Chapter 5

The shuttle's isolation chamber was tiny, having just enough room for Vanessa and Colonel Kravshera to strap themselves in side-by-side on the narrow acceleration couch. The padded forward bulkhead was only a few inches from their noses, and even the ceiling was low, made still more cramped by shipping cases secured directly above their heads by retaining bars. Vanessa found the atmosphere stifling, between the self-contained life support systems of the compartment and the muffled roar of the shuttle's thrusters. The only relief was the tiny porthole, where she could see the faint pink of the planet's upper atmosphere giving way to the blackness of orbit. Less than two meters opposite the exterior porthole, an equally small internal one was set into the sealed hatch. Through it, she could see part of Ensign Garo's exhausted face.

"Capitaine," the intercom crackled, "the shuttles have finished their final course corrections to rendezvous with the Jean d'Arc. We expect to dock within the hour.

We are continuing to broadcast 'Standard Greeting Three - Request for Cease Fire' on a broad range of frequencies. No response so far, and no sign of any hostile aircraft or starships responding to the conflict on the surface. The pill bugs have not left the city, and it's impossible to estimate how many might be left.

"Thank you, Ensign. Any word from Doctor Priest?"

"He said he expects the medical team to finish testing your blood samples shortly before we dock. We'll know by then whether you can be released from quarantine."

"Understood. Advise the admiral that we'll be ready for debriefing thirty minutes after we dock, assuming the colonel and I get a clean bill of health. Dismissed."

"Oui, oui Capitaine."

Vanessa turned her head and looked at the officer who was her companion for the period of enforced isolation. Like her, Kaden had changed into a fresh daily duty uniform devoid of rank pins, his khaki, hers blue and white, and hadn't that been an awkward few minutes in the close confines they were sharing. Their damaged pressure suits were webbed into the narrow space under the acceleration couch. Kaden's usual witty banter and faintly arrogant smile were still absent. He stared out through the exterior porthole, as he had since they had both strapped themselves in for takeoff.

Vanessa had a lot to think about - casualties, the ignominious evacuation, the complicated logistics of getting all of the Lightnings back into orbit, the samples and data that had been recovered and needed to be analyzed, whether she and Kaden might have picked up any nasty pathogens on the planet, her pending debriefing with the Admiral, and the next steps for Task Force 2's mission in this star system - and think about it all, she had, but she couldn't ignore her subordinate officer, even if he seemed to be doing his best to ignore her. I took it too far, she thought. I was angry that he endangered us all and got hurt. I shouldn't have made that crack about Zentraedi warfare. It was hard enough at the best of times for most Zentraedi to move on from the scars left by their enslavement to the Masters. Knowing Kaden's past, and his ambivalence about being on 'the wrong side' when the war ended, it had been petty and wrong of her to use that knowledge like a blade against him. But she had never found talking to him easy. Even now, the way he held his shoulders, the untidy fall of his pale blue hair across them, and the set of his chin all screamed out to her reminders of his clone-brother. Start with something simple.

"How's the arm?" Vanessa finally asked.

He shrugged, not meeting her eye. "It's fine, Captain. Only superficial, as I told you before."

Not true. The razor sharp sliver of metal had been nine centimeters long, and had nearly passed clean through his bicep. Vanessa looked at his arm suspiciously, making sure there was no sign of blood seeping through his bandages and sleeve. At least he was answering her.

"Colonel," she continued, "I apologize for earlier. I believe some of your decisions on the battlefield today to have been unacceptably risky, but the way I expressed that may have been… indelicate."

Kaden slowly turned his head toward her, and arched an eyebrow. He snorted, then let out a chuckle, and that familiar, insolent smile spread across his face. "Indelicate? Are you worried about hurting the feelings of a UEF Marine? Not very commanding of you."

Vanessa felt her cheeks color, and schooled her expression, though she felt a smile tug at her own lips. The apocalypse had not changed the traditional attitudes of the Marines, and the infusion of veteran Zentraedi into their ranks had only hardened them further. "It's not, I suppose," she answered, forcing herself to return his gaze. "But I was still wrong to speak that way. I have no right to judge you based on your heritage."

The smile remained, but the warmth in Kaden's eyes faded. "But you do judge me. Everyone does."

"That's not true! I -". Vanessa cut herself off. She couldn't lie to him, and he was too intelligent to not see how she felt anyway. Had she really managed to get through four years of their mission without a conversation with him turning in this direction? "Ok. You're right. I have judged you. I try not to, but I'm not always successful. You know why I feel the way I do. It's not an excuse. Today, I failed to treat you as you deserved. It was wrong of me to speak to you as if it were your Zentraedi genetics or your relation to… him… that led you to make the decisions I disagreed with. And it was unprofessional of me to criticize your feelings about warfare right in the middle of a battle. Please accept my apology."

