Chapter 1
"That's it? Just wait? After all those bombshells go off?" Finally clear of the corridors outside of the flag-draped conference room where the panel of admirals had just delivered their conclusions to a crowd of press, UEG officials, defense contractors, and mid-rank officers, May unloaded her frustrations.
"It's shore leave, Allison," Vanessa replied. "It's not like we're being dishonorably discharged."
"No, Allie's right," Jose complained, hands thrust in the pockets of his dress uniform. "This is garbage. They killed the Lightning, killed the Tokugawa class, and now we're hanging out here in limbo! About to be exiled back to Earth!"
"It's not exile. We've been away from Earth for three years. We deserve some R&R." Arriving at the light mag-rail terminal, Vanessa held the door of one of the sleek passenger pods and they all boarded. She found a seat, and her officers sat down across from her, May sitting stiffly, hands clasped in her lap, Reyes slouching sullenly.
"I don't know why you're not angrier," Reyes said as the pod smoothly accelerated out of the station and through a derelict battlepod assembly line longer than the Monument City Beltway. "Months of sessions, questioning, sitting quiet and letting the media say whatever they want to about us, keeping us cooped up in this giant, rusting tin can, and now they're dumping us! They shut down our mission! They took away my fighter! They took the Jeanne d'Arc away from you!"
May was quieter, but no less agitated. "What about our crew? We might never see some of them again. And our mission… what was it all for, if they're just canceling it?"
Vanessa took off her cap, toying with it absently, but she kept her gaze fixed on her two friends. "I am upset about how everything turned out. But not as much as I would have been, because I know some things you might not be aware of. You're aware of my connections."
They both nodded. Besides her service under Admiral Mbande, Vanessa's Robotech War service and notoriety as 'The Survivor' meant she was unusually well connected to the leadership of the UN Spacy. Vice Admiral Hayes. Rear Admiral Hunter, Lord Breetai. Beyond that was Bron, senator in the UEG Assembly, and Aria Stockton, a senior director and correspondent at MBS, the biggest and most influential news outlet in Earth's sphere. Add to that her friendship with megastar Lynn Minmei, and there were few doors that were shut to her. With three years of service on the other side of the galaxy at an end, the distant rumors and rumblings of Earth political and military machinations had become a torrent of inside information.
"Nothing I'm going to tell you is classified, exactly, but can I count on you to keep the information to yourself?"
May nodded at once, and Reyes straightened up a bit in his seat. "Yeah, Captain, of course."
"We were lucky, if you want to call it that. We've lost the equivalent of two task forces in a year. A third of the Pathfinder mission strength. There was a panic, and a behind closed doors push by factions in the UEG and Army of the Southern Cross to abort the entire Pioneer Mission, scrub most of the ship-building program, and fold the REF into the Army of the Southern Cross."
"But that's crazy!" May said, reddening. "We'd be blinded! We can't just wait around and let the Masters or whoever else wander into EARTHSOL whenever they care to invade!"
"They figured they'd build a few more Grand Cannons and that would be it. 'Fortress Earth'."
"Please," May snorted. "As if we had the Protoculture reserves to run all of those Reflex furnaces. One Grand Cannon would consume more energy than the whole REF."
"Well, fortunately, that faction didn't win out. The UN Spacy went with a different spin on events, and Speaker Moran backed them."
She paused as the pod's lights dimmed and it left the Zentraedi corridor it had been running along, and she looked out the window, watching them pass through an interior bulkhead space, and emerge in the Factory Satellite's main construction bay. The pod hummed as it reached maximum speed for its long journey around the perimeter of a space big enough to spawn its own clouds and weather systems. Far below, the SDF-3 was still in its construction frame, awaiting its launch date and its rendezvous with destiny. The ship was nearly complete, from its gargantuan thruster clusters, through its main hull, launch bays, and prominent bridge citadel, to the colossal twin booms of its Reflex cannons, that formed a third of its nearly two kilometer length. The ship was intended to closely match the pre-Earth version of the SDF-1, and was near Zentraedi in form, all smooth, bulbous shapes, domed observation ports, and horn-like sensor masts and weapon barrels, but rather than the familiar green and gold of Dolza's armada, it's primer coat had recently been painted over in an eye catching shade of crimson, the supposed colors of the auxiliary forces that the Masters had reserved to themselves as personal bodyguards. It was an attempt at crafting a 'Trojan Horse', and no one knew if it would work, but if it could prompt the Masters to stay their hands for even a few minutes, it might be worth it. If the mission actually went forward.
