From: cmeadows@nyx.cs.du.edu (Chris Meadows)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives,alt.prose
Subject: Robotech/Rifts Crossover (part 4 of 7)
Date: 1 Sep 92 16:02:20 GMT
Followup-To: alt.prose
Organization: Nyx, Public Access Unix @ U. of Denver Math/CS dept.


     Jackson travelled for several days without too much
incident.  He managed to find small towns where he could sleep
for the night, in return for fixing things that had broken
down--an electric generator here, a power armor servo system
there (though he'd barely managed to comprehend how the power
armor worked).  Sometimes, when there wasn't anything to fix,
he'd earn his room by showing off his Cyclone's unique
capabilities...and then assuring people that if anything attacked
that night, he'd help fight it off.
     The townspeople seemed to Jackson to be standard humans, of
the generic type he'd seen in the various little wasteland towns
on his own earth during the short time he'd been there; haunted
by the past, surviving in the present by living one day at a
time, and perhaps a little afraid of the future.  The only
difference was, some of these people had psychic or magic
abilities.
     Lt. Jackson had tried to learn about magic, but the only
thing he'd found out of value had come from talking to Joe Moore,
back on the GMU.  "Magic," Joe had said, "is difficult to
understand.  I know I'd never be able to DO it, even if I could
understand it.  It's not like the magic in the D&D games I used
to play back in high school.  I tried to put a curse on someone
when I first got here, like I did once back on earth.  It didn't
work here.  I don't think that magic truly exists any more back
in my homeworld."
     Joe had explained that the magic in this world was a direct
result of the nuclear holocaust set off by the international
tension toward the end of humanity's "golden age."  The huge
amounts of psychic energy that had been released by all the
deaths had sparked the creation of the ley lines, mystical lines
of force from which magicians could draw power and manipulate it
into doing their will.  "Psychic energy is just a different kind
of magic," Moore explained.  "I dunno how to explain it.  It just
comes from the inside, instead of the outside, though being in
the presence of ley lines helps some psychic abilities and
hinders others."
     Jackson had been on the road for seven days when he'd
encountered his first trouble.  He was staying in a small village
on the new coast of what had once been Georgia, in a thatched hut
that he'd rented from the local mayor/sheriff in exchange for
fixing a broken power cell in his energy rifle.  He was sitting
at a rude table, typing on the small field computer he'd brought
with him.  His CVR armor was lying on the floor next to him, and
the 38-Lite Cyclone was in its folded cube configuration right
beside it.
     He had just called up one of his analyses on the nature of
the ley lines and was examining it when a rumble caught his ear.
At first he thought it was just thunder, and paid it no mind, but
then he realized that it had been an explosion.  And then there
was another one, closer by.
     The mayor burst into the room, out of breath.  He was a
slightly portly man, wearing home-made clothing and a battered
Stetson hat.  "It is the Coalition!" he said.  "They're attacking
us!"
     Lt. Jackson folded the computer up and stowed it in the
Cyclone Storage container, then began pulling on his armor.
"Tell me more," he said.  He wasn't much of a fighter, but he'd
be damned if he'd let the Coalition destroy the very place where
he was staying!
     "They use this area to field-test their new weapons that
they develop over at Lone Star!" the mayor panted.  "They don't
care that people live here!  To them we're just another bombing
range."
     "Why don't you leave?" Jackson asked, settling his helmet
on his head and checking his Gallant pistol.
     "This is our home!" the man said.  "We cannot leave it!"
     "Well, you may have to."  Jackson pressed a button and the
cube unfolded into the Cyclone Cycle.  He fitted the RL-6 Heavy
Rocket Cannon into place on the right side of the Cyclone and
straddled the machine.  "From what I've heard, the Coalition
isn't the kind to take 'no' for an answer.  But I'll do what I
can."  Which isn't much, he silently added.
     "Oh, bless you!" the mayor said, as Jackson roared out
through the door.
     "Radar on," Jackson said.  As the display appeared on his
helmet HUD, he swore.  There were three aerial blips, coming from
the north at approximately 300 mph.  Jackson tried to get a
visual, but they were still about five miles away. "Hmmm.
Switching to power armor mode."  As the Cyclone wrapped itself
around his CVR armor and the RL-6 rode down to his right hand,
the field scientist grinned.  "Now let's see what they've got."
     As the mayor emerged from the hut, Martin asked him, "Are
there any other defenders around here?"
     "There's the old robot," the man said.  "We have a man
getting it ready even now.  It has no missiles, but its ion
cannons are powerful."
     "Good.  I think we're going to need it."  Martin picked up
the three storage boxes from the Cyclone and placed them behind a
nearby hut.  "I read three bogeys, coming in from zero-four
degrees, flying low; altitude approximately two hundred feet,
triangular formation. Range is three miles."
     "Ah copy ya, power armor," a new voice crackled.  "This is
robot one talkin' atcha, approx 100 yards due west of ya."
Jackson looked west and saw one of the older models of robots,
according to Dr. Thornton Smitty, the old robotic scientist
they'd rescued just after they arrived.  It had two turbofan air
intakes, with twin ion guns located in the center of its bulbous
torso.
     "Robot one, what is your status?" Martin asked.
     "Ready to kick some major--"
     "I mean, what's your WEAPONS status," Martin interrupted.
     "Oh, that.  Ion guns fully charged, no missiles."
     "Okay.  When they come in, you provide ground cover.  I'm
going to get up there and give them something to think about."
It SOUNDED like something John Wayne might have said...
     "Uh, roger that, power armor," the voice drawled.  "They're
within range now, I'm firing on the leader."  The twin ion guns
opened up on the now-visible air vehicles.
     They resembled some sort of fighter plane, Jackson decided.
They were jet-powered, with delta-shaped wings mounting some pods
underneath that probably contained ordnance, and some sort of
dual autocannons under the nose which they were now firing.  The
planes broke formation as the incoming fire from the robot barely
missed the first jet.
     "They've scattered," said the robot pilot.  "Ah'm trackin'
them now."
     "Stay on the first one," Jackson said.  "And keep moving."
Jackson moved his Cyclone armor out into the open space between
the huts.  A small targeting sensor deployed itself from his
right shoulder as he brought up his rocket-launching rifle.
     "Steady...steady..."  He was targeting on one of the three
planes, which were now making wide circles around the town, like
sharks getting ready for the kill.  The crosshairs locked in,
Jackson's gun elevated, and he fired!  The small rocket streaked
