Orbit Chapter 4
Armor Seven sailed the void between Earth and the Moon, a flattened, elongated shape, dotted with white-lit portholes and scores of green, red, and yellow running lights. The hybrid carrier/missile boat was almost half again as long as the largest seagoing aircraft carrier of the 20th century, and massed far more than that. This made it one of the smaller warships in the vicinity of Earth. All of the United Earth Forces' pre-war projections had assumed that the SDF-1, impressive warship that it was, constituted the upper edge of the size of the battleships the RDF would potentially face. This assumption was proven horrifyingly wrong on the first day of hostilities. As a result, the ARMD series, backbone of the UN Spacy fleet, were smaller than the standard Zentraedi frigate, which made up eighty percent of the overwhelming armada that attacked Earth.
In the first few hours of the war, three ARMD's were each destroyed within minutes of engaging the enemy. The remainder were spared when the Zentraedi withdrew to pursue the SDF-1 after its spacefold, but they fared no better on the day of the Grand Fleet's global assault. All orbital Earth forces were vaporized in the first few seconds of the Rain of Death. Armor Seven did not share the fate of its nine sister ships only because it had been assigned to a lonely vigil on the far side of the Moon, watching over the Lunar Yards.
Vanessa knew the angular lines of the ARMD's well, having spent six months as a midshipman on Armor Two. Afterward she had traveled to Macross island to train to join the crew of the SDF-1, and Armor Two became one of the first casualties of the war. The ARMD's, with their forward facing bridge superstructures, had always reminded her of angry snapping turtles. To the sides were boxy sponsons containing hangar bays and quick launch lifts for the onboard fighter wing of VF-1 Valkyries and Ghost drone fighters.
In the midsection, along with crew quarters and ship's stores, was the battery of heavy anti-warship missiles. The rapid fire launch tubes were capable of emptying the ship's entire magazine within minutes. At the rear were the ship's drives, the oblong bulk of the main thruster port, and the space dedicated to the spacefold engines that would have turned it into an interstellar ship; engines which would never be installed on the obsolete craft.
After docking, the passengers exited the shuttle through a boarding tube that led to a spartan room adorned only by the sigil of the RDF. There were no ghosts to haunt Vanessa here. The space existed purely to accommodate receiving a visiting flag officer, as it did on this occasion. Vanessa was very briefly introduced to Captain Mbande, tall and regal in her blue uniform and white cap, as well as the ship's executive officer, a Commander Forrester, and Captain Petrovich, commander of the ship's air group. Their greeting was perfunctory, almost as if they were bored over the whole matter, and their reception of Admiral Hunter satisfied only the minimum expectations of protocol. Vanessa and her fellow command candidates might as well have been invisible.
Also present for their arrival was Commander Millard Johnson, the lead instructor for the space veritech operations stage of the training program. The veteran of Skull Squadron shared a warm greeting with Hunter. The admiral, the YF-4 crew, and the rotating personnel for Armor Seven departed quickly, while the ship's senior officers and Johnson conducted Vanessa, May and the others to one of the veritech squadron briefing rooms. What followed was a short and sternly worded orientation by the XO and CAG for their time aboard ship, and then Captain Mbande finished. Her voice, carrying a hint of a sub-Saharan accent, was smooth and lyrical, but her words were harsh.
"Many of you, particularly those of you who served aboard the SDF-1," she said, glancing pointedly at Vanessa, "will find the conditions here cramped and lacking in luxuries. My crew has a thankless task to perform, and your presence here is a distraction. Treat them with respect and do not get in their way. I expect you to stay quiet and focus on your duties, until it is time for you to leave my ship."
With no further ceremony, she and the other senior officers left the compartment, and the candidates, all looking uncomfortable, turned their attention to Commander Johnson. The officer was about Vanessa's age, lanky and fit, though his walk was stiff. His mustache and sunglasses hid much of his expression, and he cast a critical eye over the group. The warmth that had greeted Admiral Hunter was gone.
"I will always try to be honest and open with you," he began, "which is why I must tell you that I disagree with the very premise of this training program. I do not believe that a competent aviator can be turned out in a few months, or that an officer who has not spent years flying with the space forces can be qualified for carrier command, whatever their previous background and veterancy."
Once again, Vanessa felt singled out as Johnson went on.
