Macross city was positively abuzz, and with just cause. Because that day was the day that the highly anticipated Macross Broadcasting Network would go on-air.
It had taken quite a bit of finagling to make it happen I learned as I had read the news. The original television station of Macross City had been severely damaged in the disastrous space fold that brought the island and a sizable chunk of the Pacific Ocean out to the orbit of Pluto. So the TV station staff had to content themselves with salvaging as much of their studio and computer equipment as they could, along with their not-so-small library of cassette tapes with a broad scope of television serials and movies, and wait until a new television station and news studio could be built.
Of course, that ranked pretty low on the list of priorities. But seeing as it was for the citizen’s morale, it did get done nonetheless.
And as fate would have it, Hikaru and I were stuck on patrol. But if my recollection was correct, this wasn’t going to be a boring one.
“Man, this sucks,” grumped Hikaru as we left the Prometheus behind us. “I wanted to see that beauty pagent.”
“I dunno, Hikaru. I think the LT has been softening up on you lately.”
“What? That old sourpuss?”
“Dude, you’re such a kid. Have you ever stopped to look at her? She’d be a showstopper in a swimsuit.”
“You boys do realize I can hear you, right?”
I blinked and then looked to my channel settings. Sure enough, we were on the tactical channel that included SDF-1’s Air Boss.
“Shit,” I grumbled, with my finger off the PTT button. I keyed it and said, “Ah, sorry ma’am. No offense intended.”
“Uh, sorry!” squeaked Hikaru.
“Hnnn. Apology accepted, Mr. Grimm, though I would have thought you would have eyes for Minmei alone.”
“Respectfully, ma’am, just because Minmei is my girl doesn’t mean that other women are invisible to me. Oh, speaking of which, ma’am, would you mind sending us updates on how she’s faring in the pageant?”
“I suppose so. It’s the least I can do since you’re stuck out there. You sure you don’t want to wait until you can watch a recording later?”
“Thanks ma’am, but I prefer to use my zen-like patience when the matter can’t be helped. It’s a precious commodity, you see.”
There was a short pause, undoubtedly because she actually got a laugh out of that, and then a highly amused LtJG Hayase came back, “I see. You’re just a kid that pretends to be a grown up.”
“Guilty as charged, ma’am. So, can ya do it?”
“Fine, fine. The rest of the girls are watching it anyhow, so I guess we can let you know whenever you check in. But you better be doing your jobs out there.”
“Of course, ma’am. Fuzzy and I may be overgrown kids, but we can handle a bit of responsibility.”
“Uh, yeah,” chimed in Hikaru weakly.
“Honestly, I don’t understand what was going through the Lieutenant-Commander’s head when he made you the subordinate.”
“Simple, ma’am. It’s always the XO’s job to keep the CO from lighting his own pants on fire.”
A longer pause this time. “Understood,” replied Misa, this time sounding like she could barely keep her composure. “You two have your orders. Get to it.”
A moment later while we were vectoring towards our patrol point, Hikaru came on the radio, this time on the proper channel.
“Did you really have to do that, Robber?”
“Sorry Fuzzy, but sometimes the truth hurts. And besides, I seem to recall Mother lecturing me specifically on keeping you out of trouble before we even graduated from pilot training school.”
“Yeah yeah. Switching on active radar now. You take the passive scans.”
##
It was, just as I had expected, boring work. I started up some music on my iPhone to help while the time away - my music library was now supplemented with a few recordings Minmei had made just for me of her singing.
Seriously, she had a gorgeous voice.
Hikaru and I chatted on and off between reports to Misa, along with her own reports on how the pageant was going.
Surprisingly enough, her shell cracked just enough that she spent a minute or two chatting with us as well.
“Grimm practices kenjitsu?” said Misa in surprise.
“Yeah, it turns out he wasn’t playing around when he took up that challenge against that Zentradi commander.”
“Well, I might actually have to go sparring with him. I’ve been neglecting my own kenjitsu.”
“You’re a swordswoman, ma’am?”
“Of course I am. The Hayase family were Samurai before the dissolution of territories, and we’ve served in Japan’s military ever since then.”
“CONTACT!” snapped Hikaru suddenly and then we were all business.
“Contact confirmed,” replied Misa. “They’re not radiating. LIDAR shows that they’re too big to be a lone fighter, but far too small for one of their capitol ships. I suspect that it’s a scouting vessel of some kind.”
“Have they seen us yet?” asked Hikaru.
“It doesn’t seem so. They’re probably distracted. But they could be faking it.”
“Let’s keep it that way. Killing my active radar. We’ll rely on the tactical feed from the SDF-1. Robber, vector in on an intercept with me and kill your engines - we’ll coast on in and see if we can get the drop on them.”
It was a tense thirty minutes as we quietly crept up on the seemingly unsuspecting ship, so I decided to lighten the mood and opened a laser-com with Hikaru.
“Betcha five ration-credits that they’re watching the pageant.”
“What!?” squawked Hikaru in surprise.
“Well, it’s the only damn thing that’s being broadcast. And the only communications have been between us and the SDF-1. We ain’t gotten anything out to Earth because they’ve been jamming us so much.
“I guess that makes sense,” said Hikaru. “In that case, that’s a sucker’s bet. I, however, bet you five ration-credits that they’re actually enjoying it.”
“You’re on!”
“Alright, we’re in range. Got your gun ready?”
“As always.”
“Okay. Let’s... see if you can hit their engines. That’ll keep them from going anywhere.”
“You got it, Fuzzy. Switching on optical sights.”
The tactical display in front of me switched to a feed from the high-definition camera mounted in the Gu-16 overlaid with a targeting reticle.
The ship before us was the cyclopean Quel-Quallie reconnaissance ship. Despite their peculiar image of being like an airstreamed cyclopean turtle with catfish-like spines extending backwards, they are incredibly practical little ships.
For instance, you can remove the ventral sensor array and use the space as a cargo hold or even cram a single mecha in there. And on top of all that, they were well armed and well armored - real stroppy little ships. It’d be pretty awesome if we could capture one relatively intact.
“Think we can take them alive, Fuzzy?”
“Yeah, but why bother?”
“If it’s a recon ship, then there’s probably an intelligence officer on board. And that’s to say nothing of getting a leg-up on cracking their encryption. It’ll be just like when the US Navy captured a German U-Boat.”
“Right, gotcha. Think you can disable it with your lasers instead?”
“Since we’re in these J-types, maybe. Lemme see what I can do. Be ready for the shit to hit the fan.”
It was easy to find the engines on these things. They used the traditional bell-thruster configuration - a pair of them tucked under the Quel-Quallie’s ducktail.
Switching to my precision lasers, I felt the vibration through my Valkyrie as the head emerged from its spot just behind my cockpit and angled the lasers. One of the neat things about these setups with more than one laser is that you can individually target them or use them as a group.
And the J-types had two lasers mounted to the head.
With just a bit of futzing, I managed to get the lasers lined up with the thruster nozzles and let them have it.
And then with two small puffs, the engines gave up the ghost.
“Alright, let’s go!”
In a heartbeat, Hikaru had found the hatch and triggered some kind of emergency jettison function, sending it pinwheeling out into the black yonder.
I wasn’t long in following him in.
The only way I could describe what happened was that it was like a knife fight in a phone booth.
The Quell-Quallie has enough room for a three man crew, and not much else. With two Valkyries in Battroid mode squeezed in it was damn-near claustrophobic.
With a loud racket, a great deal of jostling, and an undoubtedly great number of bruises and dented armor plates, we had somehow tied up our enemies with some sturdy cabling I’d ripped from the equipment cabinets.
I wasn’t worried too much about the damage - the SDF-1 itself was evidence that we’ve repaired worse.
