From: cmeadows@nyx.cs.du.edu (Chris Meadows)
Subject: Robotech: The Misfold (story), Part 2.1
Organization: Nyx, Public Access Unix @ U. of Denver Math/CS dept.
Date: Sat, 7 Nov 92 04:00:27 GMT

                      ROBOTECH: THE MISFOLD
 
                             Part 2.1
 
     This is part 2.1 of the Robotech: The Misfold, a
collaborative work of fiction written by several authors at once
and edited by me.  If you would like the previous segments
(listed below), and/or would like to write a contribution for the
story, please E-mail me at CHM173S@SMSVMA.BITNET or
CMEADOWS@NYX.CS.DU.EDU.
     Before getting to the story, I would like to mention a
couple of things which will be included in the Misfold FAQ
(Frequently-Asked Questions) list, when I get it finished.
 
 
SECTION NUMBERING
 
     I have been putting out these supplements by date only.  The
reason for this is that I don't want to compartmentalize this
story by assigning it "parts" or "chapters."  However, it has
been pointed out to me that having no numbers makes it hard to be
sure you have the entire story.  Therefore, I have attempted to
devise a suitable system.
     I have been sending out the supplements in installments of
about 20 K.  This is about how long they all are once I've edited
the various authors' submissions into a coherent whole.  However,
I have also put these 20K supplements together into segments that
are 40 to 60 K long, for the purposes of archiving.  Obviously I
can't simply call them "part 1, part 2, part 3," etc., for people
will have no idea whether I'm referring to e-mail part or
archiving part.  In order to avoid confusion, I have worked out
the following system:
     The larger archive parts will be referred to as Part 1, Part
2, Part 3, etc.  The smaller, individual submission parts, will
be called 1.1, 1.2, 1.3, etc.  Therefore, the story thus far is
comprised of:
 
     PART 1
       1.1     The ROOSEVELT misfolds into the wrong earthspace.
       1.2     Lt. Joe Walker is sent out, makes contact with
               General Mitchell of the U.S.A.F.
       1.3     Asuka Suzuki and Ivory Tanaka prepare to send up a
               VR-controlled scout drone to recon the ROOSEVELT.
               Lt. Stefan Anderson wipes out the record of the
               erroneous misfold coordinates.
       1.4     Lt. Walker's Veritech is attacked by a
               mysterious Stealth fighter and loses contact
               with the ROOSEVELT.  It lands at Langley.
               Captain Kranz sends out Commander Carter to
               find Walker, then the ROOSEVELT moves to a
               higher orbit.
 
     PART 2
       2.1     This part.  Actually, it's big enough to be Part 2
               all by itself!
 
 
AUTHORIAL CREDIT
 
     Everybody's submission is subtly changed in some way by
myself.  I check for spelling, syntax, grammar, continuity, etc.
So far, no one's complained.
     Most of the time, I just make a few changes--change the
spelling of a name, change around a paragraph or two--to ensure
correctness.  However, sometimes I have to make a great sweeping
change; take the storyline of the submission and twist it all
around in order to make it fit in.  When I do this, it wouldn't
be right to leave the original author's name on it by itself, so
I add my own name.  That way, the author of that submission
doesn't get all the blame if that part is considered lousy (or
all the credit if everybody likes it! :).
     That's just to clarify what it means when you see two names
tacked onto a segment, instead of just one.
 
     Now, on with the story.  Please be sure to email your
comments to the above addresses, okay?
 
 
"A Trauma Junkie!!!"  <KSRJS@ALASKA>:
 
     Lieutenant Joe Walker sat nervously in a chair, frowning in
worry.  Across the hall stood a man in a dark suit and
sunglasses, obviously a guard of some type.
     Joe knew exactly where he was; his knowledge of 20th century
history had helped that much.  It also helped that General
Mitchell had told him what was going to happen on the quick
limosine ride to the White House. Joe had been watching the
scenery, taking in every detail of the traffic, buildings and
people around him, as the General explained.
     "Now listen Lieutenant...your arrival has stirred up the
entire military, all the way up to the President himself.  It's
my job to report what I find out.  In fact, I was on my way here
to brief the President when you showed up in your fighter.  I
really feel it would be a good idea if you came along, to tell
him exactly what you told me."
     Joe Walker stopped looking out the window and stared at the
General. "Sir?!" he gasped incredulously.  "ME, talking to a
PRESIDENT?!?!"  Lieutenant Walker suddenly felt a little dizzy.
The General had gone on to explain what he needed, and why it was
necessary.  At the end of that little pep talk he'd felt that
maybe it would be all right, but now he wasn't so sure.
 
     Suddenly, the heavy wooden door swung open.  Both the guard
and the Lieutenant watched as General Mitchell walked out and
came over to Joe.  "Okay Lieutenant, it's your turn," he said.
Joe noticed worry lines in the man's forehead. "Remember to tell
the truth...up to what you were allowed to tell me."  He noticed
Joe's own worried expression, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, Walker; he doesn't bite."
     Joe nodded a silent reply, not sure if that was meant as a
joke or not.  Together, they walked into the conference room.  As
if in a daze, Joe glanced around the room, noticing the lighting
and the men in dark suits standing around the walls.  The table
came next, and when Joe Walker saw the men sitting around it, he
almost lost his nerve.  Military training kicked in, however, and
he continued on towards the table.  -God, what a LOT of Brass!-
he thought.  Their uniforms were right out of the history books,
and the decorations on them glittered in the harsh
conference-room lights.  Then he noticed the cool eyes of the
President watching him.  -He can't be that bad--Mitchell said he
was once a figher pilot in the second world war.-  Joe suddenly
wished for the comfort of his gun.
     General Mitchell stopped him at the end of the table. "Sir,
may I present Lieutenant Walker."
     Joe came to attention and snapped a salute. "Sir! Second
Lieutenant Joe Walker, 112th Tactical Space Corps, of the S.S.
Roosevelt, Robotech Expeditionary Force!"  A few of the men
around the table grunted or raised their eyes.  Only the
President returned the salute.  "Sit down Lieutenant, be at
ease."  The president said.  "Would you like a drink or
refreshment of some sort?"
     "Yes sir, some water would be nice.  Thank you sir."  Joe
said as he sat down.  One of the guards brought a glass of ice
water.  General Mitchell spoke up "Lieutenant Walker, this is
President George Bush, President of the United States of America.
Around him are his Chiefs of Staff.  The President would like to
ask you some questions."  Joe took this in and answered, "I will
be happy to answer any questions sir, as long as they fall within
the parameters laid down by my superiors."
     The President grinned. "No need to worry, the General gave
me a quick run down, but I am eager to hear your story."
     "Yessir," Joe replied.  "Please excuse me if I seem nervous,
meeting heads of state was not in my job description" he quipped.
This brought a few laughs.  "Well sir, it all started around
1999..."
     As Joe launched into the story of the Global War and how the
SDF-1 had crashed on earth, George Bush studied the young man,
noticing the strange flight uniform, the unfamiliar patches and
insignia sown onto it, the way his eyes had quickly scanned the
room when he'd first walked in.  Bush nodded to himself.  -He's
military to the core.  Now, let's see what else is brought out
with a few questions.-  The President then practiced the
trademark of a skilled politician--he listened.
 
