Since its been a while since I last posted a chapter of Tales of the
Wanderer, I thought to repost the previous chapters... Dont' worry though,
its only one a day, to avoid flooding the ML. Even though this is a repost,
C & C is still VERY welcome.
--
Starrngr -- Ranger HQ
HTTP://home.talkcity.com/TheSanitarium/Da_Muck/
"You wear a Hawaiian shirt and bring your music on a RUN? No wonder they
call you Howling Mad..." -- Rabid the Pysad.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: totw2_1f.txt
Even though these things give you about as much legal coverage
as a G-string on a stripper, I am going to include it anyways.
Most of the charecters in this story are the property of Harmony
Gold, and a whole lot of other companies who's names escape me at the
moment, and are used without their permission. However, since this
is a not for profit undertaking, I dont think its neccecary to worry
about it. At any rate, I'm so broke suing would be a waste of time.
The few original charecters in here are mine, so please ask before
using them in a fic of your own.
Comments and Criticisms welcome: E-Mail Starrngr@aol.com.
Flames will be promptly filed in file 13 and
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tales of the wanderer:
Wandering Ace: Episode 1: Insertion!
Micheal Thunders looked at the receding Tokyo skyline in his
rear-view mirror and sighed. He had promised to leave, but he really
didn't want to. I will come back to you, Patricia. That I promise,
he vowed to himself, as a soft sigh escaped his lips.
"You're going to miss her, aren't you," FRED, the artificial
intelligence that was his one constant in his travels, noted.
Without him, though, Micheal could never have found Patricia,
as it was Fred who made creating a stable portal possible.
"More than you know, FRED. More than you know." The unexpected
had happened when he had been brought to this fica. He had fallen
in love with one of the residents, a teacher by the name of Patricia
Haruna. But the local guardian of time and destiny had forced him to
move on, noting that his presence would disrupt things that were yet
to come. So, once again he found himself leaving friends behind
to face the unknown.
"But what about Jedi? I thought the whole reason behind this
quest was to get back to her. I mean, are we still trying to get
back to where you started from or what?" Fred continued.
"Yes, and no, FRED. We are going to find our way back, but only
to make sure Jedi is OK. Then we make our way back here, got it?"
Micheal had been thrown from his home fica by and exploding piece
of teleportation equipment gone awry. Jedi was a young female
superhero from his home fica for whom he had cared a great deal,
though he had found true love in Patricia Haruna. Since he could
not remain with Patricia for some time yet, he had decided to
continue his self appointed quest to find his way back and check on
Jedi.
"Riiiight." Fred's tone conveyed a distinct lack of conviction.
"Anyway, I'm still getting a bit of interference on some of the
portal sensors. Probably an after effect of blowing up Tinkerer's
toys. I should be able to compensate for them by the time we're
ready to jump, though. By the way, we want this next exit."
The large Black High Mobility Multi Wheeled Vehicle, commonly
known as a Hummer, braked stiffly and then slid through a gap barely
longer than itself and over onto the off-ramp. "A little more
warning next time would be nice, FRED," Micheal growled, then
suddenly cut off as he tried in vain to get a second look at a
roadside sign. "Wait a sec... I thought that sign said something
about a Self Defense Force airbase!"
"Probably, cause that's where we're headed," FRED replied
nonchalantly.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR METALLIC MIND???" Micheal shouted in
astonishment, slamming on the brakes and pulling off onto the
shoulder. "What sort of weird logic makes you think that's the place
to stage a portal run, Baka???"
"Its the closest place with a large flat paved area one can be
reasonably sure will be clear. We blow through the checkpoint,
get on a taxiway, and are up to 88 and gone before they figure out
what happened. Trust me on this." Their arrival in this fica had
occurred on a busy highway, and the blinding light that was a side
effect of the portal equipment had caused a major accident. Micheal
had decided that he didn't want a repeat of such an incident when
they left. In addition to this was the fact that most of the roads
were either too crowded or too filled with turns to allow the vehicle
to get up to the minimum speed to penetrate the portal before it
collapsed.
"Riiiight." This time it was Micheal's turn to sound
unconvinced.
* * * * * * * * *
"Mother, Vermilion 23, flight of two. Sweep complete,
requesting RTB," Maximillian Sterling reported into his radio after
giving the sky one last visual sweep. Like his flying, Max's
official radio discipline was perfect, giving just the pertinent
information: who he was calling, who he was, and what he had to say.
