Orbit Chapter 5

Vanessa turned her back on the astonished faces. "What are they doing, May?" she whispered.

May's eyes were huge, but she swallowed and peered over Vanessa's shoulder. "Um, half of them are leaving, and the other half are using their locker doors to avoid eye contact."

Vanessa blew out a slow breath and tried to relax her tightly wound body. The lines of her cybernetic arm were hard and angular; the thousands of component panels had shifted as she unconsciously clenched flesh and blood muscles that were no longer there.

"Ok, stick close to me. We'll gather all the clothes that were vandalized and take them to the laundry. We'll shower back on our deck, and then I'll go see Commander Johnson."

May still looked awed. "You're… really scary, you know?" She stared down at the door, which was now warped into something approximating the shape of a potato crisp.

Vanessa huffed impatiently. "Please don't start doing that, May. You know me better by now. I'm not some kind of superhero."

First Bron, and then Aria Stockton had made comments of that sort, and they clashed so much with her self-image that it made her uncomfortable. She rued the fact that Aria had set her camera drone to follow her on the day of Colonel Streight's coup attempt. The only thing that would have made it worse would have been if it had captured the seconds in which she knocked out a fire team of UN Army troopers with her bare hands.

"I'm just doing what I have to so that I can protect people. Now please help me gather all of this up."

May shook herself. "Y-yes ma'am!"

They filled a laundry cart with about a third of what had been soiled, staining their own uniforms orange in the process, and wheeled the cart out of the locker room. There were a number of crew milling about in the corridor, but the only person that Vanessa recognized was Jose Reyes, the test pilot from the YF-4 project team. She had seen him around the ship many times over the last week. He was a popular figure, between the cachet of piloting the prototype veritech and his easygoing smile.

Today he leaned against a bulkhead with his hands in the pockets of his day uniform. When he saw Vanessa and May leave the locker room, he pushed off and approached them. His smile was sad this time.

"Hey… word's already getting around about what happened, and, I wanted to say, I'm sorry, Commander Leeds." He looked into the cart and grimaced. "Ugh. It's worse than I thought. Look, I want you to know I didn't have anything to do with it. I didn't mean anything by it when I called you a 'Tang' the other day. I give everybody a hard time, including my superiors. Just ask the admiral."

It was true. He didn't single anyone out, nor was there a cruel streak to his irreverence, but Vanessa frowned.

"You didn't cause it, but you didn't do anything to help put a stop to it, either. You let it happen."

Reyes spread his hands. "I'm not even a part of this crew."

"No, but the people on this ship look up to you. They would've followed your lead if you'd said something, Lieutenant."

Reyes arched an eyebrow. "Look up to me? What about the way they look up to you?"

"Excuse me?" Vanessa glanced over at May, who gave her a look that just confused her more.

Reyes looked around at the bystanders who had suddenly found reasons to loiter in the corridor, and sighed. "Eh, never mind. Maybe you're right. Things definitely got out of control." He put his hands on the edge of the laundry cart. "There's more, right?"

"Quite a bit," May said.

"Let me help you. I'll take this cart to the laundry, while you start gathering the rest. That way, you won't have to leave it all unattended. I'll bring an empty cart back."

Vanessa nodded curtly.

"Thank you," May told him quietly.

"You've created quite a stir among the crew of this ship, Lieutenant Commander Leeds," Commander Johnson told Vanessa.

The two were seated across the desk from each other in the tiny office that had been assigned to the lead instructor. He blanked his desk terminal and leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, but Vanessa thought there might be an amused curl to his lip.

Vanessa was in no mood for skirting around the issue that had brought her to his office. "If I have, sir, then it was necessary. The abusive behavior has gone too far. I won't have it. Whatever your reservations about the training program, these officers deserve better. The hazing needs to stop, before it gets worse."

"I won't fault your handling of the matter up to this point, but what else is it you're asking for?"

"Some of the people behind it may stop now, but for the others, they need to know that their superiors in the chain of command disapprove. I want this addressed through official channels."