"It is my opinion that this program and the carrier commands that will result from it are primarily motivated by political agendas and public relations." He folded his arms. "However, my opinion was not asked, nor was I given a choice of assignments. That being said, I will train you to the best of my abilities. I can do no less for the excellent pilots who will depend on your decision-making as commanding officers. You will find me demanding, but fair. You will meet the standards of this training regimen, or you will return to Earth. The steward at the hatch will give you your stateroom assignments, where you will find your baggage, curriculum, and assigned reading for this course. Meet here at oh-six hundred hours ship-board time. Dismissed."
Vanessa knew from prior experience what to expect of the ship-board officers' quarters that the UN Spacy grandiosely referred to as 'staterooms.' She and May shared a cabin with two narrow bunks, a desk that folded down from the wall, two narrow cul-de-sacs in which they could hang their uniforms, and a small drawer space under the bunks. If one of them were to lay in their bunk, the other would have just enough room to stand and change clothes. The only concession to privacy was a set of curtains that could be drawn across each bunk.
May looked around the tiny compartment in disbelief. "Is this for real? They didn't put us in a closet or something?"
"When I was aboard Armor Two, I shared a stateroom with five other midshipmen and ensigns," Vanessa told her as she began riffling through the tall stack of manuals and course materials that had been left on her bunk. "Serving on a mile long battlefortress had its benefits. You might have gone through the war, May, but there's probably a lot you don't know about the old-style Space Navy. The situation on the SDF-1 was very unusual, especially with all the civilians and raw recruits that had to learn on the job, just like you did. And Earth is still recovering from the Rain of Death. The culture and traditions aren't the same up here. There are different conditions, different procedures and protocol that could trip you up."
May blew out a breath and dropped onto her bunk. "I'm glad I've got you to show me the ropes. But, it seems like they hate us. How are we going to make it through a whole month here?"
"We're interlopers, and they're upset, May. Armor Seven has only been in commission six years and it's… a relic. A dead end. It was never capable of fighting the Zentraedi in a straightforward battle, and whole new classes of ships will be coming online to replace it. Every day out here puts the crew further behind the curve, and they're well aware of it. And then here we come, from Earth and the SDF-1. The most prestigious posts, the best equipment and support, on course to important commands and a high-profile mission."
May's expression became thoughtful. "You… really seem to understand how they're feeling."
Vanessa paused at sorting through the books, and looked at May over her shoulder. Her voice thickened. "Let's say, I know what it's like to feel useless. To feel like you have no choices, no future ahead of you. To feel lost and broken."
May swallowed, unprepared for the way Vanessa had opened her heart. "But then, why keep them here? If it would be hopeless to send this ship into a battle?"
Vanessa put the two books she was holding back on the stack and sat on her own bunk, opposite May. "It really would be hopeless. The veritechs would give a good account of themselves, and the Ghost drones too, a lot better than the unfortunate Lancers that got cut to ribbons on the first day of the war, but Armor Seven would be doomed if it came under direct attack. The UEG keeps the ship out here for appearances."
"Appearances!"
"Yes. The new carriers aren't ready, and neither are the escorts. Until next year, the UN Spacy only has Armor Seven and the three surviving Oberth class destroyers, Hecate, Morgause, and, um… Lilith."
"But the Zentraedi could patrol this area!" May pointed out. "They're already guarding the Factory Satellite. We saw their picket ships on the way in."
Vanessa shook her head sadly. "We've come a long way in the last few months, May, but a lot of Terrans wouldn't be able to accept the defense of Earth resting solely on our Zentraedi allies. So until the fleet is rebuilt, Armor Seven is stuck here, patrolling, and waiting."
"But then what do we do? They're blaming us!"
"There's no easy solution," Vanessa replied. "Be patient with them. Don't antagonize them. Honor the fact that they've been put in an impossible position and are trying their best. We already knew we'd have to work hard to prove ourselves. Work harder still. Show the crew that you're taking them seriously."
"But what if that isn't enough?"
Vanessa's lips thinned. "It might not be. But I expect you to follow my advice, and do the best you can, Lieutenant."
"Well I - " May paused, and saw the look on Vanessa's face. "I mean, yes ma'am."
Vanessa nodded. She was sympathetic to May's worries, shared them in fact, but worrying alone would get them nowhere.