"Vermilion 23, Mother. Affirmative on the RTB. Steer heading
165 degrees and descend to Angels 20. Be advised you have inbound
traffic at your 1 o clock, 20 miles, angels 15, 200 knots." the air
traffic controller on the SDF-1 replied.
"Vermilion 23, leaving angels 25 for angels 20," Max
acknowledged, easing his Veritech into a slow descending turn to keep
things simple for his wingman, Ben Dixon. "Mother, Vermilion
23, Radar contact on the traffic. Angels 15, 1 o clock, 15 miles.
Requesting permission to join up for visual inspection," he reported
as the pair of transforming fighters rolled out onto their new
heading and their radar acquired the inbound traffic.
The flight controller chuckled into her microphone at the
request. During their long fight back to earth, visual inspection
of contacts was unnecessary. If it wasn't a Veritech, it was the
enemy. Still, the request was within Max's responsibilities
as a patrol leader. "Roger, Vermilion 23. Traffic is on button
two, call sign Minmei Special, Join up visually." she replied.
"Vermilion 23, Leaving angels 20 for angels 15, off frequency
for button two," Max replied in his calm unruffled voice as the two
fighters continued to descend. The two fighters entered a second
slow turn that brought them around behind the contact and then
extended their airbrakes to slow down for rendezvous. The contact
was a small red turboprop with yellow trim and a cowled rear pusher
fan. Remembering the day's duty roster, Max realized who the pilot
was. Instead of calling on the radio, Max flashed the running lights
of his Veritech and the two fighters separated and slid up one on
each side until the three planes were only about 20 feet from each
other. The practical joking side of Max's personality was trying
to best decide how to let his boss know he had snuck up on him when
Ben broke radio silence, and the surprise.
"Veritech Patrol to Minmei Special. Hey, Lieutenant! It's Ben
and Max!" the burly wingman called over the radio.
"Huh?" came the confused reply from their boss, Lieutenant
Rick Hunter. Max saw him turn his head towards him and gave his team
leader a jaunty wave.
"We hear you have a VIP aboard," Ben continued good-naturedly.
"Some guys have all the luck," Max added, not being able to pass
up the chance to give his boss a good-natured ribbing before
switching back to the main controller channel. "Mother, Vermilion
23. Contact checks out. Returning to base course."
"We're returning to base; have a nice date!" Ben suggested
good naturedly as he followed Max up and out of formation with the
fan liner and into a turn to take them back to the SDF-1.
"So long, wise guys," their boss responded as the fan liner
disappeared into the distance behind them. "See ya later."
"Back to button one, Ben" Max informed his wingman. "Let's
get these birds back on the boat."
* * * * * * * * * *
Emergency sirens blew and red rotating lights flashed all over
the alerted base as the black Hummer skidded around the corner
between the two hangers and fishtailed slightly as it screamed
down the flight line. Right behind it, two olive drab jeeps skidded
around the same corner in hot pursuit; the MP's in the back holding
on during the turn. Once the concern of being thrown from the back
was past, they again opened fire on the black intruder. Their M-16's
gave off strings of short pops, causing sparks to fly from the
pavement near the Humvee's tires.
Micheal swore out loud and started swerving the vehicle back and
forth to try and present a harder target to hit. "FRED, we need to
get out of here... NOW!!!"
"Umm... I'm still having problems with the distortions...
I can't get a clean fix. I have three possibles, but I can't be
certain of them." Fred replied in a timid tone.
"AWW CRUD!!! You said we would be in and gone before anyone
noticed! News flash... THE'VE NOTICED! Just pick one, we need to
jump right now!" Micheal retorted angrily.
Ahead of them, a M2A2 Bradley armored personnel carrier pulled
out from between two buildings, its 25mm cannon training in their
direction. Micheal skidded the Hummer through a tight left turn,
while the whine of the ricochets caused base personell to dive for
solid cover as the vehicles tore by.
"We're going parallel to the flight line now, Boss. If we take a
left at the end of this road, we'll have the whole length of the
flight line to run up to speed," Fred Reported.
"Right. Lock in whatever co-ords you have and get ready to spin up
the portal generator as soon as we straighten out."