Millard nodded. "If that's what you want, then I suggest you go to Captain Petrovich. This latest incident happened among his flight crews."

Vanessa frowned. "You want me to go? Then you're not willing to handle this officially?" She had hoped he would support her and the rest of his trainees. Her stomach began churning with worry, but then Millard smiled.

"Quite the contrary. I want you to officially visit the commander of the Armor Seven air group in your capacity as my executive officer."

Vanessa blinked. "Your XO…? But I'm a trainee!"

"Leeds, I can't be the first person to remind you that you're being groomed for higher command. Greater responsibility is part of the job. My hands are full attending to the organizing and running of your cohort's training. Clearly the safety, discipline, and morale of the unit needs attending to. You're the natural choice."

His words did nothing for Vanessa's anxiety. "I'm not sure what you mean by that, sir. I've never commanded a unit before."

Millard pursed his lips. "I've noticed a lack of awareness that afflicts certain natural leaders, so let me be clearer. You've already acted to preserve the integrity of your cohort, without any prompting. Before that, you took young Lieutenant May under your wing. Your actions on Earth during the crisis in Monument speak for themselves. All of the members of your cohort look to you for leadership. Your stance on the Zentraedi is somewhat controversial in certain quarters, but nevertheless, your war record and conduct make you one of the most respected officers on this ship. You are the person for the job."

Vanessa swallowed. "Sir, I've never sought out…"

Millard's good humor fled. He placed his palms on the desktop and leaned forward. "Leeds, it is your duty to take on this responsibility. I've scheduled a meeting for you with Captain Petrovich. I'll see that you receive the appropriate records and authorizations for your new tasks. You are dismissed."

Vanessa had hoped to avoid being sent to anyone's office while aboard Armor Seven. Now she seemed to be working her way up the ranks. She prayed she wouldn't end up across a desk from Captain Mbande or Admiral Hunter. Captain Petrovich greeted Vanessa with a smile and an invitation to be seated. The space was much larger and better appointed than Millard's. Through an observation port set in the deck, she could see the slim lines of the destroyer Hecate in an escorting position. A full squadron of Armor Seven's Valkyries held station between the two vessels, looking top-heavy with their augmented boosters and missile pods. Their running lights winked cheerily at Vanessa as she sat down and folded her hands on her lap, her chair's position right at the edge of the viewport making her feel as if she was suspended precariously over the void of space. A battered, fleece lined jacket hung in a frame on the bulkhead, covered in service patches from the old UN Navy and the UN Spacy. Next to it was a framed landscape photo of all the members of an Earth-stationed fighter wing, with signatures under each blurry, smiling face that were a mix of Western, Arabic, and Cyrillic script.

Captain Petrovich was a clean shaven man in his mid-thirties, a decorated veteran of the Global War whose posting on Armor Seven had caused him to miss all of the major actions of the Robotech War. His eyes were brown and moist, while his mouth was a wide, almost lipless slit. He set aside his white cap, leaned back in his chair and loosened the tall collar of his service coat.

"Welcome, Lieutenant Commander Leeds. I am glad that we are finally getting a chance to speak." His voice was friendly, touched with enough of a Russian accent to remind her of Admiral Gloval. "I would have enjoyed a chance to talk shop, but I never see you in the wardroom."

Vanessa had consciously avoided the main wardroom, where officers were served their meals on white chinaware and linen, to avoid the hostility she expected there. She and May had taken all of their meals cafeteria-style in the 'dirty shirt' wardroom positioned aft, where flight crews came and went at all hours before and after their sorties.

"Um, yes sir. I've just been concentrating very hard on my training," Vanessa said, unprepared for the direction Petrovich had taken the conversation. His smile widened.

"Indeed? How fortunate I and my flight crews must be that we have so much more leisure time than you do."

Vanessa blanched. How had she let the conversation go wrong so quickly? "I-I'm sorry, sir. I meant no insult, I just meant that-"

Petrovich threw his head back and laughed loudly. "Oh, Commander," he said, still chuckling. "Forgive me! You young officers from the SDF-1, so earnest and serious!"