"There was a cost of course," Vanessa went on. "There had to be reasons given for our losses. The Lightning was one. It's had technical problems from the first."
"It's a great fighter!" Reyes protested.
"It is, but a quarter of ours weren't able to transform when we went into battle, Jose. Rockwell-Bell has had years to fix the problem, and they can't. The Lightning is finished. The whole production run will be mothballed at the Sea of Tranquility depot on the Moon. And the investigation has also concluded that the Tokugawa class is not fit for its role in the line of battle - underpowered and under armed fur its size, and hobbled by design specs that predated the Robotech War. It'll be superseded by the new Tristar class battlecruisers. They don't have nearly the mecha capacity, but they're planning to build scores of them. The UEF is also doubling their procurement order with Maxwell Dynamics. The VF-6 will be the new fleet defense fighter of the REF."
"Missile pig," Reyes muttered.
"The Alpha veritech is tough, well armed, and reliable," Vanessa noted pointedly. "And frankly, the board of inquiry could have chosen a different way to spin the incident. They could have gone after a certain CAG who certified two hundred veritechs for launch that had all failed their maintenance inspections. Perhaps question the capability of an XO who might have been distraught at the loss of her husband. Or the actions of a Marine lieutenant colonel with an unfortunate name, who commandeered a prize of war, against orders, and took it into battle. Not to mention blaming a prominent Zentraedi captain for the loss of her carrier."
Reyes folded his arms, carrying himself with defiant air, although he and May both looked ashen at the thought of how they might have been targeted by the board.
"In the end, the UN Spacy cast us as heroes, who succeeded in spite of inadequate equipment. So the Lightnings, and our ship, have to go. They're claiming the the new fighters and warships will solve our operational problems. And the Pioneer Mission won't continue forward until the SDF-3 is ready, next year. Then they'll launch the entire main fleet, with enough strength to tackle whatever we might encounter out there."
"We hope," May added.
"This is so messed up. I hate politics," Reyes grumbled.
"Me too," Vanessa agreed wryly.
"But where does that leave us?" May wondered. "We've got no ship, and no idea where the rest of our crew is being assigned."
"I'm hoping that it leaves us with some well deserved, R&R," Vanessa replied, thinking of a certain senator waiting for her on Earth. "And then, if we're lucky, an assignment to shake down one of the new Tristars, and a place on the main fleet's order of battle. Maybe even get to hand pick our new crew." The pod began to slow, and they entered another service corridor, the bluish overhead lights strobing across their faces. "I think we have a pretty good chance, if the new UN Spacy Chief of Staff is still looking on us favorably."
"And who would that be?" Reyes asked.
The pod slowed to a stop at the next terminal, and the hatch slid open with a sigh. Vanessa stood, smiling.
"Admiral Mbande, of course."
Fokker Field had been transformed since Vanessa last left Earth. Once the smaller cousin of New Malmstrom Air Base, on the opposite side of Monument city, Fokker Field had grown into a truly colossal space port, and New Malmstrom had been relegated to a training and maintenance annex for the Civil Defense Air Corps. Fokker was where the action was, its runways, shuttle gantries, warship berths, and countless hangars and depots sprawling across the horizon. The August day was hot and hazy, and the tarmac shimmered with mirages as dust and sand blew in from the wastelands. Inside the shuttle terminal, the air was cool and climate controlled, and Vanessa hardly felt like she was back on Earth yet. It would not be real until she left the building. It would not be real until she saw Bron's face.
She traveled down the metal and glass gate bridge, with May and Reyes close behind. They had no luggage to carry - everything would be forwarded to their temporary quarters on the base. She felt strange, wearing civilian clothes for the first time in years. To support the immense shipbuilding workforce and the visiting crews of countless visiting warships, the Factory Satellite's PX, supplied by the Satellite's own automats, was as big as a fair sized shopping mall, although the cost of shipping items back to Earth was ruinous. Vanessa had found a pale green, short sleeved blouse that she liked - elegant, but not too formal. She wore it with a knee length, pleated turquoise skirt and comfortable brown shoes. A light touch of makeup and a pair of gold earrings, set with sapphires, gifted to her by Bron, completed the outfit.