skyward, leaving a trail of smoke behind it.  There was a hum as
the cylinder in the back of the RL-6 rotated to bring another
rocket in line with the chamber.
     The pilot was taken by surprise.  He started to bank, but
too late; the missile caught him and blew a hole in his left
wing.  The plane went into an uncontrollable roll, and seconds
later there was another explosion, as it crashed.  The remaining
two planes increased their speed and loosed a volley of cannon
fire and ordnance into the center of the town, aiming for Lt.
Jackson.
     But they missed.  Martin's armor-enhanced legs sent him two
hundred feet into the air, avoiding the dozens of missiles that
were streaking toward him.  He returned fire with one of his own,
but this time the warplane saw it coming and banked away in time.
     The Cyclone's thrusters kept Jackson hanging there in
mid-air.  This time Jackson took his time, letting the
crosshairs home in on his enemy.  As the signal sounded in his
ears, another signal also sounded--the enemy had locked and fired
on HIM already!  Jackson ignored the incoming missile just long
enough to return fire with his own, then shut off his thrusters
and dropped like a rock, barely in time to avoid the oncoming
rocket.  The fighter jet also managed to dodge in time.
     "This guy's beginning to get on my nerves," Jackson said,
hoping it sounded sufficiently tough-guyish.  If truth be told,
Jackson was about ready to wet his pants!
     The robot was having little luck, either.  Normally the ion
guns would have finished the fight on their own far earlier, but
they hadn't been designed to be used against fast-moving fighter
jets, and so were having little effect.
     "Ah'd have better luck with a RIFLE than with this thang,"
the pilot fumed.
     "Focus on the one I've been shooting at," Jackson
suggested.  "He seems to be the leader.  If you can take him out,
the other might be much easier."
     "Ah'm on 'im."  The robot turned and brought its ion guns
once more into play.
     "We'll try to box him in," Jackson said, aiming and firing
twice more.  The pilot nimbly dodged both rockets, all the while
firing more from the wing-mounted pods.  "Will this guy NEVER run
out?" Jackson muttered, going for another lock.
     Then the pilot changed tactics.  He fired missiles not at
Jackson, but at the robot.  "Whoa!" the pilot yelled, throwing
the robot to the ground to avoid a close volley.  "Take this, you
bastard!"  The robot climbed to its feet and fired two missiles
from its shoulder missile pods!
     "I thought you didn't have missiles," Lt. Jackson said.
     "So did Ah," the robot pilot said.  The two missiles raced
skyward.  The one Jackson had been fighting banked in time, but
the other one didn't, and was shortly falling to the ground in
little pieces.
     "All RIGHT!!!  Got any more?"
     "Let me check the readouts...No, Lieutenant, no more.  Ah
guess Ah forgot about some left over from a while back..."
     "Well, keep your eyes on this one.  I have a feeling he has
a few tricks left up his sleeve."
     And indeed he did.  Two more missiles streaked from beneath
the wings of his aircraft, but these hit the ground to either
side of Jackson.  Then great black clouds of smoke billowed out
of the impact sites, and very shortly the entire area was under
cover.
     "Switch to infrared imaging," Martin Jackson ordered
confidently.  His small target tracker flashed and changed color,
and using it he could see where the enemy plane was.
     "YAAAAAAAAA-HOOOOOOOOO!!!  Let's get 'im!" the robot pilot
yelled exuberantly.
     "You got it...And remember, if it makes it tougher for us,
it'll also make it tougher for him."
     The cloud was now approximately a hundred feet high and a
thousand feet in diameter.  The pilot of the plane was beginning
to make low runs over the city, apparently doing close-scanning
to pick out Jackson's position.  As the plane came overhead of
Jackson's position, he let go his last two missiles at it, then
dropped the launcher and pulled out his Gallant pistol.  The
missiles hit its heavily-armored port-side engine pod, not doing
much damage but definitely letting the pilot know he was there.
     Jackson's warning tone sounded; the pilot had locked onto
his position by tracing the missiles' trails back.  Fine.  That
was just what Jackson wanted.  He checked the clip on his
Gallant as the plane came back around, then pointed it as the jet
began to make its run.  Idly Lt. Jackson watched the twin trails
of dust the chin-mounted autocannons were kicking up as they
fired and prepared to roll out of the way.  As he rolled, the
plane passed, and Jackson turned and fired off several quick
shots at the plane's engines as it was going away.  A couple of
hits, but nothing severe.
     The plane began to come around again.  "Robot one, cease
your fire.  This one's mine."
     "Ah understand, power armor one.  Good hunting."
     The plane came around again, chin-mounted cannons flashing.
Jackson gathered himself in for a great leap, then kicked in his
thrusters.  As the fighter approached, Jackson rose out of the
cloud of smoke in front of it, his own gun flashing.  A row of
holes traced its way up the plane's nose toward the cockpit, and
penetrated the canopy in several places.  The plane passed just
beneath Lt. Jackson, treating him to a sight that he would never
forget: the pilot's face, mouth open in a final scream as the
plane headed downward toward its last resting place.  It was a
sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
     Jackson touched down, lifted off his helmet, and vomited
onto the ground.  When he was finished, he stood, walked a short
distance away, and let the Cyclone collapse into its motorcycle
format.  Then he went over and picked up the RL-6 and his
Cyclone's storage canisters, and started shucking six more
missiles into the launcher's cylinder as the smoke over the town
began to clear.
     Behind him there was a CLANK, CLANK, CLANK sound as the
robot that had assisted in the termination of the three fighters
walked up, and the pilot, a man wearing plastic-carbon armor,
climbed out and dropped to the ground.
     "Hey, you did an okay job!" the man said, walking up to clap
Jackson on the shoulder.
     Jackson shook his head.  "No.  No, I didn't."
     "What's wrong?" the pilot asked, concerned.  "Are you hit?"
Then he noticed the puddle of vomit a few yards away, and said
nothing.
     "I saw his face," Jackson said.  "God, I saw his face.  I
never--I mean--"
     "I know, son, I know," the pilot said.  His southern accent
was a lot less prounounced, now that the battle was over.  "You
can't think of them as human, or it'll get to you."  He paused.
"But I'd think that with that rig you're riding, you'd have seen
combat before, and killed plenty of people."
     Jackson shook his head as he shoved the last missile into
the chamber and mounted the gun on the right side of his bike.
"Only aliens, monsters."  His hands shook as he removed them from
the RL-6.  "This is only the second time I've actively
participated in combat, the first time against humans."
     "Well, don't worry," the pilot said reassuringly.  "You get
used to it."
     "I know," Jackson said after a long pause.  "That's what
I'm afraid of."
 