     Meanwhile, at Langley Air Force Base, a radar technician
noticed an unidentified blip on his screen.  "Sir!" he cried.
"Inbound unidentified bogey, bearing 137 degrees, sixty thousand
feet, in excess of--"  His voice took on a choked, incredulous
tone as he said, "In excess of Mach 4!"
     The officer in command, a Colonel Pierce, walked over to the
tech.  "Any identification?" he asked.  -Could it be one of
ours?- he wondered.
     The tech answered quickly "Negative sir...no IFF, no
nothing.  It doesn't fit our usual stray airplane profile
sir...wrong altitude and trajectory."
     The Colonel thought for just a moment. "What was the heading
again?"
     "Sir, it's at 137 degrees, on a heading straight toward
us..."  He stopped and studied his monitor again.  "It seems to
be descending now...59,500 feet..."  Colonel Pierce grunted. He
started to order the tech to raise them on the radio and dispatch
a flight of F-16s to intercept and investigate when another voice
called out suddenly.
     "Colonel Pierce!  I'm getting a comm signal from the
unidentified aircraft!"
     Pierce picked up the telephone-style handset at his station.
"Patch it through, Lieutenant."
 
 
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     In the Alpha-Beta Legios unit, Commander Carter had just
flipped the switch to initiate communications.  The onboard
computer had called up the proper frequency, and had also picked
up the powerful tracking radar located at Langley Field.  Since
the transponder beacon was also coming from there, Carter had
decided that it would be best to contact the tower and get
permission to land rather than simply barging in.
     As he prepared for the signal to be received at Langley,
Carter glanced over the controls one more time, and at the clouds
and bluish-black night sky through the canopy.  He'd almost
forgotten how good it felt to fly an Alpha, and in an atmosphere
at that!  Sure, he'd kept up in the simulator, but it just wasn't
the same...
     BEEP!  "Langley Control to Unidentified Aircraft.  Do you
read me, Unidentified Aircraft, over?"
     -An audio-only signal?  Oh, well...-  "Roger, Langley
Control.  Reading you five by five.  This is Victor Foxtrot Niner
Zero Niner, call sign Angel Flight.  We will be landing at your
site in approximately eight minutes.  Please have a runway
cleared and ready, over."
     "Uh, negative, Angel Flight," Pierce said, trying to stall,
signalling to one of his subordinates to prep the F-16 flight.
"Unauthorized aircraft may not land at Langley Field, over."
     Commander Carter pressed some switches to lock the Recon
Alpha's cameras onto Langley.  "Listen up, Langley Control.  This
is Commander Frederick Carter, First Officer of the U.S.S.
ROOSEVELT, Robotech Expeditionary Force.  You have some of our
property down there, and we are coming in to retrieve it whether
you like it or not.  You can complain, but you can't stop us.
Over."  Carter had judged by the voice on the other end that the
"angry authority figure" tack might work on this one.  -Wish I
had video, so I could tell for sure...-
     Red-faced and flustered, Colonel Pierce sputtered, "The hell
we can't!  Langley Control out!"  He slammed down the handset and
yelled, "Lieutenant!  Order the F-16s up there.  We'll try to
turn him away."
 
     In the headquarters of the North American Air Defense
Command, under Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, the Legios' radar
track was being watched very closely.  It had been positively
identified as coming from the UFO, and thus it occupied the
attention of a good many NORAD intelligence analyists at the
moment.
     One of the NORAD generals, acting on orders received barely
an hour before from General Mitchell, quickly picked up a black
telephone handset and put through a call.
 
 
"A Trauma Junkie!!!"  <KSRJS@ALASKA>:
 
     "Colonel Pierce!  NORAD on Hotline!"
     -What the hell?- Pierce thought as he ran over to the phone.
He picked up the phone and punched the scramble button. "Langley,
Colonel Pierce here."
     A deep voice came across through the snap and static
associated with a scrambled call.  "Colonel Pierce? This is
General Phillips at NORAD.  By now you should be reading an
unidentified, inbound bogey.  DO NOT, I repeat, do not take any
action against it.  Do not send fighters to intercept; do not let
anybody near it without authorization.  I will have further
instructions and briefings for you at a later date.  Do you
understand, Colonel?"
     Pierce grew even redder, but there was nothing you could do
when Norad called.  "Yessir, I will comply." Colonel Pierce
replied. -What the HELL is going on?!?!?!- he asked himself,
quickly moving off to follow his orders.  "Cancel that F-16
flight, Lieutenant--put them on standby alert."
     "Yessir."
 
     At NORAD, that same general looked at the massive tracking
screen once more, eyes probing a little red mark still over the
Atlantic.  Then he put through another call, on a red phone this
time.
 
     In the cabinet room, Lieutenant Walker was just finishing
his story. "So this was all really a big mistake.  We don't know
why or how we ended up here, and all we want to do right now is
go back."  He'd had to explain a little about spacefolding
technology in the process--he hoped Commander Carter wouldn't be
too angry.
     The President was silent, thinking about what he had just
heard.  The other men in the room looked incredulous.  Suddenly,
one of the many phones around the table rang softly, breaking the
silence.  A secret service agent answered it. "General Mitchell,
it's for you."
     Mitchell walked over and picked it up.  "General Mitchell
here...no, hang on."  His fingers stabbed a red button on the
side of the phone. "Okay...I'm secure, go ahead.  What?...where?
How fast?  ETA?  Sounds good...okay...go ahead and authorize it.
Let me get back to you in a minute.  Bye."  He hung up the phone
and took his seat again.
     "Mr. President, that was General Phillips, who is, as you
know, in command of NORAD in my absence.  He reports that the
ship...er, the ROOSEVELT, has maneuvered to an altitude of 21,000
miles above the earth--geosynchronous orbit--and is currently
maintaining a position approximately above Washington.
Furthermore, their rate of climb exceeded anything we have ever
seen."
     Joe Walker grinned at that.
     "Also, just before departure it launched another bogey,
which is currently inbound to Langley Air Force Base, with an ETA
of about 4 minutes.  Looks like they are searching for Lieutenant
Walker, sir."  Walker perked up at that, feeling better than he
had since he'd landed.
 