“Red Lead, Gunsight: We have captured three combatants and a small craft. Requesting an extraction and recovery team at the following coordinates...”
##
The Zentradi were, to put it mildly, sullen and angry. And a bit scared, too. Granted, I understood why, but I couldn’t explain it to everyone else.
Simply put, these guys were expecting Supervision Army and... well, the Supervision Army wasn’t the sort of outfit to take prisoners.
As the prisoners were searched carefully for hold-out weapons or potential suicide implements, Captain Gloval debriefed myself and Hikaru.
“Hrm,” murmured the old Russian officer thoughtfully as he worried at the stem of his pipe. “This puts us in quite the quandry.”
“Sir?” asked LtJG Hayase, who’d been tasked with recording the debriefing.
“What do we do with giant prisoners? While we might be able to rig one of the old spaces on this ship to act as a brig, we have the logistical issue of keeping them fed and healthy. The supplies we were able to come bay at Mars are already being stretched.”
“Sir, why not just send them back?” asked Misa.
“Oh? As a gesture of goodwill? How do you propose we do that? We do not understand their language and they still jam our communications so much that I don’t think they’d ever notice us hailing them.”
At this, I piped up. “Sir, I think the captured craft may offer a solution. While I was in there I saw something that looked very much like some kind of escape pod. If we can remove it from the craft, we can send them off in that.”
“Excellent thinking, Mr. Grimm. Lieutenant, send word to Mr. Lang immediately.”
“Aye sir!” replied Misa smartly and left to carry out the deed.
“As for you two,” said the Captain with a smile. “I am granting the both of you 72-hour passes. Now go! The time is for business, the hour is for fun.”
##
Hikaru and I made it down to the stadium in record time, and not a moment too soon. A thunderous gaggle of reporters, hangers on, and would-be talent scouts were positively mobbing Minmei as she exited the building, spoils in hand.
“Minmei!” I called out. Apparently my voice cut through the noise and Minmei’s head snapped in my direction.
“GARRICK!” she called out happily and, crowd be damned, she made a beeline for me, pushing people aside as only someone who’s experienced Japanese mass transit could.
“Hey! HEY!” cried out a man in a business suit and aviator style bifocals. “We haven’t talked about that contract yet!”
I stopped the man cold with a palm to his chest - nothing hard, just enough to stop him.
“Look, I get she’s popular now. That’s why I’m going to spend a nice long evening taking her out so we can celebrate the occasion. You know where she lives. She’ll be there in the morning. Now git!”
But right away, the reporters began to clamor. I was, after all, some big damn hero.
“Oi!” I snapped. “What part of ‘quiet evening’ do you people not understand? You can interview the both of us tomorrow at the Nyan-Nyan!”
With that, Minmei, Hikaru, and I all piled into Scooby and got the hell out of there.
“Garrick,” pouted Minmei. “What about all my fans?”
“Minmei, don’t worry your cute little head off about them. They’ll be there tomorrow, waiting for you like a school of hungry piranha.”
“That’s awful morbid,” kibitzed Hikaru from the back seat.
“But accurate,” I shot back. I then looked to Minmei, smiled, and took her hand. Then with my eyes turned back to the road I did that one thing that girls all around just love. I pulled her hand up to my lips and gave it a tender kiss.
Girls love this because of the implicit message there: Even though I’m busy with something really important right now, I still love you.
Just like I expected, Minmei snuggled up close, hugging my right arm to herself.
“Minmei?”
“Hmm?”
“I get that you want to keep your fans happy. And I’m fine with that. But there’s something you have to remember.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to take care of yourself first and foremost.”
“But isn’t that selfish?”
“Nope. Not one bit, and I’ll tell you why.”
“Oh?”
“The thing is, Minmei, you can’t be there for your fans if you work yourself to the bone.”
“But doesn’t that show dedication?” she asked.
“Some might think so, but most won’t care. All they want is for you to be in their lives as much as possible. That’s why you need to know how to put your foot down on people like that agent in the sports jacket. I know guys like that - they’ll squeeze you for everything you’re worth and then some. And then they’ll lament the fact that you’re actually human when you inevitably pass out and have to go to the hospital.
“Besides, how are we gonna find time to spend together if you can’t make them give you a day off now and then?”
“Well, I guess when you put it that way... I mean, after all, you are my biggest fan~.” She then reached up with her head and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“You’re my biggest fan, too,” I replied, giving her hand a squeeze.
We pulled up to the Nyan-Nyan and, to my dismay, it was already getting mobbed.
Hikaru looked at us and smiled. “You can just let me off here and go ahead. I’ll make sure none of these clowns come after you.”
“Thanks, Fuzzy. I owe you big time.”
Hikaru waved it off. “This is nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Just as he hopped out, Minmei’s aunt came charging out the restaurant with a bundle in hand.
“Here! It’s food,” she said breathlessly as Minmei accepted it through the window. “Hurry up and go!”
“Thank you auntie!” we both chorused as I put my foot down on the accelerator pedal, making Scooby take off like a startled cat.
##
We circled around town for a bit until I was sure that no one was following us, and then I drove over to our little getaway - that engineered bluff where Minmei kissed me the first time.
I pulled a tarp over Scooby so no one would recognize the truck while Minmei unpacked the lunch.
Auntie Lynn had been very thoughtful, putting together a picnic lunch with our favorites from the Nyan-Nyan’s menu. With the blanket that had been used to bundle the food spread out and our take-out cartons open, we enjoyed the meal in relative silence.
“Hikaru and I caught some prisoners while you were busy at the pageant.”
“Alive!?” said Minmei in shock.
“Yep. There were a bit roughed up, but perfectly fine as far as we could tell. We’re gonna be sending them back, though. The ship we captured has an escape pod and we’re gonna let them use it to get back to their home ship.”
“That’s awful nice to do. Think they’ll remember that?”
“Pretty sure they will.” I then sighed and stretched out. “I just wish this conflict would end. Too many people are dying and we don’t even know for sure what these guys want from us.”
Minmei sighed and laid back, using my chest as a pillow.
“I’m glad you think so, Garrick. It’s good that you’re willing to fight to protect us, but it’s even better that you wish you didn’t have to.”
We then lapsed into companionable silence while I stroked Minmei’s head, wondering what I was going to do about this mess.
It was official now. I loved her. And it’s so hard not to, not when she was doing everything she could possibly do to make me happy. And not in some sickeningly saccharine way, but with honest feeling and warmth. Even when she was yanking my chain, she was doing it with a smile that reached her eyes.
To her, I had become more than just a dependable guy that she found attractive enough to go after. I was her good friend, confidant, and even a sort of playmate.
Minmei’s fit into the group would form an interesting gradient between Achika and Yuki.
Younger in looks than Achika but definitely more mature than Yuki. And Minmei had a lot of that same ‘no holy cows, let’s see how much we can get away with’ attitude that Achika has combined with Yuki’s earnest and innocent passion.
We dozed off for a few hours - first Minmei and then me - shifting positions now and then until she had wound up with her soft chest pressed up against my side and our legs intertwined, enjoying each other’s warmth in the relatively cool air. We didn’t really stir from there until it was well past lights-out.
When we woke up again, we simply looked into each other’s eyes and gave way to soft, gentle, probing kisses that steadily progressed to a full-on make out, tasting each other’s lips and getting hints of the meals we had eaten earlier.
As she pressed herself more tightly against me, though, I knew I had to put on the brakes.
“Easy there, little starlet. I haven’t put a ring on your finger yet,” I whispered in her ear, teasing her gently.
“Just let me stay like this for a few more minutes.”
I chuckled softly in her sweet smelling hair. “Alright. But I’m sure Auntie and Uncle want you home soon. Just for their peace of mind.”
Minmei sighed the sigh of the put-upon. “Can’t wait until we can get married.”
