deathzealotzero
Mecha Guru
- Location
- Las Vegas, NV
Blink. Huh. Did not expect that!?!
Venture [Robotech]
- Thread starter Blackleaf
- Start date
- Novel Sci-Fi
Sojourn Chapter 6.3
Vanessa stepped out of the shower stall, vigorously rubbing her towel over her cybernetic arm to soak up the water droplets it was expelling in a fine mist. It was inconvenient, but she wasn't about to remove her limbs in the fitness area locker room. At the other end of the long center bench, out of earshot, Ensign Aster was slowly, painfully dressing herself in the day's duty uniform. At the near end of the bench, May was seated, nonchalantly toweling her curly brown hair dry. Vanessa grabbed her duffle from her locker and joined her friend.
"So, are you as tired as I am?" Vanessa wondered.
"At least," May replied. "You know I don't spend as much time on unarmed combat as you do. I've collected more than my share of bruises today." Then she looked over her shoulder at their companion for the morning. Ensign Aster was just then fumbling with the collar on her uniform. The ensign cast one more terrified glance at her superiors and retreated from the room. "Totally worth it," May added slyly.
"Absolutely. I… had fun," Vanessa admitted. May looked shocked, and then smiled.
"Well, well. Stern and inspiring Captain Leeds actually allowed herself to have fun. Jose is not going to believe me."
"I have fun!" Vanessa protested, stung.
"No, you don't," May said, suddenly serious. "Not for a long time."
Vanessa didn't answer right away, instead dropping her soaked towel on the tiled floor and taking the extra one from around her shoulders. She concentrated on drying her leg now, thinking about what May had said. On the SDF-1, she had fun with her fellow bridge technicians all of the time, in spite of the war going on. The banter and teasing on the bridge had come easily whenever Captain Gloval wasn't on watch, and even when he was present, most of the time it felt more like having a kindly great uncle supervising the young women. When the stress of long shifts and the terror of battle became too much for Vanessa, Sammie, and Kim, Macross city was always waiting as a refuge and distraction, offering dancing, cafes, and shopping.
On Earth, even after losing Sammie and Kim to Khyron's final strike on the SDF-1, she still had Bron, Rico, Konda, and Mary. It was hard not to have fun around them, and when they were not on duty, May and Reyes easily fit in with the others. Every once in a while, Minmei would free up time in her own busy touring and production schedule to sweep into their lives and carry them off on some escapade. It had been a lot of fun… and it had been three years since Vanessa found time for anything like that. She set the towel aside and looked left to right. She and May were alone.
"What am I doing, Allison?"
"Leading and inspiring all of us. Holding the REF and the Pioneer Mission to its principles and goals. Keeping us all safe," May answered without hesitation.
"But who am I now, far away from so many of the people I love? Doubting myself and my mission?"
May reached over and took her hand. Vanessa was cold, and May's fingers were so warm they almost felt like they were burning her. "You've always doubted yourself. You had to be dragged kicking and screaming into leadership, remember? As for doubting the mission? I think it's natural to have doubts when we've been at it this long. We all knew from the start that this could become a multi-generational mission, so finding one of the Masters' worlds was a major step forward for us, and it was followed by a nasty shock. But we've overcome worse together, and you're more resilient than you think. Be honest with me. You feel better now than when you started the day, don't you?"
"I do. A lot better, actually. I'm still worried about what's to come."
"You always worry about that," May said, lightly punching Vanessa's arm.
"I didn't used to. I mean, not during the war."
"You're the Captain now, of course you're worried! It goes with the rank. But you have a good ship, a good crew, and a fantastic XO. You're CAG is ok too. When he's not being insufferably smug." Vanessa chuckled, and May smiled. "See? It's going to be alright. So, is there anything else on your mind, dear Captain?"
You truly hate them, don't you? The Masters? Priest's words came back to Vanessa, unbidden, and her thoughts recoiled. That's not who I am! She pushed those feelings to the back of her mind, and shook her head.
"Just that I'm going to need you every morning from now on, to get Ensign Aster into proper shape."
May groaned. "Fitness is all well and good, but when you finally let me reprimand her properly, I didn't expect you to adopt her as a pet project."
"I didn't plan to, it just felt right at the time. She's got a lot of talent. Maybe she just needs some personal attention and a healthy dose of discipline."
"Fine," May agreed with a sigh, though she was still smiling. "I said I'd help, so I will. It'll be fun to spend more time with you outside of staff meetings and bridge watches anyway."
"Yes, I think it will be fun for us. And learning some humility will be good for her."
Next week… apocalyptic log entry…
"So, are you as tired as I am?" Vanessa wondered.
"At least," May replied. "You know I don't spend as much time on unarmed combat as you do. I've collected more than my share of bruises today." Then she looked over her shoulder at their companion for the morning. Ensign Aster was just then fumbling with the collar on her uniform. The ensign cast one more terrified glance at her superiors and retreated from the room. "Totally worth it," May added slyly.
"Absolutely. I… had fun," Vanessa admitted. May looked shocked, and then smiled.
"Well, well. Stern and inspiring Captain Leeds actually allowed herself to have fun. Jose is not going to believe me."
"I have fun!" Vanessa protested, stung.
"No, you don't," May said, suddenly serious. "Not for a long time."
Vanessa didn't answer right away, instead dropping her soaked towel on the tiled floor and taking the extra one from around her shoulders. She concentrated on drying her leg now, thinking about what May had said. On the SDF-1, she had fun with her fellow bridge technicians all of the time, in spite of the war going on. The banter and teasing on the bridge had come easily whenever Captain Gloval wasn't on watch, and even when he was present, most of the time it felt more like having a kindly great uncle supervising the young women. When the stress of long shifts and the terror of battle became too much for Vanessa, Sammie, and Kim, Macross city was always waiting as a refuge and distraction, offering dancing, cafes, and shopping.
On Earth, even after losing Sammie and Kim to Khyron's final strike on the SDF-1, she still had Bron, Rico, Konda, and Mary. It was hard not to have fun around them, and when they were not on duty, May and Reyes easily fit in with the others. Every once in a while, Minmei would free up time in her own busy touring and production schedule to sweep into their lives and carry them off on some escapade. It had been a lot of fun… and it had been three years since Vanessa found time for anything like that. She set the towel aside and looked left to right. She and May were alone.
"What am I doing, Allison?"
"Leading and inspiring all of us. Holding the REF and the Pioneer Mission to its principles and goals. Keeping us all safe," May answered without hesitation.
"But who am I now, far away from so many of the people I love? Doubting myself and my mission?"
May reached over and took her hand. Vanessa was cold, and May's fingers were so warm they almost felt like they were burning her. "You've always doubted yourself. You had to be dragged kicking and screaming into leadership, remember? As for doubting the mission? I think it's natural to have doubts when we've been at it this long. We all knew from the start that this could become a multi-generational mission, so finding one of the Masters' worlds was a major step forward for us, and it was followed by a nasty shock. But we've overcome worse together, and you're more resilient than you think. Be honest with me. You feel better now than when you started the day, don't you?"
"I do. A lot better, actually. I'm still worried about what's to come."
"You always worry about that," May said, lightly punching Vanessa's arm.
"I didn't used to. I mean, not during the war."
"You're the Captain now, of course you're worried! It goes with the rank. But you have a good ship, a good crew, and a fantastic XO. You're CAG is ok too. When he's not being insufferably smug." Vanessa chuckled, and May smiled. "See? It's going to be alright. So, is there anything else on your mind, dear Captain?"
You truly hate them, don't you? The Masters? Priest's words came back to Vanessa, unbidden, and her thoughts recoiled. That's not who I am! She pushed those feelings to the back of her mind, and shook her head.
"Just that I'm going to need you every morning from now on, to get Ensign Aster into proper shape."
May groaned. "Fitness is all well and good, but when you finally let me reprimand her properly, I didn't expect you to adopt her as a pet project."
"I didn't plan to, it just felt right at the time. She's got a lot of talent. Maybe she just needs some personal attention and a healthy dose of discipline."
"Fine," May agreed with a sigh, though she was still smiling. "I said I'd help, so I will. It'll be fun to spend more time with you outside of staff meetings and bridge watches anyway."
"Yes, I think it will be fun for us. And learning some humility will be good for her."
Next week… apocalyptic log entry…
Sojourn Chapter 6.4
It was only after another week of uneventful veritech and destroyer patrols that Admiral Mbande would consider allowing a closer approach of any of the derelict spacecraft and orbitals drifting through the system. In the meantime, Vanessa carried out the sad duty of holding the funerals for the fallen crew, pilots, and Marines. Grief and doubts continued to thread through her thoughts, but for the sake of her crew, she projected steadiness and resolve, as Captain Gloval always had. Not long after, reports began to filter in from other REF ships, confirming Vanessa's suspicions. More tomb worlds. The Heke's task force discovered a planet scoured of life by biological attack. The decision was quickly made to not even attempt a landing. Guerrero, commanded by Vanessa's friend and former subordinate, Straza Pentiet, stumbled on a world that had been bombarded by energy beams until its surface was transformed into a lumpy mass of brittle glass, leaving behind no traces of its original inhabitants. If any new clues were to be found, they would be found by Task Force 2.
At last, Mbande allowed Vanessa and Reyes to plan several close flybys of derelict vessels, and after those proved safe, a boarding of one of the Zentraedi frigates by Lightning battloids. With the ship's Protoculture generators cut away, there was no expectation of any survivors, even in stasis, and this proved to be the case. The task of moving through the derelict, battle-damaged ship was a grim one, but it did yield access to the ship's main databanks, which were freed by specialized salvage and recovery craft and brought back to one of the Jeanne d'Arc's bays. There, a team of Robotech engineers and cryptographers began the laborious, week-long task of powering up the giant scaled electronics, and cracking the security around the data encoded within.
Vanessa, Admiral Mbande, and Doctor Priest could have reviewed the results of the decryption efforts from the comfort of a conference room, but, by unspoken agreement, they each arrived in the heavily secured bay shortly after receiving the report that the last layer of encryption had been defeated. The databank towering over them was a device as tall as a three story house, cylindrical in shape, with a jutting upper structure like a sharply angular mushroom. The device was swathed in dozens of interface and power cables hooked up to a handful of exterior interface ports, and many more internal ones that the engineers had accessed by carefully removing sections of heavy armor plates using plasma torches. It looked like a swarm of metallic snakes were attempting to throttle it. Peeking between cables were hundreds of winking indicator lights, like orange, blue, and green will-o'-the-wisps, lending an eerie atmosphere to the echoing bay. A modified destroid, one of the old Spartans that the engineers favored for its relatively dexterous robotic gauntlets, was poised over the Zentraedi scaled main control panel. Vanessa and the others stood at a ring of micronian scaled work stations a hundred meters away, behind portable armor barriers. The dozens of interface cables spanned the gap in a spaghetti tangle. Every ten meters or so, a set of adapters was fitted, sequentially shrinking the cables that started at almost forty-five centimeters across, until they were small enough to connect to the REF's machines.
Vanessa shivered against the near freezing temperatures of the bay. A dozen industrial sized refrigeration units hummed away in the corners, keeping the enormous yet delicate computer core cold, and she could see her own breath steaming as she waited on the final preparations. The seated systems technician tapped out a few last keystrokes and then spoke to Doctor Priest without looking away from his monitor, his glasses reflecting bright blue and hiding his eyes. "We're ready, sir."
Priest looked to Vanessa for approval. She glanced at Admiral Mbande, a silent, somber presence in her black uniform coat. The admiral simply folded her arms and watched.
"Proceed, Doctor," Vanessa ordered.
The destroid reached out a forefinger as big around as a modest sized tree trunk, and entered a final command on the databank's console. Nothing spectacular happened. Vanessa thought, at the most, that she might have felt the hairs on her arm briefly stand on end. But a second later, characters sprang into life on the large monitor mounted above and to the left of the technician's workstation. There was a translation below the Zentraedi text, although Vanessa didn't need it.
Everyone released a breath. Aside from the potential dangers of cracking a hostile computer system, there had been no guarantee that the data hadn't been corrupted by battle damage, or erased by the ship's crew. The technician bent to his work again.
"The files seem intact. There's a lot of data here. The ship appears to be over a hundred years old. Going to take a while to sift through it all."
"The final logs will do, for now, starting with the ones immediately after the Grand Fleet folded to Earth," Vanessa said.
"Yes ma'am."
In a few moments, they had the story of the frigate's final days, in its captain's own words. The man who spoke was square of jaw and grim of countenance, his dark hair was shorn close, like a monk's tonsure, and his steely eyes stared at them from the screen.
{It has been six weeks since the Grand Fleet folded en masse at the orders of Supreme Commander Dolza. Six weeks since our squadron was ignominiously left behind for lack of sufficient Protoculture reserves to make the long-distance space fold. With the nearest fleet depots already stripped of supplies, we have completed a series of short fold jumps to Factory Satellite 934. Today however, we arrived to find that the Factory Satellite was scuttled by remote signal, and the system has been abandoned by its garrison squadron. As with the other posts we visited, the communications relay networks are offline, and do not respond to our reactivation signals. We can find no explanation for any of this…}
"Why would the Masters do that?" Vanessa wondered. "That's a colossal waste of equipment."
"Scorched Earth," Mbande said. "Without the Grand Fleet, the Masters lacked the forces to hold and defend all of those facilities, which makes them a liability. They might have fallen into the hands of their enemies, or even just subordinates whose loyalty is questionable. A single factory satellite has enough manufacturing capability to dominate a whole sector, and can even clone fresh crews. The Factory Satellite we seized and brought to Earth was notable for its large defense fleet."
At the next pertinent entry, the captain's aspect was haunted.
{The mutinous ships, about one third of the squadron, have been destroyed or put to flight. I have grave misgivings about our orders, but it has been four months, and we have yet to resupply or make contact with higher command. With power reserves and systems decaying every day, I see no alternative to our commander's plan to fold to the nearest colony planet of the Empire, and seek aid, regardless of the violation of doctrine.}
Priest shook his head. "I don't understand. They were in an emergency. Why would the idea of contacting civilians cause so much disagreement that there would be a mutiny and a battle?"