     The President looked him over, thinking furiously.  At
first, he had wondered what this was all about, unconvinced about
the whole situation.  But as he'd listened to Lieutenant Walkers
story, he'd noticed how the Lieutenant's eyes seemed to unfocus a
little when he described certain things, like some of the aliens,
the Zentrit-whatever or those really weird ones, what did he call
it?  The Invid.  That little unconsious act could not be faked;
he had seen it himself when other veterans were telling their
World War II stories.
     No, this was real, no doubt about it. -Now what to do?- he
asked himself.  -This is gonna be just as hard as Iraq, if not
harder.-  The President sighed and leaned forward, beginning to
formulate a plan.
     Before he could finish, a beeping noise interupted his
thoughts.  Lt. Walker looked at his wrist-comm in amazement.  He
hit a button, and a strong voice came through the small speaker.
"Angel Flight to Looking Glass...Angel Flight to Looking
Glass...come in please..."  All the men, including General
Mitchell and the President, looked at each other in amazement.
-I'll be damned!- General Mitchell thought.  -This room is
supposed to be secure against any form of transmission!-
     The secret service agents seemed to be in shock, as was the
representative from the CIA.  Joe grinned at their expressions
and brought the wrist communicator up to his face.  "Looking
Glass to Angel Flight...Lt. Walker here...go ahead sir!"
     "Looking Glass, this is Commander Carter...what is your
position, Lieutenant?"
     -Uh oh,- Joe thought.  -I don't think he's going to like
this very much...-  "Uh...Angel Flight...I am currently in a
meeting with the President of the United States of America in
the White House, sir--that's in Washington, D.C.  I'm fine, but
my fighter took some damage from an enemy missile, and is at an
airbase."
     Commander Carter closed his eyes and counted to ten.
"Lieutenant, did you say the PRESIDENT?  Could you please inform
me as to exactly what the HELL is going on?!"
     Joe Walker grimaced, suddenly wishing he was fighting a
horde of Invid instead of having this particular conversation.
He quickly outlined the latest events, ending with: "...and my
Veritech is in a secure place, sir."
     The President leaned forward. "Lieutenant...may I?"  He
indicated the wrist communication device.
     "Oh...yes sir!"  Walker stepped over to where President Bush
was sitting and handed him the communicator.  "You just push this
to talk, sir..."
     The President cleared his throat and quickly sorted out his
thoughts. "Angel Flight...this is President George Bush of the
United States of America.  Whom am I addressing?"
     Commander Carter's eyes widened. "Mr. President, this is
Commander Frederick Carter, First Officer of the S.S. ROOSEVELT.
Go ahead sir."
     "Commander, Lieutenant Walker will be enroute to Langley Air
Force Base in just a few minutes.  Langley is where his fighter
landed, and is the position you are currently heading toward.  I
will be giving orders immediately to get you clearance to land
and pick up the Lieutenant and his plane.  His fighter is in a
secure location and I can guarantee that no one has tampered with
it.  Accompanying Lt. Walker will be a General Mitchell, of the
U.S. Air Force, who will be acting as my represenative in this
matter.  Will this be satisfactory to you, Commander?"
     Carter raised his eyebrows. "Yes sir, thank you, that will
be fine.  Our ETA to your base...Langley, is approximately three
minutes."
     "Thank YOU, Commander.  Oh, and welcome to OUR universe.
Looking Glass out."  President Bush looked over at Lt. Walker and
winked.  "I remember what superior officers are like," he said,
handing the communicator back to a grinning Lieutenant Walker.
     "Thank you, sir," Walker said, strapping it back on.
     "Why don't you wait outside for just a moment?" Bush asked.
"General Mitchell will be with you shortly to take you back to
Langley."
     Joe stood up and saluted. "Thank you sir!"  A secret service
agent led him out into the hall, where he picked up his gun belt
again.
 
     As soon as the door was shut, the President surveyed the men
around him.  He started with his orders.  "General Mitchell, you
are going to represent us.  You call the shots.  Right now they
are stranded here, and looking for a way home.  If they don't
find it, I want us to be the people to help them here.  We cannot
afford to let anyone else have that technology!  I want to see
if you can get on board the spacecraft and offer to help them."
     Bush paced around the room as he continued speaking.  "They
are sure to be curious about our world...answer everything,
except for military secrets.  Get some information from them as
well, anything at all.  Now, DON'T BE PUSHY."  He pointed at
General Mitchell to emphasize the point.  "They'll be sure to
suspect you.  Win their trust and keep me informed.  I am not
going to even think about military action...all they have to do
is go orbit Mars or something and they'll be out of reach.  I
will try to have some help sent to you, an aide or something.
And you will have unlimited authorization for dealmaking,
General.  Do you understand me?"
     General Mitchell looked squarely at his Commander-in-Chief
and responded "Yes sir, I do."
     The President looked him over. "Good.  Do a good job
General; the future of the free world may depend on it.
Dissmissed."
     The General saluted and walked out the door.  "I want this
mysterious stealth fighter put at the top of the list in our
investigation," Bush continued, to the men who were left.  "I
want to know who, what, where, and why.  I don't want any more
attacks on our visitors, no more suprises.  This is now a
need-to-know operation...understood?"  With that, the meeting
adjourned.  The President leaned back in his chair, wishing he
could use this incident to help him out in the polls.  -Damn
election...this isn't getting easier...-
 
 
"A Trauma Junkie!!!"  <KSRJS@ALASKA>
and CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     "Angel Flight, this is Langley Control, do you copy?"  Carter
grinned.  He triggered the mike.  "Langley Control, this is Angel
Flight, go ahead."
     "Angel Flight, you are cleared to land at runway 33.  There
is no other traffic, and wind is at 4 knots from the North.  I am
to tell you all conditions are met, and welcome." The voice was
young, but wistful as if the person wished he could know what all
the secrecy was about.
     Carter made a correction on his flight plan, and started his
approach.  "Copy Langley, thank you.  Angel Flight, out."  -I
hate to be rude like that, but the less said, the better,- he
thought, adjusting the flap settings and lowering the landing
gear.
 
 
"A Trauma Junkie!!!"  <KSRJS@ALASKA>:
 