“Patience, little starlet. Patience.”
##
The following morning, I had been called up to the main conference room where Hikaru and I had been awarded our Titanium Medals.
Much to my surprise, all the commanding officers were present, as well as Hikaru, Roy, Misa, and Claudia.
“Sirs!” I announced as went to attention and snapped off a smart salute.
“At ease, Pilot,” said Captain Gloval amiably. “Come, be seated. There is much to discuss and not much time. As old saying in the Motherland goes, we must take our feet in our hands and move forward.”
“Understood, sir,” I replied as I went to the only empty seat left - the one next to Hikaru.
“Now that we are all gathered we can move forward. I’ve called this meeting because there has been some... debate over what to do with these prisoners. While we all agree that sending them back in their escape pod is for the best, it has been suggested that we send them with a... how do you say? A primer of sorts.”
“Absolutely preposterous,” grunted Colonel Maistrof - a Marine commander born of the stiff upper lip British, and not the friendly sort. He was in overall command over the Destroid battalions on the Deadalus. “Why in the blue blazes would we assist our enemies like that?”
The other Captain said nothing, but nodded his head. This stone of a man was our own commanding officer among the strike fighter squadrons.
Captain Gloval, or I should say in this situation, Commodore Gloval, looked like he could use a shot of that Vodka he kept in his desk right about now.
“It is felt,” said the Commodore, with just a hint of weariness in his voice, “that any effort to promote some kind of understand between us may lead to a cessation of hostilities.”
“Hostilities? Cessation? Not bloody well likely! Not when they made the first encroachment!”
I wasn’t about to let that one go unchallenged.
“Sir, we shot first.”
The Colonel and Captain both glared at me. I just gave it right back at them.
“Excuse me, pilot?” with a flat tone that indicated he wanted to rip off my butter bars and toss me out an airlock.
“The booby trap left by this ship’s original masters. It automatically fired the main gun once their ships came into range and line of fire. How are they supposed to know that it was not our doing, but a booby trap in the first place?”
“It hardly matters. Once those ships were destroyed it became political ammunition for them to hold against us.”
“I don’t think the ships matter to them, sir.”
The Colonel looked about ready to rip my head of, but Captain Gloval interceded.
“Hold on, Colonel. I’m curious to hear what the man thinks of our enemy. He has shown keen insight in the past.”
Maistrof went purple, but Gloval looked intrigued. He knew right then and there that I was on to something, and he was not about to see me silenced by someone who’s pride had just been pricked. Gloval motioned for me to continue.
“Respectfully, sirs, I would look to how many men they send at us each week. They are grinding us down, but at what cost? How many hundreds of their own have we killed thus far? By my humble estimations, far more lives than those that crewed those two ships that fell to our guns. And far more tonnage in fighters and capital ships that those two.
“Sirs, I suspect that they think very little of the resources and men they’ve expended so far. If we were somehow able to negotiate a ceasefire, I suspect that they will view their losses as being well worth... well, whatever they want from us.”
“Hmm. I have suspected as much myself,” said the Commodore thoughtfully as he took out his pipe and nibbled at its stem.
“You agree with him!?” said the Colonel, aghast. “Since when do we take advice from an upstart shit of a butter bar!?”
A southern twang cut through the air.
“I reckon it was about when that same upstart stared down one of their elite and, for the love of god, did not flinch.”
The Captain had at last broken his silence. Captain Edmund Duke. Yes, just like the General from the Starcraft game by Blizzard. The man was a pompous blowhard by any measure, but he knew his tactics inside and out, and he knew damn well how to run this rodeo show, as he would say.
“Son. Yer not the kinda pilot we expect these days. Yer the crazy sort of sumbitch that’d go tear-assing around the skies with nuthin but flai’un leathers and canvus keeping the bullets away from yer hide. And all while flai’un by the seat’uv yer goddamned pants.
“Yer one of the Old Blood, son. Yer the kind of fly boy that my grandpappy used ta fly with. And while ah don’t like it much, it seems that yer the type ah pilot we need in the skies these days. Hot like a branding iron and sharper than a whittling knife.”
The Captain then leaned over the table to stare me down.
“So let’s talk turkey, son. Ya say we oughta send these fellers back where they came from? With everything they need ta learn our language?”
“More than that, sir. I say we give them our culture, too. Give them Beethoven, Mozart, and Chopin. Give them Madonna, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. Hell, Michael Jackson and the B-52’s. Teach these guys the Moon Walk and the Rock Lobster. Have them learn why we don’t like Mondays. Give them the King of Rock and Roll that people swear is just around the corner despite being dead all these years and the dearly missed but never forgotten Buddy Holly. Give them Freddy Motherfucking Mercury with his bicycles and fat bottomed girls! We can’t get no satisfaction!
“Give them Celtic cants and the tribal drums of the Congo. Give them sitars and dulcimers. Give them operas that will haunt their ears for years to come. Give them the Greek Tragedies and Shakespeare’s Comedies. Show them why the Raven quoth ‘Nevermore’. Teach them why we rage into the dark night. Give them the songs of the pipers in the Andes and the mariachi serenades of Mexico City. Teach these guys to Samba!”
“I think we get the point, pilot,” said Gloval, firmly, but not quite as steady as he might have liked as he fought to keep a grin off his face.
I guess I’d gotten a little too far carried away. Even the Captain and the Colonel looked at an utter loss for words.
“Yep,” agreed the Captain mildly. “I reckon we do.”
Maistrof had one more jab to work in though. “Pilot, just why do you think that’s a great idea? This isn’t some free love hippie revolution.”
“Sir, that doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize revolution in the making. Western culture is contagious, sir. It swept through Soviet streets in clandestine music exchanges and brazen pirate radio stations. It played a heavy role in the fall of the Soviet Union. I don’t see why the same thing can’t happen here.”
“I remember those times well,” said the Commodore thoughtfully. “The propaganda office tried desperately to stop the infection, but for every boil they lanced, two more would spring up. It was a battle they eventually lost.”
“Are we seriously doing this?” cried out the Colonel in astoundment.
“Yes, Colonel, I believe we are,” replied Captain Gloval. “Mr. Grimm. Seeing as you came up with such a colorful cross section of human culture, I want for you to curate the collection we’ll be sending prisoners back with. Have it on my desk for review within two hours.”
“Yes sir!”
“And one other thing, Pilot.”
“Sir?”
“Once the prisoners know exactly who it was that captured them, I suspect it may loosen their tongues a bit. I want you to go down there and... talk with them a bit.”
“But sir, we don’t even know their language yet.”
“Don’t worry. Doctor Lang has a bit of a work around for that.”
##
That workaround was a touch-screen tablet computer linked to a much larger touch-screen display.
The prisoners had been holed up in one of the untouched spaces in the SDF-1, not too far from the inhabited portions of the ship. Guards in MBR-07 Spartan destroids were posted. Their hulking figures cut an imposing silhouette, especially when combined with their mecha-scale combat clubs.
A mezzanine had been hastily installed inside the cell, along with a lift to get to the door (also hastily installed).
Getting only acknowledging nods from the Spartan jockies, I entered the room.
The three Zentradi inside immediately locked their eyes onto me as I came in, looking at me with suspicion. Littering the table were wrappers from the ration bars that Hikaru, Minmei, and I had found during our first week on the SDF-1.
I gave them a cheerful wave, and then began drawing on the tablet. As I did, the lines appeared on the much larger screen inside the cell. Slowly, it took shape. A Valkyrie in battroid mode with a stick in hand, facing off against a Zentradi standing outside of a Glaug. I then pointed at the Valkyrie, and then at myself.
The Zentradi all gaped and made sounds that seemed a close approximation of “Holy shit that was YOU!?”
