"05 - Force of Arms" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

CHAPTER FOUR
I have familiarized myself with the enemy's culture, to better carry out my espionage mission. What a repulsive, contemptible thing it is!
All seems to revolve around their grueseome, sadistic method of reproduction, and it obsesses them constantly. The humans-Micronians-even make up false legends about it! They immerse themselves in stories where males and females poison one another or stab themselves or simply expire from some unexplained thing called "pining away." Or else the imaginary couples go off together and spend all their time in revolting, pointless intimacies.
Our enemies languish in these falsehoods the way we might enjoy a hot soak at the end of a long campaign.
What perversion! Truly, this is a species that must be exterminated!
Miriya Parino, from her interim notes for an Intel report to the Zentraedi High Command

She was striking enough to draw stares even in the crowded Macross plaza, where people were usually in a hurry and some of the more attractive women in the dimensional fortress were to be seen.
Boots clicking on the swirling mosaics of the plaza, the green-dyed hair flowing with the speed of her walk and the light air currents of the ship's circulation blowers, she looked neither right nor left. People made way for her; she was barely aware of their existence, even that of the men who looked at her so admiringly.
Miriya, greatest combat pilot of her race, exulted a bit. I've finally discovered one of the reasons these Micronians have developed such amazing skill in handling their mecha! It wasn't the reason she had come to the SDF-1 as a spy, but it was a step in understanding her quarry, and that was elating. The intelligence data would also be of interest to the Zentraedi High Command, another coup to her credit.
Not that Miriya needed one. As a demigoddess of battle, she was without equal, her kills and victories far outnumbering her nearest rival's. She had lost only once in her life, and had submitted to micronization and come to the SDF-1 to make amends for that.
Miriya left the street and its EVE noonday, entering the dark and blinking world she had only recently discovered. All through the media-game arcade, people stood or sat hunched toward the glowing screens, playing against the machines.
The screen-lit faces of the players were so intent, their movements so deft and quick-what could account for it other than military indoctrination and the hunger for combat? What other motive could there be for the Micronians' relentless practice? They were so highly motivated that they even subsidized their own training, feeding money into the machines.
The young ones were the best and most diligent, of course. By the time they reach maturity, they wild be superb warriors! she thought. This, even though the very concept of human reproduction, the parents-child-adult cycle, made her feel queasy and dizzy. The discovery of that vileness, as she thought of it, had rendered her inert and dazed when she first stumbled on the truth of it. But in time, bravely, she had shaken off the horror of human reproduction and resumed her search.
Miriya came to the most significant machine, though they were all cunning and instructive. She vaulted into the little cockpit, inserting a coin in the slot. One hand went to the stick, the other to the throttle, as she watched the screen. Her feet settled on the foot pedals.
Her finger hovered near the weapons trigger as she waited for the game to begin. Miriya looked around quickly to see if her nemesis was there.
She couldn't spy anyone who might be that greatest of Micronian pilots and therefore assumed he wasn't present. Surely a pilot who was good enough to have defeated Miriya Parino, the indisputable champion of the Zentraedi, would draw great attention and recognition.
She would know him when he came or when someone mentioned him. She would find him eventually.
And then she would kill him.