"Indoctrination and control," Vanessa answered. "However much the Masters wished to treat them that way, the Zentraedi aren't obedient robots. Breetai's mutiny shows what could happen when Zentraedi were exposed to a human society. The Masters indoctrinated their soldiers to fear exposure to 'micronian' culture, and isolated them from the core planets of the Empire."
As the logs progressed, the Zentraedi became increasingly gaunt.
{The recyclers are running at twenty percent capacity, and we do not have the power to run more than half of the cryo-stasis tubes, so we cannot put more of our crew in hibernation to ease the crisis. The local government of Altrea continues to dither and equivocate, and will neither resupply us or allow our troops to land. They claim to have their own energy crisis, and they fear attack by their closest neighbors in this sector, from the planet Ohma. I had to deploy troopers to the launch bays this morning to stop a dozen crewmen from hijacking a shuttle and endangering the negotiations. If it is to be a merchant's bargain,} he added, his lip curling in distaste, {we only have one coin to offer. Violence. It will be for the Altreans to decide if they shall receive it, or aid us, and thus direct it elsewhere.}
"That's the final Captain's log, dated nine years ago," the technician said. "The ship went into battle and was crippled the next day."
Vanessa regarded the captain's stern, fatalistic expression one more time. How many Zentraedi commanders had faced similar situations during the ten years since the destruction of the Grand Fleet? How many identical clone brothers suffered identical fates?
"That was an ugly set of choices for the remaining Zentraedi to choose from," Priest observed. Vanessa nodded and looked at the Admiral. Mbande was quiet, even for her, eyes fixed on the captain's malnourished features. Vanessa suppressed a shudder and counted herself lucky that she had never shared in such privation.
"That will do, ensign. Begin pulling the combat logs. Admiral?"
Mbande turned a cool, controlled gaze on her. "Yes, Captain?"
"This information could prove useful, but we clearly need more. We should proceed with the boarding of the space station."
The admiral nodded and turned to an aide. "See that it is done. I'll return to the ops center after viewing the combat logs."
The combat logs proved to be a disappointment. By the time of the attack, the frigate Traventiez was barely functional. A fleet of fifty capital ships and escorts had folded into the system, but the Traventiez's sensors could provide little detail. The group definitely included a few ships armed with Reflex cannons, because three of them quickly vaporized the handful of Zentraedi ships and local defense platforms capable of putting up proper resistance. The rest of the ships fanned out and grappled the remaining Zentraedi ships, local merchant ships and space manufacturing and habitation modules. The Traventiez was swarmed by dozens of some type of drone service craft, not dissimilar in construction from the ships and space stations that they were attacking. They evaded the frigate's point defenses and methodically disabled its turrets, before finally cutting through the hull. Not long after. the recordings abruptly ended.
"I'm no tactician," Priest said, "but that seemed rather one sided to me."
"Indeed," Mbande agreed. "Almost as if the attackers had practiced before, and knew what kind of defenses they would be facing."
"I'm interested to know where they managed to secure ships with Reflex cannons. The sensor returns are fuzzy, but those looked like badly shielded Zentraedi gunships. The rest look like merchant ships refitted for combat, not too different from the ones they plundered and abandoned during their attack."
"If they kept this up for the last nine years, they may have despoiled this entire sector by now. I'll have my analysts go over everything in detail."
"I'll send Ensign Aster to help. She's been cataloging every derelict found so far. I'm sure that our teams boarding the space station-"
The bay's lighting tinted red, and the ship-wide combat alert sounded. "General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands to your battle stations!"
Vanessa's heart raced, recognizing the voice of her tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Duy Liem.
"Reason for General Quarters: Defold reaction detected inside fleet perimeter!"
Next week… battle alert…
At last, Mbande allowed Vanessa and Reyes to plan several close flybys of derelict vessels, and after those proved safe, a boarding of one of the Zentraedi frigates by Lightning battloids. With the ship's Protoculture generators cut away, there was no expectation of any survivors, even in stasis, and this proved to be the case. The task of moving through the derelict, battle-damaged ship was a grim one, but it did yield access to the ship's main databanks, which were freed by specialized salvage and recovery craft and brought back to one of the Jeanne d'Arc's bays. There, a team of Robotech engineers and cryptographers began the laborious, week-long task of powering up the giant scaled electronics, and cracking the security around the data encoded within.
Vanessa, Admiral Mbande, and Doctor Priest could have reviewed the results of the decryption efforts from the comfort of a conference room, but, by unspoken agreement, they each arrived in the heavily secured bay shortly after receiving the report that the last layer of encryption had been defeated. The databank towering over them was a device as tall as a three story house, cylindrical in shape, with a jutting upper structure like a sharply angular mushroom. The device was swathed in dozens of interface and power cables hooked up to a handful of exterior interface ports, and many more internal ones that the engineers had accessed by carefully removing sections of heavy armor plates using plasma torches. It looked like a swarm of metallic snakes were attempting to throttle it. Peeking between cables were hundreds of winking indicator lights, like orange, blue, and green will-o'-the-wisps, lending an eerie atmosphere to the echoing bay. A modified destroid, one of the old Spartans that the engineers favored for its relatively dexterous robotic gauntlets, was poised over the Zentraedi scaled main control panel. Vanessa and the others stood at a ring of micronian scaled work stations a hundred meters away, behind portable armor barriers. The dozens of interface cables spanned the gap in a spaghetti tangle. Every ten meters or so, a set of adapters was fitted, sequentially shrinking the cables that started at almost forty-five centimeters across, until they were small enough to connect to the REF's machines.
Vanessa shivered against the near freezing temperatures of the bay. A dozen industrial sized refrigeration units hummed away in the corners, keeping the enormous yet delicate computer core cold, and she could see her own breath steaming as she waited on the final preparations. The seated systems technician tapped out a few last keystrokes and then spoke to Doctor Priest without looking away from his monitor, his glasses reflecting bright blue and hiding his eyes. "We're ready, sir."
Priest looked to Vanessa for approval. She glanced at Admiral Mbande, a silent, somber presence in her black uniform coat. The admiral simply folded her arms and watched.
"Proceed, Doctor," Vanessa ordered.
The destroid reached out a forefinger as big around as a modest sized tree trunk, and entered a final command on the databank's console. Nothing spectacular happened. Vanessa thought, at the most, that she might have felt the hairs on her arm briefly stand on end. But a second later, characters sprang into life on the large monitor mounted above and to the left of the technician's workstation. There was a translation below the Zentraedi text, although Vanessa didn't need it.
Ship's Log
IZS Traventiez
Tou-Redir Class Frigate TRF3598413
674th Reconnaissance Squadron
1533rd Battle Fleet
Commissioned ICY1036 at Factory Satellite 724
All Hail the Masters
IZS Traventiez
Tou-Redir Class Frigate TRF3598413
674th Reconnaissance Squadron
1533rd Battle Fleet
Commissioned ICY1036 at Factory Satellite 724
All Hail the Masters
Everyone released a breath. Aside from the potential dangers of cracking a hostile computer system, there had been no guarantee that the data hadn't been corrupted by battle damage, or erased by the ship's crew. The technician bent to his work again.
"The files seem intact. There's a lot of data here. The ship appears to be over a hundred years old. Going to take a while to sift through it all."
"The final logs will do, for now, starting with the ones immediately after the Grand Fleet folded to Earth," Vanessa said.
"Yes ma'am."
In a few moments, they had the story of the frigate's final days, in its captain's own words. The man who spoke was square of jaw and grim of countenance, his dark hair was shorn close, like a monk's tonsure, and his steely eyes stared at them from the screen.
{It has been six weeks since the Grand Fleet folded en masse at the orders of Supreme Commander Dolza. Six weeks since our squadron was ignominiously left behind for lack of sufficient Protoculture reserves to make the long-distance space fold. With the nearest fleet depots already stripped of supplies, we have completed a series of short fold jumps to Factory Satellite 934. Today however, we arrived to find that the Factory Satellite was scuttled by remote signal, and the system has been abandoned by its garrison squadron. As with the other posts we visited, the communications relay networks are offline, and do not respond to our reactivation signals. We can find no explanation for any of this…}
"Why would the Masters do that?" Vanessa wondered. "That's a colossal waste of equipment."
"Scorched Earth," Mbande said. "Without the Grand Fleet, the Masters lacked the forces to hold and defend all of those facilities, which makes them a liability. They might have fallen into the hands of their enemies, or even just subordinates whose loyalty is questionable. A single factory satellite has enough manufacturing capability to dominate a whole sector, and can even clone fresh crews. The Factory Satellite we seized and brought to Earth was notable for its large defense fleet."
At the next pertinent entry, the captain's aspect was haunted.
{The mutinous ships, about one third of the squadron, have been destroyed or put to flight. I have grave misgivings about our orders, but it has been four months, and we have yet to resupply or make contact with higher command. With power reserves and systems decaying every day, I see no alternative to our commander's plan to fold to the nearest colony planet of the Empire, and seek aid, regardless of the violation of doctrine.}
Priest shook his head. "I don't understand. They were in an emergency. Why would the idea of contacting civilians cause so much disagreement that there would be a mutiny and a battle?"
"Indoctrination and control," Vanessa answered. "However much the Masters wished to treat them that way, the Zentraedi aren't obedient robots. Breetai's mutiny shows what could happen when Zentraedi were exposed to a human society. The Masters indoctrinated their soldiers to fear exposure to 'micronian' culture, and isolated them from the core planets of the Empire."
As the logs progressed, the Zentraedi became increasingly gaunt.
{The recyclers are running at twenty percent capacity, and we do not have the power to run more than half of the cryo-stasis tubes, so we cannot put more of our crew in hibernation to ease the crisis. The local government of Altrea continues to dither and equivocate, and will neither resupply us or allow our troops to land. They claim to have their own energy crisis, and they fear attack by their closest neighbors in this sector, from the planet Ohma. I had to deploy troopers to the launch bays this morning to stop a dozen crewmen from hijacking a shuttle and endangering the negotiations. If it is to be a merchant's bargain,} he added, his lip curling in distaste, {we only have one coin to offer. Violence. It will be for the Altreans to decide if they shall receive it, or aid us, and thus direct it elsewhere.}
"That's the final Captain's log, dated nine years ago," the technician said. "The ship went into battle and was crippled the next day."
Vanessa regarded the captain's stern, fatalistic expression one more time. How many Zentraedi commanders had faced similar situations during the ten years since the destruction of the Grand Fleet? How many identical clone brothers suffered identical fates?
"That was an ugly set of choices for the remaining Zentraedi to choose from," Priest observed. Vanessa nodded and looked at the Admiral. Mbande was quiet, even for her, eyes fixed on the captain's malnourished features. Vanessa suppressed a shudder and counted herself lucky that she had never shared in such privation.
"That will do, ensign. Begin pulling the combat logs. Admiral?"
Mbande turned a cool, controlled gaze on her. "Yes, Captain?"
"This information could prove useful, but we clearly need more. We should proceed with the boarding of the space station."
The admiral nodded and turned to an aide. "See that it is done. I'll return to the ops center after viewing the combat logs."
The combat logs proved to be a disappointment. By the time of the attack, the frigate Traventiez was barely functional. A fleet of fifty capital ships and escorts had folded into the system, but the Traventiez's sensors could provide little detail. The group definitely included a few ships armed with Reflex cannons, because three of them quickly vaporized the handful of Zentraedi ships and local defense platforms capable of putting up proper resistance. The rest of the ships fanned out and grappled the remaining Zentraedi ships, local merchant ships and space manufacturing and habitation modules. The Traventiez was swarmed by dozens of some type of drone service craft, not dissimilar in construction from the ships and space stations that they were attacking. They evaded the frigate's point defenses and methodically disabled its turrets, before finally cutting through the hull. Not long after. the recordings abruptly ended.
"I'm no tactician," Priest said, "but that seemed rather one sided to me."
"Indeed," Mbande agreed. "Almost as if the attackers had practiced before, and knew what kind of defenses they would be facing."
"I'm interested to know where they managed to secure ships with Reflex cannons. The sensor returns are fuzzy, but those looked like badly shielded Zentraedi gunships. The rest look like merchant ships refitted for combat, not too different from the ones they plundered and abandoned during their attack."
"If they kept this up for the last nine years, they may have despoiled this entire sector by now. I'll have my analysts go over everything in detail."
"I'll send Ensign Aster to help. She's been cataloging every derelict found so far. I'm sure that our teams boarding the space station-"
The bay's lighting tinted red, and the ship-wide combat alert sounded. "General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands to your battle stations!"
Vanessa's heart raced, recognizing the voice of her tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Duy Liem.
"Reason for General Quarters: Defold reaction detected inside fleet perimeter!"
Next week… battle alert…
- Location
- South Wales, United Kingdom
Nice update.
So it was pirates who attacked not the Invid? I suppose that makes sense as the expeditionary force had to clash with pirates and separatist groups a few times after they booted the Invid Regent off Tirol after the Masters abandoned the system with all 27 Azashar-class motherships though only 8 of them would make it to Sol. The rest and many of there supporting warships especially the heavier battlecruisers and other Sian Macross-class ships being decomissioned due to protoculture depletion and being placed in storage at a hidden deep space facility for later recovery.
When the REF did fight pirates the pirates would generally come off the worst of the engagement since the REF ships would a) be fully powered, b) better maintained and c) have veritech fighters with them that would make mincemeat out of pirate fighters.
So it was pirates who attacked not the Invid? I suppose that makes sense as the expeditionary force had to clash with pirates and separatist groups a few times after they booted the Invid Regent off Tirol after the Masters abandoned the system with all 27 Azashar-class motherships though only 8 of them would make it to Sol. The rest and many of there supporting warships especially the heavier battlecruisers and other Sian Macross-class ships being decomissioned due to protoculture depletion and being placed in storage at a hidden deep space facility for later recovery.
When the REF did fight pirates the pirates would generally come off the worst of the engagement since the REF ships would a) be fully powered, b) better maintained and c) have veritech fighters with them that would make mincemeat out of pirate fighters.
They were pirates of a sort, but I'm trying to figure out what it is when one planetary government plunders their neighbor's entire system and then burns the place down. Genocide and a war crime, certainly, but what do you call the perpetrators? I guess it's the same thing the Masters intended to do to Earth.
