My thanks to Shoji Kawamori and Studio Nue for the creation of Macross. Further thanks to Carl Macek and Harmony Gold for the vision that gave us the strange and wonderful alternate world that is Robotech.
Additionally, information from was useful and inspirational. Thank you!
Orbit
Chapter 1
August 2014
Lieutenant Commander Vanessa Leeds reached for the collar of her unfamiliar flight suit, and forced her hand back down for the tenth time. The crimson and black garment she was sweating in made her even more self-conscious than her new command uniform had, months earlier. She held her helmet against her hip and watched the summer sun create shimmering mirages over the nearest of New Malmstrom Air Base's many runways. In spite of the heat and the flight suit, she felt good. Months of recovery and physical conditioning had helped her body overcome the terrible injuries she suffered in the destruction of the battlefortress SDF-1. Friendship and love had helped her through the pain of wounds and so many trusted crew mates lost. She ran her thumb across the fingertips of her cybernetic hand. She knew her boyfriend, Bron, one of the Zentraedi representatives to the United Earth Government, was unbothered by her prosthetics. Nor was he put off by the patch she wore over her right eye, or the faint scars that remained on her body. And he certainly didn't mind all of the new muscle and curves that her strenuous efforts had given her either, she thought with a smile.
"Vanessa!"
She jumped at the unexpected harshness of the familiar voice, and turned to face her flight instructor.
"You are distracted, Trainee," Miriya Sterling, Zentraedi ace of aces, continued with a scowl. "That is unacceptable before or during any flight." She wore her bright red flight suit with casual assurance, and her hair rippled like emerald flame as she shook her head in annoyance. Her green eyes were just as fiery when Vanessa met them with her own single blue eye.
Vanessa was startled. Miriya was a brusque, no-nonsense officer, but she felt they had built a rapport, even a friendship, during the time that she had learned close combat techniques from the talented woman. The eager energy, the fierce smile, was missing. Miriya looked angry and impatient. Vanessa straightened.
"I'm sorry, Instructor. I'll pay more attention." She let strict formality cover her dismay, as she had seen her mentor, Admiral Lisa Hayes, do so many times.
"Hmph." Miriya held her gaze a few seconds longer, and then brushed past her. "Let us get this over with."
Vanessa followed, and they approached the orange and beige Valkyrie trainer that waited on the tarmac. Miriya wordlessly inspected the veritech and climbed into the cockpit, while Vanessa put on her helmet and took the rear seat as electronic warfare officer. Miriya moved through the pre-flight checks at a speed that Vanessa, still fresh from her introductory training, could barely keep up with. She craned her neck, trying to get another look at her fuming crew mate.
"Miriya, is something wrong?"
Miriya didn't pause as she flipped rows of switches and watched multi-colored panels light up on her console.
"What did I say about distractions, Trainee? You're falling behind. I want wheels up in five more minutes."
Vanessa swallowed. "Aye," she acknowledged, and did her best to keep pace. She was mystified at the hostility in the cockpit. In spite of her misgivings about her ability to make it through flight officer training and continue on her track to command of a space carrier, she had been excited to work with Miriya again. After months of physical therapy, preparation, and classroom study, it was an amazing opportunity to fly with one of the two greatest combat pilots that ever lived.
They were wheels up in three more minutes, with Miriya hitting the afterburners before they were even clear of the runway. Vanessa yelped as she was slammed back into her seat with a force she hadn't felt since her shuttle flight to her first assignment in space. That time, she had just been a passenger, now she had a job to do at the same time.
"Set course for the first nav-point," Miriya commanded, coolly. "We will be proceeding as if under high threat from anti-air defenses, and will maneuver accordingly."
Vanessa could see that it was useless to protest. Miriya intended to challenge her far beyond the previous weeks of simulator missions and basic flights meant to acclimate her body to aerial maneuvers. The empty brown wastelands blurred past below their craft, marked only by the half disassembled spires of wrecked Zentraedi cruisers. Miriya tested Vanessa with high-G evasions and sudden transformations of the Valkyrie to guardian mode. She repeatedly took them from supersonic speed to hovering in a span of time that would have torn apart any airframe not built on alien technology.