 
 
Chapter 25: A New Dimension
 
 
     Things were quiet on the campus of the Southwest Missouri
State University.  It was almost summer vacation, and more
students were inside studying than were outside doing things.
     Inside Wells Residence Hall, room 138, a student who
normally would have been studying at this time and his younger
friend who should have been in high school at this moment were
preparing to take on another role.
     The student's name was Chris Meadows, and he was sitting on
his bed as two men were telling him what he was going to have to
do.  His friend, Joe Moore, was sitting beside him.  Chris was
19, and had short dark hair and wore plastic-rimmed
ultraviolet-sensitive glasses.  He had a bad case of five-o'clock
shadow, as he apparently hadn't shaved in several days.  Joe was
15, about six feet tall (as was Chris), wore wire-rimmed glasses,
and had brown hair.
     "This is a bicycle helmet, exactly like the one you normally
use."  The first man, with dark brown hair and a grey three-piece
suit, picked up a black, yellow, and white TREK brand helmet.  As
he moved to get it, his suitcoat hung away from his body for a
second, affording Chris a brief glimpse of the butt of the 9 mm
Beretta 93-R auto pistol in its shoulder holster beneath the
coat.
     The man removed the liner from the helmet to reveal the
white styrofoam form.  However, this form had some holes cut in
it.  "We've placed a camera here, and a microphone here.  The
transmitter is in the back, here.  All concealed with the liner
in place.  Be sure to position the helmet so we can get a good
picture of the deal going down."  He stretched the liner and put
it back on the helmet.
     "What about me?" Chris's younger friend asked.  "Don't I
have to do something besides stand there and make the buy?"
     The man in the suit nodded.  "Yes, Joe, you have a very
important job."  He turned to the other man, this one wearing
coveralls that bore the logo of a popular exterminating service.
"Get the radio."
     "Right, Mr. Mulcarro."  He reached into a huge duffel bag
that also bore the exterminating logo and pulled out a large boom
box that sported an FM tuner, a CD player, and a cassete deck.
     "Hey, my radio!" Joe said.
     The man in the coveralls shook his head.  He set the radio
down and brought his fist down solidly on the CD hatch on the top
of the radio.  This caused the hatch to flip back vertically (far
beyond normal opening width), and other panels to fall open all
over the radio.
     "Hey, what have you done to my boom box?!" Joe yelled.
     Mulcarro shook his head.  "No, Joe, this isn't your radio.
It's just the same model."  Mulcarro pointed to the various
compartments in it and explained them.
     Where the wire mesh and paper conical shape of the speakers
had fallen forward were two canister-shaped smoke grenades, one
in each cavity.  Where the cassette deck had flipped open was a
2-shot .38 derringer, fully loaded, and four more bullets for it
("Though if you miss with the first two, you probably won't have
another chance to use them," Mulcarro said with a grin).
     Then Mulcarro turned the stereo around and showed where the
entire back of the radio had popped open.  In here were two
automatic pistols (a Colt .45 and a Browning 9 mm) a .38
revolver, and a 12-guage pump shotgun with the stock and much of the
barrel sawed off.  All, Mulcarro assured them, were fully loaded.
Under the CD lid was a small compartment containing an extra clip
for each automatic, two .38 speedloaders, and twenty shotgun
shells ("Buckshot, all of 'em," Mulcarro explained.  "For greater
dispersal and more killing power").
     After closing all the compartments back up, Mulcarro pulled
out two .22 revolvers.  "These saturday night specials, you'll
carry on your person, for the express purpose of being
confiscated by the dealers.  They're fully loaded, too...a lot of
good it would do you."
     Joe raised his hand.  "But what if we get caught toting
these weapons by SMS security?  My dad would kill me."
After he'd said it, he realized that the situation he was going
to be going into made that sound slightly ridiculous.
     "Don't you worry about SMS security," Mulcarro said.  "We've
taken care of all such angles."
     "Is that all?" Chris asked, rubbing his hands together.
     Mulcarro nodded.  "Yes, that's everything.  The operation
will commence in one hour, gentlemen.  We'll be waiting in the
van."  They walked out of the room, leaving Chris and Joe alone
to consider what they'd agreed to.
     Though the administration hadn't wanted to admit it, there
had been a growing drug problem at SMSU.  This problem was
bringing with it gang violence, with casualties in greater and
greater numbers.  Joe and Chris had nearly been killed months
before when they'd been caught in the middle of a gang rumble.
They'd only barely managed to escape with their lives.
     This had made them a bit angry.  They had sought out the
special government organization that had been set up to deal with
the situation and volunteered.  The organization had been only
too eager to accept.
     And thus for the last several months they had been
undergoing an accelerated training course in martial arts and
firearms proficiency in addition to their regular college and
high school courses.  They had received passing grades and were
now ready to help the college.
     And so the first bust had been set up.  They were to play
the part of an aspiring dealer (Chris) who was bringing a dealer
wannabe, the "spoiled bratty son of an administration higher-up"
(Joe), to meet his source and maybe become a dealer himself.
     In preparation for these roles, Chris had already had
several meets with this dealer in class and around the campus,
purchasing relatively minor amounts of drugs with agency-supplied
money.  These amounts were too small to prosecute for, but they
were only leading into the "grand bust."
     It was known in the agency that their supplier was receiving
his drugs from a larger St. Louis syndicate, and that a MAJOR
shipment was coming in today.  Chris and Joe would meet the
dealer on his own turf, getting evidence of a drug deal going
down.  Then, once the evidence was in hand, the agency would come
roaring in to arrest the dealer and, incidentally, seize the
shipment of drugs worth several million dollars.  A perfect
plan...as long as it didn't go wrong.
     Chris and Joe sat there for a while and thought about what
might happen, then started checking their weapons, trying not to
think about the many ways they could die.
 