- Location
- South Wales, United Kingdom
That is the question isn't it.
Though the Masters only wanted the protoculture matrix and the flowers of life. Once they had them they would have left, retrieved their stored ships and returned to Tirol. Earth would have been left to wither away since the Masters didn't really care about them or even hold genuine malice towards them beyond the fact that they were in their way.
Sojourn Chapter 7.1
Chapter 7
"What's our situation?" Vanessa demanded, sweeping into the Jeanne d'Arc's bridge. Every station was crewed, and the command deck crackled with pre-battle tension.
"A ship has defolded, Captain, well inside our threat perimeter. I'm still trying to identify it, but its mass is approximately ten times that of a Battle class cruiser!" Penelope Aster reported. That boded ill. The unknown ship was an order of magnitude larger than anything in the task force besides the Jeanne d'Arc herself.
"Where?"
"Closest to the fleet tender Piraeus, near the derelict space station." The multi-purpose ship carried crew and small craft optimized for repair, salvage, and recovery, and had been an ideal choice for overseeing the operation to board the station.
"No response to any of our standard communications, moy Kapitan," Esign Garo said. Vanessa noted the shift from French to Russian, but this was no time to comment on it.
"Keep trying," Vanessa told him. "We're still operating on First Contact protocols until we have a positive ID."
"The task force is out of position, Captain," Duy Liem warned from Tactical, his smooth, controlled voice cutting across the bridge chatter without the need for him to raise it. "The destroyers are on perimeter patrol, and our cruisers are covering us and the Phobos. We left a lot of clearance in case the space station was dangerous, so the Piraeus has no warship escort."
"What about fighters?" May asked, out of breath, having arrived right before Vanessa.
"Three squadrons on CAP," Lieutenant Abargil said, his voice jittery with excitement. "An additional squadron on close support of the Piraeus. Three more on ready launch standby."
"Launch them immediately," Vanessa ordered, "and have them hold position off our bow. Do not approach yet. Have Commander Reyes bring the rest of the air group to ready status."
"Aye, aye!"
"Task force-wide instructions from the admiral, moy Kapitan!" Ensign Garo called out. "'All commands, maintain full battle alert. First Contact protocols rescinded!"
Vanessa's lips formed a thin line, and she exchanged a look with May. With a potential threat inside the task force's perimeter, Admiral Mbande was within her authority to suspend First Contact protocols and aggressively defend her ships. But this was an abandoned, depopulated system, and no one outside of the REF should have been aware of their presence. It could just be a badly placed defold. A wrong move could end in tragedy, even start a war that Earth could not afford. She was ready to protest, ready to order May to contact the Ops Center and get her face-to-face comms with the admiral.
…You do not trust me.
Vanessa hesitated. It was true. If Lisa had given the same order, she would have accepted, and moved on, saving her doubts for after the emergency was resolved. For a count of five, she kept her gaze fixed on Penelope's monitors, watching the gray square of the unknown contact, the icons for their destroyers, scrambling to reverse course, and the tiny blue arrowheads of the ready launch fighters winking into view, pair by pair, as they burst from the launch tunnels, the sleek and deadly Lightnings assuming wedge shaped formations ahead of the Jeanne d'Arc.
"Ensign Garo, acknowledge our orders, and notify the admiral we are assuming a defensive posture," Vanessa told her comms officer. "Lieutenant Abargil, get in contact with Commander Reyes ASAP. The XO will fill him in. Coordinate with Tactical to form a protective fighter screen for the Piraeus as best we can, but don't neglect the rest of the task force. They're all depending on us."
She leaned over Penelope and laid a hand on her shoulder. The young woman flinched, but when she looked up at her captain, her eyes were steady, even challenging. "I need more, Ensign. It's critical we figure out what we're dealing with. Our lives and Earth's future may depend on it."
"I know!" Penelope answered, some of her earlier sharpness in her voice. "It's not easy! The contact's emissions are a lot better shielded than the Zentraedi's, and the hull materials seem to just eat up a lot of our-"
Vanessa gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I understand, believe me. Send in a Cat's Eye unit, or request a probe from the Phobos if you have to - not too close. Just give me your best."
Aster swallowed and nodded. "Aye." She bent over her scope, redoubling her efforts.
"… going to assume we might need every last veritech out there, Hazard," Commander Reyes was saying on the flight direction officer's monitor. He was already in the cockpit of his Lightning, and getting ready to seal his helmet. "Say five minutes for the next four squadrons, about twenty for the rest of the air group."
The number was impressive. The Jeanne d'Arc had a thousand veritechs and other spacecraft in her air group, more even than the SDF-1 at the height of the war. Reyes and Abargil were known for their unrelenting launch drills, and the quartermaster who oversaw the logistics hub at Space Station Liberty had complained more than once that Task Force 2's strike wing burned more reaction mass than any two other task forces combined, but Vanessa had backed them to the hilt. She knew what it felt like to be outnumbered in every battle. A single fighter in space and under thrust rather than waiting on the flight deck could mean the difference between life and death.
"Commander Liem is flagging the coordinates and vectors of our other ships for you now," May told her husband. "Watch it out there, flyboy, or I'll have to hop in a Lightning myself."
"Anytime you get tired of twiddling your thumbs on the bridge, I'll have an open cockpit for you, Hazard!" Reyes replied with a grin. The loving expressions Vanessa saw behind their teasing made her heart ache with longing. With a deliberate effort, she turned back to the sensors station. Her bridge officers had the fighter and fleet maneuvers well in hand, and she didn't need to be distracted thinking about how badly she missed Bron.
"Does the contact match anything we've seen before Ensign?"
"Might be the same class as one of those bigger derelict merchant ships we scanned last week," Penelope said tightly. "The size is about right, but I don't have any energy emissions to compare to what I'm seeing now. The output keeps fluctuating."
"Fluctuating?" A suspicion gnawed at Vanessa. "Doctor Priest, retask that probe. I want to do a fast pass, best possible speed. I need readings from the opposite side of the contact."
Priest forwarded the order to the Phobos, then turned his seat back toward her. "Done. We'll lose that probe. It won't have enough reaction mass to reverse course and return."
"Noted," Vanessa said, keeping her eye fixed on the monitor. The probe closed the distance, skimming past the contact, so as not to appear a threat. Nevertheless, as it began drawing away, a single, harsh beam of energy lanced out from the unknown ship and reduced the probe to rapidly cooling molten slag.
"Damn!" Penelope snarled.
"Did you get anything?" Vanessa demanded.
"Not much. Here!"
The image was fuzzy, just barely revealing the ship in blurry profile. It certainly appeared to be one of the Empire's merchant type ships- she saw a green hull not too dissimilar in color from a Zentraedi ship, an upswept bow, big docking ports projecting from the sides, smaller blistered superstructures like flower buds, and a bridge tower eerily reminiscent of the SDF-1's. What concerned her more was the clutter of smaller craft that had been masked by the ship's sensor shadow.
"Captain!" Penelope called out in alarm.
"I see them!" Vanessa saw a motley collection of vessels. At least six were Zentraedi shuttles with their distinctive guppy shape, along with as many as fifty grappling arm and tool equipped service or mining craft, and most alarming of all, hundreds of Regult battlepods and Gnerl fighters. Shuttles and service craft, Vanessa thought. They aren't deploying a defensive fighter screen, it's a boarding party!
"Alert Operations!" Vanessa called out. "Ship is hostile! Ensign Garo, priority transmission to Piraeus! Take evasive action and prepare to repel boarders!"
Next week… strike and counter-strike…
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Sojourn Chapter 7.2
"Commander, deploy all available squadrons to intercept hostile strike force!" May ordered her husband, anticipating Vanessa's intentions.
"Hostile strike force has left the mothership's sensor shadow and is under way at full thrust. Projected course will intercept the Piraeus in seven minutes!" Penelope reported.
"Before we can get even a fourth of our own fighters in position," Vanessa noted grimly.
"Incoming communication from the admiral," Liem announced. Admiral Mbande's stern features appeared on an overhead monitor.
"Your officers are to be commended, Captain," the woman said. "Do what you can to hold off the strike force. I'm deploying our destroyers in support."
"And the mothership?"
"Do not engage it without my direct orders. We don't know enough about it's capabilities."
"It's as likely as not to fold out of the system when pressed anyway," May said. "That's what the pirates did in previous encounters."
"If they are pirates," Commander Liem noted quietly.
"They are trying to seize our support vessel. And a mixed group like that, operating out of a merchant ship? It has to be pirates."
"Time enough to determine that after the battle," Mbande said pointedly. "For now, we will focus on saving the Piraeus, and hold our capital ships in reserve."
"Understood, Admiral." Vanessa answered, and the screen went blank. She was relieved, really. The attackers could be pirates, or they could be from the original force that devastated Altrea, or even desperate refugees on the run. In whatever case, attacking the mothership directly increased the likelihood that the REF would be drawn into a war.
"Commander Reyes, engage hostile strike craft with all available fighters. You'll have destroyer support soon."
"Acknowledged, Captain. Jeanne d'Arc Attack Wing, engaging!"
Outside the panoramic bridge port, Vanessa could see the Lightning squadrons ignite their paired thrusters, like hundreds of bright blue binary stars. The tension increased as the massed groups of contacts crossed the monitors, and the Piraeus got underway with agonizing slowness. It could not retreat until it had recovered the defenseless boarding crews from the derelict space station. No one wanted to leave them sitting ducks, to be killed or taken hostage.
The closest veritechs harried the advancing hostiles, doing their best to delay or divert them, but to fly into the teeth of that heavy formation would be suicide. Within minutes the comms were chaos as the courageous veritech teams were overwhelmed, one by one. A handful of surviving Lightnings transformed to battloid and fought on from the hull of the Piraeus itself, taking cover on the superstructure, dueling battlepods and grappling hand to hand with the manipulator arms and plasma torches of the boarding craft. The mothership was on the approach, preparing to dock with the stricken support vessel.
Then Reyes arrived in the nick of time with his hastily mobilized air group, and the tables were turned immediately. His pilots were a mix of Robotech War veterans and volunteers who had come into the ranks in relative peace time, not battle-hardened, but skilled and disciplined from years of service together. Though outnumbered, they piloted next generation fighters, and faced familiar enemy mecha using tactics that the Earth forces had honed over eleven years of conflict. Their foes were simply outclassed in every way, and were completely unprepared to face the ferocity and confidence of their counterattack. Scores of battlepods and fighter pods were destroyed in the first two minutes of contact. The mothership veered off course, and the boarding craft and their escorts went into full retreat, hotly pursued by Reyes's teams. Vanessa, standing with her arms crossed, watched the development of the battle with a critical eye, then turned to May.
"The destroyers will be in position soon, and will close the door on the enemy. Unless they have something major up their sleeves on the mothership, we're moments away from turning this battle into a massacre."
"The mothership and the strike force are retreating in different directions. If they were planning on abandoning them, why not fold away immediately?" May wondered. "Every other time the REF encountered pirates, they fled the system before visual contact could even be established."
Vanessa thought about it, tapping her fingers on her forearm. The Empire's internal collapse. The desperation of the Zentraedi. The energy crisis caused by the depletion of Protoculture, and the destruction and brutality that followed it.
"They're not folding out… because they can't! Lieutenant Abargil, order the air group to allow the enemy strike force to gain some distance, and focus on herding them further away from the mothership rather than pressing the attack. Any of the support ships that straggle behind the main formation should be grappled and captured, not destroyed."
"Aye, aye, Captain!"
"Now get me the admiral!"
Admiral Mbande was already frowning when her face reappeared on the monitor.
"Your veritechs are falling behind, Captain. What is going on?"
"Admiral, the enemy is in full retreat, and I believe the mothership to be incapable of folding away. This battle is effectively over. There's nothing to be gained by continuing the attack. I request permission to negotiate with the hostiles directly."
Mbande raised her eyebrows. "You believe we should spare them? They attacked us without provocation. What about our pilots that they killed?"
Vanessa didn't rise to the bait. She suppressed a flash of annoyance. I know what you're really doing now, she thought. Always holding back your real opinion. Always testing me, seeing what I'll say or do. Why?
"Vengeance is a vice we can't afford. As I've always said, our mission is primarily exploration and diplomacy."
"And if they serve the Masters? Or those who destroyed the planet Altrea? Will you let them go unpunished?"
No! a voice inside Vanessa shouted, but she answered, "We don't know who they are. It's our job to find out."
"And you believe you'll be able to talk to them? They wouldn't reply to us when they folded in."
"The odds are high that someone over there speaks Zentraedi, and the battle has gone very badly for them. I think we need to try. There's no need for anyone else to die."
The admiral considered, and nodded. "Very well, Captain. I grant you permission to negotiate their surrender. I'll monitor from here. Good luck."
Vanessa took note of the admiral's expectations, and checked with Tactical again.
"Enemy strike craft have taken roughly twenty-five percent losses. Over half of their shuttles and other support craft have fallen out of formation and been captured by our battloids," Commander Liem reported.
"Open a channel, Mister Garo," Vanessa ordered.
"Gotovyy, moy Kapitan!"
Vanessa began speaking in Zentraedi, her words unaccented after many years of practice. {Unidentified ship, this is Captain Vanessa Leeds of the United Earth Forces battlecarrier, Jeanne d'Arc. Surrender immediately, power down your engines and weapons, and your crew and pilots will be spared.}
She waited. Malac shook his head.
"Nyet. No response, moy Kapitan."
Vanessa frowned. The admiral, and likely some of her crew, would not be happy about what she planned to say next. She took a breath, and released it.
{We know that you're stranded. That you're dying. Let us help you.}
Next week… the envoys…
"Hostile strike force has left the mothership's sensor shadow and is under way at full thrust. Projected course will intercept the Piraeus in seven minutes!" Penelope reported.
"Before we can get even a fourth of our own fighters in position," Vanessa noted grimly.
"Incoming communication from the admiral," Liem announced. Admiral Mbande's stern features appeared on an overhead monitor.
"Your officers are to be commended, Captain," the woman said. "Do what you can to hold off the strike force. I'm deploying our destroyers in support."
"And the mothership?"
"Do not engage it without my direct orders. We don't know enough about it's capabilities."