Crossing a gorge, Miriya shifted the Valkyrie to battloid mode and cut the engines. The abruptly humanoid configured craft dropped to the ground from a height of thirty meters and left enormous furrows in the earth. Vanessa's teeth crashed together, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She knew Miriya was an artist capable of a pillow soft landing, but she said nothing when they took off again, and kept herself entirely to mission related speech. The only extraneous sounds she allowed herself were the grunts driven out of her as she clenched gut and jaw to keep her blood where it was needed, in her brain, as Miriya pulled loops, tightly banked turns, and dizzying rolls.
Vanessa gave her best, calling out waypoints, identifying 'hostile' radar sites and simulated ground targets. She detected waves of incoming drones, achieving lock on target after target, and releasing notional guided munitions that sent the drone attackers circling back to their launch points. She had spent years with all the tracking systems and calculating power of Earth's greatest warship at her fingertips. She had fought in battles where she tracked hundreds of incoming cruisers, tens of thousands of battlepods. Always, she had made sense of the chaos of battle, and allowed her crewmates to wield the incredible firepower and toughness of the battlefortress SDF-1 to win victory again and again. The training mission was easy, an introduction, little more than a tease for an officer of her veterancy.
It was Vanessa's pilot, her instructor, who posed the challenge. She nearly blacked out multiple times, and was grateful for the single advantage she possessed, that her two cybernetic limbs were completely immune to the strain of Miriya's maneuvers. After two hours, Miriya set them back down at New Malmstrom with a roughness calculated to rattle Vanessa's bones. Keeping control by sheer determination, Vanessa took off her helmet and finished shutting down her instruments.
After climbing out of the aircraft, Vanessa made it three staggering steps before she dropped to her hands and knees and began gagging. Slender, gloved fingers touched her shoulder. When she regained control of her body, Miriya helped her to her feet. She saw remorse in her instructor's eyes, but the anger hadn't subsided.
"It will get easier as your body becomes used to the demands placed on it. If necessary, there are approved medications for vertigo that you can take before flights. Come, it is time to debrief."
Vanessa held her peace until the official end of the debriefing. Miriya remained cold.
"All objectives were met, and your performance was satisfactory. There is a great deal of room for your reaction time to improve. Further, you should review your responsibilities as a flight officer. They are considerably different from those of a bridge technician. You must break yourself of old habits."
"I understand, Instructor."
Miriya nodded. "Next briefing is oh-seven-thirty, tomorrow. That is all."
She immediately turned to leave, but Vanessa reached out and took hold of her upper arm. "Miriya, I'd like to know what was going on up there."
Her instructor's head pivoted, and she looked down at the mechanical blue fingers that firmly held her. Miriya made a fist. "I assume you remember our previous training sessions. Did you think I would be softer in the air?"
Vanessa's close combat sessions with Miriya had left her exhausted and covered with bruises, but there had been more than that. Respect, camaraderie, encouragement. "You know this was different. You were tough, but you never hazed me. I think I deserve an explanation."
Miriya shook her loose. Vanessa could have clamped down in an unbreakable grip, but she would never be foolish enough to think she could hold the deadly woman against her will. "If you do not approve of my approach to instruction, you can drop out of the program. Unlike myself, you have a choice."
Vanessa's eye widened in surprise at Miriya's words. "You didn't- ? If something is wrong, won't you tell me? Aren't we… friends?"
The woman in the rumpled red flight suit put her back to Vanessa, but did not walk away. Her fists slowly relaxed. "A drink," she said, softly.
"What?"
"In the RDF, when one flyer wants to speak unofficially to another, they offer to buy them a drink."
The base canteen didn't offer anything stronger than Petite Cola that time of day, but the table Vanessa and Miriya shared had a good view of the activity on base. For a long time, Miriya said nothing, and left her citrus soda untouched. She kept her eyes on the window, on a view that was finally, mercifully, clear of the monstrous plume of smoke that marked the destruction of the SDF-1. Her attention was divided between the Valkyries from Hornet Squadron forming up for takeoff, and the maneuvering of the giant, armored destroids, at the railhead. The grand North-South superheavy mag-lev rail line was finally complete, and the First Tomahawk Battalion was shipping off to the Southlands, under new leadership.
"They claim that the last of Khyron's followers will be defeated by the end of the year," Miriya said quietly, her eyes not leaving the view. "Ever since the SDF-1 memorial, and the announcement of the Total Integration plan, the flow of Zentraedi volunteers and smuggled supplies has slowed to a trickle."