Ahead of them, a duce and a half truck appeared from behind a hanger
and screeched to a stop, MP's jumping out even before the truck had
finished braking. Micheal took one look at the narrow gap between
the rear of the truck and the building and stomped heavily on the
brakes. MP's scattered like leaves on a windy day as the Hummer
decelerated violently, then slid smoothly through the gap between
truck and building thanks to its lower speed. This allowed the two
jeeps in pursuit to close the distance between them before they too
were forced to slow down to shoot the gap.
The Hummer skidded around the corner onto the flight line, hitting
a patch of grease and fishtailing wildly, loosing precious speed as
Micheal struggled to keep from loosing control and get the big black
beast pointing down the flight line.
"Portal Generator coming on line," FRED reported, and Micheal
stopped swerving back and forth and accelerated up to 88.
Flight-line personell stopped what they were doing and watched the
scene unfolding before them. Up ahead, the Bradley AFV pulled out
from between two planes and stopped right in their path. Micheal
gauged the distance between them and hoped it would be enough. The
rear doors opened on the APC and solders scrambled out, thinking
a collision was eminent, but the vehicle commander remained aboard
and the turreted 25mm cannon began tracking the approaching
intruder.
Behind them, the two jeeps full of MP's swerved aside, braking wildly
to keep from becoming part of said collision. The 25mm cannon on the
APC never opened fire, as the black HMMWV ran into it broadsides
and everything was obscured in a flash of brilliant white light.
When the light died and everyone was able to see again, there was no
sign of the intruder, and the APC was missing most of the barrel
of its cannon.
* * * * * * * * *
Max goosed the throttles gently and followed the plane handler's
directions as he taxied off the elevator into the hanger deck of
Prometheus. The large enclosed space was a hive of purposeful
chaos, as the maintenance crews took advantage of the respite form
combat the return to earth had given them to get the Veritechs
back into top condition. A bright flash to his right prompted
him to slam on his brakes.
"HEY! Watch it!" Ben complained as he too stopped short to keep
the two planes from colliding. "Holy..." his complaints suddenly
stopped as he caught sight of the cause of the problem. From the
white flash a large black vehicle of a strange design had emerged,
traveling at a high speed. Max's reaction in stopping short had been
the correct one, as the vehicle swerved slightly and flashed by the
nose of his Veritech with scant inches of clearance. Aircrewmen
dove for cover as the strange vehicle screamed down the bay, swerving
to try and avoid assorted obstacles and fishtailing wildly. An
abandoned tow cart proved to be too much, as the strange vehicle
was unable to get around it, its right front tire striking the
trailing tow bar and vaulting it into the air. The airborne vehicle
pinwheeled wildly before slamming back down on the deck and sliding
a few more meters to a stop with a metallic screech. "Hey! Wait up,
Max!" the burly pilot shouted, realizing that his flight leader had
abandoned his plane and was running across the now eerily silent
hanger deck towards the wreck. Ben too abandoned his Veritech
where it sat and followed his compatriot down the length of the
hanger deck.
Ben grabbed a fire extinguisher bottle from the tow cart as he
passed, and trotted up to the wreck. The black vehicle had come to
rest on its left side, but the force of the collision had spun the
vehicle around so that it was pointed aft, at the corridor that lead
to Macross city. Aware of the fire risk, he gave the underside
of the wreck a once over for leaking fuel. Most of the underbody
was covered in a black metallic sheet, with only the drive shafts
and suspension visible. Despite the violence of the collision,
the only visible damage was the missing right front wheel, which had
been torn completely from the vehicle. Max was already up on the top
of the wreck, struggling with the right side door.
"Someone get the medics," Max shouted as Ben put down the fire
extinguisher and climbed up to help. "We have a wounded man in here!
Ben, hold this door open, willya?" As the larger of the pair held
the door open against the pull of gravity, Max dropped down into the
wreck, landing behind the injured driver on what would be the back
seat window if the wreck was right side up. The clear material
bonged at the impact, but did not break. The driver lay limply on
his side, against the driver's side door and now even Ben could see
the small pool of blood forming next to the unconscious man's head.
