From: cmeadows@nyx.cs.du.edu (Chris Meadows)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives,alt.prose
Subject: Robotech/Rifts Crossover (part 3 of 7)
Date: 1 Sep 92 16:01:48 GMT
Followup-To: alt.prose
Organization: Nyx, Public Access Unix @ U. of Denver Math/CS dept.


     Kirksville sat like a black blot on the horizon.  It had
originally been merely the ruins of an old town, mostly overgrown
by forest, but the Coalition had moved in, cleaned out the
forest, and shipped some of Chi-Town's overburgeoning population
in.
     The town was mostly slums, with a large area of the sub-slum
Burbs around the outside.  Coalition patrols were light
here--there wasn't really that much to guard--so it should be no
problem to slip in through over the rear walls.  Joe had done it
before, without any kind of armor.  With the thrusters on this
Cyclone, it would be a cinch.
     The only problem now, Moore decided, lay in getting Dr.
Peltzer to come with him.  "He will," Joe resolved.  "He will, if
he wants to live."  He had used that expression for a long time,
but only now did it possess any shade of its literal meaning.
 
     Joe felt extremely fortunate that the city was surrounded by
forest.  That made it all that easier for him to slip around to
the back side of the city.  Now came the hard part.
     There were two guards stationed back here: Coalition Grunts
in Coalition standard armor, carrying laser rifles.  Joe
considered his options as he watched them from the cover of the
forest.  He could probably defeat them easily--but he didn't want
a commotion that would probably alert the other guards and cause
a citywide sweep for intruders.
     Then Joe had an idea.  He crept back into the forest about a
hundred yards, to a small clearing.  Here he removed one of his
smoke grenades from the rucksack he was carrying them in, and set
it on the ground.
     Next, Moore boosted up to the bottom branch of one of the
pine trees, and tore it loose from the trunk with his Cyclone's
strength.  He laid it on the ground, so it would look as if it
had fallen off the tree by itself.
     Joe checked his watch.  The countdown timer read 1:37:23.
"Hurry, Joe, hurry..." he thought to himself.  He dug an
indentation in the ground with his fingers and placed the grenade
in it.  He smeared some of the mud all over the shiny cylinder,
and arranged the branch over the grenade.  Then he pulled the pin
and dropped it on the ground by the smoke bomb.
     The job complete, Joe Moore ran back to his vantage point
near the city wall as the smoke started to rise.  As he'd
expected, the two guards ran into the forest at the first signs
of smoke.  A forest fire was a serious thing, and had to be
handled with dispatch.
     As soon as the guards were out of sight, Moore vaulted the
12-foot city wall in his Cyclone armor, and set down on the other
side.  Here was one of the poorest areas of town--the back
alleys.  Crumbling old buildings that had been here since the
city's last life provided homes for some of the town's worst-off
denizens.  Fortunately, no one was around.
     Moore reconvered the Cyclone to motorcycle mode and pulled
out the three storage containers from the rucksack.  He placed
them by the Cyclone, then stripped off his armor (battle armor
being illegal in the city).  When disassembled, the armor and his
Gallant went into one of the storage containers, the grenades in
another, and all three were magnetically clamped on top of the
Cyclone.
     As he was about to rev the engine and head off, he heard the
guards return.  "A false alarm," one was saying, apparently into
a radio mike.  "Tree limb broke off, knocked the pin out of an
old smoke grenade someone'd left lying around.  [Pause]  Yeah, we
know.  G2A1 out."
     "Why do WE get all the false alarms?" the other asked.
Moore smiled and wheeled his motorcycle a hundred feet or so down
the alley before climbing on and starting it up.  Now to find Dr.
Peltzer!
 
     Fifteen minutes later, Joe Moore pulled up in front of the
door to a ramshackle old house that appeared to have been
bombed--hardly anything was left standing.  He gave the code
knock, and the door opened.  Joe looked around nervously, then
wheeled the Cyclone into the door and down the staircase that had
been built here.
     The stairway led down about thirty feet to a series of rooms
that had been dug out of the ground.  The first was analogous to
a waiting room--there were a desk and a few chairs.  The desk was
occupied.  The chairs weren't.
     "Hello, Mabel," Joe said to the woman behind the desk.
"Beautiful as ever, I see."
     Mabel, who was about forty-five and no longer really
beautiful, blushed at the flattery all the same, and said, "Oh,
go on in.  I know Doctor Peltzer will be glad to see you."
     "Not half as glad as I'll be to see him."  He walked to the
door, then half-turned and said, "Oh, watch my bike, okay?"  Then
he walked on to the next room.
     This was Doc Peltzer's office, with another desk, and a
couple of chairs.  There was a rusty old cabinet against one wall
that held all of Peltzer's examining tools, and a frame on the
wall with a piece of paper in it that said, "Put Medical Diploma
Here" (Doc Peltzer had a sense of humor).
     Though without diploma, Peltzer was far from being a quack.
The reason he had no degree was that there was no one to give one
to him.  Peltzer was as educated as or more educated than many
20th century doctors.  He had just gotten his learning
underground (figuratively) and now practiced it underground
(figuratively and literally).
     Now Peltzer, who was behind his desk, stood as Joe Moore
approached and said, "Joe!  How are you?"  Peltzer was
short--about 5' 7"--with hair halfway between brown and blond and
a mustache to match.
     Joe got right to the point.  "I'm okay, but a friend of mine
isn't.  Get your gear together, and I'll take you to him."
     Peltzer nodded, and went into action.  He pulled off the lab
coat he was wearing to reveal a jumpsuit beneath it.  "Describe
the problem."
     "Right arm blown off by laser fire.  In shock, fading fast."
     Peltzer again nodded, and went into the next room, his
surgery, where he selected a bionic arm and some tools with which
to install it.  As he packed other medical miscellany, Joe asked,
"Still got Old Faithful?"
     "Yep.  That old Jeep hasn't failed me yet."  Peltzer threw
some more stuff into a duffel bag, then said, "Where do I need to
go?"
     "Once you get out of town, make for this point."  Joe
indicated it on a map of the surrounding area hanging on one
wall.  "I'll meet you there.  In..."  He looked at his watch.
"...one hour and about ten minutes, we'll be picked up."
     "Can you get out of town?" Peltzer asked.
     "Don't worry about me," Moore replied.  "I have an edge like
you wouldn't believe."
 