Vanessa nodded, unsure of why her instructor had brought up the subject. "I notice the media have stopped calling it 'The Malcontent Uprisings,' and finally admitted that it's just a few diehards that won't let go of Khyron's memory. After Geraro was killed in that botched raid last week, the insurgent leadership has splintered."
"Another victory for Skull Squadron," Miriya said. She toyed with her straw and kept her eyes on the line of Tomahawk destroids being clamped into place on flatbed rail carriages that spanned multiple parallel tracks.
"Max," Vanessa breathed. Comprehension dawned.
"Do you understand that, from the day we were married, there has not been a single mission he and I didn't fly on each other's wing… until now."
"You miss him," Vanessa said, sympathetically.
Miriya allowed her simmering anger to resurface. "They separated us, Vanessa! Skull Squadron is fighting the last campaign of the Robotech War and I'm not beside my husband in battle!"
"Max is a great pilot, and not at all reckless, I'm sure he'll come home-"
"Of course he'll be fine! I know he's the better pilot. I put aside as much of my foolish pride as I could when I agreed to marry Max!"
"Then why are you-"
Miriya crumpled the drinking straw between her fingers without noticing. "You don't understand anything. They sidelined me Vanessa. To take me off the active roster now, when the end is in sight… Do they not need me? Trust me? Is it because I'm Zentraedi?"
Beneath Miriya's anger, Vanessa now thought she saw fear. It was the struggle so many Zentraedi confronted after the defeat of Dolza's Grand Fleet. Life without battle could feel like life without purpose. When Miriya's identity and worldview had fallen apart after her defeat at Max Sterling's hands, he had immediately offered her a new life as an equal partner in marriage and in the RDF. Miriya was perfectly capable of functioning independently from Max, but the sudden reassignment, the separation from her husband, and the burden of raising their daughter alone, had clearly shaken her.
"Miriya, have you been deliberately trying to get your trainees to file complaints about you?"
"If I'm unsuitable as an instructor…" Miriya trailed off, finally showing shame at her actions.
"You're a great instructor. If you hadn't helped me learn to defend myself, terrible things might have happened to me and the Zentraedi in Monument city," Vanessa said firmly, clenching her blue prosthetic fingers into a fist for emphasis.
Miriya met her gaze. "I apologize, Vanessa. My actions were unacceptable of any warrior, and particularly disgraceful when directed toward a comrade such as you." Her face fell again. "I just do not understand why this is necessary."
"I think I do. You know I'm connected to officials and officers that developed the Total Integration plan?" Vanessa asked. Miriya nodded. "There is a lot in the plan that I have mixed feelings about, but something I completely agree with is the integration of the armed forces. Admiral Gloval may have given special dispensation to allow you to fly, but it's time that every Zentraedi has the same option to join the defense forces, on equal standing to any Terran born human. And the expeditionary fleet needs Zentraedi recruits to fill its ranks or the Pioneer Mission may never be ready for launch."
"I don't want to train new pilots, Vanessa. There are plenty of capable instructors. I want to fly with my squadron, my family."
"The Zentraedi need you, Miriya. You've defended Earth in battle, and you've been a powerful symbol of unity and hope, but now you're needed in a very practical way. The new recruits are going to need a talented trainer, one who understands them and their backgrounds and experiences. Success with them will create a new generation of veritech pilots, who will share their skills with others yet to come. It's not forever, but doing this now could bring Terrans and Zentraedi together as never before."
The Valkyries of Hornet Squadron were nearly lost in the distance. A thrumming current of vibration ran through the room as the mag-rail went to full power, carrying away columns of war machines. Miriya frowned.
"Perhaps you are right… but this is very difficult for me. How is it that you are so easily able to accept that your own mission will separate you from Bron?"
Vanessa blanched. She found she couldn't answer, and her silence stretched on. Miriya's voice became dangerous, "Vanessa, are you telling me that-"
"I'm sorry," Vanessa quickly interrupted. "I didn't mean to imply that it's simple, or easy to be separated from someone you love."
"You haven't settled this with him, have you?" Miriya glowered. "Bron is one of Dana's godfathers. It would greatly upset me to see him hurt. And," she added, her voice softening, "you are my friend. I don't want to see you hurt either. My separation from Max is a matter of miles. The Pioneer Mission will take you half a galaxy away. You must talk to him."