A ship's steward appeared in the hatch carrying a tea service tray, and Petrovich nodded to him to enter.

"Tea?"

"Um, yes?" Vanessa agreed, completely off balance.

The steward poured for them both, and Petrovich took his cup, sipped, grimaced, and waved the steward on.

"How is it," he said with a sigh, "that you and your fellow trainees spent so long at the sharp end, and yet you are so easily rattled, so easily pushed about?"

Vanessa frowned. He may have caught her off guard, but now her anger was crystallizing again. "Sir, if you are minimizing the harm done to my people-"

"Not exactly," Petrovich interrupted with an upraised hand, "perhaps some of it did go too far. But my crews are high-spirited and competitive. They have their pride. They feel threatened, yes?"

Vanessa gave a reluctant nod. "We tried being patient. But that got us here."

"Why can't you just stand up for yourselves a bit more? Push back a little."

"I'm standing up for them right now, sir. We didn't come to Armor Seven to participate in a feud. On the SDF-1, we were alone, no support from Earth, and a foe we couldn't possibly beat head on. We learned to trust and rely on each other. There wasn't time to fight amongst ourselves." She gestured towards the old photo. "You were in the Global War, sir. Surely it was the same for you? During the fighting you had to become a team, and after the war, you had to learn to get along with your former enemies. How is this different? Do we have to be outsiders?"

"Hmm." Petrovich looked at Vanessa distantly. "You know, Captain Mbande flew for the opposition, before the armistice, and yet, here we are, on the same ship. But perhaps the situation is not quite the same. Right after the Rain of Death, we wanted to take a vote, you know? Whether to deploy against Dolza's armada. But the Captain wouldn't allow it. Many still have not forgiven her for that decision."

"You would all have died!"

"Yes!"

The answer came out as a short, choked giggle. Petrovich's smile was sickly. "When the dry stores at the Lunar Yards ran short, we went on starvation rations. It was two more months before the first shuttles arrived from Earth."

"That's terrible. I'm truly sorry… but, if not for the SDF-1 appearing, and the formation of the UEG, things might still have turned out this way. You know as well as I do that the world was moving toward nuclear war when the Visitor crashed."

Petrovich folded his arms and looked at her intensely with damp, shiny eyes, but Vanessa didn't flinch.

"Tell me, Leeds, how you did it." His voice was soft. "How did you learn to forgive the Zentraedi? Was it hard? Did you blame them? Blame them for the billions of dead? Your friends? Your family? The suffering of millions of survivors? How? When did you do it?"

"I…". Vanessa felt steel cords tighten across her chest. "There wasn't a particular moment," she said slowly.

Petrovich leaned forward. "But you hated them, yes? For the war, for the SDF-1's exile from Earth? For all of the destruction?"

"Only in the abstract. At the beginning, we didn't know anything about the Zentraedi. They were a faceless enemy. We only saw their ships and mecha, most of the time. And when I finally came face to face with some of them, they weren't the enemy, they were just people."

Whenever Vanessa thought of the Zentraedi now, it was always Bron's face she saw first.

"They were fascinated by us, Captain. They never knew there was any other way but war, until they met us. Eventually, they joined us, chose us. We went into battle together, to defeat Dolza and hope that Earth could somehow rebuild. We're still trying to rebuild, to build something new, that has the best of all of us."

Petrovich looked disappointed. "That's all, then? No grand epiphanies, no moment of reconciliation?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry. For me, the greatest difficulty hasn't been letting go of hate, but being brave enough to love, and hope."

The older man looked thoughtful at that.

"Hmm. Well, thank you for your forthrightness, Leeds. Would that it were so simple for everyone. I do hope you never face a foe beyond your capacity for forgiveness. Now, to our original matter. If you and the others want to stop feeling like outsiders, I suggest you stop acting like them. Stop avoiding us. Sit down to meals with us, open yourselves to us, just as you did now. When you are pushed, push back a little, before it comes to tearing locker doors off their hinges," he added with a smile.