 
 
Chapter 26: The Ouster of Bort
 
 
     Invid Hive leader Bort sat in his throne, receiving reports
on what was happening in his domain.  He was not overly happy at
reports that armored human forces were putting up resistance to
his takeovers of the small human settlements that were the only
traces of human activity in this region.  He would have to have
the hive mind see about increasing the quickening of the sleeping Invid
drones within the Hive.
     "I am here, my lord!" the mocking voice resounded, echoing
in the great hollow chamber in the Hive that was Bort's throne
room.  Bort looked up with a start.  Zyjinn was standing there in
front of him, with an insolent smirk on his face that Bort didn't like one
bit.
     Well, Bort would pretend it hadn't happened.  Zyjinn was too
good of a science specialist to kill or devolve because of one
incident.  But how had he been able to enter the room, or even
the Hive, without Bort being aware of it?  This disturbed him
deeply.
     "Zyjinn, I didn't notice you enter," Bort said, recovering
from his startlement.  "What have you to report on these 'ley
lines' that we have encountered?"  Zyjinn had been studying them
for the last few human weeks, and Bort was eager to learn more
about them, that he might exploit them.
     Zyjinn paused, to savor the moment.  "I have learned," he
said at last, "that they pulse with much more power than you
could possibly imagine.  Power which might be used for almost any
purpose imaginable.  Including getting rid of decadent and weak
rulers."
     Bort silently ordered the Hive brain to summon his Enforcer
legions.  "I don't think I like the sound of this, Zyjinn," he
said.  "It has the flavor of treason to it."
     Zyjinn paced around the room.  "Treason?  That word is
rather strong, esteemed leader.  Is it treason to throw out the
weak that the strong might survive?  Is it treason to wish to
further the Invid race in its just cause?"
     Now Bort saw another figure standing toward the back of the
room, behind Zyjinn.  "A human!" he gasped.  "No one brings a
human into the Hive!  It is forbidden!  Guards!"
     But his Enforcers were not there!  Bort sent another mental
command to the Hive brain, but received no response.  He probed
the brain, and discovered that its functioning threshold had been
lowered beyond conscious levels.  In short, it had been turned
off.
     Zyjinn threw back his head and laughed evilly.  "Oh, is your
little toy broken?  Oh, too bad.  Let me kiss it and make it
better!"  And with that lightning bolts crackled from his
fingertips, a la RETURN OF THE JEDI, nearly hitting Bort, whose
Invid reflexes barely saved him.
     "This is treason!  Guards!  Guards!"
     Zyjinn cackled some more.  "Your guards will never come. It
is I who hold the ultimate power now, Bort."  And with that,
three Royal Command Battloids walked into the room.  Bort, who
instinctively knew the markings of all his RCBs received another
shock: he DID NOT RECOGNIZE these Battloids!
     Seeing his shock, Zyjinn said, "That's right, Bort.  I have
the power to transmute as well as all those powers that you lay
claim to.  And with THAT..."  Zyjinn gestured at Bort, and his
reflexes did not help him now.  Lightning lanced from Zyjinn's
fingers toward him, and he felt himself shrinking, changing...He
had become one of what the humans called Level 4 Invid, the
standard pilot of the Enforcers and Pincer Command Units...
     Before Zyjinn could devolve him further, the Stage 4 who had
once been Bort turned and ran, into one of the darker tunnels of
the Invid Hive.
     "Let him go," Zyjinn said dismissively.  "He will no longer
be a problem to us."  Zyjinn took his place on the throne only
recently vacated by Bort.  "We shall now accelerate efforts to
grow our Flower of Life."  He brought the Invid Brain back
"on-line" and told it to increase production of Invid warriors.
     The human who had entered with Zyjinn, the Shifter called
Tal, said, "If I may be so impertinent as to suggest it, oh great
Zyjinn--"
     "Cease the flowery speech, Tal.  That sort of thing may be
fine for Bort's kind, but not I.  If you have something to say,
then say it."
     Tal nodded.  "Very well, Zyjinn.  I've been watching Bort's
actions.  It seems your race has been acquiring all the human
settlements in the area."
     "Yes, we have," Zyjinn admitted.  "We must have more workers
for our Protoculture plantations."
     "But with the small numbers of people in this area, there's
no way you can get enough people," Tal pointed out.
     Zyjinn nodded.  "You have cut to the very heart of the
matter, to use a" Zyjinn grimaced "human expression.  But we must
have more people!"  He stopped, paused.  "I can tell that you
have a suggestion.  Out with it!"
     Tal nodded.  "Do you remember how I told you it was possible
to open rifts between dimensions?"
     Zyjinn nodded.  "We could go home, if we so desired, and if
we had a way to open a rift between here and there.  But we have
neither the desire, wishing to conquer this world, nor the
means."
     "Ah, but you do have the means, through me."  As Zyjinn was
about to open his mouth, Tal held up a hand and said, "But you do
not have to use it for that purpose."  As Tal explained what he
proposed, Zyjinn began to smile, then to grin evilly.  "With your
raw power, and my finesse, we should be able to do it."
     "By all means, let us do so!" Zyjinn said.  "It should be
but a small drain on my immense abilities.  Let us make our
preparations.  Tomorrow we shall mount an invasion across
dimensional lines!"
 
 
 
Chapter 27:  Enter the Hive
 
 
     Lt. Martin Jackson continued driving south, but this time
he had company.  The pilot of the old combat robot insisted upon
coming with him.  "If you happen to come up against something
really nasty, son, it'll be all over for you."
     The name the pilot gave was Sam Fort.  He was 42, about as
old as his machine.  The thing seemed to require constant
maintenance, which Fort seemed to be more than able to provide,
while Jackson took notes on his field computer on the internal
structure of the robot.  It slowed them down immensely, but it
also promoted caution.
     Several days into Jackson's continued trek southwards, Fort
stopped him.  "You gotta be careful from here on in, son.
Dinosaur country starts about here."
     "Yeah, we saw some on our way north."  Jackson had already
explained about the interdimensional storm that had brought them
into this world.
     "Well, boy, you're gonna see plenty more."
 
