From: megazone@obsidian.WPI.EDU (MegaZone23)
Newsgroups: alt.prose,rec.arts.anime,wpi.students.story
Subject: OIC (8)
Date: 9 Sep 92 21:39:31 GMT
Organization: Worcester Polytechnic Institute

--------------------------------------------------------EIGHT

     "Don't think of it as retreating...think of it as a
strategic advance to the rear."
                         --Rich Parker

     "All hands prepare for emergency launch," Gryphon
ordered as he once again took the captain's station.  "ReRob,
take the Ops station.  Engage Reflex furnace.  Activate
gravity control and lift off immediately."
     "Right, hang on a second--okay, there it is."

     The SDF-17 shivered, as if shaking itself out of sleep,
as the Reflex furnace rumbled back to operation.  Down in
Engineering, John Trussell and Andrew Petrarca shook hands.

     "Gravity control on line," ReRob reported.  "Lifting off
now."

     The Wayward Son, tattered and wrecked though she was,
lifted from the ground, rising majestically into the air, as
her landing gear retracted upward.

     "Yo, like the Air Force doesn't want us to leave now," q
called out.  "Something about some big black fighter."
     "Tell them we don't know what they mean and we're
complying with their order to depart a bit early, repairs are
completed.  And tell them to do have a nice day..."

     Every Air Force unit in the area began to converge on
the SDF-17 as it rose toward the stars.

     "They say no dice," q reported.  "They want us to land
immediately so they can carry on an investigation into the
plane they say we sent out."
     "Plane?  I saw no plane," Gryphon said with a twisted
grin.  "Shut them off, then--they can't stop us."

     "All units, this is God's-eye.  You have permission to
fire.  All units, repeat, you have permission to fire."

     Every Air Force unit in the area began firing on the
SDF-17, with entirely no effect.

     "Idiots," Gryphon remarked.  "Don't shoot back, there's
no point in killing anyone we don't have to.  Time to
suitable fold position?"
     "Three minutes...mark," ReRob replied.
     "Begin calculations for fold."
     "Beginning calculations now."
     "This is hopeless," Viper-lead commented as he released
his last missile into the vast armored side of the battle
fortress.  "They expect us to be able to bring this thing
down?"
     "All units, this is God's-eye.  Break off pursuit."
     "Shit," Viper-lead muttered for the second time today,
and peeled off.  The bastard got away again.  Damn aliens.

     "Air Force units have retreated," ReRob said.  "We
must've reached their ceiling."
     "Good.  Eve, alert all decks to prepare for fold
operation.  Rob, time to fold position?"
     "Thirty seconds...mark."
     "Fold calculations?"
     "Almost complete."
     "All decks, all decks, prepare for fold operation,
repeat, prepare for immediate fold operation.  This is not a
drill," Eve announced from every working monitor on board.
     "We're in position," Rob announced.  "Fold calculations
complete."
     "Execute fold on my mark.  Three.  Two.  One.  Mark."
     Once again, the Wayward Son launched herself into a
fold.

     Back on Earth, the collective defense organizations of
the world heaved a sigh of relief and stood down their
nuclear arsenals.  They just hoped it would never be back.

     And in Tokyo, a man with pale skin and a burning in the
back of his eyes rented an office downtown and began to
scheme...

Newsgroups: wpi.students.story,alt.prose,rec.arts.anime