     In the limousine, Lieutenant Walker noticed that General
Mitchell was very quiet, almost withdrawn in thought.  Joe Walker
was a little worried about this.  He had come to like this older
man, who seemed trustworthy and knew his job well.  He didn't try
to pry anything out of Joe about Robotechnology or any other
secrets--he understood that Joe could only say so much.  On top
of that, the General had helped him, guided him through the
meeting with the President, making it as painless as possible.
So when Mitchell became quiet with a far-off look on his face,
Joe began to worry.  -I wonder what went on in that room after I
left.  What did they decide?-
     Lt.  Walker thought for a minute, and then said, "General?"
     "Hmmm?" Mitchell answered.  "What's up?" He stirred himself
and looked at Joe.
     "Well, I don't mean to pry...but..."  He lost his nerve at
the last second.  "...I noticed that you had a lot of ribbons.
What actions were you in?"  Joe pointed to the Generals' 'salad'
of awards on his chest.
     The General chuckled.  "When I was just out of college,
there was a war going on in a country called Vietnam, over on the
far side of the Pacific," he began.
     "Yes, the Vietnam War....we had it too in our universe.  The
U.S. lost...right?" Joe questioned.
     "It isn't so much that we lost as it was that nobody really
won," Mitchell said.  "We just sort of pulled out.  Anyway, right
after I graduated, I joined the Air Force.  I didn't get grabbed
by the government with the draft...which at the time was a little
extraordinary.  See, all my life I had admired planes, and I knew
I wanted to fly jets, so I joined the Air Force.  I was so young
and cocky...I wasn't worried that there was a war on, or that I
might get killed."  General Mitchell grinned for a moment, lost in
the memory.
     "Anyway, I did become a fighter pilot, a good one.  And I
was sent over to Vietnam.  I flew a couple sorties, shot down a
MiG, and generally lived it up.  I really didn't realize how many
friends I lost to the enemy for a while...too busy having fun I
guess.
     "But one day, I was flying with another F-4 Phantom, doing
some Combat Air Patrol over an area that was supposed to be
clear.  All the sudden, we had SAM warnings all over.  Don't know
where they came from...all the sudden we had 'em popping out of
the trees like popcorn out of a hot pan.
     "The other F-4 was hit first, and slammed into the ground.
I was too busy dodging SAMs to really notice.  All the sudden, my
backseat RIO was yelling 'Break Left, Break Left!', so I did, but
not fast enough.  There was a loud BANG! and my plane started to
have problems.  But I found where the SAMs where coming from,
and actually managed to take it out with a lucky strafing run.
     "By all rights I should have died.  I looked back, to make
sure I'd hit the launcher, and saw blood all over the back of the
cockpit. My RIO had taken a hit, he was dead.  That's when it hit
me, about all the guys dying and everything.
     "Well, I called for a helicopter, to see if the other F-4
crew had possibly made it, and kept circling until the chopper
confirmed they were dead.  I was low on fuel, but I managed to
limp back to base.  The controls were shot, but I managed to
bring her down.
     "After I landed, I passed out, and woke up in a hospital for
a shrapnel wound.  A piece of enemy missile had managed to imbed
itself into the back of my helmet, and in doing so, had bruised
my brain.  I don't know how I made it back...but all I knew was
that my buddy, Jack Stewart, was dead." Joe Walker saw several
memories reflected in the Generals' eye.
     "So, they gave me a medal and six months to recuperate, and
I managed to fly one more sortie before we pulled out.  I came
back to the states, moved up to the ranks, and now here I am!
All the other stuff is just bull...for some reason they keep
giving it to me."  The General laughed.  "Ah, but what I wouldn't
give to put a figher through the paces just one more time!  I
envy you, Joe--to be young and behind the stick..."
     Lieutenant Walker joined in the laughter, but vowed silently
somehow, someday, to give this particular general the ride of his
life...rules or no rules!
     As the limousine pulled up next to the runway, heading
towards the hanger where the Lieutenant Walker's Veritech fighter
was stored, Joe pointed over to the next runway.  It was now past
midnight, local time, and bright halogen lights were
illuminating the base, giving a harsh light to the builings
around them.  This harsh light also illuminated a familiar shape.
Familiar to Joe Walker, anyway...
     Joe grimaced briefly at the Veritechs on the runway.  -A
Legios.  I might have known.  Ugh.-  Walker really didn't have
anything AGAINST the Alpha or the Beta--except that, compared to
the VF-1 Veritech fighter, they were so plug-ugly!  They just
didn't have the sleek lines of the Valkyrie, especially Joe's
personal favorite, the plane with the most style of them all--the
VF-1S Super Veritech.
     "There they are, General," Lieutenant Walker pointed.
     The limo stopped in front of Hangar 32, and Joe jumped out,
followed quickly by General Mitchell.  "Angel Flight, this is
Looking Glass, over." He called out on his wrist-comm.
     "Go ahead, Looking Glass."
     "Commander, we are in front of a hanger that should be at
your 3 o'clock...the one with the limo parked out front,"
Lieutenant Walker reported.
     "Copy that...be with you in a few minutes.  Angel Flight
out."  Carter cut the connection.
 
     In the tower, Colonel Pierce looked at the plane through a
pair of binoculars.  What he saw was enough to make his heart
beat faster and his mouth go dry.  He suddenly knew what NORAD
was so anxious about.  -Those damn guys at the Skunk Works have
come up with something new!- he thought mistakenly.
     Colonel Pierce wasn't the only one curious.  General
Mitchell was also gazing over at the Legios.  He was too far away
to make out much, but it was big...damn big.
     He looked at Lt. Walker to ask a question, and noticed that
Walker was putting on that strange armor over his flight suit
again.  He had taken it off before getting into the limo to go to
the White House, but insisted on keeping it with him.  Joe saw
the question on his face, but just shrugged in response.  The
General watched him pat the strange gun to make sure it was still
there.  He was about to take another look when the driver, a
secret service agent, walked over.
     "Sir, security reports total blockage of this area...no
sudden visitors." The General acknowledged this with a nod.  He
had ordered the area cordoned off to prevent inqusitive eyes.
     Then the strangest sound Mitchell had ever heard came
floating across the tarmac.  It was low, and powerful, like a jet
but without the high pitched whine associated with the engines
that Mitchell had heard throught his career.  He looked up, and
noticed that the UFO fighter had begun to taxi over toward Hangar
32.
     As it came closer, the General gasped.  It was HUGE!  Sleek
and powerful, from a long, tapered nose to the big delta
wing...and a enormous engine sitting underneath.
     As more of it came into view, he realized there was another
set of wings BEHIND the first, these more conventional-looking
but huge.  The strange craft stopped, and as General Mitchell
took a closer look, he realized that he was looking at TWO PLANES
TIED TOGETHER!
     Mitchell was flabbergasted, wondering at the technology
necessary to perform this feat.  Lt. Walker quietly said, "That's
an Alpha Fighter."  It was painted a dark greenish shade, with
black trim here and there.
     "And the other plane...the one attached at the end?" the
General asked, turning to the young pilot.  Joe studied him for a
minute and then answered, "That...that is a Beta fighter, sir."
The General turned back to the fighter.  "Amazing...utterly
amazing."
     As the canopy started to rise, Joe pushed a nearby ladder
over to the cockpit.  Another person clad in armor and helmet
clambered out and came down the steps.  "Sir!" Lieutenant Walker
saluted.  "Glad to see you!"
     The other pilot took off his helmet and said calmly, "I'm
sure you are Lieutenant.  The Captain is not too happy about this
situation, and neither am I."  Joe Walker got a worried look on
his face.
     "But," Commander Carter continued, "there isn't much we can
do about it, so we might as well make the best of it."
     General Mitchell walked over to the two.  "I am General
Mitchell, United States Air Force, commander NORAD.  Welcome to
the U.S." He said, sticking out his hand.
     Commander Carter took the offered hand.  "Commander
Frederick Carter, first officer, S.S. ROOSEVELT, Robotech
Expeditionary Force.  Thank you for your welcome, although I hope
you can understand I wish it'd never had to happen."
     General Mitchell chuckled.  "Yes, I do." The two men sized
each other up, Carter with the thin, wiry body and brown hair;
Mitchell, a little bulkier but still trim and fit, with crew cut
blonde hair tinged with grey.  Mitchell liked the look of this
officer.  -He looks like the kind of man the Air Force always
wants, but never gets enough of.-
     "Well I am sure that you want to see your other fighter.
It's in the hanger, untouched.  Lt. Walker was very adamant about
that."
     "Certainly...I'm glad to see that everything is fine.  I
have brought some men to fix it so Walker can fly it back to the
ROOSEVELT.  Let's get to it, shall we?"  Carter gestured
meaningfully toward the hangar door.
     Mitchell placed his palm on a reader plate, and within
seconds, the standard size door set to the side of the larger
hangar doors slid open.  And Mitchell gasped.
 