     A thousand miles away, Major Sebastian Mortifax of the
Coalition's air wing examined reports that had just reached his
desk, of an object detected making Mach 8, identified on radar as
some kind of an airplane.  Mortifax had stopped the report from
going any higher, telling his subordinates that it had to be "a
glitch in the radar or something" and calling in a Technical
Officer to run a complete check on the radar.
     Of course, Mortifax knew what it REALLY was, what it HAD TO
be--someone had developed a new, super-fast jet.  Mortifax had to
have it.  And, as he swore to himself, he would, he would...
 
 
 
Chapter 17: Steele Survived!
 
 
     Captain Steele was unconscious for a very long time.  When
he awoke, it was by levels.  He began to feel his body, then
conscious thought returned, and one by one his senses began to
respond.  Then Steele opened his eyes to find he was lying barely
twenty feet away from a dragon.
     It was a magnificent creature, perhaps seventy or eighty
feet long, and pure snowy white.  It appeared to be asleep.
Steele was nervous, until he recognized the dragon as being the
same one that had come to his aid during the rescue of the two
scientists.  Then he relaxed, and drifted back into
unconsciousness.
     When he awoke again, the dragon was gone, and Sherelynn was
there, running a moistened cloth across his forehead.  "Welcome
back to the land of the living," Sherelynn greeted him.
     Steele groaned slightly and lifted himself to his shoulders
with his elbows.  "Where am I?"  He looked around.  "And how did
I get here?"  They appeared to be in a forest clearing, about a
hundred feet or so in diameter.  It was late afternoon.
     Steele was wearing the pants of his REF uniform, but no
shirt.  About twenty feet away were his Cyclone cycle and CVR
armor.
     "I have my ways," Sherelynn said coyly.
     "The dragon?"  Steele dimly remembered being borne through
the air; but after that, nothing.
     He thought Sherelynn's expression changed for an instant,
but he might have imagined it.  "Oh, the dragon?  She's an old
friend of mine."
     "What an amazing creature," Steele murmured, lying back down
again.  Sherelynn smiled, and Steele smiled back at her smile.
She had a smile that made one dizzy--or was that just his overall
weakness from the wound?
 
     It was several days before Steele could get up and walk
around.  Sherelynn told him that he'd lost a great deal of blood
before she'd found him.  "It's extremely fortunate for you that I
am skilled in the psychic arts of healing," she told him.
     And she was more than willing to demonstrate these arts.
"It involves the laying on of hands," she said, kneeling by where
he was lying and putting her hands on his chest where the wound
had been (all traces were almost completely gone by now).  "Now I
concentrate, and..."  Steele immediately felt new strength flow
into his body.
     "That's amazing!" he said.  Then, with his newfound
strength, he pulled her arms out from under her and dropped her
to the ground beside him.  They lay there, on their sides,
looking at each other, then grabbed each others' arms, pulled
closer together, and let nature take its course.
 
     Early one morning, several "healing sessions" later, Steele
was finally on his feet.  This morning, Steele was checking over
the Cyclone for damage.  Fortunately, the hit he'd taken hadn't
been too critical for the machine.  However, his CVR armor had a
hole the size of his fist blown out of it.  "Whoa," he muttered
as he examined it.  "I was lucky, indeed!"
     As Steele reloaded the chest missile launchers from one of
the storage containers on the Cyclone, he thought about
Sherelynn.  She was off in the woods somewhere.  As he'd been
getting better and better, she'd been making her trips more and
more frequently, and staying away much greater lengths of time.
     Steele decided to get his armor on and do a bit of looking
around in the Cyclone.  As he snapped the last transformation
locking unit into place on his chest, he heard a scream.  Racing
to his Cyclone, Steele wasted no time.  He shifted modes and took
off, heading for the source of the scream.
     It was Sherelynn--three people in SAMAS power armor had her
pinned against a rock cliff and were holding their railguns on
her.  "Don't make a move, dragon lady," one of them muttered.
"We'll fill you so full of holes that sponges will be envious."
     Steele touched down behind them.  "I wouldn't advise that,"
he said loudly.
     Two of the SAMAS troops turned to look--and that was their
mistake.  Sherelynn grabbed the railgun of the third and yanked
it out of his hands.  It went off, but it apparently missed, for
Sherelynn was still there.
     The other two opened fire immediately, but there was nothing
for their railgun pellets to hit--Steele wasn't there any more.
>From atop the rock cliff, Captain Steele said, "Here I am!"  As
they fired their mini-missiles at him, he leaped again, this time
coming down right in front of them.  "And here you DIE!"  On the
last work, he rammed the Saber Cyclone's blades through the chest
of the first SAMAS armor.  The other Sam took to the air, hoping
to outrun Steele.
     "Bad move, pal," Steele said, opening the mini-missile racks
and firing all twelve mini-missiles at the escaping SAMAS.  They
struck dead-on, and blasted it to smithereens.
     Meanwhile, Sherelynn seemed to be having a relatively easy
time with her SAMAS.  She was executing karate moves against
it--and they were WORKING.  The Sam staggered back from her
onslaught of deadly blows.  It fired its mini-missiles at her,
and at the point-blank range at which it was from her, it
automatically struck--but Sherelynn was unphased, and almost
undamaged!  "That did it," Sherelynn said.  "Now you've made me
MAD!"  She spun around, bringing her foot up as she did, and
executed a perfect spin-kick to the power armor's skull-like
head.  The Sam's head snapped back, and there was an audible
CRACK as the pilot's neck broke.  The SAMAS collapsed to the
ground.
     Steele changed the Cyclone back into a motorcycle and
stepped off.  He ran over to Sherelynn, who was leaning back
against the rock face, bleeding from a couple of wounds in her
chest.  "What are you?" he asked.  "I saw you take that railgun
blast and those missiles.  You should be lying in little pieces
on the ground right now, but you're hardly hurt."  Even as he
watched, her wounds closed up slightly.
     Then Steele thought of something.  "That man--he called you
'dragon lady.'  Does that mean...?"  He looked at her again.
Funny, she DID bear a certain resemblance to the white dragon,
now that he considered it.  The paleness of her complexion and
hair, the shape of her body, even the way she moved contested to
the similarity.
     Sherelynn nodded and sighed.  "Yes, I am the Ice Dragon."
She hung her head.  "I didn't want to tell you, because I was
afraid that you would--would feel differently about me."
     Steele searched his feelings.  At first, he was astonished.
He had made love to a dragon?!  But then he knew that it didn't
matter, recalling the examples of Max and Miriya Sterling, Bowie
Grant and Musica, Scott Bernard and Marlene, and Lancer and Sera.
Love could surpass ANY obstacle, and Steele knew he loved this
dragon.  "Sherelynn, I don't care what you are.  I feel no
differently about you than I did before.  If anything, I
like you even more, now that I know the truth.  I don't have
to keep wondering any more."
     Sherelynn looked up, and said, "You really mean that?"  Her
wounds completely closed up, and she stood from off the rock and
embraced Steele.
     "I do," Steele reaffirmed.
     They kissed passionately and long, then went off to let
nature take its course once again.
 