Kaden looked at the bulkhead in front of him. He took a deep breath, and released it slowly. "Hmmm… and what if I choose not to accept your apology? Perhaps it is my Zentraedi blood that dictated my command decisions? Perhaps I am not so different from my 'brother' as you think?"

Vanessa stared at the elegant profile of his face. "That's - no! That kind of thinking is nothing more than an excuse! We're each responsible for our own actions!"

"Oh? But am I not 'damaged' in your eyes? Are we Zentraedi not all marked by our indoctrination, our servitude, our lives of violence? Are any of us truly capable of changing our natures?"

Vanessa's eye narrowed. "Are you asking me seriously, or are you toying with me?"

Kaden turned his head toward her just far enough to look at her out of the corner of his own eye. "Perhaps both," he admitted. He lifted his gaze to the stamped and coded plastic shipping crate just above their heads. "You're well aware, I imagine, that I have you to thank for my command. Not just with Task Force Two, I mean the very fact that I was able to receive a commission in the United Earth Forces at all."

"That wasn't me alone," Vanessa put in. "There were a lot of people involved in the Zentraedi recruitment initiative and the prior rank equivalency assessments."

Kaden rolled his eyes. "You'll forgive my oversimplification. But did you know what happened when I presented myself for enlistment?"

"No. Your file just said that there had been a hearing to determine whether you were fit to serve. That's all. The details were sealed."

Kaden scoffed. "Perhaps someone had the good grace to be embarrassed about the treatment I received." Again, he turned the full intensity of his gaze on Vanessa. "Captain, when I turned up at the recruiting center in Monument, I was arrested and put in a military prison."

She wasn't so naive as to need to ask why. After a pause he went on. "They thought I was him. Khyron." Vanessa flinched. "Yes! I will speak his name! You will pardon me, Captain, but I refuse to let his memory lurk over my shoulder like a shadow, unnamed, but following me everywhere!"

Vanessa swallowed and nodded slowly. The very name could pierce her like a dagger, but she felt obligated to respect his feelings. "Go on, Colonel."

Kaden subsided, and continued his story. "My imprisonment continued for weeks. I was interrogated regularly, and none too gently. What else could I expect? The kind of hatred directed at Khyron is second only to the hatred for Lord Dolza himself. They wanted to know how I survived. They wanted to know details of the insurgency in the Southlands. I could tell them nothing that they wanted to hear. It went on, hours a day, every day, until eventually I was visited by Minister Exedore."

Vanessa frowned at the mention of Admiral Breetai's chief adviser. "He believed you?"

"Hmph. He walked through the door and said 'You are not him.' He ended up talking to me for more than an hour."

"What about?"

Kaden shrugged. "Many things. The campaigns I fought in. What I did during the global assault. How I avoided notice when Khyron began his uprising. Why I attempted to enlist. Whether… I still wanted to join the Earth Forces. A few minutes after he left, I was moved to on-base housing at Fokker Field. The next day, my enlistment was approved and expedited at Admiral Breetai's personal request."

"You still wanted to move forward? Weren't you angry?"

"Of course I wanted to move forward! Where else is there for me to go? I am a fighter, Captain. I wasn't going to join some petty warlord band and become little more than a bandit, pillaging and fleeing until the Earth Forces finally caught up with me. No. I fought among the stars. That is my life. The REF is the only place for me. And I was not as angry as you might think. Again, I ask, what else should I have expected? If your worst enemy presents himself to you, what do you do? No, I only became truly angry later, after I completed my orientation and supplemental training. After I received my commission as a major in the Marines." His expression darkened as he spoke, in a way it had not when he remembered his imprisonment.

"What did they do to you?"

He turned a smile on her that was pure resentment and remembered rage. "They gave me a desk."

Vanessa stared at him for a moment. "Nobody likes it, but office work is part of what we do, Kaden," she said carefully. "I know a lot of the Zentraedi's support and logistics were automated, or handled from afar, by the Masters, but the UEF relies on bureaucracy to function."

"I understand that, Captain. I'm not naive. I'm not talking about training and inspections and unit readiness reviews. I'm talking about watching the Marine forces expanding ten fold in the course of a year, while I… I was assigned to a staff position, assessing daily caloric intake of Marine field battalions. After that, it was collating data on the fuel expenditures of assault shuttles during an atmospheric drop. Then, most enjoyable of all, processing all of the files of officers who might happen to have any level of prior veterancy, even if it was nothing more than guarding a field latrine, so that they could be assigned command of new line combat units." He showed his teeth. "I was able to look at my own requests for field assignments. See all the rejections. 'Unsuitable.'"