"Captain Mbande said we should stay out of the way…"

"The Captain did not know any of you. She was concerned you would come in and lord it over all of us. Just act a bit more like you belong here. My pilots would love a chance to test themselves against you. A special demonstration, your best against ours, perhaps?"

"I could take your suggestion to Commander Johnson," Vanessa replied warily.

"Good!" Petrovich's smile widened. "And, in return I will speak to my pilots."

"The targeting of my Zentraedi colleagues must not be repeated!" Vanessa insisted.

"Of course, of course. Such slurs are, after all, a violation of the military code of conduct, and will be dealt with most harshly. I will appeal to my crews to, in future, make their jibes and pranks more… good-natured."

"This is good-natured?" May fumed. Her flight helmet hit the metal mesh deck of the quick-launch bay's catwalk and bounced. Vanessa just stared for a moment, then the corner of her mouth twitched, and she snickered.

"Oh May," she said, laughing, "at least they color-coordinated it with your flight suit!"

Both had been nervous, sleepless and unable to eat, in the lead up to their first flight in space together. The queasy feeling had only increased while they changed into their flight suits and made their way into the Valkyrie bay. At the end of the catwalk, the Valkyrie trainer assigned to them waited, already mounted to the launch arm. The sleek lines familiar from their Earth-bound flights were broken up by the bulky space augmentation package, including powerful top mounted booster engines with additional reaction mass, multiple missile pods, and armor reinforcement for vulnerable areas.

Courtesy of the Armor Seven air group, Vanessa and May's Valkyrie had been repainted in honor of their inaugural flight. Between the eye-wateringly bright yellow hull and the solid black hazard striping, Vanessa wasn't sure if the veritech looked more like a bumble bee or a construction zone. The tension she was carrying bled away with her laughter. May growled, stomped her foot, and scooped up her helmet. Vanessa put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's ok, May. This doesn't affect our flight at all. It really is harmless. Besides, they wouldn't have done this to someone they hated."

May heaved a sigh. "Fine, I guess. I'm just really nervous." She pulled her helmet on and continued toward the trainer.

"You'll do great out there. You're a more than capable pilot."

Vanessa followed May, passing the grinning launch crew.

"Good hunting!" the chief called to them as they lowered the canopy, and Vanessa waved cheerfully back. Anticipation began to build again as they verified the Valkyrie's readiness, with her, May, and the crew calling back and forth in a chorus.

"Power, green."

"Communications, green."

"Reaction mass, green."

"Bay pressure status, green."

"Sensors, green."

"Main engines at standby, status green."

"Weapons, green."

"Catwalk retracted, launch arm, green."

"Maneuvering thrusters, green."

"VT-Seven-One-Four ready," Vanessa reported crisply.

Commander Johnson's voice reached her through the com.

"VT-Seven-One-Four, you are go for launch. Be careful out there, and have a good flight."

Vanessa's breath was loud in the enclosed space of her helmet.

"Launch, aye."

The thick overhead hatch slid back, bathing Vanessa and May in starlight. A soft shudder went through the cockpit, and the veritech rose smoothly on the quick-launch arm. Within seconds, their craft was suspended in space, only tethered to Armor Seven by the docking claw and a handful of umbilical tubes and cables. The vast, silvery expanse of the ship's upper hull was spread before them. Above Vanessa's head was the full sweep of the heavens, with the deceptively close orb of the Moon, a shining lamp ahead of them. She made a small sound of awe at the sight. Parallel tracks of yellow launch-corridor lights winked to life in their hundreds, marking the Valkyrie's path over the deck. Vanessa felt the claw detach, and the veritech slowly drifted clear.

"Umbilicals released." May's voice was low and tight with excitement. "Engaging thrusters."

Vanessa's launch with May was far gentler than her takeoff with Miriya had been, months earlier, but the rush of speed when the boosters fired was still exhilarating. Within moments, Armor Seven was a distant point of light behind them. May whooped in celebration.