"It's as likely as not to fold out of the system when pressed anyway," May said. "That's what the pirates did in previous encounters."
"If they are pirates," Commander Liem noted quietly.
"They are trying to seize our support vessel. And a mixed group like that, operating out of a merchant ship? It has to be pirates."
"Time enough to determine that after the battle," Mbande said pointedly. "For now, we will focus on saving the Piraeus, and hold our capital ships in reserve."
"Understood, Admiral." Vanessa answered, and the screen went blank. She was relieved, really. The attackers could be pirates, or they could be from the original force that devastated Altrea, or even desperate refugees on the run. In whatever case, attacking the mothership directly increased the likelihood that the REF would be drawn into a war.
"Commander Reyes, engage hostile strike craft with all available fighters. You'll have destroyer support soon."
"Acknowledged, Captain. Jeanne d'Arc Attack Wing, engaging!"
Outside the panoramic bridge port, Vanessa could see the Lightning squadrons ignite their paired thrusters, like hundreds of bright blue binary stars. The tension increased as the massed groups of contacts crossed the monitors, and the Piraeus got underway with agonizing slowness. It could not retreat until it had recovered the defenseless boarding crews from the derelict space station. No one wanted to leave them sitting ducks, to be killed or taken hostage.
The closest veritechs harried the advancing hostiles, doing their best to delay or divert them, but to fly into the teeth of that heavy formation would be suicide. Within minutes the comms were chaos as the courageous veritech teams were overwhelmed, one by one. A handful of surviving Lightnings transformed to battloid and fought on from the hull of the Piraeus itself, taking cover on the superstructure, dueling battlepods and grappling hand to hand with the manipulator arms and plasma torches of the boarding craft. The mothership was on the approach, preparing to dock with the stricken support vessel.
Then Reyes arrived in the nick of time with his hastily mobilized air group, and the tables were turned immediately. His pilots were a mix of Robotech War veterans and volunteers who had come into the ranks in relative peace time, not battle-hardened, but skilled and disciplined from years of service together. Though outnumbered, they piloted next generation fighters, and faced familiar enemy mecha using tactics that the Earth forces had honed over eleven years of conflict. Their foes were simply outclassed in every way, and were completely unprepared to face the ferocity and confidence of their counterattack. Scores of battlepods and fighter pods were destroyed in the first two minutes of contact. The mothership veered off course, and the boarding craft and their escorts went into full retreat, hotly pursued by Reyes's teams. Vanessa, standing with her arms crossed, watched the development of the battle with a critical eye, then turned to May.
"The destroyers will be in position soon, and will close the door on the enemy. Unless they have something major up their sleeves on the mothership, we're moments away from turning this battle into a massacre."
"The mothership and the strike force are retreating in different directions. If they were planning on abandoning them, why not fold away immediately?" May wondered. "Every other time the REF encountered pirates, they fled the system before visual contact could even be established."
Vanessa thought about it, tapping her fingers on her forearm. The Empire's internal collapse. The desperation of the Zentraedi. The energy crisis caused by the depletion of Protoculture, and the destruction and brutality that followed it.
"They're not folding out… because they can't! Lieutenant Abargil, order the air group to allow the enemy strike force to gain some distance, and focus on herding them further away from the mothership rather than pressing the attack. Any of the support ships that straggle behind the main formation should be grappled and captured, not destroyed."
"Aye, aye, Captain!"
"Now get me the admiral!"
Admiral Mbande was already frowning when her face reappeared on the monitor.
"Your veritechs are falling behind, Captain. What is going on?"
"Admiral, the enemy is in full retreat, and I believe the mothership to be incapable of folding away. This battle is effectively over. There's nothing to be gained by continuing the attack. I request permission to negotiate with the hostiles directly."
Mbande raised her eyebrows. "You believe we should spare them? They attacked us without provocation. What about our pilots that they killed?"
Vanessa didn't rise to the bait. She suppressed a flash of annoyance. I know what you're really doing now, she thought. Always holding back your real opinion. Always testing me, seeing what I'll say or do. Why?
"Vengeance is a vice we can't afford. As I've always said, our mission is primarily exploration and diplomacy."
"And if they serve the Masters? Or those who destroyed the planet Altrea? Will you let them go unpunished?"
No! a voice inside Vanessa shouted, but she answered, "We don't know who they are. It's our job to find out."
"And you believe you'll be able to talk to them? They wouldn't reply to us when they folded in."
"The odds are high that someone over there speaks Zentraedi, and the battle has gone very badly for them. I think we need to try. There's no need for anyone else to die."
The admiral considered, and nodded. "Very well, Captain. I grant you permission to negotiate their surrender. I'll monitor from here. Good luck."
Vanessa took note of the admiral's expectations, and checked with Tactical again.
"Enemy strike craft have taken roughly twenty-five percent losses. Over half of their shuttles and other support craft have fallen out of formation and been captured by our battloids," Commander Liem reported.
"Open a channel, Mister Garo," Vanessa ordered.
"Gotovyy, moy Kapitan!"
Vanessa began speaking in Zentraedi, her words unaccented after many years of practice. {Unidentified ship, this is Captain Vanessa Leeds of the United Earth Forces battlecarrier, Jeanne d'Arc. Surrender immediately, power down your engines and weapons, and your crew and pilots will be spared.}
She waited. Malac shook his head.
"Nyet. No response, moy Kapitan."
Vanessa frowned. The admiral, and likely some of her crew, would not be happy about what she planned to say next. She took a breath, and released it.
{We know that you're stranded. That you're dying. Let us help you.}
Next week… the envoys…
It's a very blurry line in the power vacuum following the fall of an empire, what constitutes a pirate. Does looting make you a pirate? If you attack a ship while under the flag of a newly independent system, are you safe from charges of piracy? Can the UEG recognize the legitimacy of successor governments when they haven't even determined the status of the Masters yet?
So much is hinted at and left unanswered by that early line from Southern Cross when the senior staff speculate as to whether the attackers were pirates. Fertility ground for fanfiction, but I would love to know what kind of encounters the early REF had.
Sojourn Chapter 7.3
"Not quite what I had in mind, Captain," Admiral Mbande said bemusedly, "but the pirates have put themselves in our custody, so I suppose I have little cause for complaint."
Vanessa stayed focused on the view of the Jeanne d'Arc's spacious landing bay through the glass of the overhanging docking control room.
"Not pirates, ma'am. Refugees."
"They did try to hijack our fleet tender," Doctor Priest, standing at her right shoulder, pointed out.
"Let us say their exact status has yet to be determined," Mbande replied.
"Envoy craft is now entering the bay," the docking officer announced.
The envoy ship was no mere passenger shuttle, being far closer to the size of a Zentraedi dropship or one of the REF's own destroid landing craft, and strained the capacity of the Jeanne d'Arc's portside landing bay. Its thickly armored hull was the soft reddish pink of a crab's shell, and its three landing skids were vaguely claw shaped. Perched towards the bow was a smooth black bulge that Vanessa assumed indicated the location of the command deck.
"Shaped like a hand vacuum," Priest murmured, and Vanessa couldn't keep a small smile off her face.
"Hardly an intimidating comparison, but that does not mean they aren't dangerous," Mbande noted dryly.
"Bay pressure status is green," the docking officer reported.
Below them, one of the interior hatches slid open. Colonel Kravshera entered the bay, leading a team of Marines, all in standard shipboard uniforms and equipped only with sidearms. Vanessa wasn't fooled. After a brisk back and forth with him, they had reached a compromise. A full platoon of armored infantry was stationed outside the hatches, and a squad of Spartan destroids waited in the adjoining bay if needed. But for now, Vanessa hoped to downplay the recent conflict, and gain their guests' cooperation. Kaden regarded the envoy ship carefully, and seeing no obvious weapons ports, formed a line with his Marines, then caught Vanessa's eye and signaled the all-clear.
"We're ready," she told the admiral and her science officer.
The ramp that dropped at the side of the transport was big enough for a small destroid, but no combat mecha were in evidence when Vanessa glimpsed the ship's dimly lit and nearly empty hold. Instead a delegation of six humanoid figures descended to meet her own troops and officers. She had little idea of what to expect them to look like - perhaps uniformed soldiers, similar to the Zentraedi? Or, with all of the talk about pirates, it was hard to banish the image of a ragged, disreputable band of heavily armed space buccaneers, even if she actually found the idea ridiculous.
But the people who stood before her were just that - ordinary people. She was reminded suddenly of her first encounter with Bron, Rico, and Konda, before she had learned that they were Zentraedi spies. It was what she saw on their faces - caution, fear, curiosity, and hunger. She could tell that none of the envoys had eaten well for quite a while. Vanessa would have described most of their features as delicate, or maybe elfin, but the lack of adequate nutrition had made them still leaner and sharper, and their once fine clothes hung loosely from their bodies. Their skin tones ranged as wide as those of Earth born humans. Wider, even, as Vanessa glimpsed a woman with skin the color of pale lilacs at the back of the delegation. None of them had the ashy clay tone common among some Zentraedi, but they did share the rainbow array of natural hair colors. Their garments had a silky sheen, and made her think of a strange but attractive fusion of styles, some parts close-fitting, others flowing like saris or salwar pants. Most were embellished with elements similar to those fashionable during Earth's European Renaissance - half capes, brightly colored sashes, draped sleeves, or gold tassels. The overall impression was elegant, familiar, and alien at the same time, but all their outfits were rumpled and faded. They halted at the foot of the ramp and waited expectantly. Vanessa received a nod from Admiral Mbande, and stepped to the front of their own group of enlisted crew, Marines, and officers.
{I am Captain Vanessa Leeds. On behalf of the United Earth Government's Robotech Expeditionary Force, I welcome you aboard the Jeanne d'Arc.}
Behind her, Ensign Garo quietly translated back into English, transmitting to the earbuds worn by everyone not fluent in Zentraedi. One of the envoys stepped forward, smiling humorlessly.
{Does the warden bid her prisoners welcome?}
He was tall, and as lean as the rest. He wore a white, narrow cut jumpsuit with a wide, utilitarian belt, a broad, burgundy colored sash embroidered with gold edging, and a high collar. He had short, midnight purple hair, and unlike the Zentraedi she had met, he had neatly trimmed facial hair.
{You are envoys and guests, not prisoners. But your people launched an unprovoked attack against us, and what you become next will depend on the outcome of the negotiations,} Vanessa replied carefully. {May I ask your name?}
{I am called Ryche. It was I who spoke to you over the communications link.
"Are you the captain of your ship?" Admiral Mbande asked, and Vanessa translated. Ryche's gaze hardened.
{The matter of leadership is complicated. For now, I greet you on behalf of the passengers and crew of the freighter Shalazar.}
{And your people are?}
{We are citizens of the Tiresian Empire.}
Vanessa nodded. The empire of the Masters. Confirmation at last.
{You speak Zentraedi, and have Zentraedi mecha. Are there any Zentraedi among you?} Vanessa wanted to know.
{There are many, back on our ship and with the mecha still out in space. They pilot in battle, and help to defend the ship.}
{But there are none in your delegation?}
Ryche cocked his head curiously. {Why would there be? We took them in when their ships failed, and in return, they fight for us. Zentraedi serve, and Tiresians lead. Thus has it always been.}
Vanessa heard Kaden scoff loudly at that from the end of the Marine honor guard, and at the same time, Ensign Garo faltered over the translation. Anger rose in her. So, certain attitudes are shared by the citizens of the Empire, not just the Masters themselves. She shook her head in disgust. So much for 'advanced' civilizations. Humans are the same everywhere.
Admiral Mbande cleared her throat. "I think it best if we save the rest of the introductions for the conference room. Captain, please tell Ryche that he and his shipmates will be escorted there, and that they will be given a few minutes to refresh themselves. We will reconvene shortly."
"Captain," Admiral Mbande said, after she, Vanessa, Colonel Kravshera, and Doctor Priest had retreated to one of the conference room's antechambers, "you insisted we treat with our visitors, rather than demand their unconditional surrender and deal with them as pirates or prisoners of war. Yet barely a minute after we met them, you looked like you were ready to throttle their leader, and I'm sure they did not miss it. You convinced me that we could benefit greatly from a more… delicate approach. We are all depending on you. You must be in control of yourself."
Vanessa frowned. "I apologize, Admiral. I can be rather sensitive when it comes to the treatment of the Zentraedi."
"Indeed," Kaden said, grinning, "I thought I was about to have the opportunity to witness your vaunted cybernetic martial arts techniques."
"You weren't exactly a model of self-control, Colonel," Priest drawled. "I know you didn't mutiny alongside Breetai, but were you offended by the reminder of the old order of things?"
Kaden lifted his chin proudly. "The Zentraedi fought for the Masters, yes, but as an independent force of conquest. We were not made to be the servants and playthings of ordinary citizens. It is not right that they should see themselves as our overseers."
"Enough!" Mbande cut in, so sharply that Vanessa, Kravshera stood to attention, and even Priest straightened and wiped the smile from his face. "I allowed the three of you to take the lead in this conference because I agreed that you were uniquely suited to do so. If you cannot focus and show me results, I will dismiss you back to your stations and my own staff will take over, is that clear?"
"Yes, Admiral!" the trio chorused stiffly.
"Then let us begin. Our 'guests' are waiting."
Next week… The Collapse…
Vanessa stayed focused on the view of the Jeanne d'Arc's spacious landing bay through the glass of the overhanging docking control room.
"Not pirates, ma'am. Refugees."
"They did try to hijack our fleet tender," Doctor Priest, standing at her right shoulder, pointed out.
"Let us say their exact status has yet to be determined," Mbande replied.
"Envoy craft is now entering the bay," the docking officer announced.
The envoy ship was no mere passenger shuttle, being far closer to the size of a Zentraedi dropship or one of the REF's own destroid landing craft, and strained the capacity of the Jeanne d'Arc's portside landing bay. Its thickly armored hull was the soft reddish pink of a crab's shell, and its three landing skids were vaguely claw shaped. Perched towards the bow was a smooth black bulge that Vanessa assumed indicated the location of the command deck.
"Shaped like a hand vacuum," Priest murmured, and Vanessa couldn't keep a small smile off her face.