"Let's try to get some rest, May. We have an early start."
"Good idea."
They began to put away their few belongings. May was changing out of her uniform when she stopped unhooking her skirt and looked up at the light fixture.
"You know, that's really kind of distracting."
"Hmm?" Vanessa followed her gaze to the ceiling.
"Look at the light, and listen."
In the quiet of the cabin, just over the constant thrum of the ship's drives, Vanessa heard an irregular buzz. The overhead tube light pulsed and flickered in time to the noise, never entirely going out, but dimming noticeably. Vanessa shrugged, feeling a little irritated now.
"There's nothing we can do about it tonight. It won't matter once the lights are out. Go to sleep, May."
They crawled into their bunks, and Vanessa tapped the light off, then wrapped herself in the scratchy, navy blue blanket. She stared into the darkness, and waited for sleep to come. That was when her senses honed in on the rattling sound from the vent. She guessed that the fan that brought warm air into the cabin must be loose, creating a metallic rattle that came and went in a regular pattern about every thirty seconds. She spent a few minutes trying to ignore it, when May spoke up.
"Do you hear - ?"
"Yes." Vanessa sighed. "Go to one of the repair lockers tomorrow after the morning session and nicely ask if they can do anything about the lamp and the fan."
"Right." There was a pause, just long enough that Vanessa closed her eye again. "Um, how do I get to -"
"I'll go to the repair locker, May."
"Thanks."
The first day of training was a promise of what lay ahead. Hours of classroom instruction and theory in the squadron briefing room, followed by more hours of simulator training until Vanessa and the other trainees were so stiff that they stooped and shuffled like old men and women when they finally dragged themselves out of the simulator pods. Hundreds of pages of technical material were assigned for reading and familiarization. There was an incredible amount for her to learn about veritech operations in the weightless vacuum of space, and 'vector, velocity, and relative position' ran through her mind until it became a mantra. Monitoring the scopes on the SDF-1, the vast bulk of the battlefortress had been the center of her universe. The fluid and transient world that an aviator moved through was an adjustment for Vanessa, as it had been on Earth.
To Vanessa's surprise, Millard Johnson was true to his word. He was demanding, but fair. He expected everyone to stay on task and pay attention, but he would listen and take his time in answering questions. He possessed a dry humor in his manner of speaking that would sometimes catch the trainees by surprise. He might have lacked faith in the program, but so far as Vanessa could see, he was giving her and the others his all, and expected the same of them.
Between the morning and afternoon sessions, Vanessa made her way to the repair locker nearest her and May's stateroom and was directed to a blond petty officer whose name tag read 'Burget.' She briefly explained the issue to the crewman.
"I'll be happy to deal with the lamp myself, if you'll issue me a replacement. I just need someone to look at the vent fan. I know your people are probably busy, but I'm worried that it's going to affect our sleep and study time."
"Oh, I understand, Commander," Burget said with an exaggerated smile. 'This bucket of bolts is just going to pieces after all. Don't you worry, I'll send my best team to take care of those things."
"That's really not necessary. Like I said, I can replace the lamp myself."
"No, ma'am!" Burget replied loudly. "Nothing's too good for our special guests. Especially for the Survivor!" Heads were turning among the damage control team that staffed the repair locker. "I assure you that all of your requests will be dealt with before you return to your stateroom tonight!"
His manner put Vanessa on edge, but she couldn't think of any way to respond other than to thank him and hurry on to the wardroom so that she wouldn't run out of time for lunch. That evening, when she returned with May to the stateroom, they were both exhausted. They would have just enough time to squeeze in some of their required reading, before getting ready to sleep. Vanessa found a brief note taped to the hatch.
Problems fixed! Enjoy your stay on Armor Seven!
The note ended with a cheery smiley face. Vanessa looked over at May, who smiled hopefully, and opened the hatch. Turning on the light, they were greeted by relative quiet. Vanessa frowned. The buzzing and flickering had stopped, but only because the failing lamp tube was gone, its socket now empty. Their cabin had half as much light as before.
"But…" May trailed off in disbelief.
Vanessa moved over to the silent vent. Sure enough, the fan was motionless behind the vent cover. She thought she could just make out the capped, dangling wire that should have been connected to the fan motor.
"They can't do this!" May complained.
Vanessa felt too tired to be angry. Besides, hadn't she insisted that they be patient?