 
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     The hangar lights were on, and three men in nondescript
brown coveralls had some of the Veritech's access panels open.
Another, similarly-garbed man was standing guard with a
submachine gun.  As the door opened, and his eyes met Mitchell's
he raised the gun and opened fire!
     Then things seemed to go into slow motion.  As the
muzzle-flashes began to blossom from the gun barrel, Lieutenant
Walker knocked General Mitchell down out of the line of fire,
grabbing his H-90 pistol from its holster.  Letting the momentum
from pushing Mitchell down carry him through a forward somersault
through the door, Walker came into a crouch and snapped off three
quick shots, hitting the gunman in the chest, leg, and arm.  The
submachine gun fell from nerveless fingers to the ground as the
gunner went down.
     By this time, the three other men had seen what had happened
to their guard, and they pulled out machine pistols.  As they
opened up on Walker and the bullets whined off his body armor, he
fired his Gallant twice more, from a two-handed grip, hitting one
in the leg and another in the arm.  The third dropped his gun and
scrambled over the Veritech, putting it between himself and Joe.
His footsteps sounded as he ran off toward the back of the
hangar.  The other two dropped their guns, too, seeing that
firing on Walker was useless.
     General Mitchell got to his feet, dusting himself off.
"Quick thinking, Lieutenant," he complimented.
     "That's what they teach in the Robotech Academy," Walker
responded, not taking his eyes off the two technicians whom he
was covering.  "Commander Carter, would you please help me here?"
     "Certainly," Carter said, stepping in with his own Gallant
out, followed by an REF technician with a smaller auto pistol.
Walker holstered his gun and picked up the submachine gun the
guard had been holding.  He tossed it to Mitchell, then moved
over to inspect his Cyclone motorcycle, propped against the wall,
just as he'd left it.
     "You'd better stay outside the hangar, General," Fred Carter
suggested.  "We have body armor on, you don't, and there might be
more of them around."
     "Good idea."  Mitchell stepped back through the door, and
turned back just in time to witness something astounding.
     SOMETHING stepped out of the shadows at the back of the
hangar.  It was coal black, which is why they hadn't seen it
earlier.  What it seemed to be was a suit of armor--a BIG suit of
armor.  About eight feet tall, it resembled some modern version
of a knight's body armor of centuries before.  As it clanked
forward, those in the hangar could see that some sort of massive
Gatling gun was mounted on its right arm.  Not held with a
handle, like the Veritech gun pods, but mounted on some kind of
bracket which the armor had its arm through.
     The thing raised its right arm, oriented it on Commander
Carter, and opened fire.  The din in the enclosed hangar was
deafening.  General Mitchell hit the dirt as Commander Carter was
thrown back over ten feet.  The technician fired her Wolff auto
pistol at the armor in full auto-fire mode, but only succeeded in
denting it.
     The power armor (for that's what Walker had decided it had
to be) raised its left arm and let loose with a volley of
mini-missiles.  They hit the ground all around it, and blossomed
into a blinding pall of smoke, completely obscuring all vision.
In the smoke, Walker heard noises--footsteps rapidly retreating,
and metal clanking sounds, as of an armor-clad individual running
away.
     Walker grabbed his Gallant H-90 and fired several wild shots
back into the smoke.  There was no sign that any of them hit.
Heedless of any danger, he ran to the rear of the hangar and saw
an open trapdoor in the floor.  He jumped down it, ran up the
concrete tunnel beneath.  Then he saw it was no use.  The tunnel
split into several different passages, and there was no way he'd
be able to follow them all up.  He returned to the hangar, which
was still filled with smoke.
     "It's all clear, guys," he called out.  "They've gone."
     General Mitchell got to his feet, then helped Commander
Carter up.  "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
     "I'm fine," Carter said, peering ruefully down at the gouges
in his body armor.  "He just dented me.  I'm going to have some
nice bruises, though..."
     Mitchell watched with interest as Carter pulled a stock out
of a sheath on the back of his utility belt and clipped it onto
the Gallant, then added a barrel extension and shoulder sling.
"That's some gun," he said, hoping to draw Carter out.
     "Yes, it is," Carter said.  "A hundred times as powerful as
that pop-gun you're holding.  It can knock buildings down, if you
hit them right."  He checked the setting, then slung it over his
shoulder and walked through the door into the smoke-filled room.
Mitchell opened the large, aircraft-sized doors, to let the smoke
out.
 
     A few minutes later, once all the smoke was gone, the three
officers and the two technicians Commander Carter had brought
with him wistfully surveyed the Valkyrie.  When Mitchell and
Walker had left it, it'd had some damage to the underpinning, but
was still relatively in one piece.  But now, panels were open,
access covers lifted and exposed to the light, and in some places
wires and cables were hanging out and small components scattered
all over the floor.
     The female technician looked at it and sighed.  "It's going
to take at least an hour to put all this back together, maybe
longer.  And I'd better check the flight computer, too..."
     Mitchell had called for ten armed soldiers to come and stand
guard over the disabled Veritech, and twenty more for the Alpha
and Beta fighter, then called Commander Carter and Lieutenant
Walker over for a quick conference.
     "What exactly is that gun?" Commander Carter asked, pointing
the the nasty-looking weapon taken from the gunman Lieutenant
Walkier had shot.  "I'm no expert on 20th century weapons."
     Mitchell opened his mouth to speak, but Lieutenant Walker
cut him off.  "Colt Commando submachine gun.  That one there is,
I believe, .45 caliber?"
     Mitchell nodded.  "Go on, Lieutenant."
     "It's a foreshortened version of the M-16 automatic rifle,
with a shorter barrel and longer flash suppressor, as well as a
collapsible/extensible stock.  Issued to commandos during the
Vietnam war.  Very reliable."
     "Indeed," General Mitchell noted.  "But look at the
buttplate of this one."  He pointed.  "That's a military serial
number.  This is a government-issue weapon."
     Mitchell worked the action on the gun, jacking out an
unfired round.  He picked it up from the ground and handed it to
Commander Carter.  "And those etched numbers around the base of
the bullet indicate that it came from a military stockpile."
     "So what does that mean, sir?" Lieutenant Walker asked.
     "It means I should be able to get a trace on where these
came from."  He pulled out a small memo pad and a ballpoint pen,
scribbled down something, and handed it and the bullet to a
nearby Lieutenant with orders to have those serial numbers
traced.
     "Not that there's much of a chance of pinpointing the
source," Mitchell observed disgustedly after the the officer had
gone.  "Dozens of guns are 'lost' every year."
     "At least it's a lead," Commander Carter said.  He turned to
look at the hangar.  "I hope there are no other attacks before we
can get that plane fixed and out of here..."
 