"Hardly an intimidating comparison, but that does not mean they aren't dangerous," Mbande noted dryly.
"Bay pressure status is green," the docking officer reported.
Below them, one of the interior hatches slid open. Colonel Kravshera entered the bay, leading a team of Marines, all in standard shipboard uniforms and equipped only with sidearms. Vanessa wasn't fooled. After a brisk back and forth with him, they had reached a compromise. A full platoon of armored infantry was stationed outside the hatches, and a squad of Spartan destroids waited in the adjoining bay if needed. But for now, Vanessa hoped to downplay the recent conflict, and gain their guests' cooperation. Kaden regarded the envoy ship carefully, and seeing no obvious weapons ports, formed a line with his Marines, then caught Vanessa's eye and signaled the all-clear.
"We're ready," she told the admiral and her science officer.
The ramp that dropped at the side of the transport was big enough for a small destroid, but no combat mecha were in evidence when Vanessa glimpsed the ship's dimly lit and nearly empty hold. Instead a delegation of six humanoid figures descended to meet her own troops and officers. She had little idea of what to expect them to look like - perhaps uniformed soldiers, similar to the Zentraedi? Or, with all of the talk about pirates, it was hard to banish the image of a ragged, disreputable band of heavily armed space buccaneers, even if she actually found the idea ridiculous.
But the people who stood before her were just that - ordinary people. She was reminded suddenly of her first encounter with Bron, Rico, and Konda, before she had learned that they were Zentraedi spies. It was what she saw on their faces - caution, fear, curiosity, and hunger. She could tell that none of the envoys had eaten well for quite a while. Vanessa would have described most of their features as delicate, or maybe elfin, but the lack of adequate nutrition had made them still leaner and sharper, and their once fine clothes hung loosely from their bodies. Their skin tones ranged as wide as those of Earth born humans. Wider, even, as Vanessa glimpsed a woman with skin the color of pale lilacs at the back of the delegation. None of them had the ashy clay tone common among some Zentraedi, but they did share the rainbow array of natural hair colors. Their garments had a silky sheen, and made her think of a strange but attractive fusion of styles, some parts close-fitting, others flowing like saris or salwar pants. Most were embellished with elements similar to those fashionable during Earth's European Renaissance - half capes, brightly colored sashes, draped sleeves, or gold tassels. The overall impression was elegant, familiar, and alien at the same time, but all their outfits were rumpled and faded. They halted at the foot of the ramp and waited expectantly. Vanessa received a nod from Admiral Mbande, and stepped to the front of their own group of enlisted crew, Marines, and officers.
{I am Captain Vanessa Leeds. On behalf of the United Earth Government's Robotech Expeditionary Force, I welcome you aboard the Jeanne d'Arc.}
Behind her, Ensign Garo quietly translated back into English, transmitting to the earbuds worn by everyone not fluent in Zentraedi. One of the envoys stepped forward, smiling humorlessly.
{Does the warden bid her prisoners welcome?}
He was tall, and as lean as the rest. He wore a white, narrow cut jumpsuit with a wide, utilitarian belt, a broad, burgundy colored sash embroidered with gold edging, and a high collar. He had short, midnight purple hair, and unlike the Zentraedi she had met, he had neatly trimmed facial hair.
{You are envoys and guests, not prisoners. But your people launched an unprovoked attack against us, and what you become next will depend on the outcome of the negotiations,} Vanessa replied carefully. {May I ask your name?}
{I am called Ryche. It was I who spoke to you over the communications link.
"Are you the captain of your ship?" Admiral Mbande asked, and Vanessa translated. Ryche's gaze hardened.
{The matter of leadership is complicated. For now, I greet you on behalf of the passengers and crew of the freighter Shalazar.}
{And your people are?}
{We are citizens of the Tiresian Empire.}
Vanessa nodded. The empire of the Masters. Confirmation at last.
{You speak Zentraedi, and have Zentraedi mecha. Are there any Zentraedi among you?} Vanessa wanted to know.
{There are many, back on our ship and with the mecha still out in space. They pilot in battle, and help to defend the ship.}
{But there are none in your delegation?}
Ryche cocked his head curiously. {Why would there be? We took them in when their ships failed, and in return, they fight for us. Zentraedi serve, and Tiresians lead. Thus has it always been.}
Vanessa heard Kaden scoff loudly at that from the end of the Marine honor guard, and at the same time, Ensign Garo faltered over the translation. Anger rose in her. So, certain attitudes are shared by the citizens of the Empire, not just the Masters themselves. She shook her head in disgust. So much for 'advanced' civilizations. Humans are the same everywhere.
Admiral Mbande cleared her throat. "I think it best if we save the rest of the introductions for the conference room. Captain, please tell Ryche that he and his shipmates will be escorted there, and that they will be given a few minutes to refresh themselves. We will reconvene shortly."
"Captain," Admiral Mbande said, after she, Vanessa, Colonel Kravshera, and Doctor Priest had retreated to one of the conference room's antechambers, "you insisted we treat with our visitors, rather than demand their unconditional surrender and deal with them as pirates or prisoners of war. Yet barely a minute after we met them, you looked like you were ready to throttle their leader, and I'm sure they did not miss it. You convinced me that we could benefit greatly from a more… delicate approach. We are all depending on you. You must be in control of yourself."
Vanessa frowned. "I apologize, Admiral. I can be rather sensitive when it comes to the treatment of the Zentraedi."
"Indeed," Kaden said, grinning, "I thought I was about to have the opportunity to witness your vaunted cybernetic martial arts techniques."
"You weren't exactly a model of self-control, Colonel," Priest drawled. "I know you didn't mutiny alongside Breetai, but were you offended by the reminder of the old order of things?"
Kaden lifted his chin proudly. "The Zentraedi fought for the Masters, yes, but as an independent force of conquest. We were not made to be the servants and playthings of ordinary citizens. It is not right that they should see themselves as our overseers."
"Enough!" Mbande cut in, so sharply that Vanessa, Kravshera stood to attention, and even Priest straightened and wiped the smile from his face. "I allowed the three of you to take the lead in this conference because I agreed that you were uniquely suited to do so. If you cannot focus and show me results, I will dismiss you back to your stations and my own staff will take over, is that clear?"
"Yes, Admiral!" the trio chorused stiffly.
"Then let us begin. Our 'guests' are waiting."
Next week… The Collapse…
Last edited:
GiovanniBlasini
Transhumanist Nutcase from Niops IX
- Location
- San Diego, CA, USA, Sol III
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Not bad. The Tiresians are certainly in character, and Vanessa and Kaden's resulting outrage is as well, as is the Admiral gently reminding Vanessa this was her idea and for them to tone it down from 11. The resultant dialogue flowed well and felt realistic.
- Location
- South Wales, United Kingdom
Nice update.
The Tirolian - Tiresia is only the capital city of Tirol - attitude is the result of a deliberate policy by the Robotech Masters. They deliberately chose to condition there civilians to believe that they are the pinnacle of civilisation and deserve to rule the universe. For a long time it was effective until the empire collapsed and Tirolians so used to lording over others suddenly found themselves facing the harsh realities of the universe and that they were nothing special and indeed compared to other species they are very weak due to the fact that they come from a lower gravity world as Tirol's gravity is only 80% that of Earth.
We actually see an example of how physically weak Tirolians are in the Second Robotech War when Bowie is confronted by three Tirolian soldiers. He easily physically overpowers all three of them and he's quite lightly built. In another episode Angelo physically picks Zor up and doesn't show any sign of strain doing it.
The Tirolian - Tiresia is only the capital city of Tirol - attitude is the result of a deliberate policy by the Robotech Masters. They deliberately chose to condition there civilians to believe that they are the pinnacle of civilisation and deserve to rule the universe. For a long time it was effective until the empire collapsed and Tirolians so used to lording over others suddenly found themselves facing the harsh realities of the universe and that they were nothing special and indeed compared to other species they are very weak due to the fact that they come from a lower gravity world as Tirol's gravity is only 80% that of Earth.
We actually see an example of how physically weak Tirolians are in the Second Robotech War when Bowie is confronted by three Tirolian soldiers. He easily physically overpowers all three of them and he's quite lightly built. In another episode Angelo physically picks Zor up and doesn't show any sign of strain doing it.
Sojourn Chapter 7.4
{You really did it? The entire Grand Fleet? Millions of ships…} Ryche's voice was hollow, the color draining from his face. He and his fellow envoys were gathered at one end of the long conference table. At the opposite end, Vanessa and the other officers sat under the crest bearing the black, inverted delta and the three interlocking red circles of the Robotech Expeditionary Force.
{Good riddance, I say!} The lilac-toned woman said, wrinkling her nose.
{Astoria!} Ryche choked out incredulously.
{Please! What did the Zentraedi ever do for us? Maintaining their fleet bled us dry. Would there have even been a Protoculture shortage if the Masters had not been so pointlessly grandiose?}. She shook her head, sending her thickly clustered copper tinglets bobbing. Unlike Ryche's less eye-catching outfit, she wore a form fitting black undersuit, and over it, from thighs to throat, a wrap made from yards of shimmering material that matched the color of her hair, and left her arms bare.
{But that kind of talk is treason!} the delegate opposite her warned. He had a cleft chin, hair like an azure swirl, and wore a voluminous green robe with ballooned cuffs and a collar shaped like three great flower petals, which had seen better days.
{Oh? Treason against who exactly?} Astoria asked in a mocking tone. {When was the last time any of us heard anything about the Masters? They're gone Divall.}
The six delegates glowered at one another, or looked on with shock, fear, or frustration. If Vanessa had any remaining doubts about the nature of the visitors, they were gone now. They were clearly not military, nor were they pirates.
{The Masters are not gone! They can't be! They're far too powerful!} Divall protested. {And if word were to ever get back to them that you-}
{You think they care for any of us? We're
insignificant. All the Masters care about are their Flower, their insane dreams, and their precious clones!}
{The Masters created the greatest civilization the galaxy has ever seen!} a fourth delegate put in. {Show some respect!} The bald man's green eyes bulged disconcertingly. Of all of them, he looked the most militaristic, wearing a deep red outfit, similar to Ryche's, topped with a crimson half-cape.
{We haven't forgotten you were their pet, Kruz,} Astoria said wearily. {Just because you helped assess and collect their tribute doesn't make you special.}
{I make no claim other than to being a humble and loyal servant of our leaders,} Kruz sneered. {If we had gone looking for them, like I've always suggested, instead of wandering aimlessly from system to system, scrabbling for scraps, we would be safe, rather than prisoners.}
The negotiations were going nowhere, but Vanessa was in no hurry to interrupt the bickering envoys. Every comment they made gave her insight into their identities and the tensions between them. Another of their number, however, was out of patience.
{Stop this, all of you!} Ryche said sternly. {None of this matters right now. You are embarrassing us in front of our… hosts.}
{You're not our captain any more, Ryche,} Astoria replied, her voice thick with condescension. {You had your chance. I have as much right to speak my mind as anyone.}
{Correct you may be,} a second woman, the one that had been introduced as Glana, said coolly, {but it is also true that we are doing nothing to secure our safety and freedom. Perhaps it might help us more to plead our case, and I think Ryche, having been with our ship from the start, would be the best one to speak for now. I'm sure we'll all have a chance to say our piece.} Solid black hair framed icy blue eyes and thin lips. She wore a midnight blue outfit accented by a light blue shoulder cape and what looked like salwar pants.
{That sounds like a fine idea,} Vanessa broke in. By the look on Admiral Mbande's face, if the arguing went on much longer, their visitors would have the chance to say their piece from individual cells in the Brig. {If you would, please, Ryche, start at the beginning?}
{Indeed, Captain,} he agreed, clearly relieved. {Though it depends on what you consider the beginning.}
{Ten years ago. When the Zentraedi Grand Fleet folded away and didn't return.}
Ryche nodded. {We were aware of the Grand Fleet's departure. Though on the whole, we were discouraged from interacting with the Zentraedi, and they were kept to the borders of the Empire, no one had seen such a mass movement of their ships within living memory. At the time, I was the Captain of the Imperial Merchant Ship Shalazar, and I am still responsible for its safe navigation,} he added, with a sour look at Astoria. {But in truth, the trouble began years earlier, when I was just starting my first voyage as a junior crewman aboard a freighter. Everyone saw the signs - the reduction in Protoculture assigned to each world of the Empire, and the constriction of trade routes as fold distances were limited in order to reduce energy use. Something had happened, something that caused the Masters to order an unprecedented expeditionary deployment of most of the Zentraedi Grand Fleet.}
Vanessa, Mbande, and May exchanged knowing looks. The SDF-1's fold to Earth took with it the irreplaceable means of constructing Protoculture generators, and precipitated a decline of the Empire's fortunes that had been going on for- could it really be twenty years now?
{There was no panic, at first,} Divall added, his tone scholarly. {The fortunes of the Empire have risen and fallen over many centuries. And we have ever been at the whims of the Masters. At times they have been very generous. At other times, their hands have been… heavier. If they choose to limit their largesse, it is most often because of some great work they are undertaking, or as a lesson to correct ungrateful citizens.} Kruz nodded sagely, at that, while Astoria snorted derisively.
"Why didn't you develop alternative energy sources?" Priest asked. "The number of options open to a society as advanced and affluent as yours had to have been almost limitless."