     And they did.  As they moved further south, the dinosaurs
began to proliferate.  Jackson took plenty of still photos and a
great deal of footage on his mini-viddisk cam.  "I can't believe
that they're REAL..." he said in awe.
     "Oh, they're REAL, all right...real nasty if they gang up on
you in a fight..." Fort said from the cockpit of his robot.
"Let's just move on through and leave 'em alone."
 
     As they approached the Hive, Jackson was surprised.  "There
are almost no guards here.  This place should be CRAWLING with
Invid..."
     "What?" Sam Fort said.  "'Crawling,' did you say?  Funny, I
don't recall you mentioning anything about that before.  Let me
check my journal..."  Jackson could feel the biting sarcasm in
his voice.  He heard the flipping of pages over the radio pickup.
"Let's see, now..."
     "I'm sorry, I forgot to mention it.  It was my original plan
to go in alone, with my small, speedy Robotech Cyclone here.  I
hadn't realized I'd have a great, lumbering hulk of a robot with
me to attract attention."
     Pretty soon, the Hive began to show up on the horizon.
"You'll have to leave your robot here," Jackson said finally.
"And either stay here with it or come with me."
     "Nothing doing," Fort said.  "I'll bring it in until enough
Invid show up to make me change my mind."  He snorted.  "So far,
I haven't seen any of them except for in your pictures..."
     "Trust me, you don't wanna."  Jackson shrugged.  "If you
want to bring it, go ahead.  So far I haven't seen any Invid
around here myself.  I'm beginning to wonder if they packed up
and went home..."
     Fifteen minutes later, they approached the Hive proper.
Here there was a force field blocking the entrance.  "Any bright
ideas on how to get in?" Fort drawled.
     "We wait for an Invid to come along.  He'll do the job for
us."  Jackson moved back into some nearby underbrush.  Fort did
the same, as well as he was able.  They waited.
 
     From inside the Hive, a lone Enforcer armor unit looked out
the door.  "Humans detected," it muttered.  "Neutralize.
Neutralize--NO."  The Enforcer seemed to be fighting an inner
battle with itself.  Finally it won and took action.  It moved up
to the door and pressed the manual force-field release.
 
     "What the--?" Jackson said.
     "The force field's dissolved," Fort said.  "But nothin's
comin' out."
     "Hmmm."
     Fort pointed out, "It could be a trap."
     Jackson hesitated, made his decision.  "I'm going for it."
Before Fort could say or do anything, he had converted his
Cyclone into motorcycle form and was racing for the entrance.
     "Damn kid," Fort muttered, running after him.  He got in
just as the force field closed.
     Inside, the Hive seemed vacant.  There were no Invid to be
seen!  "Come on," Jackson said.  "We have to check this out.
Head for that glow."  He pointed at a gleam of light reflected
off of the walls in the distance.
     "I don't like this..." Sam Fort muttered.
 
     The lone Enforcer watched them proceed.  This could be his
chance...
 
     The 38-Lite Cyclone and the old robot made it to the door
and peered in.  This seemed to be the Hive's central chamber.  On
a throne in the center was a humanoid figure, slender with long
hair.  Standing beside him was a human clad in a cloak with body
armor beneath him.  There were also some more humans, a ragtag
bunch armed with laser rifles, pistols, slug-throwing submachine
guns, whatever they could get their hands on.  And seemingly all
the Invid from the entire Hive were there!  Scouts, Armored
Scouts, Troopers, Shock Troopers, Enforcers, Pincer Command
Units, even Royal Command Battloids!  The human and humanoid at
the throne were conversing.
     "I'm turning up my audio sensors," Sam Fort said, "and
transmitting what I'm hearing to you."
     "Got it."  Jackson adjusted his radio controls.  "Transmit
away."
     At first there was just a lot of staticky noise and the
whine of feedback.  But then a voice began to come through...
"This is all you have, Zyjinn?" the human said.
     "Apparently, yes," the humanized Invid on the throne said.
     "This guy's the Hive leader, why doesn't he know for sure
how many Invid there are?" Jackson said aloud.
     "Shhhhh!"
     "It will not be enough.  You need at least twice this many
troopers, to spread out and take as many as possible."  The human
was silent for a few moments, then he said, "Zyjinn, you told me
of your mother, uh, Regis' power to call the Invid to herself,
even across dimensions?"
     The one called Zyjinn nodded.  "Yes."
     "Do you think it might be possible for you to do this?"
     Zyjinn nodded.  "It might.  It might at that!  Using you as
a focus for my powers, I believe it could be done..."
     "Then let us do it!"  The human seemed to be concentrating,
making himself ready.
     "Yes, we shall!"  Zyjinn stood and raised his hands into the
air.  Lightning crackled around them, and from them to Tal.  His
voice reverberated in the chamber, so Jackson could hear it
without the aid of the robot's audio sensors: "Come to me, my
brethren!  Come, across the vast reaches of space and time!
Come, and help me claim this world for the glory of the Invid!!!"
     The room brightened inexplicably, and a ball of energy began
to form in the middle of the room.  It expanded, then vanished as
a group of Invid Shock Troopers appeared where it had been.  They
moved to the sides, and the ball formed again, depositing more
Invid.  And again.  And again.
 
     Across the myriad dimensions separating this rogue Hive and
the rest of the Invid, the Regis felt a massive shock, the like
of which she had not felt since that final climactic battle over
Reflex Point, that ended the first occupation.  Hundreds of her
children were vanishing at once!  What could this force be that
was pulling hundreds of Invid away?  The Regis resolved to
investigate.
 
     "Look!" Lt. Jackson gasped as more Invid appeared.  "Those
are Inorganics!  They're not part of the Regis' forces!  And
there are some grey Enforcers!"  He consulted his field computer.
"Hmmm...better enter this for posterity."
     The room was rapidly filling up with Invid.  At last, Zyjinn
collapsed back into the throne.  "That is enough, is it not?" he
asked.
     "Plenty, Zyjinn.  Now the invasion may commence as we
planned."
     "Invasion?"  Jackson looked at Fort, who'd opened the
cockpit of the robot and was looking at the Invid through his own
eyes.
     "This doesn't sound so good."
 