"But you didn't have any negative marks on your record," Vanessa said.

"No. I played by the rules. I didn't complain, didn't slack off my duties. I didn't drink, or fight, no matter what my peers and superiors might have said behind my back or to my face, and I assure you that, unlike you, they had no qualms about invoking Khyron's name. I did everything asked of me, but I was still - unsuitable. My name, my face… were unsuitable."

"Why did you stay?"

He looked at Vanessa gravely, "I wasn't going to. After a year, I was finished. Understand, that would have been the end for me. The person known as Kaden Kravshera would have been gone." He did not elaborate on what that meant, and she was afraid to ask. He folded his arms. "Earlier today, you suggested I rescued you the way I did to show off. I didn't. I didn't do it for the mission, either. I did it for you. I'm sitting here because of you, Captain. You changed everything, when you accepted my request for assignment to your ship. You saved Kaden Kravshera."

Vanessa watched him for a moment, surprised at his words. "I'm not sure how I feel about that, Colonel."

"Oh?"

"To hear that you view me this way, even after four years where I've struggled to treat you like I would any other officer. After the way I spoke to you today."

"I hope you don't think I have a thin skin."

"No, but that's not the point!"

"Then what is your point?" he asked, sounding amused and just a bit exasperated at the same time. Vanessa ran her fingers through tangled hair.

"Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. I'm trying to understand your motivation, maybe? You talk like there's a sense of obligation."

"Not just a sense of obligation. I am where I want to be. I know you don't approve, but war is my calling. The battlefield is the canvas on which I create my art."

"That's another part of what bothers me. I need to understand how you'll respond in a crisis. I need to be confident in how you're making decisions."

Kaden's answering smile lacked the arrogance and mischief she was used to. He looked sad. "Isn't my loyalty, given wholeheartedly, enough?"

"I appreciate and value your loyalty, it's just that I hoped that you believed in our mission too. That you believed in protecting Earth. That you wanted to use your freedom to explore our galaxy. That you believed in… well, some of the same things I do," Vanessa said, feeling a little embarrassed. The words sounded different here, alone with Kaden, than they did when she addressed the bridge crew of the Jeanne d'Arc.

Far from mocking her words, Kaden's expression became more serious. "Maybe you have a different understanding of loyalty than I do, Captain. Your mission, is my mission. Your cause, is my cause. And I will lay down my life at your command."

Vanessa bit her lip. His words disturbed her. She didn't want anyone laying down their lives for her. But there was one thing she could be certain of. In this moment, Kaden in no way reminded her of Khyron.

Seeing the Jeanne d'Arc through the porthole as they lined up for docking lightened Vanessa's burden just a little. Her command was nearly as long as the SDF-1 had been, though it's narrower profile, like a slim hourglass laid on its side, meant it massed far less. There was no transplanted city inside this ship's belly, no retrofitted wet navy carriers, and no great Reflex cannon, capable of wiping away whole warship squadrons in a single, staggering blast. Nevertheless, there were enough similar features in the construction, in the reassuring solidity of the ranked thruster ports of the main drive, the prominent placement of the bridge tower, and the gallant blue and white hull coloration, to evoke her old ship. Her old home. It surprised her to think that she had spent more years aboard the Jeanne d'Arc than aboard the SDF-1… long enough to build new friendships and new memories. There was something unique and impossible to reproduce about her time on the SDF-1, with the war, the crew's time of isolation and exile, and the presence of all of those civilians and Macross city itself. But the Jeanne d'Arc and its crew were special as well. It was her ship, and the mission was one of her choosing. And there were people here that were dear to her. Dr. Priest approved her and Kaden's release from quarantine right before the shuttles returned, and so she was able to disembark with the rest of the landing team. Stepping out into the colossal cavern of the docking bay, she found her CAG waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

"You gave us quite a scare, Tang!" Commander Jose May-Reyes, said scooping Vanessa into a bear hug. Startled at first, she returned the hug. The crew had been together long enough, and were familiar enough with Reyes's personality, that she never worried that he was undermining her authority by his familiar behavior.

"I'm fine, thanks to the colonel," Vanessa told Reyes after he let go, but when she looked over her shoulder, Kaden was already striding away to check on the troops of his battalion. Reyes shook his head.

"A bad business down there." He brushed a gloved hand over his dark, close-cropped hair. He was still wearing his wrinkled gold and green flight suit. "Allie is furious that you exposed yourself to danger, of course, but lucky for you, she's tied up on the bridge." Vanessa smiled fondly.