"I'm sorry, May. There's no time to deal with it tonight if we're going to make it through our course work. I'll look into it tomorrow."
May sputtered and muttered to herself as she began going through her books, but had the good grace not to unload on Vanessa. With half the light to read by, they were squinting and both had headaches by the time they were finished studying. They went down the corridor in bathrobes and sandals to use the showers, and returned. Then they laid in the dark, with the small consolation that the distracting noise was gone. Vanessa could hear May tossing and turning under her blanket.
"Commander, are you still awake?" May asked in a small voice.
"Yes."
"Are you cold?"
"Yes."
"Me too."
"The fan was bringing the warm air in," Vanessa explained. The room felt cold and the air was stale now.
"I see," May said, tightly.
There was quiet for a few minutes, and then Vanessa thought she heard a muffled sound from May, followed by a sniff. As she listened to the small, suppressed sobs, she remembered. She remembered the darkest days of the war. She remembered Kim, her confident smile gone, her elfin features blank as she sat on her bunk with her head in her hands. She remembered talking quietly to Kim, until her friend answered her again, until she would look up, see Sammie making faces, and smile again.
Vanessa remembered Sammie exploding in sudden, senseless anger, then collapsing in tears to the deck of the cabin the three of them shared. She remembered Kim kneeling and holding Sammie, while she stood over the two of them, stroking Sammie's hair. She remembered fleeing the bridge of the SDF-1 at the end of her shifts and shutting herself in the lavatory, ill or overwhelmed with anxiety. She remembered Sammie and Kim waiting for her, when she finally came out, and taking her into Macross to get something soothing to drink or to go dancing.
May was not a weak link. No one who faced the pressure of deflecting the hundreds of beams and missiles that had streaked toward the SDF-1, time after time, could be. She appeared to have natural piloting instincts, and her scores in the simulators on Armor Seven were matched by her performance flying back on Earth. But the friends she had before, the whole community that had been on the SDF-1, were gone. May had no one to support her here. Neither did Vanessa.
She propped herself up on her elbow and turned on the light. May had her head buried under her blanket, but peeked out, her expression confused.
"Come on over, Allison," Vanessa urged her, peeling back her blanket and scooting against the bulkhead.
"Really?" May's eyes lit up in surprise. "But… there's not much room."
Vanessa nodded. "We'll both wake up stiff. But it's better than laying awake all night shivering. And bring your blanket."
"O-okay."
May shuffled over and climbed into Vanessa's bunk. She backed in gingerly, until her skin finally contacted Vanessa's. Then she snuggled in more eagerly, seeking warmth. Vanessa pulled the blanket over them both, and put her arm around May.
"Oh!"
Vanessa felt May stiffen, and found her own body tensing. She swallowed.
"If it's… a problem, I'll take them off."
"No, it's ok. I just didn't expect your arm to be warm."
Vanessa smiled, remembering Lisa saying something similar. They both relaxed again.
"Thank you, Commander," May said drowsily.
"We're in the same bunk, Allison. Until morning, you can call me Vanessa."
… beneath black void and pale white stars…
Minmei's song blasted through the crowded locker rooms used by the more than one hundred aviators of Armor Seven's air group when Vanessa and May entered. They had been able to make it through the cold nights, but the trouble continued in other ways. Hard glances and stares. Loud and rude comments and asides. Long waits for simple requests. Deliberate misunderstandings. Often they were ignored. All of the command candidates struggled with it. Vanessa felt especially bad for the handful of Zentraedi officers who had accepted a reduction in rank and size and were willing to undergo retraining of skills they had already proven themselves in, for the chance to join the United Earth Forces. Whatever hostility was directed toward Vanessa and the other Terrans in their group was paid double to the Zentraedi. None of the Armor Seven crew had fought side by side with Breetai's defectors against Dolza's Grand Fleet, but they had all watched helplessly as the Earth was scorched and most of humanity died. When Zentraedi were in a room, the anger was palpable.
It was at the end of the first week when the mistreatment finally went too far. The last two days of zero-g chamber training and pressure-suited EVA excursions had thinned the ranks of trainees by a third, as many had proved too susceptible to zero-g sickness, or were incapable of keeping oriented in a weightless, horizon-less environment. The standards were much stricter than the zero-g training provided to warship crews for emergencies, and Commander Johnson was merciless on the subject. A few others washed out based on their simulator performance, before they were ever trusted in a real cockpit in the vacuum of space.