I tilted my head to the side, then gestured to the lager display. They got the message and went up to it all together. The one in apparent command, the smallest of the three, gestured between the drawing and me, the question clearly evident on his face.
I nodded in reply and the reaction was immediate. Their faces all lit up and at first they seemed to want to come up to me and shake my hand, but stopped short as they realized that at this scale that was impossible. So instead, he went to the display and used it’s touch-screen to sketch out a crude drawing of him and a Valkyrie raising glasses in a toast.
Well whaddya know? Looks like some things were universal after all.
I gave them a curtain call bow in thanks for their appreciation.
They began sketching again, this time drawing three figures in a cage, along with what I assume was an interrogative symbol for the Zentradi language.
I nodded, then started drawing again, this time it was a rough outline of the SDF-1, then one of Earth. I put an arrow from the SDF-1 to Earth, then drew an X through the arrow. Then I drew a three ships, each of them resembling a Zentradi ship class that was known to us, and drew an arrow from that towards the X-mark. I finished it off by making several of their interrogative marks around the X.
The question here was simple: Why are you keeping us from Earth?
The three looked at each other and the two larger ones shrugged, as if to say, “Well, it can’t hurt at this point.” The smaller one sighed, then began to draw over my drawing: a net covering the the SDF-1, with action lines showing that it had come from the Zentradi ships.
I countered by drawing in another interrogative.
In quick reply, they drew an odd looking symbol. It was a superellipse - a shape like a rhombus only rounded - with a sharp right-angle cut out of the top-left corner. The lower right corner was covered by what looked like a scowling helm, sweeping in from that right-angled cut-out.
I wasn’t quite sure what that was, but I’d be willing to bet dollars to donuts that it was the symbol of the Supervision Army.
I drew in a bunch of interrogatives, and then viciously crossed out the symbol, and then drew in the double-triangle roundel sigil of the UN Spacy, with an arrow pointed at the netted drawing of SDF-1.
Translation: I have no idea who that is. We’re this.
The three Zentradi all looked at each other and then began to nod their heads as it began to sink in. “Of course. It all makes sense now.”
Suddenly, Dr. Emil Lang’s voice crackled through the speaker that was mounted inside the cell.
“Ensign Grimm, that’s good enough. We have a memory chip from their ship with the primers and cultural package recorded on it. The Captain feels it’d be best if you gave it to them.”
There was nothing else after that, so I made the universal ‘wait one’ gesture, then dashed to the door.
Sure enough, there was a pair of technicians outside with a large rod of some resin-like material with a myriad of what appeared to be circuit traces scattered throughout its interior. Because of it’s size, it was loaded on a motorized cart normally used for moving munitions.
They both saluted me, and I returned it as they were both enlisted technicians.
“Thanks guys,” I said as I accepted the wired remote control from them.
“No problem, Sir.”
They held the door open for me as I moved the cart in. The Zentradi all looked at me quizzically as I undid the strap securing the device to the cart, then gestured from it to them.
They gave me looks as though to say, “Are you serious!?”
I nodded. Go on, take it.
The leader did so, gingerly as if it might suddenly come to life and bite him. But after examining it, he placed it in one of his pockets.
I then pulled up a picture of the escape pod that Dr. Lang’s team had successfully extracted from the Quell-Quallie, then drew three figures, and arrow from them to the escape pod, and then an arrow from that to the Zentradi ships.
They all shouted in surprise and the leader drew a long series of interrogatives.
I shrugged, and then began to draw an equally long series of figures. I made sure to use a myriad of colors for each one, and each one was a different size. But most importantly, they were all holding hands.
It doesn’t matter. You’re people and so are we.
The three all looked at each other once again and they nodded. They then all turned to me, stood at attention, then held their fists over their hearts in a salute.
I saluted back in my own style, then turned to leave.
With any luck, this would allow things to simmer down.
I hope.
##
Later the next day...
“Commander.” greeted Exedore, the relatively tiny Zentradi archivist and good friend of many many years to Britai, as he entered the ready room of the Commander of the Autoclass Fleet.
“Ah, Exodore,” said Commander Breetai from his desk. “I’m glad you finally came. I was just finishing this paperwork. I take it you have news about those three that we recovered from that intelligence mission.”
“Indeed, sir. It is... most perplexing.”
“Well, go on.”
“To be honest, sir, I find their behavior utterly baffling. First, they disable that Quel-Quallie like a crack stormtrooper squad and subdue the crew. Without, I might add, any fatalities or serious injuries. And then they are taken prisoner. The Supervision Army never takes prisoners, and I am starting to wonder if these micronians ever had any actual contact with the Supervision Army.”
“Hmm. Strange, but if I recall correctly this is not the first time this has happened.”
“Indeed, it has before. Though unfortunately in these cases the planets that have had such ships land on their surface were sterilized before we learned otherwise. But this may very well be the case with these micronians.”
“Oh, how so?”
“They used a computer to communicate with our men by drawing crude pictures. The Intelligence Team drew the sigil of the Supervision Army and the reaction was quite interesting. The Micronion Ace was confused, then crossed out the symbol, quite vehemently I might add, and drew their own sigil instead.”
“Fascinating. But that still does not prove for certain that they are not at least allied with the Supervision Army.”
“Perhaps not, but it is indeed compelling.”
“Yes, indeed. By the way, you mentioned a Micronian Ace?”
“Yes sir. It seems that Micronian Warrior that Kamjin called out to a formal duel not only took a turn at questioning our men, but was part of the two-person element that captured them. Our men report that they feel awed and humbled by the encounter.”
“Is this so then? Well, I certainly won’t begrudge them their humility. It is not often that when underdogs such as these are given the opportunity to remove their enemies from existence instead grant mercy. What else, Exedor?”
“Yes sir. What was most strange of all was not only were the crew permitted to return using the Quell-Quallie’s escape craft, but they had also been granted meals, bathing privileges, beds to sleep in... even their undergarments had even been laundered!”
Breetai blanched at this revelation. “Are you certain they didn’t hit their heads on anything?”
Exedore shook his head. “The medical officer reports that aside from some bruises that the three of them were perfectly healthy. They could return to their duty stations right now if we saw fit.”
“How strange of these Micronians. If not for the guards posted at their cells, I would swear that they were treating our men as guests.”
“That’s not even the half of it, sir.” Exedore then produced a data rod - it was fairly mundane as these things go for the Zentradi - they were used in virtually all consoles on all ships - especially the quell-quallies. “The Micronians gave this to our men before letting them go. I was suspicious at first, but to my surprise this memory rod carried primers that seem to have been made with the express intent that we are now able to develop a translation matrix for several of their languages!”
Britai’s lone eye shot wide open in shock. “Truly!?”
Exedore nodded. “Indeed. And what’s more, they included a myriad of other files, including a recording of the broadcast that was being monitored originally by the intelligence team.”
“Exedore, I’m afraid I don’t understand. What motive could they possibly have?”
“Sir, I believe they wish to talk to us.”
“Talk to us?” parroted the Commander in surprise. He then leaned back in his chair as he stared off into space thoughtfully. “Talk to us... Could it be that they actually wish to parley, old friend?”
“I am not certain, sir, but that is the only possibility I could think of.”
“Very well then, we’ll get back to that momentarily. What of these other files?”
“I... am sorry, sir. I am at a total loss.”
“Exedore?”
“I apologize, sir. It is probably best if you listen for yourself. I have implanted the translation matrix into this audio player. It is reasonably accurate, but there are a few words that there are no translation for.”
“Very well then, Exedore. Go ahead and play it for me.”
“Yes sir.”
“Hello Gar-kun! I want you to know that I made this song just for you. I call this ‘My Boyfriend is a Pilot’... I love you, Garrick. Come back to me safely.”
