Robotech: Roll Call Ch.3 Part 2
Peter Walker
by Peter Walker and Anand Rao
Book 1: Roll Call
Episode 3: Salvage Yard
Part 2
Copyright 1993 Peter Walker
This story is not to be bought or sold, in whole or in part. The electronic
publication of this novel is intended for free access, and does not intend
to infringe on the rights of Harmony Gold USA. The author has not accepted
and will not accept any renumeration for this work.
If you have any comments, suggestions, requests, or questions, or if you
want me to send you parts of the novel you might have missed, feel free to
e-mail me at:
p...@spacsun.rice.edu
On with the story!
Michael and Milo lowered their goggles, as they trudged up the icy trail
to the peak of this smaller mountain. The winds screamed about their well
protected heads with such force that only through shouting was
communication possible. The lowering sun crowned the summit the party hoped
to surmount, as the mountain now appeared to don a veil of gold.
"We're making good time!" Austin observed, cupping his hands together and
hoping his voice would reach Milo's ears. Milo simply looked at the lagging
Commander, and shrugged his massive shoulders, knowing that Austin had said
something, but not knowing exactly what it was. He motioned Austin to take
the point for the next stretch of the journey, and the slightly winded REF
fighter pilot was more than happy to oblige.
The sun was swallowed up by a wave of clouds that scudded across the
Alpine mountains and blended into their majestic snow-capped peaks,
indicating nightfall was not far behind. The winds were whipping defiantly
at their prey, luring the party to continue the dangerous ascent. With
nightfall, came reduced visibility. Any mistake at this altitude, with such
inclement conditions could easily result in a quick but painful death. That
same thought drove Michael to scan the environs for a cave to settle in for
the night.
Around a treacherous bend of the trail that Austin was blazing, one could
faintly discern the half mile remaining, and the outline of the jagged peak
in the blackening night. Austin pulled Swift aside and they both ducked
into a snow-lipped cave entrance, the winds howling loudly and angrily as
the twosome retreated from them.
Michael dumped his pack on the hard ground, and his exhausted body soon
followed as he let it collapse against the back wall of the newly found
haven. Milo had a fire alive in moments and the both of them quickly
jockeyed for comfortable spots around its radius of heat. Michael unrolled
his insulated sleeping bag, and flattened out the lumps from it.
The Commander dug into the the survival rations he'd brought along, his
mind brooding on a premonition that resurfaced from its depths. Milo was
already bundling up for the night, he'd screwed shut the small canteen of
sipping whiskey and set it aside.
"The storm is hitting us hard," Milo noted from his supine vantage point.
The snow was piling up around the divot in the mountain side. "We'll have
to dig our way out in the morning, if this keeps up."
"Didn't think I'd be this tired," Michael yawned. "But this thin air, it's
really got to me."
"Yeah, I noticed that you lagged behind most all the way up here, 'cept
when you took the lead," Milo said in a critical tone.
"Not all of us are blessed with all the constitution and charm of a
mountain goat," Michael said, his face easing into a casual smile. Michael
slid into his bag, and set his Gallant H-90 on the ground. His eyes peered
cautiously out of the cave entrance for the longest time, failing to
discern anything from the cascade of snowflakes.
"Ain't anything out there, Austin. Give it a rest," Milo decided, as he'd
already scanned the entrance. His slurring voice continued, "The Invid
won't come and play, 'specially in this weather. They can barely shoot
straight under perfect conditions. Anyway, betcha two rounds in the next
bar we hit, that they're concentrating their mecha around that base."
"I have never let my guard down before, Milo. And I'm not about to start
now," Michael said in a subdued murmur.
"Never give an inch, huh, Austin," Milo grumbled. "Can't wait to mix it up
again with the Invid, though. Our last tangle with the Invid really got my
blood flowing," he said excitedly.
"Your blood spewing on the ground is the last thing outfit needs. So don't
do anything stupid. Besides, I'm sure a troublemaker like you could find
another way to get your juices flowing," Michael hinted.
"Like that redhead back at camp," Milo blurted out.
Michael's face crinkled into a hard stare as he rolled over to face Milo.
"Don't you even think of-" Michael couldn't finish his threat.
"Is she spoken for, Commander? She'd said there was a little history
between you two, but now you were 'just friends'," Milo explained, bringing
to light the revelations of his recent conversation with Jeanne.
"We're more than friends, but not quite lovers, Swift. All I know that
she's too good for a one-nighter. And if you so much as lay one finger on
her without honorable intentions, I'll serve your head to you on a
platter," Michael warned.
Not quite lovers. With a reaction like that, I can't help but wonder, Milo
thought as he shut his eyes. . .
