"02 - Battle Cry" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

Her legs were shaking. She felt very unsteady on the high heels; she understood the need for them-added height and their pleasing effect on body posture-but she was unaccustomed to them. Nevertheless, she made it down to the end of the runway without incident. She had made her turn and was starting back, when it happened.
In thinking about it later, she would recall that the heel of her left shoe didn't so much let go as completely disappear as if it had been blown out from under her. But at the moment all she could think about was the embarrassment and the agony of defeat. Two pageant officials came to her aid and helped her up. There was some laughter from the audience, but mostly concern. And she did her best to alleviate that by demonstrating she was a trooper: She put on her best smile and hobbled her way back to center stage. The applause didn't end until long after she reached the wings.
Shawn Blackstone, who had become her close friend during the pageant, was at her side in a flash. She made light of the incident and said that it would have no effect on the judging.
"It shows them you're human, Minmei. Not like you-know-who."
You-know-who was Jan Morris, now making her walk down the runway to cheers and applause as Minmei watched from the wings. Jan was completely self-possessed; she'd been there a hundred times already. She wore a bold, striped suit with a halter top, more daring and revealing than the suits worn by the rest of the contestants-revealing enough to show some stretch marks, Minmei noticed.
Jan stood at the end of the runway taking it in; she had them eating out of her hand. Minmei couldn't watch. She turned aside, the contest over.
Time to wake up.

"You haven't beaten me yet, chumps!" Rick shouted to the stars.
The detonation of the heat-seekers had shaken him up and fried some of the Battloid's circuitry, but he was intact. Fortunately (and puzzlingly), the enemy had not followed up their initial attack. And now it was Rick's turn. He had a fix on the ship and launched enough missiles to wipe out a fleet.
Inside the Cyclops recon ship, the three Zentraedi operatives were so transfixed by the swimsuit competition that they almost failed to react to the counterattack. On the monitors were all those Micronian females, scantily clad (in armor or uniform, depending on whom you listened to), parading themselves in front of an enormous audience. It just had to be a weapons demonstration; why else would so many people gather in one place?
And one of the females had fallen. Uncertain if this was part of the ceremony or not, the three began to focus on the fallen one to the exclusion of all else. Something was stirring in each of them-a novel feeling, confused as though half remembered from a previous life, disturbing but strangely appealing.
In fact, it took Rick's missiles to bring them to their senses. The Cyclops took the full force of the explosions and sustained heavy damage, but the weapons system had not been affected. Rico ordered visuals on the source of the missiles and returned fire. He watched the Micronian pilot throw the Battloid into a series of successful evasive maneuvers. Then, without warning, the pilot blew the armor from the ship and swung the Battloid toward them, gatling cannon blasting away.
Rico recognized a no-win situation when he saw one; sacrificing the ship for the crew was not something normally allowed by the Zentraedi command, but this was an important mission, and Rico thought it prudent to do so. With the Battloid still on the approach, he initiated the self-destruct sequence, then ordered his men to the escape pod.
Inside the Battloid cockpit, Rick engaged the foot thrusters and willed the mecha's legs forward; he was hurtling toward the enemy ship now, bent at the waist, feet stretched out in front of him.
Upon contact with the recon ship, he grappled on and used the feet to batter his way through the forward bays and into the ship's control station. He was actually seated on the instrument console when he brought up the cannon once again, but by then the crew had already abandoned ship. He raised the Battloid and walked it forward cautiously. A hatchway slammed shut somewhere, and all at once, off to his right, a bank of porthole monitors lit up, Minmei's face on each of the dozen screens.
She was the last image in Rick's mind when the ship exploded.