{It was illegal to do so,} Glana answered matter-of-factly. {Any non-Protoculture energy generation more substantial than the equivalent of a child's school experiment is an act of rebellion under Imperial law, carrying capital penalties. Besides, Protoculture was still comparatively plentiful, and nothing else could compete with its power, convenience, and efficiency.}
{Do understand, there was little hardship at first,} Ryche said. {Long-term projects were delayed or abandoned, trade routes shortened to save on the costs of long-distance space-folds. We made do with fewer luxuries. Local industry and labor was encouraged.}
{The panic began later,} Saris, the final member of the delegation, told the REF officers. The matronly woman kept her hair covered in a yellow head wrap that matched a flowing gown cinched by a belt of delicate gold chain links. The trailing sleeves of her garment nearly reached the deck. {Few of the Empire's planets are entirely self-sufficient. When the Protoculture shipments stopped completely, shortly after the disappearance of the Grand Fleet, trade quickly ground to a halt. It was not luxuries that ran short by then, but necessities. Food, pharmaceuticals, parts to maintain critical infrastructure, and more. And of course, nearly everything ran on Protoculture. We appealed to the Masters for aid, or at least instructions, but they were silent.}
{They were more than just silent, they made things worse!} Astoria snarled. {All security forces were demobilized or withdrawn. Any ships with enough Protoculture for a long distance fold were recalled to the core systems. The Masters directly controlled countless automated facilities, orbitals, and depots. These they locked down or scuttled by remote signal. They left us with nothing!}
{I've told you before, the Masters are the wisest and most farseeing beings to ever live!} Kruz interjected stubbornly. {They had their reasons!}
{Certainly! And you can be sure that those reasons have nothing to do with our welfare! Unless you're claiming that the self-destruction of the Empire is part of some grand vision of theirs?}
{It could be,} Kruz answered weakly. Astoria responded with a groan and cast her eyes to the ceiling.
{We're getting off track again,} Ryche said. {The point is, that our civilization rapidly began to collapse. Mass starvation and disease outbreaks set in across whole systems. Some worlds tried to band together and support one another with technical assistance and ad-hoc trade networks, but most of these attempts failed when terrified refugees seized the remaining ships and tried to escape to those colonies and only ended up catastrophically depleting those planets' resources as well. And then of course, the attacks began.}
Divall took up the thread of the narrative. {History has shown that every time there is a crisis, every time there is a power vacuum, predators are freed to act. Species on the edge of the Empire, nearly annihilated, and driven into exile by the Masters, struck back in our moment of weakness. Zentraedi, acting on their own initiative, or on nonsensical communications and contradictory standing orders, burned down entire populations. But the worst damage was inflicted by ourselves. Many leaders mobilized whatever ships, mecha, and equipment that they could lay their hands on and converted it to military use, then unleashed that force on their neighbors, or butchered flotillas of refugees en masse.}
{Ohma!} Vanessa interrupted.
{Pardon?}
{The people in this system feared attack from a neighbor called Ohma. We believe they destroyed the colony here and we're concerned they may remain a threat.}
Ryche exchanged a meaningful glance with his companions, then shook his head. {They'll be no threat to you.}
{How can you be sure?}
{Because we visited Ohma about a year ago, to see if we could scavenge or trade there. We found that the system had recently been scoured of all life.}
Next week… accountability and green tea…
{Good riddance, I say!} The lilac-toned woman said, wrinkling her nose.
{Astoria!} Ryche choked out incredulously.
{Please! What did the Zentraedi ever do for us? Maintaining their fleet bled us dry. Would there have even been a Protoculture shortage if the Masters had not been so pointlessly grandiose?}. She shook her head, sending her thickly clustered copper tinglets bobbing. Unlike Ryche's less eye-catching outfit, she wore a form fitting black undersuit, and over it, from thighs to throat, a wrap made from yards of shimmering material that matched the color of her hair, and left her arms bare.
{But that kind of talk is treason!} the delegate opposite her warned. He had a cleft chin, hair like an azure swirl, and wore a voluminous green robe with ballooned cuffs and a collar shaped like three great flower petals, which had seen better days.
{Oh? Treason against who exactly?} Astoria asked in a mocking tone. {When was the last time any of us heard anything about the Masters? They're gone Divall.}
The six delegates glowered at one another, or looked on with shock, fear, or frustration. If Vanessa had any remaining doubts about the nature of the visitors, they were gone now. They were clearly not military, nor were they pirates.
{The Masters are not gone! They can't be! They're far too powerful!} Divall protested. {And if word were to ever get back to them that you-}
{You think they care for any of us? We're
insignificant. All the Masters care about are their Flower, their insane dreams, and their precious clones!}
{The Masters created the greatest civilization the galaxy has ever seen!} a fourth delegate put in. {Show some respect!} The bald man's green eyes bulged disconcertingly. Of all of them, he looked the most militaristic, wearing a deep red outfit, similar to Ryche's, topped with a crimson half-cape.
{We haven't forgotten you were their pet, Kruz,} Astoria said wearily. {Just because you helped assess and collect their tribute doesn't make you special.}
{I make no claim other than to being a humble and loyal servant of our leaders,} Kruz sneered. {If we had gone looking for them, like I've always suggested, instead of wandering aimlessly from system to system, scrabbling for scraps, we would be safe, rather than prisoners.}
The negotiations were going nowhere, but Vanessa was in no hurry to interrupt the bickering envoys. Every comment they made gave her insight into their identities and the tensions between them. Another of their number, however, was out of patience.
{Stop this, all of you!} Ryche said sternly. {None of this matters right now. You are embarrassing us in front of our… hosts.}
{You're not our captain any more, Ryche,} Astoria replied, her voice thick with condescension. {You had your chance. I have as much right to speak my mind as anyone.}
{Correct you may be,} a second woman, the one that had been introduced as Glana, said coolly, {but it is also true that we are doing nothing to secure our safety and freedom. Perhaps it might help us more to plead our case, and I think Ryche, having been with our ship from the start, would be the best one to speak for now. I'm sure we'll all have a chance to say our piece.} Solid black hair framed icy blue eyes and thin lips. She wore a midnight blue outfit accented by a light blue shoulder cape and what looked like salwar pants.
{That sounds like a fine idea,} Vanessa broke in. By the look on Admiral Mbande's face, if the arguing went on much longer, their visitors would have the chance to say their piece from individual cells in the Brig. {If you would, please, Ryche, start at the beginning?}
{Indeed, Captain,} he agreed, clearly relieved. {Though it depends on what you consider the beginning.}
{Ten years ago. When the Zentraedi Grand Fleet folded away and didn't return.}
Ryche nodded. {We were aware of the Grand Fleet's departure. Though on the whole, we were discouraged from interacting with the Zentraedi, and they were kept to the borders of the Empire, no one had seen such a mass movement of their ships within living memory. At the time, I was the Captain of the Imperial Merchant Ship Shalazar, and I am still responsible for its safe navigation,} he added, with a sour look at Astoria. {But in truth, the trouble began years earlier, when I was just starting my first voyage as a junior crewman aboard a freighter. Everyone saw the signs - the reduction in Protoculture assigned to each world of the Empire, and the constriction of trade routes as fold distances were limited in order to reduce energy use. Something had happened, something that caused the Masters to order an unprecedented expeditionary deployment of most of the Zentraedi Grand Fleet.}
Vanessa, Mbande, and May exchanged knowing looks. The SDF-1's fold to Earth took with it the irreplaceable means of constructing Protoculture generators, and precipitated a decline of the Empire's fortunes that had been going on for- could it really be twenty years now?
{There was no panic, at first,} Divall added, his tone scholarly. {The fortunes of the Empire have risen and fallen over many centuries. And we have ever been at the whims of the Masters. At times they have been very generous. At other times, their hands have been… heavier. If they choose to limit their largesse, it is most often because of some great work they are undertaking, or as a lesson to correct ungrateful citizens.} Kruz nodded sagely, at that, while Astoria snorted derisively.
"Why didn't you develop alternative energy sources?" Priest asked. "The number of options open to a society as advanced and affluent as yours had to have been almost limitless."
{It was illegal to do so,} Glana answered matter-of-factly. {Any non-Protoculture energy generation more substantial than the equivalent of a child's school experiment is an act of rebellion under Imperial law, carrying capital penalties. Besides, Protoculture was still comparatively plentiful, and nothing else could compete with its power, convenience, and efficiency.}
{Do understand, there was little hardship at first,} Ryche said. {Long-term projects were delayed or abandoned, trade routes shortened to save on the costs of long-distance space-folds. We made do with fewer luxuries. Local industry and labor was encouraged.}
{The panic began later,} Saris, the final member of the delegation, told the REF officers. The matronly woman kept her hair covered in a yellow head wrap that matched a flowing gown cinched by a belt of delicate gold chain links. The trailing sleeves of her garment nearly reached the deck. {Few of the Empire's planets are entirely self-sufficient. When the Protoculture shipments stopped completely, shortly after the disappearance of the Grand Fleet, trade quickly ground to a halt. It was not luxuries that ran short by then, but necessities. Food, pharmaceuticals, parts to maintain critical infrastructure, and more. And of course, nearly everything ran on Protoculture. We appealed to the Masters for aid, or at least instructions, but they were silent.}
{They were more than just silent, they made things worse!} Astoria snarled. {All security forces were demobilized or withdrawn. Any ships with enough Protoculture for a long distance fold were recalled to the core systems. The Masters directly controlled countless automated facilities, orbitals, and depots. These they locked down or scuttled by remote signal. They left us with nothing!}
{I've told you before, the Masters are the wisest and most farseeing beings to ever live!} Kruz interjected stubbornly. {They had their reasons!}
{Certainly! And you can be sure that those reasons have nothing to do with our welfare! Unless you're claiming that the self-destruction of the Empire is part of some grand vision of theirs?}
{It could be,} Kruz answered weakly. Astoria responded with a groan and cast her eyes to the ceiling.
{We're getting off track again,} Ryche said. {The point is, that our civilization rapidly began to collapse. Mass starvation and disease outbreaks set in across whole systems. Some worlds tried to band together and support one another with technical assistance and ad-hoc trade networks, but most of these attempts failed when terrified refugees seized the remaining ships and tried to escape to those colonies and only ended up catastrophically depleting those planets' resources as well. And then of course, the attacks began.}
Divall took up the thread of the narrative. {History has shown that every time there is a crisis, every time there is a power vacuum, predators are freed to act. Species on the edge of the Empire, nearly annihilated, and driven into exile by the Masters, struck back in our moment of weakness. Zentraedi, acting on their own initiative, or on nonsensical communications and contradictory standing orders, burned down entire populations. But the worst damage was inflicted by ourselves. Many leaders mobilized whatever ships, mecha, and equipment that they could lay their hands on and converted it to military use, then unleashed that force on their neighbors, or butchered flotillas of refugees en masse.}
{Ohma!} Vanessa interrupted.
{Pardon?}
{The people in this system feared attack from a neighbor called Ohma. We believe they destroyed the colony here and we're concerned they may remain a threat.}
Ryche exchanged a meaningful glance with his companions, then shook his head. {They'll be no threat to you.}
{How can you be sure?}
{Because we visited Ohma about a year ago, to see if we could scavenge or trade there. We found that the system had recently been scoured of all life.}
Next week… accountability and green tea…
deathzealotzero
Mecha Guru
- Location
- Las Vegas, NV
Here we go with some more interesting bits!!
- Location
- South Wales, United Kingdom
Interesting update.
We are avtually getting to see the prespective of the civilians of the Tirolian Empire. It would also be just like the Robotech Masters to make using any other form of power generation technology illegal so everyone has to use protoculture. Just another method of control and very short sighted as it introduced a single critical point of failure for there entire civilization. But then at the end of the day the Masters have always been about power and control its why among other things they defoliated the Invid homeworld Optera - which transformed them from a peaceful, agrarian people into savage conquerers - so nobody else would discover the Flowers of Life - which for the Invid is quite literal as they make a crude version of protoculture within their own bodies which has a catalytic effect on sapience without it they start to devolve back into non-sapient creatures - and from there protoculture and thus rival there power.
We are avtually getting to see the prespective of the civilians of the Tirolian Empire. It would also be just like the Robotech Masters to make using any other form of power generation technology illegal so everyone has to use protoculture. Just another method of control and very short sighted as it introduced a single critical point of failure for there entire civilization. But then at the end of the day the Masters have always been about power and control its why among other things they defoliated the Invid homeworld Optera - which transformed them from a peaceful, agrarian people into savage conquerers - so nobody else would discover the Flowers of Life - which for the Invid is quite literal as they make a crude version of protoculture within their own bodies which has a catalytic effect on sapience without it they start to devolve back into non-sapient creatures - and from there protoculture and thus rival there power.
Sojourn Chapter 8.1
Chapter 8
Steam rose from the glazed, cobalt blue ceramic cup and gently brushed Vanessa's face. She reached out with both hands and accepted the tea cup from her tactical officer, Duy Liem, holding it close to her chest and inhaling the strong floral aroma of the green tea. His quarters were quiet and orderly, a welcome refuge from the chaos and commotion of the last twenty-four hours.
"Thank you, Commander."
"You are welcome, Captain," Liem said with calm warmth. "Please, enjoy."
Vanessa looked down from her subordinate's soft features and gently swirled the contents of the cup. The liquid had taken on a lovely light green and iridescent yellow color. She took a careful sip of the hot beverage, and savored the complexity of the flavors, astringent, and yet possessing a deep sweetness. Vanessa breathed a pleased sigh. She had participated in other tea ceremonies, and had always found the experience to be special, but she could never seem to shake the anxiety that she would commit some kind of faux pas and unintentionally give offense to her host. The less ritualized Vietnamese tea ceremony that Liem shared with her actually made her feel relaxed. "The tea is very good."
"It is suitable. I would like to offer you jasmine or lotus tea, but the northern and central highlands of my home never recovered after the Rain of Death."
"It's hard to find proper tea anywhere these days, especially this far from Earth. Did you learn to brew tea from someone in your family?"
A small, wistful smile appeared on Liem's face. "No. My grandparents prepared tea, but I was uninterested as a youth. People my age thought tea was for the elderly and the refined. A missed opportunity." He took a sip of his own tea. "I made a point of learning the ceremony later. For purely selfish reasons, I might add."
"Oh?"
Mischief entered his brown eyes. "It gives me a reason to talk privately with people. I've found most of my crewmates won't refuse an invitation."
"You're one of my senior officers. You could always ask to talk to me."
"I could. But I think there is something to be said for a more peaceful atmosphere. You'll forgive me for observing that your thoughts have seemed… disordered, since we debriefed our guests."
Vanessa wondered if she should feel manipulated. She drank from her cup again. The tea was very good. She shrugged.
"That may be true. We've been starved for information for years, searching wreckage and ruins for scraps of information, making inferences from what the Zentraedi could tell us about masters they had never met face to face, let alone the civilians of their society. And now hundreds of Tiresians have dropped into our laps, weapons blazing. Are they prisoners, asylum-seekers, critical intelligence assets, or potential allies? No one, from my officers, to Admiral Mbande and her staff, to the enlisted crew, seem to be able to agree."