Vanessa's shoulders slumped. "I know. I will talk with him. He's not clueless. We just haven't figured it out yet. I'm not willing to accept that there's no hope for us. I will fight for what we have."
Miriya nodded. "I expect nothing less. I will accept your pledge to do this, and pry no further." True to her word, she dropped the matter. "Now, my friend, speaking of fighting, I am concerned you may have gotten soft since we last practiced martial arts together. Plan to meet at the training room before the briefing tomorrow. Oh-five-thirty should give us enough time."
Vanessa smiled weakly, already anticipating less sleep and a new round of bruises. "Of course."
Vanessa was tired, physically and mentally, but she wasn't about to squander her off-base liberty on something as fleeting as rest. For weeks she had to make do with phone calls and messages to Bron and her civilian friends. The grueling final block of atmospheric flight training under Miriya's tutelage was over, and her results were being assessed, giving her a blessed three days to recover and reconnect with her friends. If all went according to plan, she would launch for orbit shortly afterward to undergo advanced training for veritech space flight operations and warship command.
The warmth of Bron's hand and the occasional bump of his shoulder against Vanessa's own was a pleasant distraction from her weariness. A rising wave of adrenalin drove away her fatigue as the music of the dance club reached her ears. A twinge of grief, mixed with nostalgia, ran through her, as she remembered lost friends and a day years ago, on the other side of the world. She met Bron and the other Zentraedi spies for the first time, across the street from another dance club, in the hold of a starship at war.
Vanessa blushed, remembering the way she and her fellow bridge technicians, Kim, and Sammie, had teased the bewildered group they met on the street. Then she had seized Bron by the arm and said, "I get the tall handsome one!" and led him toward the Bamboo House dance club. Now she took his arm again and snuggled close. Sammie and Kim were gone, entombed with the SDF-1 and so many other beloved comrades. Bron's trusted fellow defector, Konda, was not with them either. He seemed ever more withdrawn as the months passed since the battle that claimed Sammie and Kim. Rico, although now given to brief flashes of melancholy, was as outgoing as ever, and had joined Vanessa and Bron on the outing, with the defectors' government handler, Mary Brennan, at his side. She claimed to have come along to keep an eye on the two special representatives of the Zentraedi. They made an interesting pair, both of them diminutive and quick to laugh; Rico, gaunt, dark-haired, a teller of outrageous tales, and Mary, curvy, red-locked, quick-witted and sarcastic. They seemed to have forgotten their companions as they walked ahead, joking and trading puns back and forth.
Vanessa and Bron exchanged a glance and smiled. The lights and sounds of Club Minuet washed over them as they followed their friends inside. The building was not elegant or small. The music was not slow and stately. But for the Zentraedi who owned the club, and the others that made up a large portion of its clientele, the name fit well enough. The cavernous, cylindrical interior was lit by the pulse of cold blue lighting panels pulled from the wreckage of the crashed Zentraedi warship that towered over Monument city and served as its namesake. Music throbbed, a physical presence that ran through the body. What the gigantic amplifiers, salvaged from the crew compartment of a decommissioned Cyclops scout craft, lacked in precision and quality, they made up for in sheer volume.
The club's owner, an ex-drop ship pilot named Myrmid, presided over the gathering from a third story interior balcony, energetically working the oversized knobs, sliders, and buttons of the giant-sized audio equipment to control the music and apply varying sounds and effects. How he had come to run a club and become a DJ in just a few short years after being micronized and mustered out of the Zentraedi armada, Vanessa didn't know, but the ingenuity and eagerness of Earth's former enemies no longer surprised her.
"Drinks first, or start dancing?" Bron asked, close to Vanessa's ear in the noise and press of the crowd.
"Dance!" Vanessa called back immediately. Her heart was singing, and she was going to use the surge of excitement and energy she felt while she had it. Still holding on to one another, they plunged through to the dance floor and out into the less crowded space. A little distance away, Rico and Mary were already moving recklessly to the music, with little regard for form. She thought Rico's eyes were shut. Unconcerned, Mary cackled and grabbed Rico by the wrist, pulling him back to her right before he could spin backward into another couple.