 
 
Chapter 18: Zyjinn's Awakening
 
 
     The Invid Enforcer squad sent into the GMU had been
destroyed.  Bort sat on his throne and fumed, for all of the
Invid Brain's estimates of great damage to the machine's
interior.  "It still functions, does it not?!" he raged at the
machine.  "Find me a way to remedy THAT, why don't you?"
     "Patience," the Brain soothed.  "The Seeding goes well.
Already our Troopers have secured for us all land within a radius
of thirty of the humans' miles, and the first fields of the
Flower of Life have been planted and seem to be growing quite
well.  Soon we will have enough power to wipe the entire human
presence from this planet."
     Bort shook his head, a human gesture that apparently had
come with the human body.  "How?  How can we do that?"  He swept
his arm in the general direction of the chambers where hundreds
of Invid lay in suspended animation, waiting for the telepathic
signal that would rouse them to activity.  "We have a finite
supply of Invid.  Our Regis, for all her power, cannot reach us
without a large supply of Protoculture to draw upon.  Once those
eggs are gone, we have no more.  And we are spreading ourselves
too thin as it is."
     "We will not be caught defenseless," the Brain insisted.
"Even as I communicate with you, I am at the same time overseeing
the quickening, the revivification, of dozens of your Invid
brethren.  By the time this planet has completed another rotation
about its axis, we shall be up to full strength."
     "Yes," Bort said.  "But what of our future?  How will we
survive without our Regis?"
     "I believe that Zyjinn is considering that possibility even
as we speak."
 
     Thirty miles from the Hive, Zyjinn stood within a ley line.
His Command Battloid stood, cockpit open, a hundred yards from
the ley line's edge--he had left it behind because he needed to
be outside of it to feel this incredible power as it truly needed
to be felt.
     A group of ten Enforcers and two Pincer Command Units was
nearby, awaiting his call.  They did not come within a hundred
feet of the ley line--it instilled in them a feeling vaguely akin
to human nervousness.  It was an irrational feeling, but when was
any living creature ever completely rational?
     Zyjinn stood, virtually naked to the ley line, letting the
power flow around him, feeling its pulse as it permeated all the
tissues of his body.  As he experienced this, FELT it, he
considered what he had learned from inhabitants of the villages
that the Invid had enslaved.  These disturbances, called "ley
lines," were a source of power for psychics and magicians.  The
psychic energy of billions of deaths had fugued into a horrific,
hellish reaction that had awakened these lines.
     Now, those who understood the power could use it.  And that
was what Zyjinn now sought.  Somewhere, deep in his humanoid
mind, the lust for power seethed uneasily.  It had been there for
a long, long time, sublimated beneath the stronger racial loyalty
to the Regis and his race.  But now, the Regis' influence was
absent, or at least far removed.  Zyjinn now understood his TRUE
destiny--to become the utmost power on the face of the planet.
And once he knew how to control the power that surged through
this ley line phenomenon, he could use it to destroy Bort then
the Regis, and take control of the Invid race.  And from there,
he would rise to new heights, as eventual ruler of the cosmos!
     To assist him in this conquest, Zyjinn had recruited an
experienced magic-user.  This man called himself Tal, and claimed
to be a Shifter, one whose skill lay in manipulating the eddies
of space and time to open gates between dimensions.  His age
appeared to be about forty human years, and he had dark hair and
steel-grey eyes.  Tal stood beside him now, basking in the energy
of the line.  "Isn't it wonderful?!" Tal crowed.  "Only those
truly skilled in magic or psionics can feel as we do now."
     "Show me the ways of this power, Shifter," Zyjinn commanded.
"It is only this that has saved you from death at the hands of my
Enforcers.  I would know all that you can teach me, for my
further experimentation."
     Tal nodded, and laughed inwardly at this creature.  He
recognized the true reason Zyjinn wished to know of magic.  He
was not so imperceptive as to recognize the craving for power
when he encountered it.  Perhaps one reason for this recognition
was that a similar craving resided within his own heart.  "I will
teach you all that you need to know."
 
     In a distant dimension, the Invid Regis felt a distant
tremor in the group consciousness of her race.  It soon passed,
and the Regis forgot it rapidly, with all the other pressing
matters on her mind.  But the sense of impending doom remained
with her for some time, and it was not easily put aside.
 
