hoping. Praying.
"Now … ordinarily, I'd say we haven't got a shot. Ordinarily, I'd say to give up. But this … this situation really isn't ordinary now is it?"
Jon took a deep breath and grinned. "This is fantasy!"
He strode around the Bridge. A place where imagination had been turned into tangible solidness. Of a real-life make believe.
"And I cannot believe that this happened by sheer chance, by accident, by happenstance! That just when WE NEEDED A MIRACLE—we got one! So if that's true, then it's because God built us a Starship because He knew that He needed a Starship here and now to make a difference and save the day. And he put us here to do it. Gave us memories to work this ship! WHY? Why else would He have done this? Why else would we be here! In THIS time! In THIS place!"
Jon spread his arms out to his captivated audience. "WHO ARE WE TO ARGUE WITH GOD?" he thundered.
No one spoke.
Jon breathed heavily for a moment, fighting to get his hammering pulse under control and enough breath so that he didn't faint or pass out. "Gentlemen. To your stations. It's time to go to work," he said in a calmer voice and clicked the comm button off.
He leered at the wide-eyed Ferengi. "I may be a stupid kid. But I'm still the fucking Captain of the Enterprise. Bitch."
He retook his chair, clutching the armrest with one hand and willing the strength, the power, the vitality, and the spark of the starship to flow into him—supercharging him for what lay ahead.
This was why Kirk could never give it up. Because he could make a difference. And so could Jon. He looked at the Communications Officer and almost benignly smiled and then, "Red Alert. Battlestations."
The comm officer gaped at him for a moment and then either training or instincts kicked in because he hit a switch and throughout the cavernous compartments of the Enterprise, a high-pitched earsplitting jarring siren howled to life.
And above it, Jon could hear it. Feel it.
Deckplates rattling. Voices of men and women shouting. Machines and technology leaping to the call of men and women. Men and women leaping to the call of trouble.
The ever familiar throbbing of the Enterprise's anti-matter engines changed in pitch, growling deeper as it went to full power. Begging to be unleashed. The Bridge lights darkened slightly, causing the viewscreens to become brighter by comparison even as light panels became throbbing a poppy crimson of red alert.
The faux Spock was speaking, "Science Decks reporting in."
"Damage Control Parties standing by," the yeoman who had shifted over to take the empty Engineering Console reported.
"Sickbay reports ready to receive causalities."
"Engineering Teams reports all hands on deck."
"Mister Sulu …" Jon gave a lopsided grin as he stroked the armrest lovingly, "Bring us about! Head towards the geographical center of Sunnydale! Maneuvering Thrusters on Full!"
Time to start making a difference.
TO BE CONTINUED…
A/N: I own nothing. Still, I figure you should now the following.
Robotech is owned by Harmony Gold USA and Tatsunoko Production Co. Ltd.
Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation is owned by Paramount.
Star Wars is owned by Walt Disney Company.
Battlestar Galactica is owned by Glen A. Larson.
The A-Team is owned by Stephen J. Cannell Productions and 20TH Century Fox.
The Lethal Weapon Franchise is owned by Warner Bros.
Irresponsible Captain Tylor is owned by Hitoshi Yoshioka.
The Dirty Pair is owned by Haruka Takachiho although this particular version is based by the comics by Adam Warren.
The Hunt for Red October is owned by Tom Clancy.
And Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions.
The Frank Burns character mentioned by Yuriko Star in this chapter is Major Frank "Ferret Face" Burns from the sitcom, M*A*S*H as portrayed by the late Larry Linville in case anyone was wondering. He was portrayed by Robert Duvall in the earlier film version.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
From Buffy the Vampire Slayer:
Angel as … Obi-Wan Kenobi; Star Wars
Jonathan Levinson as … Captain James T. Kirk; Star Trek
Harmony Kendall as … Unnamed Viper Pilot; Battlestar Galactica
Cordelia Chase as … Unnamed Catgirl; ?
Principal R. Snyder as … Unnamed Ferengi; Star Trek
Willow Rosenberg as … Kei; The Dirty Pair
Ted Buchanan as … Data; Star Trek: The Next Generation
Amy Madison as … Yuri; The Dirty Pair
And from Tom Clancy's "The Hunt for Red October":
Marko Ramius as … Captain Bruno J. Gloval; Robotech
Along with several Original Characters (OC):
Denise Watts as … Claudia Grant; Robotech
Brenda Stewart as … Yuriko Star; Irresponsible Captain Tylor