The afternoon had been harrowing for Vanessa and the rest, having to endure a depressurization exercise in one of the ship's air-locks. May had managed it with surprising stoicism, but one trainee, a veteran gunnery officer who had fought in nearly every one of the SDF-1's battles, had suffered a severe panic attack and dropped out of the program. Vanessa and May gloomily made their way to the battered lockers in the corner that had been assigned to the command program candidates and stopped short. Several of the doors were hanging ajar.
"What's that smell?" May wondered, wrinkling her nose. Vanessa frowned. She had detected it too. She had heard stories of hazing in the Spacy, of the various foul substances that had been dumped on the belongings of unwelcome crew-mates; people ostracized because of their backgrounds or associations. But even so, this smelled odd. Citrus? she thought.
She swung open the loose door of her locker. All of the garments inside lay in a pile at the bottom, dark with dampness, and discolored. She lifted the sleeve of one of her flight suits, and felt stickiness on her fingers. She sniffed again.
"Tang," she said flatly. It wasn't the first time the word had been spoken that week.
May let out a sound of dismay, and opened another door. "Every locker! They must have poured whole canisters of the crystals in some of these!"
She pulled another trainee's locker door open, and found the words smeared in red on the inside.
'DROP DEAD ZED'
Vanessa slowly turned around to look at the other aviators in the compartment. They were silent. Some were wearing towels, others were still in sweat-stained flight suits, and a few had just changed into shipboard uniforms. There were pilots, flight officers, search and rescue crew, and sensor techs from the Cat's Eye recon craft. All shared a similar range of expressions. Smirking glee. Pitying stares. Resentment under hooded eyes. Blank indifference.
… my love now stands on a far away shore…
May's fists were shaking at her sides, but she pitched her voice just loud enough for Vanessa to hear her over Minmei's song.
"When will this end? We've been trying so hard."
A familiar, white hot ball of anger formed and settled in Vanessa's stomach. She had been angry so often since the day she woke up in the hospital after the SDF-1 was destroyed. After working through the blame she had misplaced onto Lisa and Bron, she expected the bursts of anger to go away. They had not. She had begun to think something was wrong with her. It was only after months of struggling with what she was feeling, when finally she stood and helplessly watched fellow RDF soldiers arranging a massacre of her Zentraedi friends, that she realized. There was a great deal going on in her world to be angry about.
"No, May. This isn't like the things I asked you to be patient about." Vanessa shook her head. "This is too much. This is destructive, and it will lead to more destruction. I'm going to stop it."
She turned back to the sullen group of onlookers, noting that she was the highest ranking officer present.
"Turn down that music!" she barked. She glared out at the Armor Seven flight crews. "Since arriving here," she began, after the music volume reduced by about half, "I have always tried to demonstrate my respect for this ship, its crew, and their hard work, dedication, and sacrifices. I have urged the other members of my training cohort to do the same. I served on Armor Two, and I know how difficult it can be to do your jobs. But today, I am disappointed in this crew."
She worked to keep the tremor of anger and anxiety out of her voice, to duplicate, as she had at other times, the tone she had heard Admiral Hayes use to take command of a situation time and again. She met the eyes watching her, saw anger in some, impassiveness in others, and shame in a few.
"There will be accountability for this behavior. It must end. And if I ever find out who wrote these disgusting words," she said, gesturing to the message scrawled in indelible paint on the locker door, "they will answer to me personally."
Vanessa was not a violent or confrontational person by nature, but defying members of her own forces had taught her when a demonstration might be needed. It was not as difficult to bring herself to do it when she was feeling this angry.
"This door is unusable, and must be replaced."
She seized the upper edge of the offending locker door with blue fingers and squeezed. The metal crinkled audibly, and gave way like aluminum foil in her superhuman grip. With a sharp wrenching motion, using everything that Miriya had shown her about leveraging the capabilities of her cybernetics, she pulled the door off its hinges. The bolts shrieked and gave way. She let the misshapen sheet of metal drop to the deck with a clang of finality that drowned out the closing notes of Minmei's song.
"You are all dismissed."
Next time… burden of leadership, pushing back, and hazards…