* * *
A mournful wailing was Milo's greeting to the crisp morning, his harmonica
echoing desolately forever. It was well into Milo's third song of
passionate blue notes before Michael dragged his head out of his sleeping
bag.
"Stop playing, Milo," Michael requested, as the song a struck a disturbing
chord somewhere deep in Michael's soul. "It's depressing as hell."
"So's life," Milo replied, putting away the instrument.
Michael ignored the remark and stamped his boots as he stepped out to face
the new day. It took the Commander several minutes to break down all his
belongings and pack up. When Michael was finally ready to push off, he
noticed that Milo was already on the move, scampering up the remaining
furlong to breach the summit.
Milo slid his boots onto the skis, latching them into place. He grimaced
in annoyance when he stabbed the powdery snow with his poles. Roger had
made them a little too short. But it was nothing an experienced skier such
as Swift couldn't compensate for. He adjusted the goggles so that they fit
snugly on his face, and he looked over his shoulder to make sure Austin was
still on his way, which he was. Milo thrust his poles into the newly fallen
snow and charged off down the slope.
They were able to ignore the pangs of hunger and fatigue, but Michael's
spirits were low. The pair had found no sign of the military installation
they sought, and they'd already traversed three mountain slopes. The sun
had shone brightly all day, but a worried Austin watched it begin its
decent into the west, while he wolfed down an energy bar. Milo made better
use of his time, panning the valley below with Michael's pair of
high-powered binoculars.
Michael noticed a sudden smile on Milo's face spill out, becoming wider.
"Did you find something, Milo?" Michael asked.
Milo's only response was to bolt off down the hill, slamming his poles
into the snow as he went. He cleared a snowbank and was well out of
Austin's sight before Michael started out after him. . .
* * *
They arrived to a scene of utter carnage and devastation, which even the
fury of last night's snowstorm couldn't camouflage. Many of the buildings
had been razed down to their concrete foundations, and often only a small
section of wall signified that a building had once been erected on the very
same spot. Twisted sculptures of blackened mecha and their components
dominated the piles of rubble that loomed as monuments of war to all these
forgotten warriors. The streets were strewn with sections of concrete
slabs, contorted metal panelling, and carpet of glass shards.
The cause of this atrocity was also well represented by the dormant husks
of the malignant reddish Iigaa with their stiffened claws grasping at
unseen prey. The purple Gurab stood frozen in a menacing stances, guardians
of this icy tomb. For as far as Michael and Milo could see, all they beheld
was death and devastation, because for every few Invid war machine
accounted for, it was easy to spot several decomposing corpses: mangled,
paled, and charred beyond recognition.
"Over there, Milo." Michael stretched out his index finger, pointing to a
building barely erect amidst its fallen neighbors. Milo's eyes widened in
surprise and in suspicion. "Let's check it out." Michael broke out into an
eager trot; he was extremely anxious to examine the interior.
They entered the building through its creaking door. The structure's frame
rattled defiantly in the slight wind that presently caressed the abandoned
base, and the floorboards moaned with Michael's and Milo's every footstep.
Michael had stopped pacing about the small and empty munitions shed, and
was tugging at something unseen by Swift. A massive 'THUD' erupted as a
hatch door on the floor was thrown open.
"A scavenger's paradise," Michael assessed of the underground chamber.
Swift warily followed him down the stairs. They gazed in wild wonder at the
racks of missiles adorning one of the walls. A neatly arranged
configuration of protoculture cannisters was quickly moved up to the ground
level of the munitions shed.
"Let's see what we have here. . . frag grenades, 35mm ammo for the Alpha,
and most importantly protoculture, nine cannisters of it," Michael said as
he surveyed the newly-found booty. Milo was shifting his weight nervously
as his green eyes darted about the abandoned base. "Crates of Hammerhead
SRMs too."
"This is too easy," Milo decided, fondling a Wolff 9mm machine pistol he'd
seen lying on the floor. "I bet all this stuff was planted here. But when
will they come back?"
"I don't recall ever having seen the Invid planting anything. Maybe they
never found this stuff," Austin offered.
"Or maybe they didn't think anyone would make it here. It was a
treacherous climb. That means that they'll be patrolling the lowlands,"
Milo reasoned.
"It also means one of their parties will attack Jeanne and Roger very
soon, Milo. So we'd best forget about getting any sleep tonight and start
preparing a riposte for the Invid. After all, it'd be a shame to let all
this hardware go to waste." Michael scooped up a couple of grenades in one
massive palm, and exited the shed to begin his search for other supplies.