Vanessa turned to Bron and found that his grin matched her own. This was another test of sorts, no less significant to her than her flight training. It had been ten months since the warlord Khyron's suicide assault on New Macross and the SDF-1 had taken Vanessa's home, her ship, her dearest friends, and broken her body. The cybernetic replacements for her right arm and her left leg, the fruits of Robotech and reverse engineering of extra-terrestrial technology, were near perfect in responsiveness and physical sensation, but she had never tested them like this.
Her friend, Doctor Jean Grant, had encouraged her to try dancing as part of her physical therapy, to rebuild the strength of her flesh and blood body, and increase the coordination of her limbs. It certainly made sense, but Vanessa found she just… couldn't. The experience of dancing was deeply connected to her friendship with Sammie and Kim. Every time she thought she had processed her grief, reached some new epiphany, and come to terms with her physical and emotional losses, she found that she was wrong. There was progress, but the pain never entirely faded. So instead, she pushed her body, through running, weight-lifting, physical combat practice with Miriya Sterling, and the demanding flight training courses. She had come through the crucible of the rogue Colonel Streight's attempt to seize power, and attack the Zentraedi of Monument city, without breaking.
She had become closer to Bron, each of them slowly overcoming their shyness. Their relationship was not one one founded on passion, it was a long journey of trust, respect, and love, that had at last nurtured a growing passion and attraction between them. But still, Vanessa did not dance. Now though… There was little time left. Soon she would be in orbit. She might not even be allowed to return to Earth before her planned assignment to the Tokugawa, when the new ship was completed at the Lunar Yards. She had promised herself, and vowed to others, that she would fight for her and Bron's love. She was done hesitating. Later, they would talk about the future. Now, they would reclaim another of the best moments they had shared with friends they had loved and lost.
Bron's eyes met hers. She impulsively sprang up on her tiptoes and kissed him fiercely, lightly touching her fingertips to his cheeks. Pink flesh and light blue cybernetics, both felt the tiny brush of stubble and the softness of his skin with equal delicacy. She shivered with pleasure as his strong hands encircled her waist and squeezed. The pair broke away at the same instant, beamed at one another, and then moved as the intensity of the music swelled. The ambient lights dimmed, but those above the dancers strobed and shifted in tone. The dance floor crowded with mixed and Zentraedi couples, yet somehow no one pressed into Vanessa and Bron's space. Close by, Rico and Mary laughed openly out of pure delight.
They all faded into the background, because soon Vanessa saw only the joy on Bron's face, and it was mirrored by her own. Was she clumsy and graceless on her cybernetic limbs? She didn't know. She didn't care. There was only Bron, and the dance. His own ability at dancing was irrelevant to her. It was their motion, their emotion, together, that mattered. Time passed, and she was unaware. The music crescendoed, and went silent.
The crowd was breathless, the dancers panting, sweating, but Bron took Vanessa around the waist again, lifted her, holding her close, and turned in a circle, overcome with exuberance. Vanessa cried out, a sound half-way between a laugh and a shout of triumph. They kissed, and he set her on her feet again. Contrary to her expectations, contrary to many of her other experiences the last few months, there was nothing bittersweet about the happiness she now felt. More and more, she found that to be true of everything she and Bron shared.
Music continued playing, more softly, and the club-goers were drifting apart. "Drinks now?" Vanessa suggested, thinking they could then go and find Rico and Mary. Before Bron could reply, several spotlights clicked on and converged over Myrmid's booth, thirty feet above their heads.
"Welcome, honored visitors," their host called out through a microphone attached to his comically oversized headset. The tall, narrow Zentraedi, standing a full six and a half feet at his micronized size, was nearly monochrome, with gray hair, gunmetal eyes, ashy skin, and a silvery jumpsuit. His voice made up for it all, with a pleasing timbre and infectious excitement. "Please prepare yourselves for a very special surprise. I would have shouted about this night's guest performer from the rooftops, but she swore me to secrecy."
Vanessa wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand and exchanged glances with Bron. The spotlights swept across the room and met again over the curtained area where live bands sometimes played. Giant Zentraedi attendants, smartly uniformed in ice blue, stepped ponderously from enormous alcoves. Vanessa noticed the style of the uniforms and immediately suspected they were the work of her friend, Arryanna, the only known Zentraedi fashion designer. The attendants drew aside heavy black stage drapes that had started life as Zentraedi Armada barracks blankets before they were hung from the sixty foot ceiling of Club Minuet. The thousands of shiny discs sewn into the fabric sparkled in the light as they moved.
