Genesis

atmosphere.'

Lisa's face was on the display screen. 'Commendable work, Commander Fokker, I'll-'

She was abruptly moved out of the way by Claudia, who said 'Let me talk to him! Roy, how many of them did you shoot down?'

'Only ten this time,' he said nonchalantly. But the dogfight would be a legend by that night, the hardest rat- racing he'd ever seen. Every millisecond was going to be analyzed and refought a hundred times among the flying officers.

'You're slipping, Roy,' Claudia told him, but her tone wasn't critical at all.

'Well, don't worry, Claudia; I'll make it up.' Something tells me I'm going to get plenty of opportunities! 'Do you have any word on the VT one-zero-two?'

Lisa crowded back onto the screen. 'That section-eight case! He landed in Macross City in a Battloid, and he's doing more damage than the invaders.'

Roy laughed. 'Thanks, Lisa.'

'Who is he? He's not registered as a fighter pilot.'

'Don't worry; I know him.'

'Well, he sure needs help.' Lisa scowled.

'I'd better go check on him.' Roy switched to the tic net. 'This is Skull Leader to group. You guys head on back to Prometheus. I've got some business to take care of in town. Captain Kramer, you take 'em home.'

'Will do, boss.'

Roy peeled off from the formation and, increasing his wings' sweep for higher speed, plummeted for Macross City. 'I should've known better than to leave him alone,' he muttered.

Even in a city that had known a peppering of energy bolts and alien rockets, it wasn't too hard to spot the mess made by an out-of-control Battloid. 'Aha! That you, Rick, old son?'

The war machine was resting against a building. 'Hi, Roy! It's me!'

'Had a busy day down there, huh?'

Rick sighed. 'You might say that, Big Brother.'

People in the streets spotted the approaching aircraft. The skull insignia was well known; but things had a way of being unexpectedly dangerous today, and nobody was up for taking any more chances.

Everybody sprinted for cover again. Roy switched his ship to Guardian mode for the descent-the mechanoid/eagle configuration that allowed more control in the tight quarters of a city street. It settled in on the bright blue flare of its foot thrusters, chain-gun cradled in its right arm.

In another moment Roy's ship had mechamorphosed to Battloid. Its shoulder structure gave it a look of immense brute power, like a football player. Rick felt like rubbing his eyes. 'I must be dreaming this; I don't believe it!'

Jason, crouched with Minmei behind a fallen cornice, yelped, 'That airplane became a robot too!'

'Amazing!' Minmei murmured. It was all so strange and almost magical-it made her wonder what the young pilot's name was.

'A few small repairs and you can take that Battloid back into action,' Roy said blithely.

'What're you talking about?' Rick yelled over the net. 'I don't even know what this thing is, and if you think I'm qualified to operate it, just take a good look around the neighborhood!'

But he watched his screen in utter fascination as Roy's war machine shifted its weapon from its right arm, drew out a long, thick band as sturdy as a heavy-cargo sling, and settled the weapon over its left shoulder, all as casually as an infantryman going to sling-arms.

Rick gaped. No control system in the world could do that. Maybe a battery of computers, if the sequence was worked out precisely in advance. But what Roy had done had more of an on-the-spot look to it.

It brought to mind what Roy had told Rick about the Robotech flight helmet-the thinking cap: 'You don't just pilot a Robotech ship; you live it.'

'If you can fly a jet, you can operate a Battloid,' Roy began. 'I'll tell you what to do. Gross movements are initiated by manuals-the legs are guided by your foot pedals, for instance.'

'Which foot pedals, Roy? I've got about fifty controls in here!'

'Fifty-seven, if you want to get technical. But that's not the important part. Just button up and listen; I'll explain while I'm making repairs.'

The skull-insignia Battloid extruded metal tentacles, tool-servos, waldos, and a host of other advanced repair apparatus. In moments the one Robotech war machine was repairing the other. Welding sparks jumped, and damaged components were replaced.

'The secret's that helmet,' Roy said. 'You generate general movements or sequences with your controls, but the Robotechnology takes its real guidance straight from your thoughts. You've got to think your ship through the things you want it to do.'

Rick couldn't help being skeptical in spite of everything he'd seen. 'Now you're gonna tell me these junk heaps are alive?'

'Close enough for me,' Roy said noncommittally, 'although you're going to have to make up your own mind about that. We still don't understand the power source-the same power source that runs SDF-1 but we know that, somehow, it's not just a-a blind physical process. It's involved with life forces somehow; with awareness-with mind, if I'm not getting too fancy for you.'

'I think you're bucking for a medical discharge, mental category.'

Roy chuckled. 'See for yourself. Just pay attention and I'll tell you how it's done.'

CHAPTER TEN

When it comes to testing new aircraft or determining maximum performance, pilots like to talk about 'pushing the envelope.'

They're talking about a two-dimensional model: the bottom is zero altitude, the ground; the left is zero speed; the top is max altitude; and the right, maximum velocity, of course. So, the pilots are pushing that upper-right-hand corner of the envelope.

What everybody tries not to dwell on is that that's where the postage gets canceled, too.

The Collected Journals of Admiral Rick Hunter

For the next few minutes Roy repaired Rick's downed machine while he briefed his friend on the secrets of operating Robotechnology.

'These Battloids are classified top secret,' he finished, as he made the last reconnection. 'And you've gotta trust me on this one: There is a reason for it.' All the repair tackle had neatly withdrawn itself into the skull Battloid's huge body.

'There, that oughta do it,' Roy said. 'Now switch on energy and depress those foot pedals slowly, like I told you.'

Rick did, and thought his way through the maneuver as Roy had instructed. He focused his mind's eye on the act of getting back to his feet; something at the other end of the helmet's pickups sensed and understood.

Carefully, Rick Hunter's red-trimmed Battloid levered itself up, gaining its feet to stand shoulder to shoulder with Roy's.

'That's it,' Roy said. 'See how easy it is?'

More than easy; it was exaltation. It felt as if there was a feedback or reciprocation mechanism in the control system; Rick felt as if he were the Battloid.

Several stories tall. Indestructible. Armed with the most advanced weapons the human race had developed.