"Well done, May," Vanessa breathed.

"Proceed to Area Nine for maneuvering exercises," Millard ordered. "If you don't lose your breakfast, we'll try you on some gunnery practice at Area Four."

"I can handle anything right now!" May replied, riding a sudden surge of confidence. "Setting course."

"Just see that you steer well clear of the green hazard zones. There can still be a risk of debris quite a distance out."

"Why do they call them green zones?" May wondered. "Doesn't green usually mean good?"

A familiar, cheerful voice answered her. "They call them green zones because of all the Zentraedi wreckage from the end of the war. Tens of thousands of derelict hulls were drawn into more stable orbits at Earth's Lagrange points. There are so many hulks floating around that the areas actually look like green clouds."

Vanessa frowned and adjusted the gain on her sensors. "Control, I have a contact, approaching fast, can you identify?"

The voice groaned. "Seriously? You weren't supposed to be able to see me!"

"Ha! You need to be more careful, Reyes!" May crowed. "The Lieutenant Commander is the best EWO in the fleet, and she could have shot - you - down!"

"Eh, I'm sure I could have pulled off a few maneuvers. Nice paint job, by the way!"

May growled back playfully, and Vanessa smiled. May and Reyes had been spending what free time they had together, and his cocky attitude was starting to rub off on May. As far as Vanessa was concerned, that was a good thing. May had the potential, and needed the confidence to bring out her talent.

The YF-4 appeared as a streak of light behind and above the Valkyrie trainer. As it approached, it flipped 180 degrees, its thrusters burning to slow it and match velocity with Vanessa and May. The Lightning hovered over them, canopy to canopy, and nose to nose, only three meters away, drifting slightly in their own direction. Reyes was in shadow, but as he looked down at them, his toothy grin and the gold panels on his flight suit and the Lightning's hull reflected the moonlight brightly.

"Welcome to the deep dark,Tangs! I knew you would make it!"

"Be glad you have that fast ride, Lieutenant," Vanessa teased, getting into the spirit of the moment, "or I'm sure May would leave you in our dust."

Reyes was laughing when Millard's voice returned.

"This is all very entertaining, pilots, but you may recall we are running a training mission here?"

Admiral Hunter joined the link. "Reyes, can we at least pretend we're on a classified test flight? Stop playing around on the general frequency and get back to the flight plan."

"Fine, fine, Admiral," Reyes agreed. "Proceeding to Area Six for transformation sequences. Good luck out here, you two!"

"Take care, Lieutenant," Vanessa said.

"See you soon!" May called out. The Lightning's thrusters flared blue, and the graceful craft disappeared in an instant. "… He's nice," she whispered over the internal channel.

"Yeah," Vanessa acknowledged. "Now let's get to Area Nine!"

May aced maneuver after maneuver, confirming Vanessa's opinion that she was an untapped talent. At the same time, Vanessa found herself enjoying the flight as she never had the flights in Earth's atmosphere or viewing outer space from inside the SDF-1. This was the dream she had held since childhood. Touching the universe, reaching beyond the limits of her world, and making new discoveries. She prayed that the Pioneer Mission would prove to be a mission of exploration and peaceful contact, not war. Until the gunnery portion of their flight, she almost allowed herself to believe it could be.

May swooped in on drone-operated, decommissioned battlepods, bulls-eyeing the gangly, avian war machines as they performed basic evasions on their maneuvering thrusters. Vanessa managed the sensors and target priority list, allowing May to efficiently place bursts of gun pod fire through the red 'X' rudely painted on the central hull of each target. They finished the first stage well under the time limit, and were preparing for the missile trials when a heart-stopping transmission came over the emergency band.

"Malfunction! Critical transformation sequence failure on the YF-4! Flight control, non-responsive! …Collision alert! …Pilot, non-responsive! Critical emergency on the YF-4!"

Next week… Interlude II: Connections…

Author's Note:

I would like to again acknowledge information and concepts from the website 'Mecha Journal' as source of background and inspiration for the current part of the storyline.