 
 
Chapter 19: Escape from Kirksville
 
 
     The first inkling Joe Moore got that his exit from
Kirksville might not be too easy was the extra guards in the
streets.  They were mostly just Coalition grunts, cannon fodder,
in the CA-1 and 2 armor.  Joe paid them no heed, and they mostly
ignored him too.  However, they were toting some heavy armament;
mostly the C-27 Heavy Plasma Cannon and the C-14 Firebreather
laser rifle/grenade launcher combo.  Not that they'd be able to
do too much against the Cyclone armor, of course.
     Joe's first escape plan was to change to Cyclone armor and
go over the wall somewhere.  That plan changed as soon as he
noticed the perimeter patrols had been increased to include
Coalition AFC-023 Sky Cycles and SAMAS power armor.  The only way
out appeared to be to pose as a standard wanderer and go out
through the admissions station.  Of course, if the gate guards
remembered that they hadn't seen him coming in, and put two and
two together...
     Then the 'borgs began to show up.  They were mostly partial
conversion, which meant that they'd had only their arms and legs,
or their torsos, replaced with bionic parts (as opposed to their
entire bodies).  They were probably Coalition Military
Specialists, and carried Triax TX-500 borg railgun rifles.  This
interested Joe.  He pulled his Cyclone into an alley and decided
to stay for a while and see what was going on.  If it was
something that required all this firepower, it might be worth
checking out.  It didn't matter if he missed the rendezvous; he
could make his way back to the GMU on the Cyclone.
     Joe Moore didn't have long to wait.  Down the main street of
the town came a procession of motorcycles bearing more grunts,
with plasma cannon rifles slung on their backs.  Following the
'cycles came a pre-rifts convertible automobile, in like-new
condition.  The car was driven by another armored person, one of
the RPA (Robot/Power Armor) pilots by the shape of his helmet.
In the rear seat were two armored individuals whom Joe couldn't
help but recognize. Their faces were familiar to all Coalition
citizens and to many who did not live in the Coalition as well.
The man on the left, with a stern visage and streaks of gray in
his dark hair, was none other than Emporer Karl Prosek, leader of
the Coalition.  By his side, with lighter hair and a similar
face, was his son, Joseph Prosek the Second, Head of Propaganda
for the Coalition. They were making an appearance, apparently for
the purpose of shoring up morale in this town.
     Joe was close enough, in the shadows of the alley, to take
a shot at Prosek, and probably not miss.  The only thing that
stayed his hand was the fact that, if he did shoot Prosek, he
would never make it out of the town alive.  And Joe was way too
attached to his life to let it be separated from him.
     When the convoy had passed, Joe Moore backed further into
the alley, turned around, and headed out the other side.  There
were a few squatters he had to maneuver around, but they were no
threat to him.
     When he reached another open street and turned on it, Moore
thought he was safe and could now find a way to get out of the
town.  His chronometer was reading 0:42:39, and time was running
out.
     Then two armored Coalition grunts carrying the heavy plasma
cannons stepped into his way.  "Goin' somewhere?" one asked.
     "I was considering it, yes," Joe answered.
     "Don't get smart-ass with us, boy," the second one said.
"We eat jerk-offs like you for breakfast."
     "We were just admiring that there motorcycle of yours," the
first said.  "Looks brand-new.  You know, it could be one o'them
art-y-facts the boss is always lookin' for."
     "That being the case, I think we oughtta confiscate it," the
second one said.
     "Uh, guys, you don't want to do that," Joe Moore said.
     "Oh?" asked the first grunt, raising the plasma cannon.
"And why not?"
     "This is why."  Joe pressed the switch to fire the Scorpion
plasma missiles.  The two missiles from the left hub smashed into
the first grunt, blowing him to smithereens.
     "Hot damn!" the second one yelled, trying to bring his gun
up.  He wasn't fast enough--the second two plasma missiles took
care of him.
     Aware of all the noise he'd just made, Joe revved the
throttle and looked for a place to hide before more trouble found
him.  If he could get into one of the abandoned buildings, he
could put on his CVR armor, shift to Cyclone Armor mode, and get
the heck out of this town.
     But trouble found him first.  It was in the form of a SAMAS
that touched down in front of him, causing him to skid the bike
to a halt.  "Hey, you there!" the SAMAS pilot called out.  "What
were those explosions back there!?"
     Joe reacted quickly.  "Oh, thank goodness you're here!" he
called out.  "It was a Flying Titan power armor; it must have
glided in silently or something.  It iced two foot soldiers and
nearly got me too, but I ran."
     "It must be here to assassinate the Emporer," the SAMAS
pilot thought out loud.  "I'd better get over there!"  The SAMAS
armor flew off.  Joe breathed a sigh of relief, then found a
place to put on his armor.  Perimeter patrols or no perimeter
patrols, he was getting OUT of this town.
     Fortunately, he was close to the city wall now, and there
weren't many guards around this area.  Joe pulled out a few
grenades, and used his Cyclone's strength to throw them far out
into the forest.  As they went off, most of the perimeter guards
went out to see what they were, giving Joe the perfect chance to
jump over the wall and blend into the forest.
 
     The chronometer said 0:22:19 to go before pickup.  Night was
falling as Joe slowly moved up the forested hillside toward the
rendezvous site.  Halfway up, he stopped and looked back.  He saw
two AFC-050 Death's Head Transports rising into the air from
where they had landed near the town.  They hovered in the air, as
if they were waiting for something.
     Joe was horrified.  "If they're still there when those
planes come back to pick us up, there'll be one HUGE battle
royal."  He continued up toward the rendezvous site, hoping that
nothing would go wrong when they were so close to their
objective.
     Ten minutes later, Joe Moore reached the clearing.  Dr.
Peltzer was there already, in his old jeep.  "What took you so
long, Joe?"
     "I was held up by the arrival of Karl and Joseph Prosek."
He grimaced.  "They scare me.  They really do."
     Peltzer shrugged, used to Joe's manner of speaking.  "They
scare everybody.  That's one of the things they're good at.  How
long until we're picked up?  How will we be picked up, anyway?"
     "About fifteen minutes, and a plane is coming in.  There'll
be enough room for your equipment, but I'm afraid you'll have to
leave Ol' Faithful here."
     The doctor scowled.  "They had BETTER be paying me a great
deal.  C'mon, help me camouflage the jeep before they get here."
He looked out toward the two Death's Head Transports that were
hovering level with the rim of the valley, now visible only by
their running lights and the two spotlights in front.
     Joe followed his gaze.  "What are they DOING there?!" he
muttered.
     "Waiting for the Proseks to finish in town, probably,"
Peltzer said.  "Then one of them will go down and pick them up,
fancy convertible and all."
     Joe Moore nodded.  That sounded about right.  "But why
aren't they staying on the ground?"
     Peltzer tapped the radio mounted on the dash of his jeep.
"Could it be that they're watching for a certain Flying Titan
reported inside the city?"
     Moore shrugged.  "It's possible.  Come on, let's throw some
brush on that jeep of yours."  They set to the task, while the
two transports waited for any sign of enemy activity.
 