Max gave the stranger a quick once over. Whoever this driver
was seemed human, and had been thrown against the driver's side door
by the crash despite his seat belts. The stranger was unconscious,
with red hair about the same length as his own and a very full red
mustache. He wore a blue nylon shirt with large red flowers on it
and black slacks. Over it all was a long black coat similar to the
raincoats that were uniform issue for the RDF, not that one needed
to worry about rain inside the massive SDF-1. Red blood dampened
the hair on the left side of the stranger's head and was starting
to pool. Hearing the sirens of the Crash response teams approaching,
he wisely decided to let the professionals move the victim. Ben
reached down and took Max's outstretched hand and lifted him out of
the interior of the wreck.
"Your patient is in there," Max informed the head paramedic
as the two pilots jumped down off the wreck. "Caucasian male, age 21
plus. Looks like he was slammed against the driver's side door
during the crash. Definite head wound, so I didn't try and move him
to check for anything else."
"Uhuh. Right, sure," the head paramedic observed, unconvinced.
"Murphy, Jones, check these two out and make sure their ok. Davies,
Biabat, lets see if there are any other victims."
By the time Max and Ben had convinced the paramedics that they
weren't hurt a jeep full of Military Police had arrived. Suddenly
the crowd that had started to gather around the wreck dispersed,
going back to their tasks rather than wishing to deal with them. The
MP's set up a cordon around the wreck, and the sergeant in charge
of the unit walked over to Ben and Max.
"I take it you two saw what happened?" the burly MP inquired.
The two pilots nodded in silent acknowledgment. "You two come with
me then, and lets get your statements taken down," the MP declared,
indicating his jeep with a jerk of his head.
"So much for lunch," Ben sighed wistfully, as the fact that the
questions would probably go on for quite some time sunk in.
"Think of it as a favor," the MP replied with a wicked smile
as the two pilots climbed into the jeep. "The commissary is serving
SOS. Again."
"But I like chipped beef!" Ben replied innocently, causing
the MP to shudder at that thought before starting the jeep.
* * * * * * * * *
Ben Dixon sighed and shifted in his chair impatiently as the two
pilots waited for the return of the accident investigator.
He eyed the half a sandwich sitting on Max's plate and elbowed his
fellow pilot gently. "Hey Max, you gonna finish that sandwich?"
Max didn't answer, only pushed the plate in question over to Ben
absentmindedly. Ben devoured the sandwich half in three largish
bites before realizing that something was amiss. He looked over at
Max, who was peering off into space in what pilots called the
thousand-yard stare. Ben had to resort to snapping his fingers
in front of his friends eyes a couple of times to get his attention.
"Hey Max! You OK?"
Max blinked for a moment before looking over at Ben. "Yeah.
It's just this whole thing has been so weird. One minute the MP's
are acting like we're responsible, and the next they're falling
all over us to be nice. That car that wrecked on the hanger deck
looked military, but it wasnt anything I've seen before. And the guy
in it wasnt wearing a uniform either."
"That's enough speculation, flyboy," noted the MP, who had
returned to the interrogation room unnoticed. "I've just gotten
word from on high. You two are free to go. In fact, you've been
removed from the duty roster for the rest of the day." The MP held
up a hand in warning as he continued. "However, this whole incident
has now been classified most secret. If anyone asks, you two didn't
see ANYTHING. Period. You two talk about this to ANYONE and your
gonna be enjoying an extended vacation in the brig. Got it?"
"Yessir!" the two pilot chorused as they made their way to the
door.
"Don't call me sir! I work for a living!" the MP snarled the
traditional response to the pilot's retreating backs.
* * * * * * * * *
Claudia Grant ducked through the hatch to the bridge of the
SDF-1 with the ease of long practice. Through the large viewport,
the gentle waters of the South Pacific Ocean shimmered a deep azure
blue. Already at their stations were the 'Terrible Trio' of Kim,
Sammie, and Vanessa. A brief frown crossed her chocolate complexion
as she regarded the temporarily empty First Officer's station.
She wouldn't have admitted it publicly, but deep inside she would
feel a lot better when Captain Gloval, and her friend and first
officer Lisa Hayes were back from delivering their report to the UDEC
council at Alaska Base. Regardless, until they did, she still had
her own job to do.
As she relieved her counterpart as officer of the watch, she
noted that Colonel Mastoff was also not on the bridge. This she
considered to be slightly unusual after his excitement at being left
in command the day before. She filed it in the back of her mind for
a moment as she worked down her list of things that she needed to
check on after assuming the bridge watch. With the SDF-1 back on
earth after a two year running battle with the Zentraedi, the list
was much shorter than it often was. The remaining items were most
important though, as they dealt with the frantic efforts of the crew
to get the several kilometer long ship ready to take the fight back
to the enemy.