Through the floor to ceiling windows, Fokker Field, which had looked like a landscape in miniature while their Stargoose shuttle was maneuvering for a landing, was revealed to be a crowded hive of activity. Heavy container haulers were traveling in every direction, while destroids and Spartas battloids paced out the base perimeter and restricted areas. Blue overalled ground crews were servicing row after row of Alpha veritechs, clambering over the missile-heavy war craft. The delta-winged Alphas were shorter and more utilitarian in form than the graceful, septuple-finned Lightnings they were slated to replace. Two of them took off, their boxy thrusters roaring with power, but just a moment later they were dwarfed by a leviathan shadow. A Battle class cruiser rose from the concrete and metal pit where it was berthed and launched toward orbit, shaking Fokker Field and rattling the windows of the gate bridge in its wake. Vanessa feet felt oddly leaden, and the other passengers of the shuttle quickly flowed past her, unimpressed by sights that would have been fantastical a decade earlier.
The debarkation terminal wasn't open to the public, so there were no families or members of the press waiting, just one man. Vanessa stopped one step short of the gate threshold, her breath caught in her throat. Three years. Electronic mail and rare, brief real-time transmissions from Space Station Liberty to Earth could not begin to express everything she had wanted to share with Bron. Now she didn't know what to say or do. His time on Earth had changed him. He wore his tailored gold top and maroon pants comfortably, although he was still as likely to wear blue jeans, sneakers, and a Minmei tour sweatshirt on his weekends among friends. The greater difference was the way he carried himself, with a confidence and authority that he had earned through hard work and a willingness to place himself in harm's way. But importantly, there was a core to him that had not changed. She looked into his brown eyes, and in his gaze, she still saw a wonder and innocence that the cruel realities of years of service in the Zentraedi Armada and life on post-apocalyptic Earth could not overcome. He was an idealist, who would risk everything to make his dreams come true. She loved him as much as ever. So why wouldn't her feet move?
Allison and Jose saved her. Her former CAG strode right up to Bron, greeting him warmly and giving him a back-thumping hug. Allison let her captain have a sharp elbow to the ribs, and then continued past her to give Bron a quick peck on the cheek. Vanessa snapped out of her paralysis in time to hear Jose.
"We'll see you later, man! We'll all hang out together after you and the Captain have some time to catch up, ok?"
"Sounds good."
And they were alone. Suddenly, her feet didn't feel weighted down anymore. She didn't feel the floor at all as she crossed the threshold and entered Bron's embrace. How many times had she dreamed of the warmth and the strength of those arms around her? She gripped the back of his shirt with both hands, wrinkling the soft fabric, and pulled herself up on tiptoe, seeking his face.
"Oh Vee," he gasped, his voice thick with mingled joy, relief, and disbelief, and then neither of them were in a position to speak. For a long time they stood just outside the gate, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing a slow, soft kiss. Finally, the gate slid shut, and the bridge retracted behind her. They stood back, each taking a deep breath, but even as they drew apart, their fingers interlaced.
"Welcome back," Bron said at last, with that shy smile he had never lost, even after ten years together. Vanessa's heart gave a thump at the sound of his voice, but his words prompted the first vague feeling of disquiet since she had laid eyes on him. 'Welcome back,' he had said, not 'welcome home.' She had no home on Earth, and she couldn't call the Jeanne d'Arc her home any longer. Where did she belong? She smiled and squeezed his hands, shaking her head as if to clear it of such thoughts. For now, finding her way back to Bron was enough.
"I can take you to your temporary housing if you're tired," Bron offered, opening the passenger door of his black SUV for Vanessa, and she suppressed a laugh. He was still gracious to a fault, but she knew it wasn't what he actually wanted to do.
"Not on your life! I haven't done anything but sit in hearings for weeks." she answered, climbing into the plush seat, and she caught the grin on his face before he shut the door. "Finally learned to drive, I see," she went on, as he got into the driver's seat.