     Thousands of miles away, Major Sebastian Mortifax waited,
the sole occupant of a darkened comm room in the Chi-Town air
wing command complex.  He had ordered all stations along the
projected course of the Mach 8 aircraft to be alert for its
return, and now waited for reports to come in.  When the strange
aircraft showed up, Mortifax would know where and when.
Silently, Mortifax waited.
 
 
 
Chapter 20: Steele Returns
 
 
     Several days later, Steele, now fully recovered, and
Sherelynn the dragon flew toward the GMU together.  In the days
Steele had been convalescing, the mobile command complex had
travelled several hundred miles, throug parts of Georgia and
Alabama.  It was now in the middle of Alabama, nearing the
Mississippi border.  Steele and Sherelynn had quite a lot of
distance to cover.
     As they flew, he in his Cyclone and she in her natural
dragon form, they conversed.  Steele learned that Sherelynn was
107 human years old ("Hope you like older women."  "Older women,
no; but I have yet to decide about older dragons.") and could
only assume human form for a few hours each day.  "That is why I
made my excursions into the forest--to spend time in my natural
form so that I might spend all of my human time with you."
     "I see," Steele replied.  "And I assume you will continue to
do so?"
     Sherelynn's huge head bobbed up and down in a draconian nod.
"Yes.  The fewer of your people who know my secret, the happier I
shall be."
     "I see.  Well, you can count on me to keep that secret."
     Sherelynn nodded.  "I know."
     At the relatively slow speed of 50 mph (the fastest
Sherelynn could fly), it took them two and one-half days to cover
the area the GMU had covered in a week or more.  They avoided
civilization and areas of high magic concentration ("Evil things
often gather where strong magic lurks," Sherelynn explained), and
managed to make good time.  Along the way, Sherelynn told Steele
about many of the facts of life in the modern, post-Rifts world.
He learned more about the Coalition, and their strong anti-magic,
anti-D-bee stance.  He learned about Northern Gun, the
continent's primary weapons manufacturer.  Sherelynn managed to
give him an overview of the entire known world by the time they
reached the GMU site.
     "It's amazing, the depths human nature has sunk to even as
technology and magic have grown more sophisticated," Steele
observed as they were sitting by the campfire on the night before
they would reach the GMU.
     Sherelynn, in human form, shrugged.  "It's in your nature.
Ours, too, in fact--there are many evil dragons, though we don't
like to talk of them much."
     "And to think we thought we'd left all that behind with the
coming of Robotech...Oh, but this dimension didn't have an SDF,
did it?  Have I told you about T.R. Edwards?"
     Sherelynn nodded.  "I believe so.  Isn't he the one who
tried to take over your Robotech Expeditionary Force, with the
help of the Invid Regent?"
     "Yes.  Very nearly succeeded, too.  From your description,
it sounds like they would have gotten along quite well with your
Karl Prosek."
     Sherelynn giggled.  "The Hitler Club.  Include Hitler,
Stalin, Prosek, Edwards, Regent..."
     "Not to mention Dolza, the Robotech Masters, the Invid
Scientist Tesla, and many others throughout history, such as
Jengiz Q'an, Ho Chi Min, all the other great tyrants..." Steele
added.  They spent the rest of the night before they went to bed
making up lists of who all of the more important members might
be, then electing a government of this mythical organization.  In
the end, they decided that it would probably be based on the
totalitarian form of rule, and that it wouldn't last long--all
the members would kill each other off trying to get the top spot.
It was a rather frivolous activity, but it passed the time.
 
     The next day, they finally caught up with the GMU.  They had
landed about two miles behind it, then Sherelynn had shifted into
human form and Steele into Cyclone Cyclone mode, and in this way
did they arrive at the GMU.
     Everyone was glad to see them, especially Lt. Colonel Bowaz.
"We've had some problems," Bowaz said to Steele as soon as he
could get Steele alone.  "A squad of Invid Enforcers broke into
the GMU and did a great deal of damage before we were able to
destroy them.  One of our Cyclone Riders, a Jason Weidmann, lost
an arm and is in severe shock right now in the sick bay.  Joe
Moore has gone to pick up a medical practitioner whom he believes
can save Weidmann's life.  They should be back within two hours."
     Steele took all this in, then said, "Well, I suppose I'll
need a complete damage report.  Then I can begin prioritizing
subsystem repairs, and get an idea of what we need to do."
     "I knew you'd be needing those things, so I had duplicates
sent to your desk," Bowaz said.  Then he added, "It's good to
have you back.  I know I can count on you to see that things get
put back into shape."
     "I'll do my best."  Steele had originally been the sole
commanding officer of this GMU, until he had come to the aid of
his immediate superior, Lt. Col. Bowaz, whose command ship had
been almost totally destroyed.  Bowaz had set up his own command
on board the GMU, encompassing the GMU and the remnants of his
command ship's Destroid and Veritech detachment.  Steele had
been officially delegated to the rank of second in command.
However, the GMU was still Steele's pride and joy, and he knew
more about it than any other soldier on board except the
bio-maintenance engineers.
     As Steele sat at the desk in his office/barracks room,
Sherelynn entered the room from the corridor.  "I heard what
happened here," she said.  "I understand that you'll be quite
busy for the next several days, what with all the damage reports
and repair requests you'll have to handle."
     Steele hit the 'pause' key on his computer terminal,
currently displaying the first of what promised to be a long
series of damage reports.  "Just for a day or so.  This stuff
won't keep me for long."
     "That's good," Sherelynn said.  "Then we'll have time
for...other things," she added suggestively.
     Steele was about to reply when the intercom panel on his
desk sounded the "Emergency Alert" signal.  Steele slammed his
hand down on the button almost instantly.  "Steele here.  What is
it?!"
     "Sir, the Legios we sent out with Joe Moore is returning.
And we have reports of multiple radar contacts coming in fast
from behind it."
     "On my way."  He turned off the computer.  "This junk can
wait."  He dashed out of the room, Sherelynn right behind him.
 