 
Markmeister <4MCKENZIE_M@SPCVXA.BITNET>
and CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     Back in Washington, D.C., a black sedan let off two men in
front of a nondescript building.  The two men, briefcases in
hand, marched into the building, (which was several blocks from
the White House, where at the same moment Lt. Joe Walker was the
subject of a rather shocking meeting of the President and the
Joint Chiefs of Staff) and took the elevator down to the
basement.  There, they pushed another button, and the elevator
descended another five floors.
     The doors opened and the two men stepped out.  An ID scan
and a retinal check followed.  The men were Colonel Daniel
Coombs, USAF, and his aide, Lt. Vern Hanson.  They went to the
steel door at the end of the hall and pushed the button.
     Inside was a man sitting at a desk.  The room that he was
in, however, was enclosed, and looked out over a larger command
center.  The man in the room was talking to a hooded figure on a
flat vidscreen.
     "Look, Operative Seven, I'm sorry about the mission!  But as
for the pilot of the DarkStar, well, he got carried away."
     "Carried away!  Deems, I can't believe you said that!  Do
you know that we've been compromised and that my higher-ups are
out for my head as well as yours?  If the President were to find
out that an international espionage agency has compromised the
Pentagon and his cabinet..."
     "I can handle the President," Deems said coldly.  He looked
up at the two men in his office and added, "I'll get back in
touch."  He deactivated the vidscreen.
     "Well, Coombs, what have you brought me?"
     Coombs tried not to stare at Deems' face.  The right side
looked normal, but the left was another story.  It was covered
with a layer of cyber-chips and wires, and the cold milky white
of his left eye stared out.  It was rumored that Deems was more
machine than man.
     Sputtering, Coombs said, "Here are the tapes, sir.  The
pilot of the alien craft landed at Langley and is now at the
White House."
     Deems hefted the tape.  "Hmmm...let's play these, shall we?
I assume that this one is from your SKYSPY satellite?"
     "Yessir.  The rest are from General Mitchell's Hedgehog
Flight, and include the conversation in which the alien pilot
reveals where they came from."
     Deems placed the tape into the VCR and pushed PLAY.  An
image appeared on the screen; it was the curve of the Earth, with
a background of stars.
     Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash that grew brighter,
and a form took shape in the middle of the fury.  It soon
resolved into an Ikazuchi Space Carrier--the S.S. ROOSEVELT.
     "Well now,"  Deems laughed, "It seems as if we've got
something here."  He plugged the rest of the tapes into the
machine, and said, "Attention, Operative Seven.  Prepare for
speed-transmission of tapes."
     As the transmissions began, Coombs and Hanson left the room,
heading back to their car and to the Pentagon.  No one else knew
of their secret life.  To the world, they were just another pair
of Pentagon paper-pushers, but in actuality, they were more than
that.  They were, and had been for many years, agents of a secret
organization that ran the world from behind the scenes (or so it
liked to think).  This organization was called ELITE.
 
 
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     With all the wires plugged into her body at various places,
Ivory Tanaka greatly resembled a typical H.R. Giger painting
minus a hefty dose of LSD.  Dozens of cables snaked into her
virtual reality bodysuit--some sensory wires and coolant hoses
connecting to the suit itself, others fiber-optic cables which
found homes in small metal jacks implanted in her body in the
wrists and ankles.  A large bundle of cables fed up into the
helmet which Ivory had just seated on her head, and there were
two fiber-optic cords already plugged into the sockets on the
lower back of her neck, just below the point where the spinal
column entered the brain.
     Ivory deftly inserted the third neck cable into place beside
the other two, then reached down to the belt around the VR suit's
waist with her right hand.  The cables caused a slight resistance
in movement, but one that Ivory was used to from her many
sessions with the simulator and previous training flights.  She
checked the harness suspending her three feet above the tiled
floor.  It was tight, but with enough give to allow her to swing
freely.  Good.  Not that she'd notice once she flipped the little
red switch on her belt control box.  Then she'd be Inside the
EA-2000 scout drone.  Not just controlling it.  Living it.
     Ivory Tanaka checked the main viewscreen one more time.  It
revealed a landscape of clouds, rushing by the drone's main
vidcam at 650 miles per hour, just under the speed of sound.  In
just a few moments, she would be experiencing it from a different
perspective.  She looked around, at all the computer hardware and
consoles arranged in a circular layout around her, with a cleared
area ten feet in diameter in the center.  Off to the side were a
few seats that looked like they'd been borrowed from the offices
located in another part of the building, and one of them was
occupied by that professor, Asuka Suzuki, who seemed to have a
crush on her.  He was staring at her now...
     "Stand by to disengage drone pilot system," Tanaka called
down to one of the ubiquitous Japanese technicians, who, but for
the different hairstyles and glasses, would be difficult to tell
one from another.
     "Standing by, roger," the tech answered, his hands moving
over to a keyboard and entering a command.  As the clatter of the
keyboard stilled, Ivory said, "Disengage drone autopilot.
Activating virtuality control system now."  And she pressed down
on a lighted red rocker switch on her belt.
 
     As Ivory Tanaka pressed the switch, dark goggles slid out of
the top of the helmet to cover her eyes, giving her a curiously
insect-like appearance.  These goggles had no other purpose than
to block out all light--her optic nerves were now receiving input
from a source other than her eyes.  Computerized graphics
appeared, overlaying the sky view on the wall screen.  This was
what Ivory was seeing, though not precisely how she was seeing
it.
     Professor Suzuki surreptitiously moved his chair over closer
to one of the virtuality consoles.  This panel monitored the
life-signs of the pilot and the response indicators of the
EA-2000 aircraft.  Suzuki knew it as well as he knew his own
face, for it was one of the components he had helped to design.
In fact, he had been one of the integral designers of the
virtuality control system, and he knew he could operate it as
well as or better than the technicians stationed here.  But to
them, he was just some anonymous VIP computer expert assigned to
check up on their performance.  The Company had made it quite
clear to him that NO ONE was to know of his true identity.
     Miss Tanaka seemed to be responding quite well...Suzuki
noted the increased adrenalin and endorphin levels present and
let himself imagine, for a moment, what it must feel like.
Soaring above the clouds like an eagle...He chided himself for
his daydreams, and shifted his attention back to the console.  He
could (and WOULD) think of his own pleasure later; now he had to
be a clinical observer--this was the first time he'd had a chance
to see the virtuality system in action.  From what he learned
here, he could begin to consider possible design improvements.
 
     As Tanaka flipped the switch, she experienced a brief moment
of disorientation as the sensory input from her inner ears was
replaced with data from the gyroscopes of the EA-2000 recon
drone.  Then she opened her eyes, and saw the clouds ahead of
her.  And she felt...different.  She was Inside the drone--it was
now her body, which she controlled the same way she normally
controlled her human body.  As ugly as the EA-2000 might seem to
an observer, to Tanaka it was the most beautiful thing in the
world right now.
     Ivory went into a long banking curve, and felt the glorious
sensation of the air rushing past her.  She did a snaproll, then
an Immelman, glorying in the freedom that her rocket-powered body
gave her.
     Then a voice spoke into her ear.  It was annoying, but Ivory
accepted it as the price she had to pay for her ecstasy.
"Skycon, we are receiving new data from our monitoring station.
The smaller UFO was attacked approximately 20 minutes ago by a
stealth fighter of unknown origin.  It has made a forced landing
at the American Langley Field.  Do you wish to go after it?
Over."
     Several thousand miles (or a few feet) away, Ivory Tanaka's
human body shook its head, resulting in movement of the EA-2000's
main vidcam to the left and right as the VR control system
tracked her head.  "Negative.  The purpose of this mission is to
recon the larger UFO.  Master Control can dispatch agents to
Langley to secure the craft.  Request any further information
received from monitoring station, over."
     "Roger, Skycon.  A second UFO has just left the target, on a
trajectory that will allow it to reach Langley Field within 17
minutes, and the primary mission target has has begun to change
its position.  It is starting to rise, currently at the rate of
100 meters per second and accelerating.  Over."
     "Control, requesting vector to target, over."
     "Roger, Skycon.  Come over to a bearing of zero niner zero
mark zero one three and commence rapid acceleration, over."
     "Roger, Control," Ivory Tanaka said/thought, going into a
long bank and leveling out when her internal compass said she was
on track.  Then she engaged the afterburners, dumping fuel into
the tailpipes at a rate of several gallons per second, boosting
her speed to nearly Mach 6.  At high speed, she raced toward the
UFO.
 