 
 
Chapter 28:  Another Crossover (Palladium's NINJAS AND
             SUPERSPIES)
 
 
     Chris Meadows rode his black Trek city/trail bike down to
the plaza in front of Craig Hall, and rode a couple of circles
around it, startling a few pedestrians.  Chris received a few odd
looks, but he didn't mind; he had better things to think about
than what PEDS thought.
     The deal was supposed to go down somewhere around here.
Chris didn't know where, but he knew the dealers would find him.
He looked around for Joe Moore.  Darn it, where WAS he?
     Oh, there he came.  He was on the rollerblade skates he'd
received the previous Christmas, and he looked quite happy.  He
was wearing kneepads, elbowpads, and a helmet, and had the radio
slung over his back.  He rode up to the plaza, stopped, and sat
down on one of the benches.
     Chris rode over to a bench near Moore, climbed off his bike,
and sat down.  They looked at each other.  Now was the time...
     One of the peds on the plaza walked over to Chris and Joe.
He was a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed college kid, who looked
"for all the world like a damn Ken doll," as Chris had once said
to Joe.  Chris recognized him instantly; Rod Jordache, one of the
dealers he'd worked with during the setup.
     "So this is our prospective customer?" the guy asked.
     Chris nodded.  "Yep.  He wants in, and who am I to refuse
more money?"  He felt slimy just TALKING to this person, but he
managed to conceal it.
     "Good.  Lock your bike and come inside."  He jerked his head
at Craig.  "Meet me in front of the elevator."
     So Chris parked his bike and walked into Craig.  Joe quickly
pulled off the 'blades, put on some boots he'd brought with him,
and followed.  They got into the elevator together, and rode it
all the way up to the third floor of the building.  Here Rod led
them to a vacant office on the north side of the building.
     As they entered, they were frisked by two heavies, who took
the .22s they'd been carrying.  "Hey, what are you doing packing
arms?" Rod asked, real friendly-like.  "You don't need those."
     "With the kind of people around here these days?" Joe
sneered, something he was very good at.  "Come on now.  We both
know that isn't true."
     Rod shrugged, and pulled a briefcase out of his desk.
Belatedly, Chris placed his helmet on a nearby filing cabinet
with a good view of the room.  Joe set his radio on the floor,
within easy reach.
     Rod popped open the briefcase.  It was completely full of
small packets of a white powder.  "Go ahead, have a free sample,"
Rod said, tossing a package to Joe and Chris in turn.
     "Thanks.  I'll save this for later," Chris replied, slipping
it into his shirt pocket.
     Joe threw his back.  "That's okay.  I just want to sell it,
not to do it."  He was playing his role to the letter!
     Rod shrugged.   "Whatever.  You bring the cash?"
     Joe reached into his backpack and pulled out a small case.
"I got something even better," he said, flipping it open to
reveal glittering.  "Diamonds.  100 carats of them.  Stole 'em
from my dad's safe."  Actually, they'd been provided by the
agency.  Money was too hard to carry around, they'd decided, and
diamonds would be more likely to induce the dealers to be ready
to deal.
     Rod's eyes all but bugged out of his head.  "Well, I'd say
we've got ourselves a deal, then."  He reached for the diamonds.
     "Not so fast," Joe said.  "The deal was for a lot more than
is in that briefcase."
     Rod shrugged.  "You think I'd bring fifty keys in here?
Might as well say, 'Oh, somebody PLEASE arrest me.'  It's waiting
at our warehouse."
     "But you DO have it," Chris said, for the benefit of the
cameras.  "You wouldn't kid us, would you Rod?"
     Jordache said, "What, you think I'm lyin'?"  The heavies'
hands moved slightly toward their jackets, where they no doubt
had some sort of pistols ready.
     "No, no," Chris said, holding up his hands.  "I just wanted
to be SURE, that's all."
     "Good," Rod said.  "Now if we can just--"
     He never finished his sentence, for suddenly there was a
sound like a thousand lightning strikes happening at once, and a
huge flash of light from the north.  All the occupants of the
room gasped and looked out the window.
     There was a great blue gleam from the north, just south of
Wells Residence Hall and Cheek Hall.  It seemed to be about fifty
feet tall by fifty wide, and THINGS were emerging from it.  Joe
and Chris looked at each other.  "No, it can't be.  It just
can't!" Chris gasped.  Even at this distance, they recognized the
things.  Those were Invid Enforcers from their ROBOTECH
role-playing Games!
     "What?  What?" Rod asked, turning to them.  "What is this?"
     "Can't tell you right now.  The deal's off.  We're out of
here."  Chris grabbed his helmet, and Joe his radio.
     "What?  What are you talking about?!" Rod Jordache asked,
grabbing Chris by the shirt.
     "I can't say for sure, but if I were you I'd start running
and not look back."  Chris yanked himself free and followed his
own advice, with Joe Moore right behind him.
 
     To the north, Invid of all types were pouring out of the
Rift, along with some humans in and out of body armor carrying
rifles.  The Invid were there to kidnap humans to be slaves in
the Protoculture farms of their Hive; the humans were just along
to loot and destroy.
 
 
 
Chapter 29: Jack is Back
 
 
     As the Cyclone and Robot entered the Hive, their pilots were
unaware that they were being watched.  The watcher was a man clad
in CVR-3 body armor, straddling a Battler Cyclone (currently shut
off to avoid Invid homing in on the Protoculture emanations it
emitted when active).  He was holding a pair of multi-optic
binoculars and scanning through them.  "Lieutenant Martin
Jackson...well, well, well."  He made his desision shortly, and
followed them.  The force field was down for him as well.
     This man observed the two as they watched the interior of
the Hive, and managed to get a good vantage point himself.  He
listened to their radio transmissions (and the audio transmission
from Fort's robot).  "This could bear looking into," he decided.
Then when he saw the interdimensional portal opening up, he
almost backed out.  "Uh-oh...these interdimensional deals could
be trouble."
     "What?  Who said that?"  Jackson looked around.
     The man started; he hadn't meant to say it out loud.  He
sighed; might as well reveal himself.  "It's me, Jack, the
assistant to Dr. Thornton Smitty whom you rescued a few weeks
ago."  He stepped forward to stand beside them.
     "You!" Martin Jackson gasped, raising his gun.  Jack shoved
the muzzle down.
     "This is not the time to be fighting among ourselves.  If
what I've heard about the Invid is true, this thing could be BIG
trouble."
     "He's right," Sam Fort said.  "I don't know what it is
between you two, but you'd better be paying attention here."  The
portal was expanding.  Now they could see clearly through it.
There were buildings there, and young people walking around.  The
Invid, responding to some inaudible signal, all began to march
through the portal.
     "We have to stop them!" Lt. Jackson said as the last of
the invasion force entered.  "We can't let the Invid enslave
another dimension!"
     "Somehow, I don't think two Cyclones and a robot are going
to do it, do you?" Jack responded drily.
     "I don't care.  We have to DO something..."  Then Jackson
decided what it was he needed to do.  He converted his Cyclone
into motorcycle mode, revved the engine, and raced out into the
center of the room and through the portal before any of the
present Invid could do anything to stop him.
     "That damn kid..." Fort muttered, charging after him in his
robot.
     Jack's jaw dropped as he watched them go.  "Oh, what the
hell."  He followed them in.
 