 
 
Chapter 21: Pickup
 
 
     Dr. Peltzer stood by a large pile of equipment in the middle
of the clearing as Joe Moore hovered 20 feet in the air, keeping
a nervous eye on the activity taking place in the valley below
them.  The two Coalition Transports were still hovering there,
waiting for something.  And it was barely five minutes before the
projected time of the Legios ships' arrival for the pickup.
     Joe was worried.  "If the planes show up before those things
are gone, there'll be trouble, I just know it.  They're armed to
the teeth!" he muttered.
 
     Meanwhile, on the bridge of one of the Death's Head
Transports, one of the communications officers called to the
commanding officer, "Sir, I'm reading a bogey.  It's a bit
smaller than we are, and it's closing fast."
     "How fast?" the individual demanded, coming over to the
console."
     The young comm-tech checked his screen, then re-checked it.
"It says...Mach 8, sir."
     "Impossible.  Get me a diagnostic," the commander, a Captain
in the Coalition army, said.
     "All systems report normal operation, sir.  ETA twenty
seconds."
     One of the co-pilots picked up a radio-telephone handset.
"Get me Major Mortifax," he said.
 
     Inside the Alpha, radar had just begun to indicate the
presence of the Coalition ships.  Not hesitating, the pilot hit
the auto-override key to fire the Beta's medium-range missiles.
All six of the rockets zoomed away, heading toward the first of
the two Transports.  "Look alive," the Alpha pilot said over the
intercom to his Beta counterpart.  "There's going to be some
combat."
 
     A klaxon began sounding on the bridge.  "Sir, it's fired
missiles!"
     "Get us out of here!" the captain ordered.  But as the pilot
reached for the throttle, the missiles hit.  The transport was
severely shaken, and the captain hit his head on a bulkhead and
was knocked out.
     "Sir, we're going down!" a co-pilot yelled.  "Sir?  Sir!"
 
     In the Chi-Town command and control room, Major Mortifax was
eagerly monitoring the battle.  Input from the main cameras of
the two Transports was being shown on the forty-foot screen at
the front of the room.  As the picture from the first one wavered
and disappeared, and cameras on the second showed the first going
down, Mortifax paled.  "My god, that thing is ARMED!"  Then he
looked around and hoped no one had heard him use the word
"god"--the Coalition was officially atheist.
     For the first time, it had entered his mind that the
Coalition vessels might be unable to stand up to the mystery
plane.  The realization staggered him for only a few seconds,
however.  After that, he was on the radio barking out commands to
the air units in the southern part of the Coalition, and in the
wilderness areas, setting up a blockade line along the plane's
projected course to try and intercept it, or at least keep track
of it.  No way was he going to let this find slip through his
fingers!
 
     Joe Moore and Dr. Peltzer had just seen the missiles streak
across the sky and slam into one of the Death's Head Transports.
"What is it?" Peltzer asked, startled.
     "It's our ride!" Moore said.  "And it appears to have taken
out one of the Coalition Transports.  I hope it can do the same
for the other one."
 
     Inside the Alpha's cockpit, the pilot's hand hovered over a
red key.  "Prepare to engage emergency separation procedures on
my mark," he told the pilot of the Beta.  "You go pick 'em up,
and I'll distract that massive bandit up there."
     "Roger," the pilot replied.  "Standing by to activate
separation."
     As the pilot punched the key, the Beta's legs came down and
fired forward, to slow the planes to manageable speeds.  Then the
two ships separated, and the Alpha headed toward the remaining
Transport.
     On board this Transport, apparently somebody had started
thinking; the turret guns on the top and sides of the ship had
started firing.  The Alpha pilot skirted the laser and railgun
blasts with ease, barrel-rolling right through a web of laser
fire with the grace of a dancer.  As he passed overhead, he put
four missiles into the top turret, silencing the twin railguns
that had been banging away at him.  As more lasers opened up, the
Alpha dived almost to the ground, then performed an Immelman
turn, tricky with a standard jet but a piece of cake for a
Veritech Alpha Fighter.  "Now let's see how you stand up to a few
short-range missiles, dead-on," the pilot muttered.
 
     Meanwhile, the Beta had swooped in, almost unnoticed by the
Transport, to pick up Dr. Peltzer and Joe Moore.  As it landed,
Peltzer stood entranced, amazed by what he had just seen.
"Separating airplanes.  I never would have thought of that," he
muttered.
     "Come on, Doc," Joe said.  "We have to get your things
loaded if we want to get you out of here."
     "Oh, right, right, I'm coming."
 
     In the aerial command center back in Chi-Town, Major
Mortifax was experiencing much the same reaction as had Dr.
Peltzer.  "Separating airplanes," he said to the empty room.
"The rear one provides thrust, and the front one is more
maneuverable.  What an ingenious system.  I MUST have it."  He
made final checks on the preparations for the tracking net.
"I've got you now," Mortifax muttered, then noticed that the
screens carrying the pictures from the second Transport were
beginning to blank out.
 
     The Transport was history--it hadn't stood up to the massive
missile assault from the Alpha.  All fifty-plus missiles had hit
their mark, and all that was left of the Death's Head Armored
Transport was bits of fiery debris falling slowly to the earth.
     The Beta radioed that the pick-up was complete.  "Good.
Let's link up and get the hell out of here," the Alpha pilot
responded, firing his gun pod at one of the five Coalition Sky
Cycles which had just taken off to intercept him.
     "Roger.  Maneuvering into position."  The link-up was done
at Mach 1.7, much faster than the Sky Cycles could go.  Then
speed increased to Mach 8.
     "We'll be back at the GMU within ten minutes," the Alpha
pilot reassured Joe Moore over the intercom.
     From the communication station of the Beta, Moore replied,
"Good.  I have about HAD IT with these Coalition people."
 