And so it went. Michael darted from pile to pile, evaluating what was
salvageable, and what was merely high-tech junk. He cleared away the
skeletons, charred metal plates, and destroyed Alpha components, and
suspended his survey of the available resources well into the early morning
hours of the cold, clear, star-filled night.
Austin could see his breath in front of his face as he trudged back to the
munitions shed to get Milo's aid in the search. Milo was busy cleaning up
the machine pistol that he'd lifted off of one of the dead inhabitants of
this base. He raised his head when Austin rushed in.
"I'd really appreciate a little help out there," Michael said as angry
wisps of hot breath escaped from his lips. "I've located an Alpha, with
most of the right arm missing, and I've pretty much cleared the debris from
it, but I need your help."
"What we need are tools to patch the plane back together, and while you
were so busy, I took care of that." Milo said hoarsely. Milo stuffed the
weapon away, and took hold of a small portable trolley, wheeling it out
towards the fighter. Michael emerged from the munitions shed with two
four-packs of protoculture cannisters and a one-gallon jug of heavy water
and led Swift to the derelict Alpha fighter.
To overcome the black shroud of the night, Michael placed a circle of
flares about the damaged plane and that would have to serve as sufficient
illumination for the few hours of darkness that remained before sunrise.
The Alpha fighter lurked over the humans in its vulture-like Guardian mode;
its cockpit was stained with a copious amount of dried human blood, and the
pilot's shrapnel-studded body clung to the HUD and the front console of the
plane. The canopy showed many cracks, but was not shattered. Another
noticeable fault of the mecha was that its right arm was blown off at the
elbow servos. Structural damage was evident to the fuselage, but Michael
wasn't to worried about that problem.
"Sensor pod looks intact," Michael pointed out. "I've already found a
canopy we can use, Milo. If you could attach it, I'll get started on
checking out the engines."
In the time it took for Milo to replace the old canopy, Michael cleaned up
the cockpit, heaving the dead body over the side, and fastening on a new
ejection seat. Austin had already inserted in the protoculture cannisters
into the Alpha and had poured the D2O into the engines. He then began to
examine some fissures he'd noticed by the intakes, located on the plane's
underside.
"All done up here, Commander," Milo's voice screamed aloud as he put down
the welder. Michael looked up at the cockpit, giving Milo the thumbs up
signal.
Milo clambered down and joined Austin. " Right, I'm going to fire it up,
and get a list of all the malfunctions the Alpha's computer come up with. I
know we've been at this all night, but I doubt we've even scratched the
surface."
Milo cleared the area, preferring to watch Austin from a safe distance.
Michael climbed up into the cockpit; the canopy jerked shut. After going
through the preflight sequence, he ran a diagnostics check on all the
systems of the plane, courtesy of the inboard combat computer. The
circuitry of the front console crackled while obeying Austin's preliminary
commands, ending with the loud fizzle associated with a short. Austin
frowned in dismay at the results of the damage report coming on line: the
side hatch of the nose gear was damaged, two missile bays were
non-operative, and life support was malfunctioning. This would be a massive
undertaking, indeed.
Well, at least the computer works, Michael thought optimistically.
Austin converted the resurrected Alpha Guardian into its imposing Battloid
mode. It issued forth a series of earsplitting creaks as it transformed,
and towered above everything in sight as the first pink wave of dawn
appeared on the eastern mountains. Through Michael's use of the foot
pedals, which he noted also needed to be looked into, the Battloid limped
out of the illuminating ring of red flares and over to another mound of
rubble. Michael could see Swift relocating all the heavy equipment to this
new theater of operations. The servos in the Battloid's legs whined as it
bent down and reached into the rubble at its feet. The left arm of the
Battloid grasped a large metal limb, a right arm that had been blown off
with part of the shoulder and whose hand also held a gun pod.
Milo detached the damaged upper arm from the Alpha and removed the bit of
shoulder from the new arm. They went about hooking up the shoulder servos
to the torso, although it took them much longer than they expected.
Nonetheless, the Alpha's tactical computer persistently displayed a glitch
in one of the electrical systems on the limb. Milo dragged Austin over to
recheck the connections.
"I don't know why the computer's acknowledging a problem with your
hook-up. I don't see anything wrong with it."
"Maybe the computer's messed up," Milo pondered.
"Great! That's the one thing I thought was working on this junkheap. I
guess Roger will attend to the computer when we get back," Michael
conceded. "Well, take a look at the missile bays after I convert the Alpha
back into Guardian mode. I'll be working on the landing gear hatch,"
Michael said.
Michael and Milo toiled on the Alpha fighter through the sunrise, and
worked non-stop through the afternoon. Milo struggled with the missile
bays, and he had to manually open the bay doors because the accompanying
relay switch circuitry had shorted. Michael slaved on the hydraulics of the
landing gear, a frustrating task that exhausted practically all of his
reservoir of patience.