"I'm sure she'll tell me exactly what's on her mind later. Any word from the admiral?"

"Oh, you know her. I swear, if somebody left a tack on her chair and she sat on it, she wouldn't so much as flinch until she figured out who did it."

"Well there's no doubt who put the tack on her chair this time."

"Hey, nobody could have predicted what would happen down there," Reyes said with a frown.

"I am the Captain," Vanessa said simply, old Captain Gloval's words echoing in her mind. "I'm sorry about your losses, Jose. How bad was it?"

"We lost four," he answered, his shoulders slumping, "and took a lot of damage to our birds, too. It could have been worse, but my pilots are mad as hell that we got bloodied by a cheap sucker punch like that."

"There was no way to know what the enemy are capable of."

"I am the CAG," he replied with a smirk.

Vanessa smiled ruefully and nodded. "Let's just agree we're not going to let it happen again. Now we need to go, or we'll both be late."

The debriefing was easier and shorter than Vanessa expected, but that was primarily because there were just so few answers to any of their questions. She found the situation intensely frustrating. While a mountain of samples and recorded data had come back from the surface, it would take time to process it all, and meanwhile, they had yet to recover any helpful information about what had previously happened on the planet. Their attackers were as faceless and enigmatic as ever. No response came to any of their broadcast greetings, and there was no new activity anywhere in the star system. Admiral Mbande said almost nothing throughout the debriefing, despite her sharp and calculating gaze, and by the time she dismissed the gathered officers, they knew little more than when they had started. Vanessa was left with the feeling that fifteen Marines and UN Spacy aviators died for nothing. To top it off, the admiral held Vanessa back as everyone filed out of the compartment.

"Captain Leeds, I would be pleased if you would dine at my table tonight."

"Of course, Admiral. Thank you for the invitation," Vanessa answered politely, but inwardly she palmed her face. Great, so I get to receive my dressing down in private.

"You're sure Kaden and I are okay?" Vanessa asked dubiously as Dr. Priest brought up some of his preliminary findings just a few hours after the debriefing. Through the landscape windows of his office, she could see the entire science section was humming with activity. Researchers wearing the white lab coats and red chevrons of the Robotech Research Group were conversing excitedly as they bent over instruments, scopes, and scanning devices she couldn't begin to guess the purpose of.

"You have nothing to worry about, Captain," Priest assured her. "The decontamination procedures went without a hitch, and all of our tests came back negative for dangerous pathogens, toxins, or radiation."

"I assumed our quarantine would have lasted at least a few days, just to be sure."

"We've benefited a lot from the technology we received from the Zentraedi. Their diagnostic and decontamination processes are light years beyond anything we could have come up with back on Earth. The Zentraedi couldn't afford to have entire ships and mecha formations sidelined during major campaigns. The Masters equipped them with the very best automated medical equipment they could develop."

Vanessa grimaced. "More wondrous technology, all for the purpose of making sure their slaves would be efficient killers."

The doctor raised his eyebrows at that comment, and then shrugged. "Well we can't exactly afford to have two of our senior-most officers sidelined either. In any case, I'm still waiting on the samples we shuttled over to the Phobos; they're better equipped over there than we are here. But I can tell you our initial findings from the biological remains." He tapped out commands on his terminal, and three humanoid silhouettes appeared on the screen, green outlines over dark blue. Next to each one, a spiral of Ribonucleic acid streamed endlessly upward and off the edge of the screen, each codon clearly identified. …GAC-UCA-CUU-CUG… On and on it went. Every few seconds, a matching section was highlighted in white across two or all three sequences.

"The inhabitants of this planet were absolutely human," Priest explained. "They also share certain genetic markers in common with the Zentraedi. We are tentatively designating the inhabitants as 'Tiresioid'. We believe this planet was settled by humans from the Masters' empire."

Vanessa nodded. "Not exactly a surprise, but it's good to have confirmation. What can you tell me about our attackers?"

Priest reset the display, and abruptly the humanoid silhouettes were replaced by a decidedly inhuman wireframe diagram of a pill bug. The diagram was animated, and the pill bug depicted continuously curled into a ball, rolled in place, then uncurled, fluttering antenna and feelers, and ran towards nowhere on dozens of thin metal legs. The animation looped, and Vanessa's lip curled in disgust. Alongside the animation were speculative numbers for mass, maximum speed, sensor capabilities, and explosive payload, based on what had been observed during the battle. A visual riot of shifting gun camera footage played on the neighboring monitor. "The pill bugs are more difficult," Priest said. "It would help if we had intact wreckage, or any samples at all. Better yet, if we could capture one of those machines."