     Mortifax watched with glee as the fighter streaked for home,
wherever home was.  As it left the radar perimeter of one station
or Transport, it entered the perimeter of another.  Radar was
tracking it inexorably toward somewhere in the southern region of
what had once been the United States.
     Ten minutes later, when it began slowing down, Mortifax
leaped to another station and checked the computer.  Strange...no
major installations of any kind were on file, except the robotics
complex of that rogue scientist which had been burned to the
ground several days ago.  Still, there had been reports of odd
aircraft in that battle...
     Major Mortifax hit the command switch for his throat
microphone.  "All forces from regional batalion LS-337, move in
on quarry.  Try to capture the plane intact, if possible.  That
is all.  Out."  He tapped into some of the cameras on the
vehicles he was sending in.  "Just let that fighter try to take
on an entire batallion," he muttered.  "We'll see who's going to
win this one."
 
 
 
Chapter 22: The Battle Begins
 
 
     When Steele and Sherelynn got to the bridge, Bowaz had
already arrived and was firmly in control of the situation.
"What are those objects on our radar?" he was asking one of
the technicians.
     "Sir, the signatures indicate some type of armored
vehicle, but we can't get a computer match-up.  Probably
Coalition, though, from the number of blips."
     "How many are there?" Steele asked.
     "At least forty large ones, and fifty or more of the
smaller ones, sir," the tech said.  "I think we may be in
trouble."
     "Nonsense.  We've beat 'em before and we'll beat 'em
again," Bowaz said.  "Get all of our forces in the field."
     "Yessir."  The technician slid over to the next station
and punched the intercom button.  As he started speaking
into it, Steele left the room.
     Sherelynn ran after him.  "Where are you going?" she
asked.
     "I'm suiting up.  If it's Coalition out there, our boys
will need all the help they can get."  He entered his
quarters and started pulling on his armor.  "You'd have
expected that the pilot would have known better than coming
straight back like that.  Guess he thought that no one could
follow him at Mach 8."
     "They shouldn't have BEEN able to follow an object at
that speed," Sherelynn said.  "That's beyond the
capabilities of anything in the Coalition's arsenal."
     "So they must have set up a tracking network," Steele
decided, locking the CVR-3's sleeves into place.  "If they had
enough radar vehicles, they could easily stretch a line from
Kirksville back to here."
     Sherelynn nodded.  "Probably correct."  She pulled her
NG-Super laser pistol/grenade launcher from its holster and
checked the load.  "I shall see you on the battlefield," she
said, moving toward the door.
     "Wait a minute!" Steele said, latching the wrap-around
chestpiece closed.  "You can't go out there!"
     "And why not?" Sherelynn asked.  "I am more impervious
to damage than one of your Cyclones."
     "Oh, that's right."  Seeing that he couldn't keep her
off the battlefield, Steele said, "Well, at least be
careful."
     Sherelynn leaned forward to kiss Steele on the lips. "I
will be.  YOU'RE the one who should be careful--you don't
have magical powers of regeneration."
     "I have you, and that's good enough," Steele said,
feeling momentarily like a character in a bad romance novel.
He pulled on his helmet, picked up his Gallant rifle, and
followed Sherelynn out the door.  They split up at the mecha
bay, Steele taking his Cyclone and Sherelynn simply running
down the ramp.  Steele watched her head into the nearby
forest so she could change into dragon form without beeing
seen, then roared off down the ramp and out.
 
     Steele took up a position at the front of the defensive
formation of Destroids as the first of the Alpha fighters
roared into the sky.  "What's the E.T.A. of the Legios
carrying Joe Moore and the doctor?" Steele asked over the
radio.
     "E.T.A. three minutes, sir," the technician on the
bridge of the GMU replied.  "And those blips aren't far
behind."
     "As soon as it arrives, I want both mecha inside the
bay to be reloaded with missiles, and I want Joe Moore in
his Glitter Boy out here immediately.  Looks like we're
gonna need him."
     
     Two of the largest blips began to move in.  These were
Death's Head Armored Transports, carrying troops that would
be a part of the attack force.  They intended to set down to
debark their troops approximately five miles away from the
landing site of that airplane.
     "Okay, that's close enough," Steele decided.  "Gunners,
let 'em have it."
     The GMU fired first.  Its gigantic rapid-fire laser
cannon had elevated and locked onto the blips as Steele had
been pulling on his armor.  Now they were within the mighty
gun's eight-mile range, and they would pay for it.
     Next to open up were the Raidar X anti-aircraft
Destroids.  Light-years more advanced than their RDF
forebear, the Raidar X Mark X, these Raidar X Mark XIs
packed a monster punch.  Both of them were firing at their
maximum rates, the gunners holding their fingers on the
triggers until the guns were in danger of overheating.
     "Okay, that's enough, boys," Steele said, noting the
disappearance from radar of the two enemy aircraft.  "Now,
all long-range missile batteries open fire on the bandits at
coordinates 929.090.235, mark 1."
     Two gigantic panels slid open to either side of the
Ground Mobile Unit's rapid-fire laser cannon, each one
revealing twelve missiles, each of which packed enough of a
punch to decimate one of the Destroids that the GMU was
fighting alongside.  On the bridge, a loud tone signalled a
target lock.  The gunner thumbed the firing button, and the
long-range missiles left their launchers.
     On the ground, one of the Destroids stepped up to
the front. This was the GMU's Spartan, packing twenty
long-range missiles in each of two drum-shaped compartments
that served as its arms. Now the drums elevated, their
panels flipped open, and all forty missiles streaked out,
leaving a tangle of contrails in their wake.
     In the air, each of the GMU's five Beta fighters
launched the two long range missiles it carried to either
side of its cockpit.  Then, the medium-range missile racks
elevated into place, and a total of thirty medium-range
missiles were loosed to take out the closer enemies.
     As the distant explosions thundered forth, the
Alpha-Beta carrying Joe Moore and the doctor Moore had gone
to get zoomed in and set down, separated, and changed to two
individual battloids, which ran up the ramp into the GMU to
unload Moore and Peltzer and be reloaded with missiles.
 