And with that, the sounds of Minmei singing her trademark song filled the air.
It had taken quite a bit of finagling to make it happen I learned as I had read the news. The original television station of Macross City had been severely damaged in the disastrous space fold that brought the island and a sizable chunk of the Pacific Ocean out to the orbit of Pluto. So the TV station staff had to content themselves with salvaging as much of their studio and computer equipment as they could, along with their not-so-small library of cassette tapes with a broad scope of television serials and movies, and wait until a new television station and news studio could be built.
Of course, that ranked pretty low on the list of priorities. But seeing as it was for the citizen’s morale, it did get done nonetheless.
And as fate would have it, Hikaru and I were stuck on patrol. But if my recollection was correct, this wasn’t going to be a boring one.
“Man, this sucks,” grumped Hikaru as we left the Prometheus behind us. “I wanted to see that beauty pagent.”
“I dunno, Hikaru. I think the LT has been softening up on you lately.”
“What? That old sourpuss?”
“Dude, you’re such a kid. Have you ever stopped to look at her? She’d be a showstopper in a swimsuit.”
“You boys do realize I can hear you, right?”
I blinked and then looked to my channel settings. Sure enough, we were on the tactical channel that included SDF-1’s Air Boss.
“Shit,” I grumbled, with my finger off the PTT button. I keyed it and said, “Ah, sorry ma’am. No offense intended.”
“Uh, sorry!” squeaked Hikaru.
“Hnnn. Apology accepted, Mr. Grimm, though I would have thought you would have eyes for Minmei alone.”
“Respectfully, ma’am, just because Minmei is my girl doesn’t mean that other women are invisible to me. Oh, speaking of which, ma’am, would you mind sending us updates on how she’s faring in the pageant?”
“I suppose so. It’s the least I can do since you’re stuck out there. You sure you don’t want to wait until you can watch a recording later?”
“Thanks ma’am, but I prefer to use my zen-like patience when the matter can’t be helped. It’s a precious commodity, you see.”
There was a short pause, undoubtedly because she actually got a laugh out of that, and then a highly amused LtJG Hayase came back, “I see. You’re just a kid that pretends to be a grown up.”
“Guilty as charged, ma’am. So, can ya do it?”
“Fine, fine. The rest of the girls are watching it anyhow, so I guess we can let you know whenever you check in. But you better be doing your jobs out there.”
“Of course, ma’am. Fuzzy and I may be overgrown kids, but we can handle a bit of responsibility.”
“Uh, yeah,” chimed in Hikaru weakly.
“Honestly, I don’t understand what was going through the Lieutenant-Commander’s head when he made you the subordinate.”
“Simple, ma’am. It’s always the XO’s job to keep the CO from lighting his own pants on fire.”
A longer pause this time. “Understood,” replied Misa, this time sounding like she could barely keep her composure. “You two have your orders. Get to it.”
A moment later while we were vectoring towards our patrol point, Hikaru came on the radio, this time on the proper channel.
“Did you really have to do that, Robber?”
“Sorry Fuzzy, but sometimes the truth hurts. And besides, I seem to recall Mother lecturing me specifically on keeping you out of trouble before we even graduated from pilot training school.”
“Yeah yeah. Switching on active radar now. You take the passive scans.”
##
It was, just as I had expected, boring work. I started up some music on my iPhone to help while the time away - my music library was now supplemented with a few recordings Minmei had made just for me of her singing.
Seriously, she had a gorgeous voice.
Hikaru and I chatted on and off between reports to Misa, along with her own reports on how the pageant was going.
Surprisingly enough, her shell cracked just enough that she spent a minute or two chatting with us as well.
“Grimm practices kenjitsu?” said Misa in surprise.
“Yeah, it turns out he wasn’t playing around when he took up that challenge against that Zentradi commander.”
“Well, I might actually have to go sparring with him. I’ve been neglecting my own kenjitsu.”
“You’re a swordswoman, ma’am?”
“Of course I am. The Hayase family were Samurai before the dissolution of territories, and we’ve served in Japan’s military ever since then.”
“CONTACT!” snapped Hikaru suddenly and then we were all business.
“Contact confirmed,” replied Misa. “They’re not radiating. LIDAR shows that they’re too big to be a lone fighter, but far too small for one of their capitol ships. I suspect that it’s a scouting vessel of some kind.”
“Have they seen us yet?” asked Hikaru.
“It doesn’t seem so. They’re probably distracted. But they could be faking it.”
“Let’s keep it that way. Killing my active radar. We’ll rely on the tactical feed from the SDF-1. Robber, vector in on an intercept with me and kill your engines - we’ll coast on in and see if we can get the drop on them.”
It was a tense thirty minutes as we quietly crept up on the seemingly unsuspecting ship, so I decided to lighten the mood and opened a laser-com with Hikaru.
“Betcha five ration-credits that they’re watching the pageant.”
“What!?” squawked Hikaru in surprise.
“Well, it’s the only damn thing that’s being broadcast. And the only communications have been between us and the SDF-1. We ain’t gotten anything out to Earth because they’ve been jamming us so much.
“I guess that makes sense,” said Hikaru. “In that case, that’s a sucker’s bet. I, however, bet you five ration-credits that they’re actually enjoying it.”
“You’re on!”
“Alright, we’re in range. Got your gun ready?”
“As always.”
“Okay. Let’s... see if you can hit their engines. That’ll keep them from going anywhere.”
“You got it, Fuzzy. Switching on optical sights.”
The tactical display in front of me switched to a feed from the high-definition camera mounted in the Gu-16 overlaid with a targeting reticle.
The ship before us was the cyclopean Quel-Quallie reconnaissance ship. Despite their peculiar image of being like an airstreamed cyclopean turtle with catfish-like spines extending backwards, they are incredibly practical little ships.
For instance, you can remove the ventral sensor array and use the space as a cargo hold or even cram a single mecha in there. And on top of all that, they were well armed and well armored - real stroppy little ships. It’d be pretty awesome if we could capture one relatively intact.
“Think we can take them alive, Fuzzy?”
“Yeah, but why bother?”
“If it’s a recon ship, then there’s probably an intelligence officer on board. And that’s to say nothing of getting a leg-up on cracking their encryption. It’ll be just like when the US Navy captured a German U-Boat.”
“Right, gotcha. Think you can disable it with your lasers instead?”
“Since we’re in these J-types, maybe. Lemme see what I can do. Be ready for the shit to hit the fan.”
It was easy to find the engines on these things. They used the traditional bell-thruster configuration - a pair of them tucked under the Quel-Quallie’s ducktail.
Switching to my precision lasers, I felt the vibration through my Valkyrie as the head emerged from its spot just behind my cockpit and angled the lasers. One of the neat things about these setups with more than one laser is that you can individually target them or use them as a group.
And the J-types had two lasers mounted to the head.
With just a bit of futzing, I managed to get the lasers lined up with the thruster nozzles and let them have it.
And then with two small puffs, the engines gave up the ghost.
“Alright, let’s go!”
In a heartbeat, Hikaru had found the hatch and triggered some kind of emergency jettison function, sending it pinwheeling out into the black yonder.
I wasn’t long in following him in.
The only way I could describe what happened was that it was like a knife fight in a phone booth.
The Quell-Quallie has enough room for a three man crew, and not much else. With two Valkyries in Battroid mode squeezed in it was damn-near claustrophobic.
With a loud racket, a great deal of jostling, and an undoubtedly great number of bruises and dented armor plates, we had somehow tied up our enemies with some sturdy cabling I’d ripped from the equipment cabinets.
I wasn’t worried too much about the damage - the SDF-1 itself was evidence that we’ve repaired worse.
“Red Lead, Gunsight: We have captured three combatants and a small craft. Requesting an extraction and recovery team at the following coordinates...”