It was an item at the end of her list that brought her attention
back to that fact with a vengeance. Even with the mostly volunteer
nature of the Robotech Defense Forces, in a crew of several thousand,
plus over 50 thousand unexpected civilian passengers, there were
always a few malcontents. So the final entry was always an updated
list from the military police detailing what infractions had occurred
the previous day. In one respect, the fold operation that had
dropped the SDF-1 near the orbit of Pluto had been a blessing,
forcing even the worst of the crew to realize that it was do their
jobs to the best of their ability or possibly never get home.
Discipline was tight, and there had been precious few incidents
over the previous two years. There had been a celebration thrown
for the residents of Macross City on the Daedalus yesterday though,
and apparently quite a few people, both in the RDF and not had used
it as an excuse to overindulge. What caught her attention was a
one-line notation that emergency crews had been dispatched to the
Prometheus during that time, with no follow up report filed.
Fifteen minutes later, she was no wiser, and much more
frustrated. Repeated inquiries to the MP's were being stonewalled,
and all the ambulance crews knew was that a man had been pulled from
a wrecked jeep and taken to the hospital. No one at the hospital
claimed any such admittance, though. She was convinced something
was going on and woe betide anyone who got in her way. Frankly,
she thought she detected Colonel Mastoff's hand in this, and
sincerely desired to get it cleared up before Captain Gloval
returned.
* * * * * * * * *
Any ship as large as the SDF-1 possessed a sick bay. In fact,
the original medical faculties of the SDF-1 were quite modern,
equivalent to a small hospital in its own right. However, after the
space fold accident and the needs of the resultant influx of Macross
City's fifty thousand odd refugees, most of the ships medical staff
and equipment had been moved into the reconstructed Macross General
Hospital. Since then, the original sick bay had become little more
than a glorified aid station, providing first aid for the engineering
staff rather than forcing them to travel all the way to the
facilities in Macross City, or provided overflow beds when casualties
were heavy. Thus it was that few noticed the two MP's guarding
the Intensive Care Unit, and given the frantic pace of the
engineering crews, all sadly overworked trying to perform a job that
for any other ship would be provided by a major shipyard, none of
them cared.
Inside, a lone occupant lay in a near coma, monitored by a
handful of personnel hand picked by Colonel Mastoff for their
discretion. His head was bandaged, a faint red stain visible on his
right temple through the gauss. His face was pale beneath his faint
tan, and the stranger lay still and unmoving, his mind drifting
in delirium.
* * * * * * * * *
For the first time in years, Micheal was free. Free of the
curse of being Star Ranger, free of wandering hopelessly across space
and time. He climbed into the cockpit of his waiting A-12
Thunderhawk, and smiled at the picture wedged between the altimeter
and the Airspeed indicator. 'Just one last mission, My love. Then
we can be together forever,' he promised himself. A smiling red
headed woman gazed back at him from the picture, which was signed
'Come back safe, Jedi'(1). Something in the back of his mind stirred
and tried to claim this was all wrong, but Micheal ruthlessly
suppressed it. He had one last mission to fly, and he had no
intention of letting anything distract him from it. That was how
pilots wound up with a terminal case of hill disease(2), after all.
He checked the map folded into his knee-board one last time as the
canopy lowered and the two large turbofans spooled up. It was the
sort of mission the high command saved for pilots like himself.
Three mobile scud launchers surrounded by a ring of SA-5 launchers
and triple A nestled in a shallow valley just off the Basra road.
The valley was deep enough that a normal attack would be vulnerable
to fire from the SA-5's, and the Nighthawks had other, higher
priority targets tonight. Muck had taken a look at the intel from
the sight and pointed out a way, and was rewarded with being the one
assigned to take them out.
'Just another walk in the dark,' he thought to himself as the
Thunderhawk rolled down the runway and lifted off into the dark
dessert night.
* * * * * * * * *
'Ung' was Fred's first real thought after the accident.