     In the command center back in Chi-Town, Major Mortifax
surveyed the results of the attack with a mixture of shock
and rage.  The LS-337 batallion was being wiped out, before
any of its ships had even managed to approach within five
miles!  If any higher-ranking officers ever found out about
this debacle, he would be in hot water.  Probably boiling
water.
     Unless he had something to show for the loss.  "All
SAMAS and Sky Cycle units, move in!" he ordered. "Urban
Enforcers, Spider-Skull Walkers, Abolishers, Skelebots, and
infantry to the front!  Light Mechanized Reconnaisance Squad
LS-337-A3 is to slip around behind the enemy and transmit
substantive footage of whatever it is we're up against."  He
received acknowledgement from the officers in charge, then
settled back to wait for results.
 
 
 
Chapter 23: Pitched Battle
 
 
     As the Coalition robots advanced, they were met by the
GMU's small force of Destroids and Veritech Fighters in
Battloid mode.  Even though the Coalition robots outnumbered
the REF forces by at least 4 to 1, the experience of the REF
troops and the superiority of their mecha made it a better
than even battle on their side.
     Also at the front were most of the REF Cyclone
squadrons, more than equal to the Coalition SAMAS armor they
were up against.  And Joe Moore's Glitter Boy was there,
too, adding its weapon's awesome punch to the array of
forces on the REF's side.
     And there was an Ice Dragon there, too, moving among
the Coalition forces, blasting soldiers with its frost
breath, and occasionally disemboweling them with its huge
sharp claws. Many of the REF troopers didn't know what to
make of it, but since it seemed to be on their side they
didn't shoot at it.
     "Target all missiles on their command vehicle!"  Steele
indicated a Death's Head Armored Transport hovering just
behind the Coalition robots.  "If we can knock it out, we
should cause a state of disarray!"
     Three Alpha fighters jumped into the air, and all the
panels covering the missile compartments on their chests,
arms, and legs flipped open.  180 missiles in all streaked
for the Coalition craft.  Before its gunners could do more
than knock down two or three of the missiles, the Death's
Head Transport was completely annihilated.
     Meanwhile, the same thing was happening to the
Coalition ground forces.  Concentrated gun and missile fire
was narrowing the numbers of Urban Enforcers, Demolishers,
and Spider-Skull Walkers with only minor losses on the REF
side.  At last, with their command ship gone and their
numbers in disarray, the robots pulled back.
     But the mechanized light reconnaisance squad had some
success.  They were able to get in behind the GMU and get
some very interesting footage on disc, which they
burst-transmitted back to Chi-Town HQ.  Then they were
surrounded by a Cyclone squadron and forced to surrender.
 
     Back at the control room, Major Mortifax was nearly in
shock.  The planes had changed into robots!  And there were
more of them, plus some sort of giant ground vehicle, and
other robots and power armor, in a force large enough to
pose a threat to the Coalition!  Mortifax was beginning to
regret his decision not to report this to his superiors.  If
they found out...
     At that instant, the door slid open and a man in the
uniform of a Coalition general strode into the room with
regal bearing.  Mortifax gasped, jumped to his feet, and
saluted instantly.  The general didn't even bother to return
the salute.  As he got closer, and his face came out of the
shadow, Mortifax knew he was finished.  The gaunt, stern
face belong to General Ross Underhill, the commander of four
Mechanized Infantry divisions, including the one from which
the brigade that had just gotten nearly wiped out had come.
He was also Mortifax's direct superior.
     Underhill strode past Mortifax to glance at the main
screen, on which estimates of Coalition casualties were
coming up, and one of the secondary screens, where a
ten-second loop of a Legios unit splitting and reconfiguring
into two separate robots was was repeating.  Underhill
pivoted to face Mortifax.  "Major, you have a great deal of
explaining to do," he said coldly, one finger idly tapping
the neural mace hung on his belt.  "I will expect a full
report on my desk within the hour."
     "Y-yessir," Mortifax said.
     Underhill turned back to the console and typed some
instructions, no doubt to make copies of all footage
recorded by the electronics within the last few hours and
send them to his own command center.  He then strode
wordlessly from the room.
     Major Mortifax stumbled back to his quarters in a daze.
His 6-year-long career in the Coalition army had just gone
down the drain.  When Underhill reviewed the footage in
total, he would be sure to have Mortifax court-martialled as
a traitor.  He would either be publicly executed, or spend
the rest of his life in some dank cell deep in the heart of
Chi-Town.
     Mortifax knew what he had to do.  He went to his desk
and opened the drawer where he kept his nickel-plated Colt
.45, a gift from his father.  With trembling hands he picked
it up, and the clip that lay beside it.  He shoved the clip
into the handle, slid back the action, and laid it on the
desk.
     Major Mortifax picked up a fountain pen and scrawled a
brief note, laying the pen carefully beside the pad of
stationery when he was finished.  Then he picked up the
automatic, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed the muzzle
goodbye.
 
 
 
Chapter 24: Lt. Jackson's Odyssey
 
 
     Lt. Martin Jackson knew he was technically committing
mutiny, but he had to do it.  Col. Bowaz had told him that his
services were needed most to assist in the repair effort aboard
the GMU, but Jackson disagreed. He needed to be in the field
(after all, he was a FIELD scientist, wasn't he?), discovering
more about this crazy new world they had passed into and possibly
discovering a way home.
     Of course, Jackson didn't kid himself about that last.  If
there was a way home, it would probably only be accessible
through the "magic" that this world's occupants professed to
believe in.  Jackson wasn't too sure that HE could believe in
it, at least not without more data.  And that was one of the
things he hoped to discover.
     So, against orders, Lt. Martin Jackson had taken the
38-Lite he'd found in the security stockade, loaded its missile
gun, and gotten the heck out.  The storage boxes on the sides of
the Cyclone were loaded with extra missiles (the left box) and
scientific equipment (the right box).  He wore the CVR armor
necessary for Cyclone link-up, and carried his Gallant pistol in
its holster at his side.
     Jackson headed back toward the south, toward the approximate
location the Invid Hive had occupied during the REF attack on it
back on the earth of the other dimension. He had a theory that if
the hive was there, this was where it would be.
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