"That's not going to happen any time soon," Vanessa warned him. "The admiral has issued a standing order. No ship or small craft from the task force is to approach closer than low orbit."

"That's going to limit the results the research team can provide you. We can provide a floor for the pill bugs' capabilities, but not an upper limit. Not without proper samples, or more encounters and observations in the field."

"I'd rather not encounter them again at all. Fighting with them is not going to get us any closer to finding the Masters. But… it's also dangerous to leave them, or whoever created them, at our backs. Do you at least know how they're being controlled? Can we cut them off from whatever is directing them? If I can bring a plan to Admiral Mbande, she might reconsider her position regarding the planet."

"I don't think we can stop them that way. We didn't detect any transmissions that could be a master control signal. Their movements appear to be a kind of swarming behavior. My analysts have found similarities to flocking birds, schools of fish, wolf packs, and, as you might imagine, ants and termites. My best guess is that they're programmed to lurk and then they react aggressively toward intruders. They use their sensors to detect targets and coordinate their movements with each other based on pre-programmed patterns."

"So you're saying we would have to hunt down each and every one of the pill bugs to end the threat?" Vanessa asked, frowning.

"I'm afraid so. We're dealing with mindless machines that can lie in wait for years, attacking whatever attracts their attention, and causing immense collateral damage." He sighed and rubbed tired eyes. "I'll confess, I don't understand it. It seems like a colossal waste on the part of their creators, to seed all of these ruined cities with pill bugs, after all the effort already spent to pillage and devastate this world."

"There's not that many population centers on the planet. Everything is more centralized than back on Earth. But as for the reason… I think the pill bugs were left behind to drive off potential rescuers, and to prevent any survivors from recovering and rebuilding. To ensure that civilization never rises again here."

"Hm. Like Rome 'salting the earth' after they defeated Carthage?"

"That didn't really happen the way the later legends would have it. It was more of ritual curse that the Romans performed," Vanessa said, remembering another of Mary Brennan's beer-fueled late night lectures surrounding human practices. The woman got so excited that she never seemed to realize how morbid some of her topics were. "'Scorched earth' might be the more accurate term."

Priest wrinkled his nose with distaste. "Well, either way, if someone deployed a weapon like the pill bugs back on Earth, we'd call it a war crime."

"Based on the barbarism we've been documenting, does anyone out here even know the concept of a war crime? After all, the Masters trained the Zentraedi to be professional butchers," Vanessa said bitterly.

Priest stared at her for a moment. "You truly hate them, don't you? The Masters?"

"I don't - ! I mean -" Vanessa sputtered, feeling a flush come to her cheeks. Hate? That didn't at all fit with her image of herself. And yet… "My personal feelings aren't really relevant," she said firmly. "We haven't even found the Masters yet, and might never find them if things keep going the way they have." Her tone made it clear the matter was closed. Priest rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"You said something, right before the attack. That you had assumed wrong about the purpose of the pyramid?"

"Oh, that." Everything had gone so wrong since then that she had almost forgotten. "I meant that I assumed a building as big and grand as that was probably a cultural or government center."

"Right. And instead we found mecha bays, enormous storage, and equipment for moving cargo up to visiting starships. Why build a structure that huge and baroque, right in the center of a major city, just to load freight?"

"As a symbol of empire. I think that's where the people of that world were expected to bring the tribute of goods and raw material they owed to the Masters."

Priest shook his head slowly. "That's an impressive level of hubris."

"We're entering the wreckage of all of that hubris. I think there are still more nasty surprises waiting for us."

"This is pretty heavy stuff, Captain. You know, my PhD is in physics, but just the same, if you ever need someone to talk to…"

"I'm fine, Doctor."

"Well, good, but," he hesitated, and gave her a sad, knowing smile, "maybe I could use someone to talk to, sometimes."

Vanessa softened. "I'll keep that in mind."

The music of stringed instruments drifted through the Jeanne d'Arc's flag mess, softening the clatter of knife and fork, and covering the silence of the diners. The tablecloth and napkins were fine white linen. The white enameled plates and coffee service were genuine bone porcelain, each one bearing the engraving 'ARMD-07' in royal blue script. No one was manufacturing table settings of such high quality anymore, and Vanessa knew the admiral had brought these over from her old ship. Vanessa took a modest sip of white wine from a cut crystal glass, and as soon as she set it down, a smartly uniformed steward stepped forward and refilled it from a cloth wrapped bottle. Across the table, Admiral Mbande cut a thin slice of Berbere spiced chicken, smothered in rich, flavorful red sauce, and carefully composed a bite on her fork with tender grilled asparagus and fluffy couscous cooked in broth. She took the bite, and chewed slowly, closing her eyes to savor the flavors and textures.