The face in the family portrait was pale, thin-but open and kind, the mother's features very much like the daughter's. Admiral Hayes glanced down at the framed photo, not realizing that many minutes had gone by while he sat, thinking and remembering.
He was looking at himself, years ago, only a lieutenant commander then. Next to him in the photo was his wife, and in front of them a shy-looking little girl wearing a sun hat and sun dress with a Band-Aid on one knee.
Whenever I look at this picture, I wish Andrea were still here to see how her little girl turned out-to see what an extraordinary soldier Lisa's made of herself.
A comtone from his desk terminal broke his contemplation. "Pardon me for interrupting, sir," an aide said. "But you left word that you be informed when the shuttle made final approach."
Hayes shook himself; there had been that last, terrible fear when the shuttle was attacked and not even he could countermand UEDC orders and send help. More to the point, there was no help that Earth could send that would be of any use; the SDF-1 and its Veritechs, were the only effective weapons against Zentraedi pods. Hayes could only wait and hope.
When the shuttle survived its gauntlet, he had nearly collapsed into his chair, staring at the photograph of the past. There was so much to heal between himself and his daughter, so much to put behind them.
Now, he looked to the aide's image on his display screen. "Thank you."
"The craft should be landing very shortly. Shall I meet you at the elevators, sir?"
Hayes pressed against his big, solid oak desk with both hands, pushing himself to his feet. "Yes, that would be fine."
The headquarters of the United Earth Defense Council was a vast base beneath the Alaskan wilderness. Very little of it was aboveground-surveillance and communications equipment, aircraft control tower-but the surface was guarded by the few remaining Battloids on Earth.
Years before, when the SDF-1 made its miscalculated spacefold jump out to the rim of the solar system, it took with it most of its Robotech secrets and all the fabricating equipment humanity had discovered in the huge vessel when it originally crash-landed on Earth. Earth had turned back to largely conventional weapons for its defense with the exception of one gargantuan project that was already under way: the Grand Cannon.
The Grand Cannon took up most of the sprawling, miles-deep base, a doomsday weapon that let the UEDC live the fantasy that it could defend itself against an all-out Zentraedi onslaught. Admiral Hayes had been largely responsible for the Grand Cannon's construction; Gloval's simple disdain for such a massive, immobile weapon system was one of the major stresses that had ended their friendship.
Waiting by the landing strip, the brutally cold arctic wind whipping at his greatcoat, Hayes recalled those days, recalled the bitter words. His once-warm bond with Gloval, solidified during their service together in the Global Civil War, had shattered as Hayes accused the Russian of timid thinking and Gloval sneered at the "hidebound, Maginot-Line mindset" of the Cannon's proponents.
Hayes's thoughts were interrupted by the aide. "Admiral, we've just received word that the shuttle's ETA has been moved back by twenty minutes. Nothing serious; they're just coming around for a better approach window. If you like, I'll drive you back to the control tower; it's warmer there."
The admiral said distractedly, "No, I'll wait here. It's not that cold, anyway." Then he turned back to watch the sky, barely aware of the biting wind.
The aide sat back down in the open jeep, shivering and buttoning up his collar all the way, burrowing his chin down and tucking gloved hands under armpits. He always thought of his commander as rather a comfort-loving man; certainly, Hayes's living quarters and offices gave that impression.
But here was the Old Man, indifferent to an arctic blast that would send an unprotected man into hypothermia in seconds. None of the base personnel knew much about this daughter; her last visit to the base had been rushed and very hush-hush. Hayes rarely mentioned her, but he had been remote most of the time since he had received word she was coming. The aide shrugged to himself, swearing at the shuttle, wishing it would hurry up.

In an officers' mess onboard the SDF-1, Max sat toying with his coffee cup, glancing over at the table a few yards away where Rick Hunter sat immersed in thought, an almost palpable cloud of gloom surrounding him.
He's been sitting there by himself for half an hour twiddling his spoon, and it's like his food isn't even there, Max reflected. He made a quick decision, rose, and went to approach his team leader.
"Lieutenant, it's too early to be depressed about this," Max jumped right in. "I'm sure Commander Hayes will get back here somehow."
Rick turned away from him, chin still resting on his hand. "First of all, I'm not thinking about her, and secondly, what makes you think I'm depressed?"
Rick decided it was all, far too complicated to explain to Max Sterling, the bright-eyed boy wonder of the VTs, the cheerful, unassuming ace of aces. A man who never seemed unhappy, at a loss, or in doubt of what he was doing. Eager beaver! Rick thought huffily.
"Maybe you need a little excitement-some distraction," Max persisted. "How about a game? I know just the place! Let's go!"
Before Rick could object or even consider pulling rank, Max had him by the arm and yanked him to his feet, tugging him toward the door. It seemed easier to give in than to start a tug-of-war in the middle of the officers' mess; Rick went along compliantly.
It didn't take long to get there; Max even paid for the cab. The Close Encounters game arcade was alive with noise and lights, like some Robotech fun house.
Max's eyes were shining. "Great place, huh? You're gonna love it!"
More war games? Rick groaned to himself. "I don't know. Maybe I'll just head home-"
But Max had him by the elbow again. "A coupla games'll make you feel like a new man, boss."
"Max, I don't think-"