"And what do you think they are?"
Vanessa inhaled deeply from the steam still rolling off of her cup, holding it in her lungs, thinking and then released her breath in a rush. "People."
"I'm not sure the REF headquarters staff would consider that a useful answer," Liem observed wryly.
"I think Admiral Hayes might understand what I mean. They need our help. And they could help us. They could become friends."
"You'd let them off the hook? They attacked us. They killed nine veritech pilots and four crew on the Piraeus." His tone was curious, not accusatory.
"Let them off the hook? No. I regret every loss, including the Zentraedi who died in that foolish attack. I'd expect the Tiresians to make amends," Vanessa said firmly. She thought about the stories the members of the delegation had shared during the hours long debriefing sessions. "But I can also sympathize with them. None of them were prepared for the extreme circumstances they were pushed into when the Empire collapsed. Ryche was a freighter captain, with no military background and no experience managing the needs of a ship full of starving and desperate refugees. Astoria used to be a jeweler, and discovered a talent for repairing and maintaining electronics so that their ship didn't fail around them. Divall, a historian, was terrified that his next work would be placed on the unapproved list, and that he'd be sent off for reindoctrination, like so many of his colleagues. Now he's a repository for what is left of their history and culture, and yet he doesn't even know how much of that history is real. Glana managed an automated manufacturing plant, and ended up having to run salvage and recovery operations to secure enough energy and parts to keep that ship moving and all of the passengers alive. Saris worked at an elder care facility, and is now responsible for the food distribution and health for all of those adults and scores of children, many of them orphans."
Vanessa finished her tea and stared into the dark swirl of leaves at the bottom of the cup. "They folded into this system on the last of their power reserves, and found the planet despoiled and the orbitals destroyed. And then they saw our fleet tender, full of supplies that could save them, right in front of them. I suppose I can't blame them for doing what they thought was necessary to save all of those lives, not if what they said about all the times they've been attacked, chased, abused, and exploited is true."
"Very forgiving of you," Liem said, his tone again neutral.
"Admiral Gloval once told us 'we must learn to forgive our enemies. Not out of weakness, but because we are a strong and willing nation.' Are the refugees so different from the Zentraedi who followed Dolza? Their entire lives were orchestrated by a pack of megalomaniacs. Would you really expect them to handle the crisis gracefully? Many of the survivors of the Rain of Death handled their situations no better."
"Hmm." Liem took up the tea pot and refilled her cup. "You didn't say anything about the bureaucrat."
"Kruz?" Vanessa felt like she'd bitten into a lemon at the mention of the insufferable man. She took a hasty sip, and scorched her tongue. "Ugh. A petty tyrant who thinks he's important because he served the Masters more directly. He assessed and oversaw the systematic plundering of planets to fill the coffers of the Masters, so that the citizens could in turn receive their rations of Protoculture."
"It seems like the standard of living wasn't so bad."
"That standard of living was built on murder and conquest. The Tiresians might not have experienced physical deprivation before the collapse, but they still had no say over their leadership and development. Comfortable slavery is still slavery."
"So you place the ultimate responsibility for all that has happened with the Masters."
"Of course," she answered without hesitation.
"Will that not make negotiating with them… awkward?"
Once again, doubt arose in Vanessa's thoughts. "I'm sure those negotiations will happen well above my level. My job is to make sure the REF actually finds them."
Liem nodded. "That is, indeed, our mission. Thank you, for sharing your thoughts. We face so many unknowns, that I find any clarity my commanding officers can provide to be a great comfort."
"Certainly," Vanessa said, forcing a smile, and blew on her tea before drinking more of it. But I'm not sure I have any clarity at all, she thought to herself. I want to hold the Masters accountable, don't I? Can I accept it, if we absolve them of responsibility for their crimes, in return for securing peace and safety for Earth?
Next week… the shunned world…
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- Location
- South Wales, United Kingdom
Nice update.
A good look into Vanessa's thoughts on what they have found out so far. And she is right desperate people will do desperate things - things that they would never have considered before - to survive. There will be a lot of people like them in the wake of the empires collapse.
On the issue of Kruz there is another reason why he would be so blindly devoted to the Robotech Masters. As if he proved himself worthy enough his genetics and neural pattern would be used in the creation of a new set of triumvirate clones aboard one of the motherships.
A good look into Vanessa's thoughts on what they have found out so far. And she is right desperate people will do desperate things - things that they would never have considered before - to survive. There will be a lot of people like them in the wake of the empires collapse.
On the issue of Kruz there is another reason why he would be so blindly devoted to the Robotech Masters. As if he proved himself worthy enough his genetics and neural pattern would be used in the creation of a new set of triumvirate clones aboard one of the motherships.
deathzealotzero
Mecha Guru
- Location
- Las Vegas, NV
An interesting chapter that does expand on the past couple of chapters. Keep it coming!
Hello, all! Thank you for your comments and feedback over these last few chapter posts. I have been quite remiss in replying - my last couple of weeks of work have been short-staffed and very challenging. I decided to focus my effort on not falling behind in my writing, but things are getting more under control now, and now I have time for some overdue responses.
We don't know much about the life and attitudes of the 'typical' citizen in the Masters' empire. The clones of the city ships, and characters like Rem and Cabell hardly provide a good picture of what ordinary life was like in the once galaxy-spanning society. This felt plausible to me. Vanessa, now, she's not usually a hothead, but she certainly has her sore points. Anger has become a companion to her after the tragedies and injustices she's seen.
You're right about Tirol vs. Tiresia. Somehow, though, I'm reluctant to go back and change it. The rest of Tirol seems to be empty wasteland, except for some mining and industrial sites. I wonder if the city Tiresia might carry some sort of cultural cachet within the empire, like Paris, Rome, or Constantinople in our own history, that would lead citizens to want to associate themselves with it. Or maybe Tiresian just rolls off the tongue better than Tirolian. I'll have to think about it.
I think it's interesting when people are intensely proud of their nation and standing within it, and yet have little hand in running or governing it, and complain constantly about their leaders. I imagine that the Masters, with enough Protoculture, could have set up the whole place to run itself, although the citizens would probably have killed themselves out of sheer boredom (or looked for new ways to rebel.) As for the physical weakness of the Tirolians in Southern Cross, I think you're observations are spot on (although we can all agree that Dante is as strong as an ogre!). This is very interesting, because they are all clones, all picked to very exacting specifications by the Masters. Contrast them with the strength of the Zentraedi. What is at work here? If the soldiers the Masters surround themselves with are physically weak, and not just the 'citizens', I wonder what it means for their vision of an ideal society.
I have been wanting to dig into the state of the wider galaxy for a very long time. For all that it was a World War II Pacific theater style island-hopping campaign, the Sentinels storyline felt very 'small' to me. Even though they visited all of those worlds, I didn't really get a sense of how vast and cosmopolitan the Masters' empire was. Or was it? Did the Masters' social engineering projects and the dominance of Protoculture as an energy source have a warping effect on the cultures that they ruled over? Certainly I haven't presented a large number of worlds or diverse cultures in this story, but I do want to deliver more on the scope of the empire, which I feel has usually been presented in past adaptations as little more than 'it used to be big, but then the Invid attacked, and everybody died.'
"The more you tighten your grip, the more star systems will slip through your fingers." What staggers me is just how much the Masters sacrificed to make their desperate gamble to reach Earth and recover the Protoculture Matrix. First they gave up on the Zentraedi, then they abandoned their galaxy-spanning empire - surely untold trillions of citizens, crossing space and time with just those five city ships, and then sacrificed those ships, soldiers, and clones, smashing apart their 'perfect' society and turning them into mindless shock troops, just to make one last, desperate bid to secure the matrix. At the end, it's just three old men and their deluded scientist minions, against the angry, embittered clone of the man they exploited and betrayed. I think now that Southern Cross is the darkest of the, darker than the Rain of Death, darker than the Invid occupation, and the REF's attempt to 'liberate' Earth with the Neutron S warheads.
Earth has to be a chaotic ball of conflicting emotions and viewpoints. Human beings can swing back and forth between fanatical hatred and grudge-bearing on the one hand, to intense pragmatism in the name of survival on the other.
Now you bring up a fascinating thought. Was the theoretical continuation of one's life as a clone a carrot that the Masters held out to those not already within their inner circle? Would there be people who would be motivated by that?
The story is going to be ramping up in a big way in the following chapters!
We don't know much about the life and attitudes of the 'typical' citizen in the Masters' empire. The clones of the city ships, and characters like Rem and Cabell hardly provide a good picture of what ordinary life was like in the once galaxy-spanning society. This felt plausible to me. Vanessa, now, she's not usually a hothead, but she certainly has her sore points. Anger has become a companion to her after the tragedies and injustices she's seen.
You're right about Tirol vs. Tiresia. Somehow, though, I'm reluctant to go back and change it. The rest of Tirol seems to be empty wasteland, except for some mining and industrial sites. I wonder if the city Tiresia might carry some sort of cultural cachet within the empire, like Paris, Rome, or Constantinople in our own history, that would lead citizens to want to associate themselves with it. Or maybe Tiresian just rolls off the tongue better than Tirolian. I'll have to think about it.
I think it's interesting when people are intensely proud of their nation and standing within it, and yet have little hand in running or governing it, and complain constantly about their leaders. I imagine that the Masters, with enough Protoculture, could have set up the whole place to run itself, although the citizens would probably have killed themselves out of sheer boredom (or looked for new ways to rebel.) As for the physical weakness of the Tirolians in Southern Cross, I think you're observations are spot on (although we can all agree that Dante is as strong as an ogre!). This is very interesting, because they are all clones, all picked to very exacting specifications by the Masters. Contrast them with the strength of the Zentraedi. What is at work here? If the soldiers the Masters surround themselves with are physically weak, and not just the 'citizens', I wonder what it means for their vision of an ideal society.
I have been wanting to dig into the state of the wider galaxy for a very long time. For all that it was a World War II Pacific theater style island-hopping campaign, the Sentinels storyline felt very 'small' to me. Even though they visited all of those worlds, I didn't really get a sense of how vast and cosmopolitan the Masters' empire was. Or was it? Did the Masters' social engineering projects and the dominance of Protoculture as an energy source have a warping effect on the cultures that they ruled over? Certainly I haven't presented a large number of worlds or diverse cultures in this story, but I do want to deliver more on the scope of the empire, which I feel has usually been presented in past adaptations as little more than 'it used to be big, but then the Invid attacked, and everybody died.'
"The more you tighten your grip, the more star systems will slip through your fingers." What staggers me is just how much the Masters sacrificed to make their desperate gamble to reach Earth and recover the Protoculture Matrix. First they gave up on the Zentraedi, then they abandoned their galaxy-spanning empire - surely untold trillions of citizens, crossing space and time with just those five city ships, and then sacrificed those ships, soldiers, and clones, smashing apart their 'perfect' society and turning them into mindless shock troops, just to make one last, desperate bid to secure the matrix. At the end, it's just three old men and their deluded scientist minions, against the angry, embittered clone of the man they exploited and betrayed. I think now that Southern Cross is the darkest of the, darker than the Rain of Death, darker than the Invid occupation, and the REF's attempt to 'liberate' Earth with the Neutron S warheads.
Earth has to be a chaotic ball of conflicting emotions and viewpoints. Human beings can swing back and forth between fanatical hatred and grudge-bearing on the one hand, to intense pragmatism in the name of survival on the other.
Now you bring up a fascinating thought. Was the theoretical continuation of one's life as a clone a carrot that the Masters held out to those not already within their inner circle? Would there be people who would be motivated by that?
The story is going to be ramping up in a big way in the following chapters!
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deathzealotzero
Mecha Guru
- Location
- Las Vegas, NV
Okay. That right there is very interesting and I cannot wait on how you are going to fully explore this wider galaxy.
Cannot wait!
Sojourn Chapter 8.2
{Thank you for accompanying me today, Saris,} Vanessa said, speaking loudly over the clamor of the busy launch bay. {My executive officer is working with Glana on plans to disarm your ship and decommission the fighters and battlepods, but she told me you were the best person to make sure that the supplies and assistance we are sending over will meet the physical needs of your crew and the refugees.}
{Not at all. We are short of everything, Your help is most welcome.}
The ageless woman was dressed in her conservative headcovering and gown, but her posture revealed her excitement. Vanessa regarded the waiting transport shuttle, and turned to Colonel Kravshera.
"Is your security detail ready, Colonel?"
"Yes, Captain, we can board at any time."
Vanessa swept her gaze over the assembled Marine troopers. There were two full squads, armored and loaded down with firepower, carrying everything short of crew-served heavy weapons.
"Your troops' loadout isn't very… discreet."
Kaden smiled rakishly. "I've never been accused of subtlety. Besides, if there are hundreds of Zentraedi on the ship, the passengers should be used to dangerous armed individuals roaming the corridors."
"True enough. It's just that we're still at a delicate stage with the refugees."
Kaden lifted his chin with an air of easy dismissiveness. "It's my job to make sure you stay safe, especially aboard a ship full of desperate strangers who were shooting at us only forty-eight hours ago. If you wanted a lighter touch, you could have asked me to choose one of my subordinates to head the security detail."
"I chose you because-" Vanessa paused and swallowed. "Because I trust you."
Kaden's jaw dropped, and then he broke into a grin. He gave a sardonic half bow, arm swept before him. "I assure you, Captain, that my Marines will win over our former adversaries through their innate charm, grace, and good humor. Isn't that right, Master Sergeant?" he asked the jowly veteran Marine at the head of the security team.
"A well-trained, well-led Marine will triumph in any situation, Captain!" the NCO told Vanessa with a humorless scowl. She shook her head and smiled in spite of herself.
"Thank you, Sergeant. I am much reassured."
{The ship is in better condition than I expected,} Vanessa observed as the gaggle of Marines and officers followed Saris through a well lit corridor that led from the medical section to the large lift that would carry them to the lower decks, where the passengers maintained their makeshift quarters.