"The food is good, yes?" she asked after swallowing and dabbing her lips with her napkin.

"Very," Vanessa said honestly. "I appreciate the invitation," she added, a little less honestly. The admiral was austere, and rarely gave away her feelings or internal thoughts, but the table she kept was her one obvious indulgence, paid for out of her own funds, and prepared and served by her personal staff. The diversity of foods on her menu was difficult to find on Earth, let alone the far reaches of space, and being able to sample them was a real privilege.

For Vanessa, though, there was an awkwardness to her working relationship with the admiral that she had never quite managed to overcome. Mbande just had a way about her that always made Vanessa feel like an invitation to dine at her table was an invitation to receive a last meal before being stood in front of a firing squad. And today, she was simply too exhausted and demoralized to enjoy the truly wonderful food. The admiral seemed content to eat in silence after her one comment, and for the life of her, Vanessa could not think of anything to say. Mbande did not approve of shop talk during the main meal, nor did she ever rush her enjoyment of the food. Vanessa focused her effort on matching her superior's pace, and not allowing herself to drink too much of the excellent Riesling.

Eventually, the dishes were cleared, and the steward poured each of them a frothing cup of thick Turkish coffee from a copper cezve. Mbande sampled a sip, then selected a geled confection of cardamom and orange from the plate the steward presented to them, and nibbled a corner. Vanessa bit into a green one she chose at random from the dish and was pleased to discover the flavor and crunch of chopped pistachios. The admiral took another sip of her coffee, and conceded a small smile, for a bare instant transforming the ebon-visaged woman's severe features. Vanessa could guess why these pleasures mattered so much to her superior. Her old command, Armor 7, survived the destruction of nearly the entire UN Spacy during the Rain of Death, but it was months before the survivors on Earth were in any condition to send supplies back into orbit. The crew of Armor Seven, including their captain, spent those months on starvation rations, all the while wondering if a quick death at the hands of the Zentraedi might have been more merciful. Was it any wonder that Mbande wanted to savor every bite?

At last the admiral pushed aside the dregs of her coffee and brought her attention to the dismal turn events had taken. "Tell me, Captain, your assessment of where we stand with our mission?"

Vanessa wondered if the question was some kind of test. "Poor," she said. She didn't believe in sugar-coating her words, nor had the admiral ever given the impression that she preferred that her officers put a positive spin on bad news. "Lives have been lost, we've been forced to withdraw from the surface of the planet, we are now in an open-ended conflict with an unknown alien species who we are unable to communicate with, and we didn't secure decisive information about the state of the Masters' empire, or even about the conflict that took place in this star system."

"Is that everything?"

Vanessa paused. Had she missed something, which the admiral was about to reprimand her over? "I believe so, ma'am."

The admiral gave a shallow nod, folding her arms in front of her. "And who do you hold responsible for this outcome, Captain?"

Now Vanessa was certain she was being tested. Even though she was seated, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Myself, of course."

"And why is that?" Mbande's expression gave away nothing.

Vanessa's throat was tight, but she kept her voice even, inwardly blessing Lisa Hayes once again for the example of leadership she had set for Vanessa so many times during the Robotech War. "Because I am the Captain. I planned and led the landing, and everyone who was killed was under my command."

"A fair answer. And do I share in the responsibility for this dire outcome you describe?"

"Well, I -" Vanessa hesitated. She had no idea how to respond to that question. Blaming an admiral was not exactly healthy for one's career, although that had never been Vanessa's main concern. And Mbande hadn't made any mistakes that she was aware of. "I don't think -"

"Did I not approve the landing, and your plan, Captain? Isn't your entire crew under my chain of command?"

""I suppose that's true, but you didn't -"

"Do you know the real difference between you and I, Captain?" Mbande interrupted her again, and Vanessa shut her mouth. The admiral rarely shared her internal thoughts, and if she had something to say, Vanessa would listen. "You have fought in war, fought bravely, and well, but you do not understand the true nature of it."

Vanessa would not stay quiet for a statement like that, even from an admiral. "I would rather say that I am unwilling to accept it."

Mbande seemed to consider that. "Perhaps. But you make your task more difficult. Casualties are inevitable in war. Sometimes missions fail."

Vanessa shook her head. "People died, and we have almost nothing to show for it. We just agreed that I'm responsible."

"Yes. But there is a difference between being responsible for the outcome, and being to blame. And how a leader handles failure and defeat is even more important than how they handle success and victory. I had hoped you would have learned that lesson after our first combat engagement."