"Damnit! Why can't I figure this out?" Michael cursed. He put his
implements down and stepped away from the massive bulk of the fighter that
loomed before him.
"I'm done with the missile bays, Commander." Milo's voice announced. Swift
uneasily skittered off the Alpha's massive engines, and plopped down in
front of Austin. Milo wiped the rivulets of sweat from his rugged face, and
lit up a cigarette.
"Right. Load up the missiles, and then start in on the life support. It
looks like a broken pump; something even you can handle," Michael
estimated. He snatched up the cigarette Milo held out for him.
"Let's take a breather, boss," Milo suggested. "This plane ain't going
anywhere."
"Well," Michael hesitated, pausing long enough to inhale, "you go ahead,
Milo. Get a few a hours of sleep. I've made other plans," he rasped.
Milo shrugged his shoulders, and skulked away; his eyes were already shut
by the time he entered the munitions shed. His massive frame curled up on
the spread out sleeping bag, and the rush of a haunting breeze was his only
other companion as he drifted off into a deep slumber.
Peter W. Walker "Yu, shall I tell you what knowledge is? When
Dept. of Space Physics you know a thing, say that you know it. When
and Astronomy you do not know a thing, admit you do not know
Rice University it. This is knowledge."
Houston, TX - K'ung-fu Tzu
Otaku-Megami
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING WARNING! WARNING!
Please use this at your own risk, this is one of my in-jokes in my life
in Otaku-dom.
A lot of people might take offence, but it's just to poke fun at Otaku-dom
in general and I am bored...@_@
SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
New Otaku Slang by Otaku-Megami herself @_@;
1: Hard-KOR: A person who's hard core in to KOR, ie a KOR Otaku
2: O.P.P (Otaku Perverted Passion): A Otaku who think he is a stud
(Mostly in popular anime clubs), but is too oversexed to get laid..
3: Death Wish: A term used by Otaku-Megami when you piss her off,
not wise to do if you still want to be a Otaku.
4: BakaMono: Meaning "Stupid Thing", only "special" people get to be
called this...but it's usually a "pet" name...It's not wise to use
this if you are trying to get a friendship back....@_@;
5: Hiyaku Retsu Kick: Term use by Otaku-Megami when she is in Chun-Li
mode, use to warn Otakus that they will be kicked.
6: Kiss the Sky: Anohter term Otaku-Megami uses when you piss her off,
more like another warning but more of a threat ^_-
7: Otaku Love: Meaning, A Otaku and a Otakcha (female Otaku) who are in love
and leads to infatuation.
8: Super Otaku: A OBSESSED Otaku who's only life in the world is buying
anime,LD's, video games. Mostly a looser, who's has never had a life....
A bad thing to be named...
9: Gainax Bounce (TM): 1: Characters in Gainax produced anime that have a
nice jiggle that Otakus love (and probally have Kleenex for.....@_@;).
2: When mailing to this account, you might be lucky to recieve a Gainax Mail
Bounce (TM)....
10: Onisama: Otaku-Megami use for calling her adopted brothers (all 8 of them)
when she sees them. Also has a imooto (younger brother) and a Aneki (older sis).
11: Promised Land: There are places where there is a lot of anime ect. that
Otakus love to find. A Otaku Heaven i.e. meaning the Promised Land. Like that
makes any sence....There are on 3 places known....
12: Elite Otaku: It's a better term than a "Super Otaku", It's a Otaku who
has a extrodinary collection of anime and is also widely known in the anime
comunity.....They tend to have a "BIG" ego probelm also.
More to come!
--
gai...@venice.mps.ohio-state.edu---------------------------------------
Don't forget to smile!..Watch MST 3K...Always keep a sketchbook handy....
Listen to U2....Act like a child, but be responsible like an adult.....
and keep dreaming....
Iain Sinclair
>8: Super Otaku: A OBSESSED Otaku who's only life in the world is buying
>anime,LD's, video games. Mostly a looser, who's has never had a life....
>A bad thing to be named...
This is not a "super otaku", this is a NORMAL otaku. Although many
people here don't realise it, "otaku" is a very insulting word, and
most self-proclaimed otakus are probably unaware of how ridiculous they
look. (There are some exceptions, ie. people whose knowledge is so
great that they have something positive to offer, overriding the
overwhelming negativity of the word.)
Westerners seem to think it's cool to use "otaku" because it's one
of the few words of Japanese they think they know!
Try calling yourself "otaku" around any ordinary Japanese...
hopefully, someone who you won't mind never seeing again.