     Sgt. Jerry Peterson and Lt. Dustin McNair, two officers from
the Springfield City Police substation that had been on the SMSU
campus for a couple of years now, were walking up the sidewalk by
Craig Hall, heading back from the scene of a nearby auto
accident.  Then they heard the loud thunder from nearby.
     "What the hell was that?!" Seargent Peterson asked.
     "Some kind of explosion," McNair guessed.  "Come on, it came
from up there."  McNair turned and ran northward, toward Wells
Residence Hall, a U-shaped building opening southward that served
as housing for SMSU's monetarily poorer students, and Cheek Hall,
one of SMSU's primary computer centers, where the thunder had
come from. As they approached the area, they saw the huge
electric blue portal that had opened between Wells on the left
and Cheek on the right.
     "I've never seen anything like it!" Peterson said.  McNair
simply crossed himself and muttered, "Mary, Mother of God...!"
     Then the creatures began emerging.  The first ones, as
McNair was to describe them later, were humanoid, about seven
feet tall, and mounted some kind of rifle on their arms.  But
their shape wasn't QUITE human...their heads were elongated with
some kind of optic sensor in the front.  The others were far
larger, perhaps thirty or forty feet tall, and resembled some
grotesque parody of an insect.
     But the other ones didn't come until later.  The first to
approach were the humanoid creatures, whom McNair didn't know
were Invid Enforcers.  He didn't know anything about them at all,
save that they had just emerged from some eerie electrical
disturbance.
     "Didn't TERMINATOR begin like this?" Peterson muttered.  As
one of the creatures noticed them and raised its rifle, McNair
said, "We may END like this if we don't get moving!" and shoved
Peterson to the left even as he drew his gun.  The Invid fired on
him, but he managed to dodge and return fire with his 9mm
automatic.  However, the bullets just spanged off of the armored
Invid.  McNair swore.
     "Get moving, Peterson," McNair yelled, breaking into a run.
Peterson, after a second's hesitation, followed.  That second's
hesitation cost him his life, for it gave the Invid enough time
to aim and fire on him.  "GAAAAAAAH!"  When McNair looked back an
instant later he saw the liquifying remains of his friend, who'd
been cooked by the plasma blast.  McNair, a 23-year veteran of
the police force who'd thought he'd seen the most grotesque
possible deaths in the various auto accidents he'd covered,
nearly threw up now.
     The Invid now turned toward him.  McNair dived to one side
as three energy blasts fired in unison dug a twenty-foot deep pit
in the sidewalk where he'd been standing.  He threw down his
useless pistol and ran for it, trying to put the east wing of
Wells between him and the Invid.
     As he rounded the corner, Dustin McNair saw the mag-locked
rear entrance to the east wing.  And then he saw that it had been
propped open, to keep it from mag-locking.  It was strictly
against the dormitory's security regulations, but McNair mentally
blessed whoever had done it, even as he jerked it open and ran
in.
     He tried the door at the first landing.  It was locked,
because the first floor of the east wing was primarily offices,
and the only entrance was from a different part of the building.
McNair charged up the stairs to the second floor, threw open the
door, and ran down the corridor to another flight of stairs.
This he went down.  At the bottom, he turned left, ran past
several vending machines, turned left again and ran eastward down
the hall to the main entrance, in the center of the bottom of the
"U" that was Wells.
     "Out of the way, police emergency!" McNair yelled at the
startled students who found themselves in his path. When he got
out to the north, he ran across the street toward a squad car
that was parked there, hoping to get in and get away before those
CREATURES caught up with him.
     But even as he got there, McNair saw that the things had
beat him to it.  There were five of them standing around the car,
aiming their weapons right at him.  McNair stopped running, and
realized that there was nothing he could do.  He closed his eyes
and waited for death to come, then--
     BOOM!  BOOM!  McNair opened his eyes, to see two of the five
creatures explode.  Then two more of them had their heads shot
off, and the last got off a shot at something above and behind
McNair.  Then a missile came in from behind McNair to demolish
the last Enforcer.
     McNair turned around, to see two armored individuals whose
silhouettes were, thankfully, recognizeably human, leap down from
the roof of Wells.  The two people were wearing blue
space-suit-like armor; one with smoking tubes on the forearms,
one carrying a gigantic smoking rifle; and some sort of strange
jetpacks that had--wheels?--on them.
     They raised the visors on their helmets.  They were both
young men, but the one with the large rifle appeared younger.
"I'm Lieutenant Martin Jackson, with the Science division of the
Robotech Expeditionary Force," the younger one said.
     "Pleased to meet you," McNair said dazedly.  "Robo-what?"
     "It's a long story," Jackson said.  "But one we don't have
time to tell you right now.  Listen, can you get on your radio
and call the National Guard, or whatever army you have in this
dimension?  You're going to need them."
     McNair looked back and forth from one to the other of them,
then promptly fainted.
 
 
 
Chapter 30: Learning to Fly...
 