"Mary taught me, of course," he said. "I was always fine catching a ride on public transit, but I hate those big limousines the UEG issues. And Mary convinced me that things could have turned out a lot differently in the Battle of Manhattan if a taxi hadn't shown up for me at just the right time. The world's a lot safer than it was, I mean, Monument hasn't been raided since you were in the hospital, but still…"
Vanessa frowned and nodded as Bron drove the SUV out of the parking garage and into the blazing afternoon sun. Human character had not changed after the world nearly ended. There were still wars and rumors of wars. UEG authority waxed and waned with the cycles of elections, the actions of restive member and ally states, and of course, the fortunes of the REF. The 'United' Earth was more notional than factual.
"So, where shall we go?" Bron asked joining the line of traffic headed towards the gate that led back to Monument city.
"Somewhere fun!" Vanessa answered readily, hearing May's voice in the back of her head, chiding her to not be boring.
"Club Minuet, it is."
"Minmei wouldn't happen to be making another surprise appearance, would she?"
"Not this time. But she's coming back to town at the end of the week. Best be ready."
Vanessa chuckled. When Minmei arrived, it would be with the force of a hurricane. "It'll be good to see her. What about Mary, Rico, and Konda?"
"They're around, and excited about seeing you again, but Mary and Rico insisted on making themselves scarce the first day. And Konda… well, he's at the Ministry. Says that he has some details to wrap up on a special project, and it can't be put off."
"Director of the Ministry of Zentraedi Affairs. It's an important job."
Bron was silent for a moment. The road to Monument was now well traveled, but just as bleak as it had been before Vanessa left Earth. None of the ecology projects on that side of the city had ever seemed to take hold, and the land to either side of the busy highway was barren, except for occasional patches of scrubby grass and bushes. A lone vulture circled overhead. Finally, Bron shrugged.
"I know. Just, sometimes I feel like Konda has practically become a stranger, after he moved out. He said he needed to be closer to his work. And since Mary and Rico got married and bought a home together, it's been kind of lonely." He caught Vanessa's concerned look, and he quickly added, "Don't get me wrong, we still spend time together, and have fun together, especially when a Minmei visits. I guess what I mean is, a lot has changed since you left Earth."
"But it's not all bad, right? I know you've accomplished a lot of good, both for the Zentraedi, and for Earth as a whole."
Bron ducked his head and blushed in the way he always did when Vanessa praised him. She still found it adorable.
"Life is better, for most people I think. The mass famines of the first few years are gone. The raiders have all but disappeared. The border wars are fewer, and more limited, especially because nearly every country is now obligated to contribute some of their military to the UEF each year. I'm not complaining about that."
"Then what's the problem?"
He paused before answering, clearly struggling to frame his thoughts. "You remember how Rico, Konda, and I used to talk about how things didn't turn out the way we imagined they would, when we defected to the SDF-1?"
Vanessa nodded. "I think so. Rico made a joke, about how it was unrealistic to think that the Zentraedi would all be able to live on the SDF-1, and have the kind of life you had while you were aboard it as spies."
Bron smiled sheepishly. "Something like that. After we got over the shock of Earth, and then the SDF-1, being destroyed, and we got involved, we had new dreams about what the future could be like for Zentraedi. Maybe not as unrealistic as before. And we did reach some of our goals. The Total Integration Plan went forward. Inside the areas the UEG controls, Zentraedi got access to education and jobs. We're not treated as second class citizens or dangerous invaders anymore."
"The very fact that you got elected, even after Monument was flooded with refugees from Macross, says a lot."
"I know, but I've been wondering for a while now if there might be a lot of things that we were taking for granted. Things we didn't realize were important until they were already gone."
Vanessa felt another prickle of worry. "What kind of things?"
Bron frowned. "We're coming up on Monument now. It might be best to let you see for yourself."
"It's gone!" Vanessa exclaimed.
There was Monument's skyline ahead of them, framed by the craggy gray mountains beyond, blasted and cut into sharp angles by the Rain of Death, but the city was unrecognizable to Vanessa.
"They broke up the last sections of the Qel'Vatal two years ago. The towers for the UEG capitol building were completed last Fall," Bron said.
The Zentraedi survivors of the landing ship Qel'Vatal had founded Monument, and the city took its name from the rusting green hulk that had jutted, spike-like, from the wastelands, stretching two kilometers into the sky. The entire ship, megatons of metal, had disappeared. Now a cluster of five ornate, but much smaller, cylindrical towers stood in its place. The alabaster structures were rooted in a wide, flat topped building over half a kilometer in diameter. The two tallest towers were topped by a baroque arrangement of broadcast antennas. Vanessa shook her head. Expensive, grandiose, and pointless, she thought to herself. And begging to become an enemy target.