     As Ivory Tanaka's voice came through the speakers, strangely
distorted, she stretched out her arms in front of her and then
brought them back, hands clawed as if she was grabbing the air in
front of her.  In the screen, the clouds veered crazily and then
fell away as the drone's altitude increased.
     One of the technicians put a radar display in the lower left
corner of the main viewscreen as the drone approached the UFO.
The range was decreasing steadily--two thousand miles, fifteen
hundred, one thousand, five hundred, two hundred, one...
     "Skycon decelerating," Ivory's voice came through,
electronically altered.  She put her arms out to her sides and
moved them forward, open palms "pushing" on the air.  In the
status displays, the EA-2000 extended its supersonic brake flaps
and decreased its throttle.
 
     "There it is..." Ivory Tanaka murmured to herself as she
came closer.  "That's the UFO..."
     It was shaped pretty much like a concrete slab, colored in
shades of red and deep brown.  On the side were the words
"IKAZUCHI" and "S.S. ROOSEVELT."  There were several elongated
panels along the sides.  Overall, it looked a little under a
kilometer long.
     Ivory selected four points on the UFO and fired recon probes
at them.  These missile-like devices were equipped with a variety
of sensors, and would transmit back great amounts of data about
the composition of any objects they attached to.  They would also
transmit any vibrations and electronic signals they detected.
 
     Captain Kranz had left the bridge.  With the recovery of
Looking Glass left in Commander Carter's hands, and the ROOSEVELT
soon to be out of harm's way, he felt safe in retiring to his
quarters to get some sleep (and a good, stiff drink).  Major
Eddings would assume command of the bridge for the nonce.  He
didn't seem to need much sleep anyway.
     Eddings was at his science console, and the comm chair stood
empty.  He was still setting up the Internet protocol
interpreters, and it was a rough job.  He'd had to locate them in
the Ikazuchi's memory archives, then try to update them to work
with the Ikazuchi's highly advanced version of Unix.  "No
programmer should have to go through this," he was often heard to
mutter.  So the unknown blip on radar provided a welcome
distraction.
     "What is that, Ensign Coello?" Eddings asked, turning his
chair so he could see the main viewscreen.
     "I'm--not sure, sir," Illeana Coello answered, entering
commands into her keyboard.  "It's not on record in the database,
and I've never seen anything like it myself, either.  It seems
the most similar to our QF-3000E Ghost drone fighters--there's
definitely no onboard pilot.  But I'm getting some strange
signals from its control system, sir."
     Now Eddings' curiosity was aroused.  He moved over to the
next computer console (which he kept vacant for when he needed to
run two projects at once) and called up the data.  The plane did
indeed look like a primitive QF-3000E, with its stubby wings and
powerful wedge-shaped form.  And the signals emanating from its
on-board computer...
     "These resemble nothing so much as brainwaves," Eddings
muttered.  "Could they have developed artificial intelligence?"
Then his conjectures were interrupted by a shrill alarm.
     "It's just fired on us, sir!" Ensign Coello yelled.  Four
smaller objects separated from the drone on radar and headed
straight for the ship.  As they struck, Eddings said, "Send out
VF-697 to deal with it, then."
     "Roger," Corporal Janie Reeds said, from her console near
Illeana's.  She pressed a button and spoke into her throat mike:
"VF-697, scramble for launch.  VF-697, scramble for launch."
     Major Eddings' fingers flew over his keyboard.  First he set
up a directory.../roosevelt/priv/command/eddings/dronesys was the
name.  Then he brought the computing power of the Ikazuchi's main
computer on-line, and directed it at the drone.  Cracking the
drone's computer protection codes would be a simple matter, and
then he would make a copy of the operating system to study at his
leisure...
 
     Ivory Tanaka noted the launch of the aircraft with great
satisfaction.  "Ah, a challenge."  It was of a different type
than the earlier UFO, according to the recon photos she had seen.
This was smaller and red, and it wasn't mounting recon equipment.
     "Skycon, advise you retreat," a nervous controller said in
her ear.
     "Negative, Control," Ivory responded.  "I'll just outfly
this turkey and get some more shots."  She armed the four
air-to-air missiles she carried within herself.  -Piece of cake,-
she thought.
 
     ACCESS GRANTED, Eddings' computer screen read.  COPY ALL
FILES TO /roosevelt/priv/command/eddings/dronesys, he entered at
the NEXT?> prompt.  After a bit of computing, and a couple of
error messages, the copy routines began to run.
 
     Ivory Tanaka felt a slight niggling at the back of her mind,
an alarm of some sort.  She ignored it; probably an oil pressure
gauge or something.  She was in the middle of mixing it up with
the plane they'd sent out after her--this pilot was GOOD.  She
barely dodged a cannon shot, and responded with one of her
air-to-air missiles.  It hit, but seemed to do little more than
scorch the paint job.  -Maybe this is going to be tougher than it
seems,- Ivory thought.
     Then a searing pain shot through her whole being.  In shock,
Ivory lost control, and went plummeting through the clouds.  In
the plane above, the pilot grinned as the crosshairs came
together on his head-up display.  "Gotcha babe," he muttered, as
he always did just before a kill, then he pressed the trigger
button with his thumb and sent four air-to-air missiles down
after her.
 
     COPY COMPLETE, the computer said.  NEXT?>
     EXIT, Eddings entered.  Then the drone vanished from radar.
"VF-697 reports destruction of bogey," Coello reported.
     "Good," Eddings replied, moving back to his original console
and resuming his work on the Internet interpreter.  "Have you
been able to find out what those things were it fired at us?"
     "Uh, negative, sir," Illeana replied.  "But I'm working on
it now."
     "Very well," Major Eddings said.  "Just get me a report when
you're finished."
     "Aye, sir."
 