##
The Zentradi were, to put it mildly, sullen and angry. And a bit scared, too. Granted, I understood why, but I couldn’t explain it to everyone else.
Simply put, these guys were expecting Supervision Army and... well, the Supervision Army wasn’t the sort of outfit to take prisoners.
As the prisoners were searched carefully for hold-out weapons or potential suicide implements, Captain Gloval debriefed myself and Hikaru.
“Hrm,” murmured the old Russian officer thoughtfully as he worried at the stem of his pipe. “This puts us in quite the quandry.”
“Sir?” asked LtJG Hayase, who’d been tasked with recording the debriefing.
“What do we do with giant prisoners? While we might be able to rig one of the old spaces on this ship to act as a brig, we have the logistical issue of keeping them fed and healthy. The supplies we were able to come bay at Mars are already being stretched.”
“Sir, why not just send them back?” asked Misa.
“Oh? As a gesture of goodwill? How do you propose we do that? We do not understand their language and they still jam our communications so much that I don’t think they’d ever notice us hailing them.”
At this, I piped up. “Sir, I think the captured craft may offer a solution. While I was in there I saw something that looked very much like some kind of escape pod. If we can remove it from the craft, we can send them off in that.”
“Excellent thinking, Mr. Grimm. Lieutenant, send word to Mr. Lang immediately.”
“Aye sir!” replied Misa smartly and left to carry out the deed.
“As for you two,” said the Captain with a smile. “I am granting the both of you 72-hour passes. Now go! The time is for business, the hour is for fun.”
##
Hikaru and I made it down to the stadium in record time, and not a moment too soon. A thunderous gaggle of reporters, hangers on, and would-be talent scouts were positively mobbing Minmei as she exited the building, spoils in hand.
“Minmei!” I called out. Apparently my voice cut through the noise and Minmei’s head snapped in my direction.
“GARRICK!” she called out happily and, crowd be damned, she made a beeline for me, pushing people aside as only someone who’s experienced Japanese mass transit could.
“Hey! HEY!” cried out a man in a business suit and aviator style bifocals. “We haven’t talked about that contract yet!”
I stopped the man cold with a palm to his chest - nothing hard, just enough to stop him.
“Look, I get she’s popular now. That’s why I’m going to spend a nice long evening taking her out so we can celebrate the occasion. You know where she lives. She’ll be there in the morning. Now git!”
But right away, the reporters began to clamor. I was, after all, some big damn hero.
“Oi!” I snapped. “What part of ‘quiet evening’ do you people not understand? You can interview the both of us tomorrow at the Nyan-Nyan!”
With that, Minmei, Hikaru, and I all piled into Scooby and got the hell out of there.
“Garrick,” pouted Minmei. “What about all my fans?”
“Minmei, don’t worry your cute little head off about them. They’ll be there tomorrow, waiting for you like a school of hungry piranha.”
“That’s awful morbid,” kibitzed Hikaru from the back seat.
“But accurate,” I shot back. I then looked to Minmei, smiled, and took her hand. Then with my eyes turned back to the road I did that one thing that girls all around just love. I pulled her hand up to my lips and gave it a tender kiss.
Girls love this because of the implicit message there: Even though I’m busy with something really important right now, I still love you.
Just like I expected, Minmei snuggled up close, hugging my right arm to herself.
“Minmei?”
“Hmm?”
“I get that you want to keep your fans happy. And I’m fine with that. But there’s something you have to remember.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to take care of yourself first and foremost.”
“But isn’t that selfish?”
“Nope. Not one bit, and I’ll tell you why.”
“Oh?”
“The thing is, Minmei, you can’t be there for your fans if you work yourself to the bone.”
“But doesn’t that show dedication?” she asked.
“Some might think so, but most won’t care. All they want is for you to be in their lives as much as possible. That’s why you need to know how to put your foot down on people like that agent in the sports jacket. I know guys like that - they’ll squeeze you for everything you’re worth and then some. And then they’ll lament the fact that you’re actually human when you inevitably pass out and have to go to the hospital.
“Besides, how are we gonna find time to spend together if you can’t make them give you a day off now and then?”
“Well, I guess when you put it that way... I mean, after all, you are my biggest fan~.” She then reached up with her head and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“You’re my biggest fan, too,” I replied, giving her hand a squeeze.
We pulled up to the Nyan-Nyan and, to my dismay, it was already getting mobbed.
Hikaru looked at us and smiled. “You can just let me off here and go ahead. I’ll make sure none of these clowns come after you.”
“Thanks, Fuzzy. I owe you big time.”
Hikaru waved it off. “This is nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Just as he hopped out, Minmei’s aunt came charging out the restaurant with a bundle in hand.
“Here! It’s food,” she said breathlessly as Minmei accepted it through the window. “Hurry up and go!”
“Thank you auntie!” we both chorused as I put my foot down on the accelerator pedal, making Scooby take off like a startled cat.
##
We circled around town for a bit until I was sure that no one was following us, and then I drove over to our little getaway - that engineered bluff where Minmei kissed me the first time.
I pulled a tarp over Scooby so no one would recognize the truck while Minmei unpacked the lunch.
Auntie Lynn had been very thoughtful, putting together a picnic lunch with our favorites from the Nyan-Nyan’s menu. With the blanket that had been used to bundle the food spread out and our take-out cartons open, we enjoyed the meal in relative silence.
“Hikaru and I caught some prisoners while you were busy at the pageant.”
“Alive!?” said Minmei in shock.
“Yep. There were a bit roughed up, but perfectly fine as far as we could tell. We’re gonna be sending them back, though. The ship we captured has an escape pod and we’re gonna let them use it to get back to their home ship.”
“That’s awful nice to do. Think they’ll remember that?”
“Pretty sure they will.” I then sighed and stretched out. “I just wish this conflict would end. Too many people are dying and we don’t even know for sure what these guys want from us.”
Minmei sighed and laid back, using my chest as a pillow.
“I’m glad you think so, Garrick. It’s good that you’re willing to fight to protect us, but it’s even better that you wish you didn’t have to.”
We then lapsed into companionable silence while I stroked Minmei’s head, wondering what I was going to do about this mess.
It was official now. I loved her. And it’s so hard not to, not when she was doing everything she could possibly do to make me happy. And not in some sickeningly saccharine way, but with honest feeling and warmth. Even when she was yanking my chain, she was doing it with a smile that reached her eyes.
To her, I had become more than just a dependable guy that she found attractive enough to go after. I was her good friend, confidant, and even a sort of playmate.
Minmei’s fit into the group would form an interesting gradient between Achika and Yuki.
Younger in looks than Achika but definitely more mature than Yuki. And Minmei had a lot of that same ‘no holy cows, let’s see how much we can get away with’ attitude that Achika has combined with Yuki’s earnest and innocent passion.
We dozed off for a few hours - first Minmei and then me - shifting positions now and then until she had wound up with her soft chest pressed up against my side and our legs intertwined, enjoying each other’s warmth in the relatively cool air. We didn’t really stir from there until it was well past lights-out.
When we woke up again, we simply looked into each other’s eyes and gave way to soft, gentle, probing kisses that steadily progressed to a full-on make out, tasting each other’s lips and getting hints of the meals we had eaten earlier.
As she pressed herself more tightly against me, though, I knew I had to put on the brakes.
“Easy there, little starlet. I haven’t put a ring on your finger yet,” I whispered in her ear, teasing her gently.
“Just let me stay like this for a few more minutes.”
I chuckled softly in her sweet smelling hair. “Alright. But I’m sure Auntie and Uncle want you home soon. Just for their peace of mind.”
Minmei sighed the sigh of the put-upon. “Can’t wait until we can get married.”
“Patience, little starlet. Patience.”