The single biggest change to the city had distracted her from myriad other ones that became clearer as they drew closer. The district that contained the great machines, salvaged from the Qel'Vatal and which maintained the infrastructure, had been swept away. Gone were the hundred meter tall atmosphere purifiers that had refreshed the air during oppressive summers, and created a breeze that pushed back the dust and grit that blew in from the wastelands. Gone too were the gushing waterfalls of the water recycling systems, and the cooling mists and artificial rainbows they had generated. The bulbous, chugging, nutrient production platforms, which had provided food for hundreds of thousands of hungry refugees across the scorched wreckage of North America after the Rain of Death, had all been replaced by new construction.
"The UEG passed a huge infrastructure bill for Monument, to meet the needs of the government and the growing population," Bron explained. "I voted for it at the time. It meant a lot of jobs, new homes for refugees, new services. I didn't understand, back then, how much it would change the city. Almost everything is new."
Bron took them up the ramp to the new beltway that encircled the city. The year that Bron moved to Monument, automobiles were few, and shared the streets with giant Zentraedi pedestrians. Today, the beltway was crowded with traffic, including the new models of hovercars, which sped past in their own reserved lane.
"Where are the giants supposed to walk?"
"They don't," said Bron, unhappily. "Un-micronized Zentraedi aren't permitted inside the beltway. My amendment to the highway bill didn't pass, and the courts ruled that the incentives package available to Zentraedi who micronized was sufficient compensation for their loss of access and jobs."
"That's awful!"
"The micronization package is generous. It's not some kind of con. Lots of Zentraedi have taken up the offer, and are doing just fine. But Monument was originally built by and for Zentraedi. I didn't realize how special it was until the city was transformed into something else."
Vanessa looked out from their elevated vantage point at the passing buildings. The simple but colorful apartment blocks, with their rooftop green spaces, had all been replaced by buildings of gleaming white walls and mirrored glass windows. They were futuristic, but somehow bland and lacking in personality, like the backdrop of a forgettable sci-fi drama.
"How did they do it so fast?" she wondered.
"Robotech," Bron said simply. "They can tear down buildings in a few hours, and build new ones in days."
She nodded, realizing that he was right. She remembered the surreal days aboard the SDF-1, after its misfold beyond Pluto's orbit. Thanks to the efforts of teams of Robotech engineers, and the fantastically powerful automats aboard the SDF-1, a sizable part of the original Macross city was salvaged from the wreckage of the transported island and rebuilt in the ship's hold in a handful of weeks. "With full funding and priority access to the engineers and machines, I guess it wouldn't have taken long."
"You can't even imagine," Bron said, shaking his head in wonder. "The Assembly declared Eminent Domain over the entire city. Nobody actually lost their property… just, the Future Monument Commission, a big think-tank loaded with architects, civil engineers, and Robotech experts, including Doctor Lang, decided what kind of building you got back when the project moved through. By the time anyone might think of complaining, a whole neighborhood would already be razed and rebuilt. And what could you say? To the rest of the world, Monument was getting preferential treatment. There are scores of cities waiting to be rebuilt, and not enough equipment and trained crews to do it."
Vanessa looked for any kind of landmark she could identify, but it was all gone. Adoclas Center, the open air shopping mall built in the shell of a Zentraedi dropship, had been scrapped. The self storage business that had ingeniously reused Zentraedi battle helmets. The amphitheater where the drama troupe had staged performances on a titanic scale. The open air markets, with their sun-shading canopies cut from Armada uniforms. The City Council Building, set up inside an amalgam of decommissioned spacecraft, that had allowed for micronian, micronized, and macro-scaled participation in government. All were a memory now.
"This isn't what we had in mind when we went along with the Total Integration Plan." Vanessa said.
"It's not like the Zentraedi have been treated badly," Bron replied. "All the promises about housing and jobs have been kept. We're in government in bigger numbers every election. People are borrowing Zentraedi words, and using Zentraedi names. But the idea of living as a Zentraedi, of places and institutions built by Zentraedi, that's just falling away. The remaining giants are being pushed to the margins, and life isn't very easy for them."