Behind the curtains, stage smoke roiled in a tall cloud. The attendants seized anchor chains and smoothly lowered the platform suspended behind the curtain, while the band atop it began playing. The opening notes of an instantly recognizable song filled the club.
"I present to you, Lynn Minmei!" Myrmid proudly announced, but his words were drowned out when every Zentraedi and most of the Terrans in the room screamed their excitement as one. The vapor billowed and dispersed revealing the young superstar as she began to sing.
"Stage lights, flashing, the feeling's smashing!"
Bron turned to Vanessa, putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her tightly to his side. "I don't believe it!" he mouthed under the din, and Vanessa smiled back at him, allowing herself to be swept along by his boyish enthusiasm. Light emitters smoothly swung out from the walls and formed glowing projec-beams, magnifying Minmei's image for her cheering audience. Her long, flowing dress was a confusion of blues and teals, with white ruffles frothing like sea foam as they swirled around her calves, each turn she made setting the material in motion like waves breaking over a beach. Her dark hair perched atop her head and shoulders in hundreds of tight, silky ringlets, taking on sapphire highlights under the stage lights. The musician's energy and voice swelled, carrying everyone in the room with her in a self-reinforcing loop. She finished her first song, a well-loved standard, and one of her earliest, to riotous applause and raucous cheers.
"Good evening, everyone!" Minmei called out, sweeping a graceful hand to take in the whole room, and the audience exploded again. She smiled radiantly at their adulation, and that was all it took to stun most of the Zentraedi back into silence, hanging on her next words.
"I want to thank Myrmid and all of you for indulging my little surprise," she said, winking one of her glittering eyes, startling eyes that never quite seemed to settle on whether they were blue or green. "This has been a hard year for everyone," she said, somehow managing to be somber and warm at the same time, "and I know the good people of Monument have taken on a greater burden than most."
Vanessa nodded at her statement. If Monument had not been close at hand, and had the Zentraedi who lived there, around the central wreckage of the crashed troop ship, Quel'Vatal, not been willing to take on most of the survivors of Khyron's reckless missile bombardment of New Macross, thousands would have perished of exposure, illness, and radiation poisoning. The burden on the former warriors had been heavy indeed- shortages, loss of independence as the United Earth Government established its headquarters in the city, a sometimes oppressive military presence, and the shock of becoming a minority in the very city they had founded. There was applause, more subdued, acknowledging Minmei's words.
"That's why I decided to hold a special, private performance, here, among some of my most loyal fans," Minmei continued, her voice growing more upbeat, and lifting the spirits of everyone in the room through its magic. "Your courage, sacrifice, and struggles matter, which is why when I look out from the stage and see all of you, I feel like my work, the songs I write and sing, matter too! Thank you!" The audience roared their support again. "I've thought a lot since last year about where my choices have led me. For a short while, I felt like I had lost my music, and failed everyone. I just wanted to escape."
Vanessa remembered Minmei's disappearance, which had been major news until it had been overshadowed by Khyron's apocalyptic attack. Minmei had fled the stage at a concert, and disappeared for days. There were numerous rumors, some saying she had left North America and assumed a new identity, others that she had been abducted by Khyron's troops a second time, and more sinister were the whispers that her overbearing cousin and manager, Lynn Kyle, was responsible for her disappearance. The most far-fetched, in Vanessa's opinion, was that she had shacked up with Captain Rick Hunter, the well-known leader of Skull Squadron. And then, just after the SDF-1's destruction and the death of Khyron, Minmei was spotted assisting paramedics outside the New Macross bomb shelters. Within days she was busy visiting hospitals, refugee camps, and military bases across the Midwest, tirelessly lifting spirits and raising support for the relief efforts.
Vanessa remembered well Minmei's visit to the hospital at New Malmstrom Air Base during her own recovery. The singer had seemed almost reborn, with new songs and words of encouragement the like of which she had not shared since the darkest days of the SDF-1 and it's civilian passengers' journey across the Solar System. And yet, there was something more, something new, that Vanessa could not quite place.