Vanessa froze. She didn't like to think about the Jeanne d'Arc's first battle, nearly four months ago. The last ghost squadron they had encountered had turned out not to be ghosts at all. The crews of the cluster of Zentraedi frigates had waited until they had drifted to close range before re-energizing their Reflex furnaces and unleashing a blistering volley of beam blasts. The engagement was confirmation of what Vanessa had feared all along.- the Tokugawa class carriers, designed prior to the first Robotech War, were not effective line of battle warships. The Jeanne d'Arc and its escorts, unable to return enough weight of fire to quickly defeat the Zentraedi, withdrew under heavy attack, but not before her ship's number four turret was punctured by a beam blast, killing more than two dozen of her crew.

Admiral Mbande had ordered the entire task force moved to a safe distance, screened by their destroyers, and then a follow up strike by twenty Lightning squadrons crippled or destroyed most of the frigates. A few hours later, Vanessa was able to negotiate the surrender of the surviving Zentraedi. It had taken about three months at Space Station Liberty to put the Task Force back in fighting trim. In Vanessa's opinion, it was no kind of victory.

"How can I ask my crew to risk their lives after outcomes like these?" Vanessa wondered.

"That you ask that is why I say you don't understand the true nature of war." Mbande said sternly. "What you experienced on the SDF-1 was not war as most soldiers would understand it. Every battle you fought in was a struggle for your very survival. No escape, no negotiation, and no surrender. Victory, or death. With the likely consequence of defeat the destruction of the SDF-1 and the deaths of the entire crew and the more than fifty thousand civilians of Macross city, how could the sacrifices needed for survival not be acceptable?"

Mbande had put into words something that Vanessa hadn't entirely been able to figure out for herself. It was a feeling that had been bothering her since the end of the Robotech War. She had chalked it up to nostalgia, to missing her home on the SDF-1 and her fallen friends and crewmates, but she had to admit that the admiral might be right.

"If all of that is true, how can I be confident that the sacrifices we're making now are worth the cost?" Vanessa asked.

"That requires faith in the wider mission, in the REF leadership, and in myself, Captain, just as your crew, who are all volunteers, I will remind you, have faith in you. There are many stepping stones in a campaign, and the path ahead is not always clear. Now that we are seeing combat, I need for you to learn to trust me."

"I trust you."

"No. You don't," Mbande said flatly. "You obey my orders, you respect my rank, and you acknowledge my authority. But you do not trust me."

Vanessa shook her head. She had served under Mbande for four years. Surely that indicated a level of trust. "Just because we have different points of view about-"

"Our differing points of view about the goals and methods of the Pioneer Mission are irrelevant, yes. I trust you, Captain. I trust in your skills and leadership, I trust you to faithfully execute your orders and to act in the best interests of your crew and Earth. But you do not extend me the same trust. And in the stresses of battle, when trust is lacking, obedience, authority, and respect can crumble in an instant. Do you understand my concern?"

Vanessa didn't know how to answer. Two days ago, she would have disagreed with the admiral's assessment, but after the battle, and after her conversation with Kaden, she could not deny it so easily. Six years ago, she had told Admiral Hayes she was not certain she could move past the betrayals she had suffered at the hands of other United Earth Forces soldiers and officers. Through therapy and the support of many people, she had reached a point where she agreed to continue as a leader, but how much had she gotten over her mistrust? She had a circle of people that she trusted with no reservations, but now she was being forced to question whether that circle was as wide as she had believed.

"I… do understand," she said reluctantly to the waiting admiral.

"It is easy to cope with these issues in a time of relative peace, Captain Leeds. But I think you'll agree that the time of peace is ending. The road ahead will only grow harder. You must resolve this, or else I must ask that the next time we return to Space Station Liberty, you apply for a transfer to a new command."

Vanessa entered her quarters, shoulders squared, head held high. As soon as the hatch to her quarters slid shut behind her, she slumped and hung her head, tiredly rubbing her face with her flesh and blood hand. Her white cap and blue, red-trimmed half cape went on a hanger next to the hatch, and then she worked at the buttons of her uniform jacket as she walked across the cabin. Usually she kept her quarters orderly, but not today. First her white jacket hit the floor, then her thin undershirt. Her boots went next, joining the trail of discarded garments. Then she reached her narrow, neatly made bunk and sprawled sideways across it, and pulled her pillow against her.

The last twenty-four hours had been the worst she had experienced since the Manhattan Crisis. Yes, she had been disappointed to make planetfall without Bron there to share it with her, yes, she had been disturbed to learn of the crimes that had been perpetrated on the people of the world below, but she had never expected an outcome this bad. An outcome that seemed to have shaken her faith in one of her senior officers, and her superior's faith in her.

"Assistant!" she called out, shifting her cybernetic arm away from where she had tucked it close to her face. "Play 'A Far Away Shore'!"