"Could it lead to another insurgency?" Vanessa asked, worriedly. Bron looked sick at the suggestion, but shook his head.
"No, I don't think so. Not in an organized way, like Khyron's army. The numbers of giants are too few, under too much surveillance, and the Z Battalions have tracked down and secured or destroyed nearly all of the remaining caches of weapons and mecha. It's more of an individual problem. They're unhappy, and struggling to get by. Getting micronized is an easy out. And for those who can't accept it…"
He got very quiet, then rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.
"Bron?"
"I didn't understand it for a long time. Dying in battle, giving up your life in battle, I can understand, even though I hate war. But the idea of taking your own life? I couldn't wrap my head around it."
"You don't mean-?"
"It happens a lot now. I haven't told you yet, because I knew you were busy with the board of inquiry, but a few weeks ago… Cantor, he-"
Bron broke off with a choked sound. Vanessa took his hand, as tears ran down her cheek. Cantor had been their friend. A gentle yet passionate giant who had at first made his living carrying micronians on walking tours of Monument. A member of the 'Minmei Cult', he had turned to pro-Zentraedi activism before winning election to the Monument City Council. The council had been rendered all but defunct under the dominating presence of the UEG in the city. He had won rights and support for Zentraedi, but not dignity and acceptance on his own terms. Marginalized, disillusioned, and now gone.
"You should have told me, Bron!" she said, when they had both started to regain their composure.
"I'm sorry, Vee, it's not that I wanted to keep things from you, but the idea of telling you the worst parts of life on Earth, when you were so far away, and in so much danger, felt terrible to me. I didn't know what to say. And also," he met her gaze with a stricken expression, before turning his eyes back to the road, "I was ashamed of my part in it. Yes, I know I've done good things. But I also voted for laws and programs, not understanding what would happen once they were put into action. I feel responsible for Cantor's death. And others."
Much as the idea that he had held things back pained her, she put that aside for the moment. It was something they had struggled with, going back to the beginning of their relationship, and she was no less guilty than he. "You shouldn't blame yourself. You're just one person, trying your best. And what about Konda? Shouldn't he be able to do something as director of MZA?"
"Konda." Bron made a sour face. "I've talked to him about it. He doesn't deny that there's a problem, but he always says 'MZA's role is to advise the UEG and to implement UEG policy.' I guess he's technically right, but I've gotten pretty angry with him a few times when I thought he should be able to do more. I wonder sometimes if I drove him away, if it's why he moved out."
"Don't give up, Bron. Just think how far we've come. Ten years ago, no one even knew if life on Earth, or coexistence with the Zentraedi would even be possible."
Bron didn't look reassured, if anything, he seemed to feel worse, but they had arrived at Club Minuet. The old building had been a rugged, silo shaped structure, big enough to accommodate a bare handful of macro-scaled Zentraedi staff and performers, and festooned with machinery recovered from a Cyclops Theater Scout. 'Salvage-Punk' had been the term for the bizarre creations built with reclaimed Zentraedi tech. The drive into the city had prepared Vanessa for the dance club to be different, so she was not shocked, but she was disappointed. There was no one thing wrong with the new club. Its lines were smooth and graceful, a canopy of mirrored glass stretched across its facade, reflecting the sunset, and the clean white walls had taken on a rosy hue in the approaching twilight. But something wasn't quite right. Some of the asymmetries in the conch shell shaped tower at the right of the building were disorienting. The spiraling fluted columns of the entryway arcade were just a bit too large. Like a design spit out by an algorithm, Venessa thought to herself. Input purpose, materials, budget, and dimensions, and follow output instructions. Lang's work, no doubt. Still, she saw thronging revelers queuing up at the main doors, and the club was pounding out an enticing beat that she could feel even from inside the SUV.
"I'm sorry I brought us down like that," Bron said regretfully. "Are you sure you still feel like dancing?"
She squeezed his hand again, and smiled. "It's not like you could have hidden the whole city from me. I'll take the bad with the good. And being with you again is very good."
At last a light returned to his eyes. "I love you, Vee. I've missed you so much."
"I love you. Now take me in there and show me. I've waited three years for this."
Next chapter... fading stars, dodging the spotlight, and oversized challenges...