     In the control center below, startled techs stared at the
control screen, as a lot of computerized gibberish started
appearing on the main screen, then static replaced the picture.
Ivory Tanaka screamed in agony, and started thrashing around in
her harness.  The technicians just sat there, stunned.
     "Snap out of it!" Suzuki yelled.  Wasting no time, he
reached over to the console and mashed his thumb down on the red
emergency cut-off button, instantly separating Tanaka's
perceptions from the plane's sensors.  He glanced at the EKG
monitors, and was alarmed to see that many of Miss Tanaka's vital
signs had gone into the red.
     "Lower her down!" the professor yelled to one of the
technicians.  "And you two, hold her while I disconnect the
cables!"  He ran up to Ivory's still-thrashing form and started
unplugging the wires that connected her to the computer.
Gradually, Ivory's struggling ceased.  Her head lolled forward
and the helmet came off and fell to the floor, leaving her hair
in disarray and her eyes open, pupils dialated and unfocused.
     "Get a stretcher in here!  Call an ambulance!" Suzuki yelled
over his shoulder.
     "What--what happened," Ivory Tanaka murmured.  Suzuki let
out the breath he'd been holding--she was coming around.  She was
going to be all right.
     "Just take it easy," Asuka said, disconnecting more cables.
"Everything's going to be fine."
     "It was like--was like someone was--tearing my mind out."
Ivory closed her eyes and immediately lost consciousness again.
White-uniformed paramedics ran in, bearing a stretcher, and Asuka
assisted them as they gently lowered her onto it.
     As Ivory was borne away, Asuka moved over to a computer
terminal and called for a status check.  The drone had been
destroyed--but something had happened to the computer.  There had
been a security breach, and--
     "Someone tried to run a file copy routine?!  There's no
telling WHAT that would do..."  Suzuki slumped into the seat
behind him, wondering what he'd let himself in for when he'd
agreed to work on this project.
 
     On board the ROOSEVELT, Major Eddings failed to notice that
the data he'd copied to /roosevelt/priv/command/eddings/dronesys
was actually compiling itself in an unusual manner, and he also
failed to notice, seconds later, when it inexplicably vanished
from that subdirectory.  He was too involved in setting up the
final Internet subroutines.
     "At last!" Eddings sighed.  "It's ready to run."  Thus
saying, he ran it, and within minutes a new Internet site had
opened up: IKAZUCHI.ROOSEVELT.REF.  "Now we're in business..."
Major Eddings muttered, sending out his first information
request.
 
 
Markmeister <4MCKENZIE_M@SPCVXA.BITNET>:
 
     His hands trembling, Lt. Stefan Anderson prepared once again
to break into the astrogation computers of the SS ROOSEVELT.
     "No computer beats me," his hissed.  He'd been blocked out
before, but he knew his way around these systems.  He was just as
good as that ATAC dude Louie Nichols, who had served under Dana
Sterling.
     Hell, he was BETTER than Nichols.
     As he prepared to hit the ENTER key on the keyboard, the
door to his quarters slid open.
     "FREEZE!!"
     Anderson's head snapped to the right.  Standing there,
blasters drawn, were Major Jonathan Eddings and two guards
dressed in CVR-3 body armor.
     "So Anderson, it was you.  Back away from that CPU nice and
slow..."
     "How?" Anderson whispered, mouth dry.
     "I put a TRAIL program in after your first attempt.  It
simply followed the path you took, and voila."
     The two corporals picked Anderson up.  "Take him to the
brig...and tell Dr. Millovski to run a psych readout on him,"
Eddings ordered.
 
 
CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     "YOU IDIOT!"  Anderson weeped.  "The Invid will find us..."
As the guards came forward with their handcuffs to take him away,
a loud buzzer sounded, then the scene faded away.  Lieutenant
Anderson sat bolt upright in bed as the alarm clock by the side
of the bed went off.  He checked it.  0200 hours, the time when
he normally had his nightmares.  He'd set it to wake him up
before they could begin, but they came early this time.
     "Better get some more pills," he muttered.  "My prescription
is almost out."
     As Anderson climbed out of the sweat-soaked bunk, he
reassured himself that the dream had been false.  "No way they
could trace me," he said out loud.  "I routed that computer
connect through three different terminal nexuses.  And that virus
I inserted made the changes without triggering the detector.  My
trail is completely covered."
     Anderson visited the bathroom, gulped down one of his
prescription tranks, and sat down at one of the two computer
terminals on his desk, still clad only in his underwear.  He
tapped into the network, checked his E-mail.  Then, since he was
up anyway, he checked the main CPU program indicator banks--part
of his regular job.
     "Funny, CPU run-time use is up by 60% over normal levels."
He pulled down the active program window on the other terminal.
"And nobody's running any complicated simulation or analysis
routines that would account for that extra memory use.  Looks
like someone's running an unauthorized program."  He called up
his own current run-list, to make sure it wasn't one of his own
that was causing it.
     "No, not something I'm running."  The run-time indicators
were inching up toward the red zone, where the computer would
begin to have trouble keeping up with normal ship operations.
     "I sure as hell don't have time to look for it right now,"
Anderson muttered, yawning.  "Wonder where Ensign Jeffries is;
it's his watch."  He yawned again, resolving to give the ensign a
good chewing out when his own shift begain.  "Well, I can't let
this continue.  Might threaten the integrity of the ship."  He
erased the program list from the other terminal and called up the
reserve CPUs, lesser computers which served as "overflow valves"
in the ROOSEVELT's computer system.  He assigned some of the more
important ship subroutines to these subsystems--life-support,
power generation, sensor analysis, communication--leaving the
larger computer a good distance away from the red.
     "That'll do for a temporary measure," Stefan Anderson
decided.  He accessed his "memo pad" program and left himself a
note to see about the unauthorized program tomorrow.  Then he
logged out of the computer system.
     Anderson's vision blurred as he felt the effect of the
tranquilizers, combined with his overtired condition.  He
stumbled over to the bed and flopped down.  The combined effect
of the drug and the work caused him to sleep soundly for the rest
of the night--a relative rarity for Anderson's tortured mind.
 
 
Markmeister <4MCKENZIE_M@SPCVXA.BITNET>
and CHM173S@SMSVMA (Chris Meadows):
 
     On the bridge, Eddings had called Captain Kranz back to the
bridge to give him his report on the recon drone.  "We shot it
down, and are now working on an analysis of the missiles it fired
at us.  They do not seem to pose any immediate threat, however,
so everything is under control."
     "Except for Lieutenant Walker," added Ensign Coello.
Normally, she would have been chewed out, but with the recent
events it was important that everyone on the bridge have a say.
     Kranz grunted in agreement.  Turning to Corporal Janie
Reeds, "Have you had any further contact with Looking Glass?"
     "No sir.  No signals, except for the transponder beacon
emanating from Langley Air Force Base."
     "Any word from Commander Carter?"
     "Negative, sir...No, wait...something's coming in now."
Coello pressed some switches, listened for a moment, and spoke
softly into her throat mike.  She closed the contact and looked
up.  "That was Commander Carter, sir.  He has retrieved the
Veritech, but due to delays which he won't discuss over the
radio, it will be one or two more hours before they can take
off."
     Kranz sighed, looking very tired.  "First the misfold, then
Walker is attacked and forced down, then this strange drone, and
now these delays... I think I'd rather be fighting the Invid."
He paused for a moment.  "Keep me informed on the Looking Glass
situation," he finally said.
     "Yessir," came the response, then the bridge went back to
work.  Kranz returned to his room after ordering Eddings to alert
him if anything new developed.
 

--
Chris Meadows // CHM173S@SMSVMA // CMEADOWS@NYX.CS.DU.EDU
   "If blood be the price of admiralty, then I've just bought me 
    a naval commission."  -- Corwin, SIGN OF THE UNICORN, Roger Zelazny

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