Although rough terrain was part of the design specifications
he had been built to, the collision with the tow cart had definitely
exceeded it. A quick check of most of the most critical systems
confirmed what he had expected. The force of the collision had
knocked everything off line. Secondary systems had performed
as expected, but the force of the crash had taken the main reactor
off line, and it had taken almost 24 hours the secondary systems
to bring things back on line to the point where he could re-boot
himself.
He wasn't sure if Micheal would be nearby or not, so he opened
up their private communications channel, only to receive no answer.
A few seconds of checking yielded the answer to his concerns.
His communications equipment was operational, but wherever it was he
was at the moment, he seemed to be unable to transmit or receive
transmissions in the radio spectrum. He checked the other sensors
he was equipped with, and noted that the more esoteric ones, the ones
he used to compute the co-ordinates for a portal jump were still off
line, but he suspected that it was just because a connector had come
loose in the crash. Looking out through other sensors showed him he
was in some sort of laboratory or garage, with heavy metal walls.
A drive systems check revealed the right front wheel assembly was
absent, presumably torn from its mountings in the crash. Until it
was replaced, FRED wasn't going to be going anywhere.
With no way of getting a hold of Micheal, nor anyway of being
able to go search for him, Fred did the only thing he could. With
the patience of a machine, he made what repairs he could to his
internal systems, and waited.
* * * * * * * * *
Muck grinned behind the cool rubber of his facemask as the plane
raced up the shallow valley leading to the Scud site, staying below
the tops of the hills and thus undetected by any radar in the area.
These were the sort of missions he did best, and only the new
Thunderhawks could carry it off. Outwardly, it looked like the
venerable A-10 Thunderbolt, but inside it contained all new top of
the line Avionics, including a fly by wire system and a Heads up
display that was the largest ever mounted in a military aircraft.
Three Slam missiles hung under each wing, already programmed
with the location of the SA-5 launchers, would be launched
automatically by the bombing computer, followed by the cluster bombs
for the triple A. This left Muck free to concentrate on the real
target, the Scud launchers themselves, with the 30mm rotary cannon.
Depleted Uranium rounds were overkill against a soft target like
this, so Muck had ordered Willie Pete rounds loaded instead. One hit
to the fuel of either the scud or the launch vehicle and the white
phosphorus rounds would blow them sky high. The Thunderhawk
screamed around the last twist in the canyon and lined up on the
killing ground.
* * * * * * * * *
The quiet of the sickbay ICU was suddenly shattered as several
of the monitoring devices hooked to the stranger erupted in a
cacophony of pings, beeps, and other alarm tones, galvanizing
the attending medical personnel into action. Though unconscious,
their patient struggled against his restraints, as though fighting
some demon only he could perceive. Convulsions shuddered though
is body as the medical team raced over. Suddenly, the patient tore
one arm free of the restraints holding him to the bed, snapping
the thick material as if it was tissue paper.
"Sedative, NOW!" snapped the chief resident as the staff vainly
tried to hold their patient down. He grabbed the flailing arm, only
to be thrown against a bulkhead for his troubles. The commotion
alerted the two MP's standing guard at the door, causing them to
burst through the door with their weapons ready.
"Hold him down," the chief resident snapped to the two MP's as
the med nurse quickly filled a syringe and handed it to him.
Dropping their weapons, the MP's grabbed the failing arm and held it
still while the others held the patient down. The chief resident
checked the syringe for air bubbles then paused for a moment in
shock. The patients arm seemed to crawl, ripples running up and down
its length like water. For a moment it seemed as if the whole arm
became metallic, then returned to normal. Timing the ripples,
he jabbed the syringe home while the arm was flesh-like, and emptied
the syringe into the patient.
The powerful sedative took effect almost instantaneously,
the patient going limp. The medical staff took a step back while
the chief resident checked the patient's vital signs to confirm
that the patient hadn't been sedated to heavily. Satisfied with the
readings, he turned to the two MP's. "Thank you, gentlemen.
That will be all for now." He then turned to one of the nurses.
"Get me Colonel Mastoff. Now."
* * * * * * * * *
Micheal cursed as the SAM just kept coming, despite his flares
and evasive maneuvers. One of the SA-5 launchers had just been
relocated between when the last photos were taken and his attack,
ergo the SLAM missile had missed it, allowing it to get off a shot
at him as he peeled out of the valley. He threw the Thunderhawk
into a final desperate maneuver, standing it on its right wingtip,
but the missile was unfazed by it. With the implacability
of a machine, it closed the distance and fulfilled it's design.