 
     "...but I don't have wings..."  The song was playing in
Bio-Maintenance Engineer Barry Irrout's headset as he wrestled
with a recalcitrant computer servo-mechanism controlling unit on
the Ground Mobile Unit's main hangar doors.
     "...coming down..."  He ALMOST had it...He manipulated a
small screwdriver into place and tweaked a small lever ever so
slightly...
     "...is the hardest thing..."  Irrout's fingers slipped on
the screwdriver handle, the lever moved too far in the wrong
direction, and the huge hangar door came slamming down.  Irrout
barely managed to get out of the way in time.  WHAM!  The shock
reverberated throughout the entire vehicle.  Irrout tore off his
headset and threw down the Walkman in disgust.
     Ever since the successful Enforcer attack of a couple of
weeks before, Sgt. Irrout had worked nearly without cease, trying
to get the big ship combat-ready almost single-handedly (to his
mind).  His nerves were just about shot--he needed some sleep,
badly.  But he wouldn't let himself have it until he had made
sure that door would stop opening and closing unexpectedly.  He
just needed more tools.  Yes, that was it. More tools.  He walked
back in to one of the tool racks positioned along the side of the
large mecha bay.
     As he passed an Alpha fighter with an open cockpit, his ears
were assaulted by sound from its external speakers: "TO BE IN
LOVE...MUST BE THE SWEETEST FEELING THAT A GIRL CAN FEEL..."
Some joker had wired a CD player into the audio circuits of the
Alpha and was now blasting Minmei over it at a volume usually
reserved for head-banging music.
     "Will you SHUT THAT CRAP OFF?!!!" Irrout yelled irrascibly.
He didn't like Minmei; never had.  Her songs were always so whiny
and screechy!
     "Geez, Sarge!" muttered a young corporal who was playing
cards with one of his buddies on a makeshift table under the nose
of his plane.  He pulled out a small remote control, doubtless
co-opted from some worn out VCR, and aimed it at the head of the
plane.  The music stopped.  "Some people..."
     Sgt. Irrout ignored this and went on to get his tools.  If
he could just fix that door...
 
     The room was dark, then a door opened, admitting light into
the room.  A figure was silhouetted in the door, his arm reaching
to the left to hit the light button.  It was Joe Moore, the
Glitter Boy pilot.  He was wearing an REF flight suit he'd gotten
from the equipment lockers, however.
     This room was the small library of the GMU, the same one
which Dr. Thornton Smitty's assistant, Jack, had shot up shortly
before he'd slipped away.  The burn marks from that incident were
still on the walls.
     Moore walked over to one of the consoles and pulled out the
recordable CD cartridge he'd bought from the GMU's PX.  He shoved
it into a slot on the console, keyed in some instructions on the
keypad, and glanced at the screen.  It said BATTLE SIMULATION:
BELARRA FULCRUM."  Belarra Fulcrum, he'd found out, was a
little-known battle of minor strategic importance to the
Sentinels.  It was also one of the easiest victories they'd ever
taken.  Joe muttered, "Copy," even as he typed it in.  There was
a whirring of machinery that lasted for about thirty seconds,
then the green light that signalled he could remove the cartridge
now came on.
     Joe removed the cartridge and left the room.
 
     Corporal Felix Weidmann was now up and about.  Dr. Peltzer
had saved his life.  What was hard to live with was the way in
which he'd saved it.
     Weidmann now had this--this metal THING attached to where
his right arm had been.  It looked like an arm, save that it was
made of gleaming metal.  It acted like an arm, moving when he
told it to and grasping things just like a real arm.  It even had
a little bit of feeling in it, like wearing a heavy glove.  But
it WASN'T an arm!
     "We could have given you something that looked more like a
human arm, and had a little more feeling," Peltzer had said.
"But we figured that you would probably want the benefits that
come with a fully-bionic one more."
     Weidmann couldn't fault Moore, Peltzer, or any of the others
for saving his life.  He just wished he hadn't lost his natural
arm!  "Dammit," he muttered.  "I MEANT for the blast to strike me
in the chest, where my armor was thickest!  Then I would hardly
have been damaged at all, and Joe would have thought I'd saved
his life!" he told himself.  "I didn't mean to get my arm blown
off!"
     But Weidmann knew that wasn't true.  He'd knocked his friend
out of the way of a laser shot from an Enforcer and lost his arm
because of it.  He hadn't been thinking about where the beam
would hit him.  Now he was depressed about losing his arm.  He
had a right to be.
     In the course of his moping about, Weidmann had come up to a
vending machine set into the wall of the GMU.  He felt in his
pocket (his LEFT pocket...that was where he kept everything he
needed to feel to distinguish) for some change, inserted it in
the machine, and pressed the button for a candy bar.  The spiral
wire that held the snacks in place rotated, pushing the bar
off--but its wrapper got caught on the spiral, and held it there.
     "Oh, COME ON!" Weidmann said, banging on the glass front of
the machine in an effort to dislodge the bar.  CRASH!"  Without
realizing it, Weidmann had bashed with his RIGHT arm, which was
now halfway inside the machine.
     "The hell with it," Weidmann growled, smashing out more of
the glass and grabbing his candy bar, and a couple more besides.
"If I'm gonna be stuck with this thing, I might as well enjoy
it."
 
     Joe Moore sat down in the cockpit of the GMU's one mecha
simulator.  It had sat nearly unused here for months, as no one
had either the time or the inclination to use it during a
full-scale battle with the Invid.  When they were getting a
workout in battle while ON duty, why would they want to subject
themselves to more while OFF?
     Joe shoved the cartridge into a receptacle behind the seat
and touched the LOAD button.  The canopy closed over his head and
the blank panels in front of him opened to reveal Alpha Veritech
controls.  "Okay..." Joe muttered as the central commo screen
displayed the mission briefing.
     Invid were occupying a small Praxian settlement called
Belarra, and the REF was attacking from space at what computers
had determined to be the Invids' weak point.  The operation was
codenamed Belarra Fulcrum because of this.
     "Do you want to play as recruit, squadron leader, wing
commander, or operation commander?" a female computer voice
asked.
     "Might as well start at the bottom," Joe decided, touching
the "recruit" square.  Instantly the room darkened, the
holographic projectors came on, and Joe was catapulted into the
midst of space combat.
     As Joe learned the controls and started wiping out Invid
(and wiping out, himself), he thought about the Alpha fighter
whose simulation he was in. Sleek, compact, powerful, three or
four times as strong as his Glitter Boy...he wanted to fly one,
and if he just learned how it was done, maybe he could.  The old
Tom Petty song began running through his mind: "Learning to
fly..."
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