##
The following morning, I had been called up to the main conference room where Hikaru and I had been awarded our Titanium Medals.
Much to my surprise, all the commanding officers were present, as well as Hikaru, Roy, Misa, and Claudia.
“Sirs!” I announced as went to attention and snapped off a smart salute.
“At ease, Pilot,” said Captain Gloval amiably. “Come, be seated. There is much to discuss and not much time. As old saying in the Motherland goes, we must take our feet in our hands and move forward.”
“Understood, sir,” I replied as I went to the only empty seat left - the one next to Hikaru.
“Now that we are all gathered we can move forward. I’ve called this meeting because there has been some... debate over what to do with these prisoners. While we all agree that sending them back in their escape pod is for the best, it has been suggested that we send them with a... how do you say? A primer of sorts.”
“Absolutely preposterous,” grunted Colonel Maistrof - a Marine commander born of the stiff upper lip British, and not the friendly sort. He was in overall command over the Destroid battalions on the Deadalus. “Why in the blue blazes would we assist our enemies like that?”
The other Captain said nothing, but nodded his head. This stone of a man was our own commanding officer among the strike fighter squadrons.
Captain Gloval, or I should say in this situation, Commodore Gloval, looked like he could use a shot of that Vodka he kept in his desk right about now.
“It is felt,” said the Commodore, with just a hint of weariness in his voice, “that any effort to promote some kind of understand between us may lead to a cessation of hostilities.”
“Hostilities? Cessation? Not bloody well likely! Not when they made the first encroachment!”
I wasn’t about to let that one go unchallenged.
“Sir, we shot first.”
The Colonel and Captain both glared at me. I just gave it right back at them.
“Excuse me, pilot?” with a flat tone that indicated he wanted to rip off my butter bars and toss me out an airlock.
“The booby trap left by this ship’s original masters. It automatically fired the main gun once their ships came into range and line of fire. How are they supposed to know that it was not our doing, but a booby trap in the first place?”
“It hardly matters. Once those ships were destroyed it became political ammunition for them to hold against us.”
“I don’t think the ships matter to them, sir.”
The Colonel looked about ready to rip my head of, but Captain Gloval interceded.
“Hold on, Colonel. I’m curious to hear what the man thinks of our enemy. He has shown keen insight in the past.”
Maistrof went purple, but Gloval looked intrigued. He knew right then and there that I was on to something, and he was not about to see me silenced by someone who’s pride had just been pricked. Gloval motioned for me to continue.
“Respectfully, sirs, I would look to how many men they send at us each week. They are grinding us down, but at what cost? How many hundreds of their own have we killed thus far? By my humble estimations, far more lives than those that crewed those two ships that fell to our guns. And far more tonnage in fighters and capital ships that those two.
“Sirs, I suspect that they think very little of the resources and men they’ve expended so far. If we were somehow able to negotiate a ceasefire, I suspect that they will view their losses as being well worth... well, whatever they want from us.”
“Hmm. I have suspected as much myself,” said the Commodore thoughtfully as he took out his pipe and nibbled at its stem.
“You agree with him!?” said the Colonel, aghast. “Since when do we take advice from an upstart shit of a butter bar!?”
A southern twang cut through the air.
“I reckon it was about when that same upstart stared down one of their elite and, for the love of god, did not flinch.”
The Captain had at last broken his silence. Captain Edmund Duke. Yes, just like the General from the Starcraft game by Blizzard. The man was a pompous blowhard by any measure, but he knew his tactics inside and out, and he knew damn well how to run this rodeo show, as he would say.
“Son. Yer not the kinda pilot we expect these days. Yer the crazy sort of sumbitch that’d go tear-assing around the skies with nuthin but flai’un leathers and canvus keeping the bullets away from yer hide. And all while flai’un by the seat’uv yer goddamned pants.
“Yer one of the Old Blood, son. Yer the kind of fly boy that my grandpappy used ta fly with. And while ah don’t like it much, it seems that yer the type ah pilot we need in the skies these days. Hot like a branding iron and sharper than a whittling knife.”
The Captain then leaned over the table to stare me down.
“So let’s talk turkey, son. Ya say we oughta send these fellers back where they came from? With everything they need ta learn our language?”
“More than that, sir. I say we give them our culture, too. Give them Beethoven, Mozart, and Chopin. Give them Madonna, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. Hell, Michael Jackson and the B-52’s. Teach these guys the Moon Walk and the Rock Lobster. Have them learn why we don’t like Mondays. Give them the King of Rock and Roll that people swear is just around the corner despite being dead all these years and the dearly missed but never forgotten Buddy Holly. Give them Freddy Motherfucking Mercury with his bicycles and fat bottomed girls! We can’t get no satisfaction!
“Give them Celtic cants and the tribal drums of the Congo. Give them sitars and dulcimers. Give them operas that will haunt their ears for years to come. Give them the Greek Tragedies and Shakespeare’s Comedies. Show them why the Raven quoth ‘Nevermore’. Teach them why we rage into the dark night. Give them the songs of the pipers in the Andes and the mariachi serenades of Mexico City. Teach these guys to Samba!”
“I think we get the point, pilot,” said Gloval, firmly, but not quite as steady as he might have liked as he fought to keep a grin off his face.
I guess I’d gotten a little too far carried away. Even the Captain and the Colonel looked at an utter loss for words.
“Yep,” agreed the Captain mildly. “I reckon we do.”
Maistrof had one more jab to work in though. “Pilot, just why do you think that’s a great idea? This isn’t some free love hippie revolution.”
“Sir, that doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize revolution in the making. Western culture is contagious, sir. It swept through Soviet streets in clandestine music exchanges and brazen pirate radio stations. It played a heavy role in the fall of the Soviet Union. I don’t see why the same thing can’t happen here.”
“I remember those times well,” said the Commodore thoughtfully. “The propaganda office tried desperately to stop the infection, but for every boil they lanced, two more would spring up. It was a battle they eventually lost.”
“Are we seriously doing this?” cried out the Colonel in astoundment.
“Yes, Colonel, I believe we are,” replied Captain Gloval. “Mr. Grimm. Seeing as you came up with such a colorful cross section of human culture, I want for you to curate the collection we’ll be sending prisoners back with. Have it on my desk for review within two hours.”
“Yes sir!”
“And one other thing, Pilot.”
“Sir?”
“Once the prisoners know exactly who it was that captured them, I suspect it may loosen their tongues a bit. I want you to go down there and... talk with them a bit.”
“But sir, we don’t even know their language yet.”
“Don’t worry. Doctor Lang has a bit of a work around for that.”
##
That workaround was a touch-screen tablet computer linked to a much larger touch-screen display.
The prisoners had been holed up in one of the untouched spaces in the SDF-1, not too far from the inhabited portions of the ship. Guards in MBR-07 Spartan destroids were posted. Their hulking figures cut an imposing silhouette, especially when combined with their mecha-scale combat clubs.
A mezzanine had been hastily installed inside the cell, along with a lift to get to the door (also hastily installed).
Getting only acknowledging nods from the Spartan jockies, I entered the room.
The three Zentradi inside immediately locked their eyes onto me as I came in, looking at me with suspicion. Littering the table were wrappers from the ration bars that Hikaru, Minmei, and I had found during our first week on the SDF-1.
I gave them a cheerful wave, and then began drawing on the tablet. As I did, the lines appeared on the much larger screen inside the cell. Slowly, it took shape. A Valkyrie in battroid mode with a stick in hand, facing off against a Zentradi standing outside of a Glaug. I then pointed at the Valkyrie, and then at myself.
The Zentradi all gaped and made sounds that seemed a close approximation of “Holy shit that was YOU!?”