{Appearances can be deceiving,} Glana said. {These ships are built to last. The hull and interior are sound, but the systems… Ryche and Astoria could explain the technical matters better, but put simply, with power reserves so low, and spare parts so hard to come by, many of the automated systems have failed one by one. We have to do our own maintenance, and improvised our own methods of recycling food, water, and waste.}
She gestured to the bare metal bulkheads of the corridor, which were a frankly revolting shade of pale green, and to the deck, which was a slightly less unsettling teal color under the ethereal blue lighting.
{Everything looks clean and organized because whenever we're traveling, most of the passengers have little else to do if they don't have technical skills. The rule is that you have to do some kind of job to receive your food ration. We can't have the ship looking like a wreck, or the people sitting idle, or we could have a complete breakdown of order.} She pointed up at the conduit overhanging their heads, a narrow strip parallel to the deck that was covered in a mosaic of black and gold panels. {But if you pried away some of those panels, you'd see the patchwork repairs that Astoria has been doing to keep the life support running.}
Vanessa nodded, impressed. She was well aware of the challenges of keeping good order aboard a military ship on a long deployment, let alone a civilian one packed with refugees. The crew of the SDF-1 had dealt with plenty of headaches caring for the needs of the Macross city survivors, and they had the advantage of much larger reserves of supplies, not to mention the presence of Minmei to keep up morale.
{Astoria and Ryche don't seem to get along very well.}
{They can't stand each other. Astoria all but led a mutiny a few months after the refugee shuttle she was traveling in was brought aboard. There were a lot of people who weren't satisfied with Ryche's choice of destinations and his handling of the passengers, and she actually got enough of the crew on her side to present him an ultimatum. Ryche may not be an ideal leader, but he's a good man. Instead of fighting, he and Astoria worked out the leadership structure we've been under for the last eight years. Destinations, long term planning, and distribution of work and supplies are handled by the council made up of Ryche, Astoria, Divall, Kruz, Glana, and myself. Ryche navigates the ship and has complete authority during an emergency. The arrangement works well enough, but Ryche still resents Astoria, and she doesn't trust him.}
Vanessa shook her head. And I thought I had command challenges.
They reached the entrance to the lift tube, a round chamber big enough to accommodate the entire party, and Kaden ordered a halt. As with every stop in their visit to the ship, he insisted on inspecting the area before allowing his captain to proceed. Vanessa turned her attention back to Saris and gave her a calculating look.
{I'd like to know what you haven't told me about what you found in the Omha system.}
Caught off guard, Saris blanched and jerked her head around to face Vanessa.
{What we haven't told you? How do you-?}
{All of your people are being evasive. I want to know why. We thought the Omha were a major threat in this sector. They killed over a hundred million people in this system alone. I need to know what really happened to them, and what danger we might be in.}
Saris pursed her lips. {We don't like to talk about it. Sort of an unspoken agreement we all made. It's too disturbing, even compared to the things we've seen since The Collapse.}
{Saris, my crew are on a vitally important mission, and we don't have the luxury of simply folding away from any threat we encounter. I really do need to know more.}
Kaden reappeared at the hatch and waved them all through. As they took their places on the roomy, featureless lift platform, Saris sighed.
{I'm not sure how to describe it,} she began, as the lift quietly descended, passing by smooth, almost organic looking interior bulkheads. {There were wrecked ships and space stations. A lot of them. Almost all from the Empire, except for a handful of Zentraedi ones. We couldn't tell if they were all from the same side, whether it was a proper battle or a massacre. Ryche said some of the damage matched typical beam weapons that he's familiar with. But most of the damage…} she trailed off, then met Vanessa's eye, and she looked afraid. {Ripping, rending, tearing. Like an animal had shredded its way through the hull and wormed its way inside. So much violence. Far more than was needed to disable or destroy those ships.}
{Did your people find any wreckage from the mecha that did it?}
{Pieces, maybe. Something that looked like part of a metal claw. A claw bigger than a man's arm.}
Vanessa glanced at Kaden. {Does any of this sound familiar, Colonel?}
He shrugged. {It could potentially be any number of species the Zentraedi subjugated over the long history of the empire, most of which would now be extinct. But, no, not familiar to me. It'd be easier if we had a physical sample to examine.}
Saris shook her head. {We weren't about to bring something like that aboard, or to risk boarding the hulks. But supplies were already low, and we still hoped to avoid leaving empty-handed. So we decided to send a shuttle down to the planet.}. Saris paused, closing her eyes and bowing her head as she touched two fingers to her forehead, her expression a grimace. The lift stopped, and Kaden led his faithful marines through the hatch.
{What did you find?} Vanessa prompted quietly. Saris reluctantly opened her eyes and raised her head.
{We all watched the transmission from the landing party… you understand, don't you, that none of us who have traveled aboard the Shalazar are strangers to death anymore? To bloodshed and atrocities? We've seen worlds burned, bombed, plundered, and stripped of life by famine or infection.}. Vanessa nodded, and Saris continued. {Everyone was dead, the surface devastated. We saw not one intact building, not one living person. But it was different. It was not done by bombs, or Reflex weapons, or viruses. It was personal. Physical. It was the savagery we had seen in orbit repeated on a planetary scale. And the planet was ruined too, but not by normal weapons. There were these great open shafts that had been bored into the surface - more than a dozen of them, each over a kilometer across and who knows how deep. Each one vomiting out blinding clouds of dust particles along with poisonous fumes from the planet's core. The whole biosphere was in a state of collapse, and the landmasses were shifting under the stress of almost constant earthquakes.}
Saris blew out a deep breath, as if trying to expel her memories with it. {We didn't even try to land. We recalled the shuttle and folded away to another system as soon as it docked.}
{Do you have any idea who did it?} Vanessa asked.
{No. Other places, we've seen desperation, barbarity and callous murder, but on Omha, we saw a savagery I've never encountered before. Hatred of a kind I can't imagine. Whoever did it is still out there, and I don't know if their actions were against the people of Omha specifically, or if they intend to bring that same brutality to every planet they visit.}
Vanessa said nothing. The admiral would need to be updated. Omha had been assessed as a major threat. Now it seemed, there was a far greater one lurking out there in the darkness between the stars. Kaden reappeared at the hatch.
{I'm satisfied. We may continue, Captain.}
{The first passenger bay is to the right,} Saris said, leading the way.
Next week… wanderers…
{Not at all. We are short of everything, Your help is most welcome.}
The ageless woman was dressed in her conservative headcovering and gown, but her posture revealed her excitement. Vanessa regarded the waiting transport shuttle, and turned to Colonel Kravshera.
"Is your security detail ready, Colonel?"
"Yes, Captain, we can board at any time."
Vanessa swept her gaze over the assembled Marine troopers. There were two full squads, armored and loaded down with firepower, carrying everything short of crew-served heavy weapons.
"Your troops' loadout isn't very… discreet."
Kaden smiled rakishly. "I've never been accused of subtlety. Besides, if there are hundreds of Zentraedi on the ship, the passengers should be used to dangerous armed individuals roaming the corridors."
"True enough. It's just that we're still at a delicate stage with the refugees."
Kaden lifted his chin with an air of easy dismissiveness. "It's my job to make sure you stay safe, especially aboard a ship full of desperate strangers who were shooting at us only forty-eight hours ago. If you wanted a lighter touch, you could have asked me to choose one of my subordinates to head the security detail."
"I chose you because-" Vanessa paused and swallowed. "Because I trust you."
Kaden's jaw dropped, and then he broke into a grin. He gave a sardonic half bow, arm swept before him. "I assure you, Captain, that my Marines will win over our former adversaries through their innate charm, grace, and good humor. Isn't that right, Master Sergeant?" he asked the jowly veteran Marine at the head of the security team.
"A well-trained, well-led Marine will triumph in any situation, Captain!" the NCO told Vanessa with a humorless scowl. She shook her head and smiled in spite of herself.
"Thank you, Sergeant. I am much reassured."
{The ship is in better condition than I expected,} Vanessa observed as the gaggle of Marines and officers followed Saris through a well lit corridor that led from the medical section to the large lift that would carry them to the lower decks, where the passengers maintained their makeshift quarters.
{Appearances can be deceiving,} Glana said. {These ships are built to last. The hull and interior are sound, but the systems… Ryche and Astoria could explain the technical matters better, but put simply, with power reserves so low, and spare parts so hard to come by, many of the automated systems have failed one by one. We have to do our own maintenance, and improvised our own methods of recycling food, water, and waste.}
She gestured to the bare metal bulkheads of the corridor, which were a frankly revolting shade of pale green, and to the deck, which was a slightly less unsettling teal color under the ethereal blue lighting.
{Everything looks clean and organized because whenever we're traveling, most of the passengers have little else to do if they don't have technical skills. The rule is that you have to do some kind of job to receive your food ration. We can't have the ship looking like a wreck, or the people sitting idle, or we could have a complete breakdown of order.} She pointed up at the conduit overhanging their heads, a narrow strip parallel to the deck that was covered in a mosaic of black and gold panels. {But if you pried away some of those panels, you'd see the patchwork repairs that Astoria has been doing to keep the life support running.}
Vanessa nodded, impressed. She was well aware of the challenges of keeping good order aboard a military ship on a long deployment, let alone a civilian one packed with refugees. The crew of the SDF-1 had dealt with plenty of headaches caring for the needs of the Macross city survivors, and they had the advantage of much larger reserves of supplies, not to mention the presence of Minmei to keep up morale.
{Astoria and Ryche don't seem to get along very well.}
{They can't stand each other. Astoria all but led a mutiny a few months after the refugee shuttle she was traveling in was brought aboard. There were a lot of people who weren't satisfied with Ryche's choice of destinations and his handling of the passengers, and she actually got enough of the crew on her side to present him an ultimatum. Ryche may not be an ideal leader, but he's a good man. Instead of fighting, he and Astoria worked out the leadership structure we've been under for the last eight years. Destinations, long term planning, and distribution of work and supplies are handled by the council made up of Ryche, Astoria, Divall, Kruz, Glana, and myself. Ryche navigates the ship and has complete authority during an emergency. The arrangement works well enough, but Ryche still resents Astoria, and she doesn't trust him.}
Vanessa shook her head. And I thought I had command challenges.
They reached the entrance to the lift tube, a round chamber big enough to accommodate the entire party, and Kaden ordered a halt. As with every stop in their visit to the ship, he insisted on inspecting the area before allowing his captain to proceed. Vanessa turned her attention back to Saris and gave her a calculating look.
{I'd like to know what you haven't told me about what you found in the Omha system.}
Caught off guard, Saris blanched and jerked her head around to face Vanessa.
{What we haven't told you? How do you-?}
{All of your people are being evasive. I want to know why. We thought the Omha were a major threat in this sector. They killed over a hundred million people in this system alone. I need to know what really happened to them, and what danger we might be in.}
Saris pursed her lips. {We don't like to talk about it. Sort of an unspoken agreement we all made. It's too disturbing, even compared to the things we've seen since The Collapse.}
{Saris, my crew are on a vitally important mission, and we don't have the luxury of simply folding away from any threat we encounter. I really do need to know more.}
Kaden reappeared at the hatch and waved them all through. As they took their places on the roomy, featureless lift platform, Saris sighed.
{I'm not sure how to describe it,} she began, as the lift quietly descended, passing by smooth, almost organic looking interior bulkheads. {There were wrecked ships and space stations. A lot of them. Almost all from the Empire, except for a handful of Zentraedi ones. We couldn't tell if they were all from the same side, whether it was a proper battle or a massacre. Ryche said some of the damage matched typical beam weapons that he's familiar with. But most of the damage…} she trailed off, then met Vanessa's eye, and she looked afraid. {Ripping, rending, tearing. Like an animal had shredded its way through the hull and wormed its way inside. So much violence. Far more than was needed to disable or destroy those ships.}
{Did your people find any wreckage from the mecha that did it?}
{Pieces, maybe. Something that looked like part of a metal claw. A claw bigger than a man's arm.}
Vanessa glanced at Kaden. {Does any of this sound familiar, Colonel?}
He shrugged. {It could potentially be any number of species the Zentraedi subjugated over the long history of the empire, most of which would now be extinct. But, no, not familiar to me. It'd be easier if we had a physical sample to examine.}
Saris shook her head. {We weren't about to bring something like that aboard, or to risk boarding the hulks. But supplies were already low, and we still hoped to avoid leaving empty-handed. So we decided to send a shuttle down to the planet.}. Saris paused, closing her eyes and bowing her head as she touched two fingers to her forehead, her expression a grimace. The lift stopped, and Kaden led his faithful marines through the hatch.
{What did you find?} Vanessa prompted quietly. Saris reluctantly opened her eyes and raised her head.
{We all watched the transmission from the landing party… you understand, don't you, that none of us who have traveled aboard the Shalazar are strangers to death anymore? To bloodshed and atrocities? We've seen worlds burned, bombed, plundered, and stripped of life by famine or infection.}. Vanessa nodded, and Saris continued. {Everyone was dead, the surface devastated. We saw not one intact building, not one living person. But it was different. It was not done by bombs, or Reflex weapons, or viruses. It was personal. Physical. It was the savagery we had seen in orbit repeated on a planetary scale. And the planet was ruined too, but not by normal weapons. There were these great open shafts that had been bored into the surface - more than a dozen of them, each over a kilometer across and who knows how deep. Each one vomiting out blinding clouds of dust particles along with poisonous fumes from the planet's core. The whole biosphere was in a state of collapse, and the landmasses were shifting under the stress of almost constant earthquakes.}
Saris blew out a deep breath, as if trying to expel her memories with it. {We didn't even try to land. We recalled the shuttle and folded away to another system as soon as it docked.}
{Do you have any idea who did it?} Vanessa asked.
{No. Other places, we've seen desperation, barbarity and callous murder, but on Omha, we saw a savagery I've never encountered before. Hatred of a kind I can't imagine. Whoever did it is still out there, and I don't know if their actions were against the people of Omha specifically, or if they intend to bring that same brutality to every planet they visit.}
Vanessa said nothing. The admiral would need to be updated. Omha had been assessed as a major threat. Now it seemed, there was a far greater one lurking out there in the darkness between the stars. Kaden reappeared at the hatch.
{I'm satisfied. We may continue, Captain.}
{The first passenger bay is to the right,} Saris said, leading the way.
Next week… wanderers…