Her terminal beeped once. "Now playing 'A Far Away Shore,' by Lynn Minmei."

Across the fires and storm-wracked seas,

My love now stands on a far away shore…

Minmei's voice, rich with longing and sadness, washed over Vanessa, and as the song continued, she felt foolish. Minmei was a good friend, but Vanessa was nowhere near the fan of her music that Bron was, and this song was hardly going to silence her dark thoughts. Why do I keep torturing myself listening to this? she wondered.

"Assistant, stop!"

Her quarters were silent again. She lay still a moment longer, knowing she couldn't actually rest the way she was laying. Another shower might help. She pushed herself back into a sitting position. Blue slacks, bra, and underwear all ended up in a heap on top of her boots, and she walked over to the chair and narrow table she kept by the hatch to her washroom. Sitting down, she detached her cybernetic leg with a quick series of practiced motions, and fed it into the waiting aperture of the sleek, oblong machine on the table. The self-contained maintenance module Dr. Lang had provided her at the launch of the Pioneer Mission would generate sonic pulses to blast away sand, dirt, and other loose particles that her leg hadn't been able to expel. Then an acid bath would strip it clean of any remaining foreign material. Finally, it would be treated with synthetic lubricants that would restore the flawless, glossy sheen to its surfaces, and it would begin its recharge cycle. If only a shower and a few hours' sleep would actually cleanse and restore me the same way, Vanessa thought wryly. Another dry click, and she removed her arm and started its maintenance as well. She stood, balancing on her one leg and the crutch she kept by the table, and went into her washroom.

The sight in the mirror stopped her in her tracks. Her chest was black and blue in solid blocks everywhere she had slammed into the ATV's harness, but she'd been hurt worse than that since surviving the destruction of the SDF-1. What bothered her was the face she saw in the mirror. Not the eye patch, the faint scars along the edge of her jaw and above and below her damaged eye socket, or the lines of fatigue. It was the haunted, despairing look in her single violet eye. A look she'd only seen during the darkest days of her recovery, or after she'd ordered her subordinates into battle against their own misguided allies, and was literally covered in their blood. The shaking was starting, and she eased herself to the deck so that she was already kneeling over the toilet when the rich meal and alcohol she had just consumed came back up.

The physical discomfort didn't matter, really. She'd managed with it for years. Shakes, nausea, headaches, nightmares, any or all of the symptoms might come over her… after the job was done. When she was fortunate, she had Bron or a trusted friend and comrade-in-arms to support her through it. Tonight, she was alone. But she would endure it. Why hadn't she spoken to Allison? On the way back to her quarters, she'd told herself it was because Allison would have been worried about her husband after the battle, and she didn't want to interrupt their chance to seek each other out. But that wasn't completely true. If she spent time alone with May, she'd have to give voice to the doubts that were beginning to gnaw at her heart.

How had her feelings about the mission changed so quickly? For years now, she had commanded with confidence in her purpose, if not always in her ability. She had always insisted the Pioneer Mission's goals were primarily exploration and diplomacy, over the objections of her more hawkish peers. Now that exploration was bringing pain, danger, and disillusionment, not discovery and joy. And the diplomacy? She had long looked forward to contacting new species and forging bonds of cultural exchange and trade, but what about the beings who had destroyed the people of this system? Would she be so eager to forge bonds with them? And what of the Masters, who waited at the end of the REF's journey? Was she prepared to greet them and extend her hand in peace? They, who had created the Zentraedi to be expendable slaves, had created them to be war criminals, and who had brought suffering to an entire galaxy, and set in motion the near destruction of Earth? Do I hate them?

After a few minutes, she flushed the toilet and used the crutch to shakily push herself back into a standing position. It wasn't easy to brush her teeth, supporting herself on one leg and on a crutch held by her one arm, but she had little choice. She looked into her eye again, trying to interpret what she saw there. Was her problem really that she didn't trust Kaden, or Admiral Mbande? Or was her problem something that went deeper?

She sat down on the shower seat she'd had bolted in place when she first moved into her shipboard quarters. She was too tired to adjust the temperature before climbing in, and instead let the blast of icy water strike her full on the head and shoulders. The cold numbed the aching of her ribs, though it couldn't do as much for the heart that beat behind them. She suddenly wondered if she could still say, with the same amount of conviction, the things she had told the crew right before they had folded to this system. Am I a hypocrite for disagreeing with Admiral Mbande and Colonel Kravshera? Could it be that I no longer have faith in our mission? And if I don't have faith in our mission, do I really belong here?

Next chapter… no time to stop, attention on deck, and apocalyptic log entry…