From the twenty-eight contestants the judges chose five finalists; Minmei was among them. They were seated in the center of the stage now, Shawn and Hilary on Minmei's right, Sally and Jan Morris on her left. Vertical light bars computer-linked to the voting processor rose behind each of them. Ron Trance was speaking. The big moment had arrived.
"And now, ladies and gentleman..." Ron milked it a bit, playing on the suspense, walking to and fro, cordless mike in hand. "It is time for you to decide who will be crowned Miss Macross! So get ready to cast your vote."
There was a moment of undiluted silence before Trance gave the word. Then the orchestra began a soft and slow build that quieted the murmurings from the audience and kept time with the ascending columns of light. Minmei wanted desperately to turn around, but she felt glued to her chair. The orchestra continued to pour out an atonal modulation which strained for a crescendo, the audience began to cheer and scream, the light rose higher and higher...
Some of those who were fortunate enough to have been there recall that Jan Morris was rising from her chair when Ron Trance made the final announcement. But it was Lynn-Minmei's chair that he approached, her hand that he took, her song he sang.
Minmei's recollection of the events was poorer than most; try as she might when viewing the tapes afterward, she could not recall her thoughts. All she remembered was the cape that had been draped over her shoulders, the crown placed upon her head, and the fact that when she looked up toward the starlight, it had seemed to her that unseen eyes were upon her, as though the stars themselves had ceased their motion to pay tribute to her moment.

Rick was semiconscious in the cockpit of the drifting disabled Battloid. The damaged instrument panels were flashing out, filling the small space with stroboscopic light. Shafts of pain radiated through him as he fought to reach the surface. Once there, a beatific creature appeared to him, and he felt a glimmer of hope. It wore a beautiful smile, a crown, and resplendent robe of many colors; it carried a scepter and stood proud and tall...
Rick Hunter, however, had strong survival instincts. He managed to reach forward through his stupor and activate the mecha's distress and self-guidance systems. Performing that act brought him around to full consciousness, and at once he realized the Battloid was still receiving transmissions from the SDF-1. The angel who had visited his vision was none other than Minmei.
Lynn-Minmei, now Queen of Macross.
Rick watched as she surrendered herself to the audience. He reached toward the monitor as though he might touch her one last time before she passed beyond him forever, a part of something that would always be bigger than both of them.
Rick let his head loll forward.
What good was it to wake up to a world he could never enter?


CHAPTER ELEVEN
"You have to look at things from our perspective: An alien armada appears in lunar orbit and launches an attack on Macross Island, the site of the SDF-1 reconstruction project; Captain Gloval, the fortress, and the entire island disappear. The aliens give chase to the ship and leave us alone. Then a year goes by and Gloval makes contact, informing us all of a sudden that he's returning the fortress to Earth, along with 50,000 people who were supposed to have perished during a volcanic eruption. What else were we supposed to tell the planet-that giant aliens had attacked and might or might not be hack? And in addition to this, Gloval still had the armada on his tail, and he's leading the enemy back to Earth! I put it to you, who in their right mind would grant him permission to land? You might just as well invite catastrophe..."
Admiral Hayes, as quoted in Lapstein's Interviews

Rico, Bron, and Konda were brought before Breetai and Exedore for debriefing. They had escaped death at the hands of the Micronian ace but had failed to return to the Zentraedi mother ship with any substantial information regarding the unusual transmissions from the SDF-1. As a consequence, their lives were once again in jeopardy.
Breetai regarded the three operatives from his lofty position above the floor of the interrogation chamber. The debriefing was going nowhere fast, and he was tempted to put an end to it, but he decided to give it one last chance.
"We will review this again. What did you see?"
Once more the three commenced their explanations simultaneously.
"They were wearing military costumes-"
"It was armor-"
"Just looking at them gave me the strangest feeling-"
"Silence!" yelled Breetai. "It's apparent that none of you know what you saw."
In response to their salute, Breetai folded his arms across his chest and turned to his adviser. Exedore concurred with his plan to send out a second recon unit but went further in suggesting that it might be advantageous at this point to capture one or two of the Micronians alive.
"To what end?" Breetai wanted to know.
"To examine them, my lord. To determine for ourselves if they possess any knowledge of Protoculture."
Exedore whispered the word.
Breetai considered it. He was directing his thoughts toward Commander-in-Chief Dolza's possible reactions, when another argument broke out below him. Each of the pilots was certain of what he had seen. It was most curious: armor, military costume, a secret weapon disguised as a partially clad Micronian female...
Breetai allowed the bickering to escalate somewhat, but put a stop to it when physical blows were exchanged. Then he brought his massive fist down on the curved railing of the balcony.