I tilted my head to the side, then gestured to the lager display. They got the message and went up to it all together. The one in apparent command, the smallest of the three, gestured between the drawing and me, the question clearly evident on his face.
I nodded in reply and the reaction was immediate. Their faces all lit up and at first they seemed to want to come up to me and shake my hand, but stopped short as they realized that at this scale that was impossible. So instead, he went to the display and used it’s touch-screen to sketch out a crude drawing of him and a Valkyrie raising glasses in a toast.
Well whaddya know? Looks like some things were universal after all.
I gave them a curtain call bow in thanks for their appreciation.
They began sketching again, this time drawing three figures in a cage, along with what I assume was an interrogative symbol for the Zentradi language.
I nodded, then started drawing again, this time it was a rough outline of the SDF-1, then one of Earth. I put an arrow from the SDF-1 to Earth, then drew an X through the arrow. Then I drew a three ships, each of them resembling a Zentradi ship class that was known to us, and drew an arrow from that towards the X-mark. I finished it off by making several of their interrogative marks around the X.
The question here was simple: Why are you keeping us from Earth?
The three looked at each other and the two larger ones shrugged, as if to say, “Well, it can’t hurt at this point.” The smaller one sighed, then began to draw over my drawing: a net covering the the SDF-1, with action lines showing that it had come from the Zentradi ships.
I countered by drawing in another interrogative.
In quick reply, they drew an odd looking symbol. It was a superellipse - a shape like a rhombus only rounded - with a sharp right-angle cut out of the top-left corner. The lower right corner was covered by what looked like a scowling helm, sweeping in from that right-angled cut-out.
I wasn’t quite sure what that was, but I’d be willing to bet dollars to donuts that it was the symbol of the Supervision Army.
I drew in a bunch of interrogatives, and then viciously crossed out the symbol, and then drew in the double-triangle roundel sigil of the UN Spacy, with an arrow pointed at the netted drawing of SDF-1.
Translation: I have no idea who that is. We’re this.
The three Zentradi all looked at each other and then began to nod their heads as it began to sink in. “Of course. It all makes sense now.”
Suddenly, Dr. Emil Lang’s voice crackled through the speaker that was mounted inside the cell.
“Ensign Grimm, that’s good enough. We have a memory chip from their ship with the primers and cultural package recorded on it. The Captain feels it’d be best if you gave it to them.”
There was nothing else after that, so I made the universal ‘wait one’ gesture, then dashed to the door.
Sure enough, there was a pair of technicians outside with a large rod of some resin-like material with a myriad of what appeared to be circuit traces scattered throughout its interior. Because of it’s size, it was loaded on a motorized cart normally used for moving munitions.
They both saluted me, and I returned it as they were both enlisted technicians.
“Thanks guys,” I said as I accepted the wired remote control from them.
“No problem, Sir.”
They held the door open for me as I moved the cart in. The Zentradi all looked at me quizzically as I undid the strap securing the device to the cart, then gestured from it to them.
They gave me looks as though to say, “Are you serious!?”
I nodded. Go on, take it.
The leader did so, gingerly as if it might suddenly come to life and bite him. But after examining it, he placed it in one of his pockets.
I then pulled up a picture of the escape pod that Dr. Lang’s team had successfully extracted from the Quell-Quallie, then drew three figures, and arrow from them to the escape pod, and then an arrow from that to the Zentradi ships.
They all shouted in surprise and the leader drew a long series of interrogatives.
I shrugged, and then began to draw an equally long series of figures. I made sure to use a myriad of colors for each one, and each one was a different size. But most importantly, they were all holding hands.
It doesn’t matter. You’re people and so are we.
The three all looked at each other once again and they nodded. They then all turned to me, stood at attention, then held their fists over their hearts in a salute.
I saluted back in my own style, then turned to leave.
With any luck, this would allow things to simmer down.
I hope.
##
Later the next day...
“Commander.” greeted Exedore, the relatively tiny Zentradi archivist and good friend of many many years to Britai, as he entered the ready room of the Commander of the Autoclass Fleet.
“Ah, Exodore,” said Commander Breetai from his desk. “I’m glad you finally came. I was just finishing this paperwork. I take it you have news about those three that we recovered from that intelligence mission.”
“Indeed, sir. It is... most perplexing.”
“Well, go on.”
“To be honest, sir, I find their behavior utterly baffling. First, they disable that Quel-Quallie like a crack stormtrooper squad and subdue the crew. Without, I might add, any fatalities or serious injuries. And then they are taken prisoner. The Supervision Army never takes prisoners, and I am starting to wonder if these micronians ever had any actual contact with the Supervision Army.”
“Hmm. Strange, but if I recall correctly this is not the first time this has happened.”
“Indeed, it has before. Though unfortunately in these cases the planets that have had such ships land on their surface were sterilized before we learned otherwise. But this may very well be the case with these micronians.”
“Oh, how so?”
“They used a computer to communicate with our men by drawing crude pictures. The Intelligence Team drew the sigil of the Supervision Army and the reaction was quite interesting. The Micronion Ace was confused, then crossed out the symbol, quite vehemently I might add, and drew their own sigil instead.”
“Fascinating. But that still does not prove for certain that they are not at least allied with the Supervision Army.”
“Perhaps not, but it is indeed compelling.”
“Yes, indeed. By the way, you mentioned a Micronian Ace?”
“Yes sir. It seems that Micronian Warrior that Kamjin called out to a formal duel not only took a turn at questioning our men, but was part of the two-person element that captured them. Our men report that they feel awed and humbled by the encounter.”
“Is this so then? Well, I certainly won’t begrudge them their humility. It is not often that when underdogs such as these are given the opportunity to remove their enemies from existence instead grant mercy. What else, Exedor?”
“Yes sir. What was most strange of all was not only were the crew permitted to return using the Quell-Quallie’s escape craft, but they had also been granted meals, bathing privileges, beds to sleep in... even their undergarments had even been laundered!”
Breetai blanched at this revelation. “Are you certain they didn’t hit their heads on anything?”
Exedore shook his head. “The medical officer reports that aside from some bruises that the three of them were perfectly healthy. They could return to their duty stations right now if we saw fit.”
“How strange of these Micronians. If not for the guards posted at their cells, I would swear that they were treating our men as guests.”
“That’s not even the half of it, sir.” Exedore then produced a data rod - it was fairly mundane as these things go for the Zentradi - they were used in virtually all consoles on all ships - especially the quell-quallies. “The Micronians gave this to our men before letting them go. I was suspicious at first, but to my surprise this memory rod carried primers that seem to have been made with the express intent that we are now able to develop a translation matrix for several of their languages!”
Britai’s lone eye shot wide open in shock. “Truly!?”
Exedore nodded. “Indeed. And what’s more, they included a myriad of other files, including a recording of the broadcast that was being monitored originally by the intelligence team.”
“Exedore, I’m afraid I don’t understand. What motive could they possibly have?”
“Sir, I believe they wish to talk to us.”
“Talk to us?” parroted the Commander in surprise. He then leaned back in his chair as he stared off into space thoughtfully. “Talk to us... Could it be that they actually wish to parley, old friend?”
“I am not certain, sir, but that is the only possibility I could think of.”
“Very well then, we’ll get back to that momentarily. What of these other files?”
“I... am sorry, sir. I am at a total loss.”
“Exedore?”
“I apologize, sir. It is probably best if you listen for yourself. I have implanted the translation matrix into this audio player. It is reasonably accurate, but there are a few words that there are no translation for.”
“Very well then, Exedore. Go ahead and play it for me.”
“Yes sir.”
“Hello Gar-kun! I want you to know that I made this song just for you. I call this ‘My Boyfriend is a Pilot’... I love you, Garrick. Come back to me safely.”
And with that, the sounds of Minmei singing her trademark song filled the air.