A powerful musical intro began, rich and foreboding. "After the tragedies and heroism we have seen this year, I realized that we all still have so much to give. And so tonight, I want to perform my newest song for all of you," Minmei continued. "It speaks to the sadness in my heart, but, perhaps you will find hope in it as well."
A play of light swirled around Minmei, as of moving water, and she sang.
Across the fires and storm-wracked seas,
My love now stands on a far away shore,
Beneath black void and pale white stars,
My love now stands on a far away shore,
Vanessa knew immediately that this was not one of Minmei's typical bubbly songs about love or stardom, nor a battle hymn, like 'We Will Win.' There was a dark grandeur to the music and her words.
Can I find our love? Find it there?
Lost twixt battle's flame and the bright lights' glare,
Love born in war, nurtured in song,
You called out to me, called out for how long?
Vanessa looked around her at the rapt audience. They were transfixed, nearly as strongly as the first time most of the Zentraedi had been exposed to Earth song, and to Minmei herself, on the day not quite three years ago, when the human race was nearly extinguished.
Was our bond doomed by our youth?
Was it I who silenced his confession?
While I would seek for my own truth,
And deny his heart its full expression?
Vanessa was reminded uncomfortably of how close she and Bron had been to leaving their feelings unexpressed. She knew now that he had loved her for a long time, but had been too afraid and too inexperienced to tell her. And she, well, perhaps she had been afraid too, afraid of giving up the comfort and safety of her tiny world on the bridge of the SDF-1, of the arm's length distance that she and Sammie and Kim had kept between them and Bron, Rico, and Konda, and everyone else, for that matter.
Across the fires and storm-wracked seas,
My love now stands on a far away shore,
Beneath black void and pale white stars,
My love now stands on a far away shore,
A single spotlight lit Minmei, and tiny points of light pinwheeled over everyone's heads in the blackness. Vanessa knew that she herself was the one who would travel to that far away shore. She would be separated from Bron by airless void and stardust. Perhaps separated forever by war under a distant star.
Where stands my love, stands my love, now?
When did his eyes turn away from his lover?
He has lost heart, laid down his vow,
And now he finds the arms of another,
The hem of Minmei's dress foamed and rippled, wind blown, to the sound of waves crashing. She tossed her head, eyes tightly shut. She breathed the words, but they lost none of their power. The whole room was caught in her spell. Bron blindly sought out Vanessa and caught her hand. Now she knew what it was she had seen that had changed in Minmei's eyes. The child was gone. The innocent, who thirsted for stardom and toyed with the idea of love, had departed, leaving behind a wounded young woman.
Shall I now cross those storm-wracked seas?
Shall I now find my own far away shore?
Will I find peace in the sea breeze,
When I stand on my own far away shore?
Seabirds cried out, to the sound of soft waves. The people around Vanessa released a collective breath. Was there hope in Minmei's song? A grown woman now stood on the stage, wounded, yes but also healing, renewed and revitalized. For the first time, Vanessa felt like she might have some common ground with the musician. She looked over at Bron, and saw through the dark that he was looking back at her with tears shining in his eyes. She knew at that moment that there would be no peace for her on that far away shore, not unless there was a way back to the man she loved more than she could ever have imagined. They clung to one another as Minmei began her next song, another popular, familiar tune, energetic and upbeat. Neither of them heard the song. They heard and saw nothing but one another.
Minmei's set ended. The room returned to blue tinted light as applause and cheers thundered. Vanessa and Bron released one another and stepped back, drying their eyes. She was about to suggest that they go get the drinks they had talked about earlier, or better yet, just leave, when they were unexpectedly joined by someone else.
"Lieutenant Commander Leeds, Bron Nantes?" the man in the jarringly out of place business attire asked.
Vanessa did a double-take. "Greg Bates?"
The former MBS director and media consultant smiled faintly and looked at them from behind gold-rimmed glasses. His outfit was more expensive than when he had been on the SDF-1 memorial committee with Vanessa, but he had at least removed the tie and loosened his shirt cuffs.
"Sorry to interrupt your evening, Commander," he said. "I recognized you earlier when you were dancing."
"Um, that's ok," Vanessa assured him. "But what brings you here?"
Again a faint smile, as if he was enjoying her confusion. "Ah, yes. I'm here to tell you that Miss Minmei would be very pleased if you would both join her in her VIP suite."
Next time… fading dreams, epistolary romance, and turnabout…