Micheal screamed in agony as the SAM detonated just off his
right wingtip, sending shards tearing through him and his jet.
Outside, the scenery tumbled as the plane was knocked from flight
and began a death spin. He struggled with the controls, then stopped
in horror. The instrument panel began to warp before his eyes,
bulging, folding, taking on the shape of a face he thought he had
escaped forever... The face of his Star Ranger form.
"We have been damaged," that cold metallic voice echoed in his
ears. "We must become one again to survive," it declared, metallic
psudopods reaching out from all around him, wrapping him in a metal
cocoon. Micheal tried to dodge away, but his limbs became heavy,
distant. He opened his mouth to scream, but a psudopod lashed out
and down his throat, gagging him just before it all went black once
more.
* * * * * * * * *
Claudia had just finished resuming the watch from her lunch
relief when Vanessa delivered the news. "Message from Alaska base,
Commander(3)," the young tech reported from her station. "The
Captain and Lisa are on their way back. ETA is 1700 local."
"High Command sure took their sweet time about hearing their
report," Sammie grumbled. "They should have been back hours ago.
I'll feel a lot better about everything when I know when we can get
the people of Macross ashore and out of danger."
Claudia gave Sammie 'The LOOK', and the young tech fell silent,
but her expression remained defiant. "Contact Colonel Mastoff,"
Claudia told Vanessa, "He should be down at MP headquarters
this time of day. Send him my respects and inform him the captain
will be coming back aboard at about 1700." She then turned back to
following up on the work in progress aboard the SDF-1, only to be
interrupted again a minute or two later by Vanessa.
"Commander. Colonel Mastoff isn't at MP HQ. His Aide thought
he might be going down to sickbay, though. Shall I page him?"
Claudia thought for a moment, then waved her relief back over
before addressing Vanessa. "No, I think I'll go down to sickbay
and deliver the message in Person," she informed Vanessa with an evil
glint in her eye.
* * * * * * * * *
Claudia observed Colonel Mastoff exit the guarded door to the
sickbay's ICU and ducked back around the corner and waited for him.
"Ah, there you are, sir", she opened as Colonel Mastoff came into
view. "Captain Gloval has left Alaska Base and will be returning
aboard at about 1700 hours, sir," she reported with a swift salute.
"Hmm?" stalled a distracted Colonel Mastoff for a moment as the
content of the message seeped into his brain. "Oh. That's good to
hear, Commander. Carry on," he replied as he returned the salute
before continuing on out of sickbay, a very distracted look still
upon his face.
'What are you up to, Mastoff?' Claudia wondered to herself
as she watched his retreating form. 'I'll bet that whoever it was
that was in that accident is in that ICU under guard. But why
haven't you reported it yet?' Shaking her head in confusion,
Claudia headed back towards the bridge. 'Only one option, I guess.
I'll tell the Captain what I've found once he comes back aboard.
Maybe he can order some answers out of you...'
To be continued in Chapter 2...
-------------
1) For those of you who haven't read the first book of this, That's
not really a picture of Jedi. Jedi doesn't have red hair. Patricia
Haruna does, though...
2) Hill disease is a pilot term referring to letting one's altimeter
register a negative altitude...
3) Yes, I know Claudia's rank is Lieutenant Commander, but in actual
usage, it gets shortened to commander, unless your deliberately
making a distinction. It's the same thing as a Lieutenant colonel
being addressed as Colonel unless his boss is peeved at him.
Couple of notes, some of these are in rebuttal to comments from
pre-readers.
4) Carrier hanger decks do have a sprinkler system. The thing is,
that's a misnomer. Fire on a carrier is nothing to sneeze at, so
those sprinklers have a flow rate of over a hundred gallons a minute.
Its more of a deluge system than a sprinkler system. Because of
this, its not something that you turn on lightly. You wouldn't
turn this on unless there actually WAS a fire... and there wasn't
one here.
5) Someone commented on the long delay of the paramedics. If you
think about it, from what I've described here, it wasn't that long.
2-3 minutes tops. I assumed a couple of things. First was that most
of the medical personell were over on the Daedalus, at the big party
we see there. The paramedics that were there for flight ops would
be up on the Prometheus's FLIGHT deck, not the hanger deck. It would
take them at least a minute or two to get down there, IMO.