"09 - The Final Nightmare" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

So many staffers inhaled at the same time that Rudolph wondered if the air pressure would drop. Leonard's faced flushed with rage. "They've already mauled our first assault wave; it's not a question of provocation anymore. Damn it, man! This is war, not an exercise in interstellar diplomacy!"
"But we haven't even tried negotiating," Emerson began, a little hopelessly. An over-eager missile battery commander named Komodo had fired on the Robotech Masters before any real attempt could be made to contact them and learn what it was they wanted. From that moment on, it had been war.
"I'll have no insubordination!" Leonard bellowed. To the rest of the staff he added, "Mobilize the second strikeforce and prepare them to relieve our troops at Moon Base ALUCE!"

Outside the classified-conference room, a figure clad in the uniform of the Southern Cross's Alpha Tactical Armored Corps-the ATACs-moved furtively.
Zor still didn't quite understand the half-perceived urges that had brought him there. It was a familiar feeling, this utter mystification about who he was, and what forces drove him. It was as though he moved in a fog, but he knew that somewhere ahead was the room where all Earth's military plans were being formulated. He must go there, he must listen and watch-but he didn't understand why.
Suddenly there was a bigger figure blocking his way. "Okay, Zor. Suppose you tell me just what the hell you think you're doing here?"
It was Sergeant Angelo Dante, senior NCO of the 15th, fists balled and feet set at about shoulder width, ready for a fight. His size and strength dwarfed Zor's, and Zor was not small. Dante was a career soldier, a man of dark, curling hair and dark brows, not quick to trust anyone, incapable of believing anything good of Zor.
The sergeant grabbed Zor's leather torso harness and gave it a yank, nearly lifting him off his feet. "What about it?"
Zor shook his head slowly, as if coming out of a trance. "Angle! Wh-how did I get here?" He blinked, looking around him.
"That's my line. You're sneakin' around a restricted area and you're away from your duty station without permission. If you don't have a pretty good explanation, I'm gonna see to it your butt goes into Barbwire City for a long time!" He shook Zor again.
"Oh, Zor! There you are!" First Lieutenant Dana Sterling, commanding officer of the 15th, practically squealed it as she rounded a corner and hurried toward them. Angelo shook his head a little, watching how her smile beamed and her eyes crinkled as she caught sight of Zor.
Like her two subordinates, she was dressed in the white Southern Cross uniform, with the black piping and black boots that suggested a riding outfit. She barely reached the middle of Angelo's chest, but she was, he had to admit, a gutsy and capable officer. Except where this Zor guy was concerned.
She rushed up to them and grabbed Zor's hand; Angelo found himself automatically releasing his captive. Dana seemed completely unaware that she had blundered into the middle of what would otherwise have been a fight. "I've been looking for you everywhere, Zor!"
Zor, still dazed, seemed to be groping for words. "Just a second, Lieutenant," Angelo interrupted.
But she was tugging Zor away. "Come along; I want to ask you something!"
"Hold it, ma'am!" Angelo burst out. "Why don'tcha ask pretty boy here what he's doing hanging around a restricted area?"
Dana's expression turned to anger. Like the sergeant, she had tracked down Zor with difficulty, but she wouldn't let herself think badly of her strange, alien trooper. She shot back, "What are you, Angie, a spy for the Global Military Police?"
Angelo's black brows went up. "Huh? You know better than that! But somebody has to keep an eye on this guy. Or don't you think what he's doing is a little suspicious?"
Dana rasped, "Zor's suffering from severe memory loss. If he's a little disoriented at times, that just means we should show him a bit of compassion and understanding!"
She slipped an arm through Zor's, clasping his elbow. Angelo wondered if he were going crazy; wasn't this the same alien who had led the enemy forces in his red Bioroid? Didn't he try to kill Dana, as she had tried to kill him, in a half dozen or so of the most vicious single combats of the war, her Hovertank mecha against his Bioroid?
"I'll speak to you later, Sergeant," Dana said, dragging Zor off.
Angelo watched them go. He had gained a lot of respect for Dana Sterling since she had taken command of the 15th, but she was only eighteen and, in the sergeant's opinion, still too impulsive and too inclined to make rash moves. He tried to suppress his sneaking suspicion as to why she was so protective of Zor-so possessive, really.
But one indisputable fact remained. No matter how loyally Angelo tried to discount it, Dana herself was half alien.


CHAPTER TWO
I could never figure out why Leonard, who hated anything alien, would tolerate that wacky experiment where Zor was thrown in with the 15th ATAC-especially since a female halfbreed was CO. One day, I remember, Leonard had been grumbling about putting Zor back into lab isolation and dissecting him.
Ten minutes later the phone rang. Leonard didn't say much in that conversation-it was real brief. And whatever he heard through the earpiece had him sweating. Right after that he dropped the topic for good.
I happened to see the phone logs for the afternoon over at the commo desk a little later. The call had come from Dr. Lazio Zand, who ran Special Protoculture Observations and Operations Kommandatura. I did my best to forget I'd ever seen that log.
Captain Jed Streiber, as quoted in "Conjuration," History of the Robotech Wars, Vol. CXXXIII

"The Revenge of the Martian Mystery Women?" Zor echoed Dana.
"Right!" she said excitedly. "Everybody says it's a dynamite movie. You'll love it! And it won't cost you anything 'cause I've already got the tickets!" She showed him the pair of ducats.
They were sitting in a little park outside the big, imperial-looking building that housed Alpha Tactical Armored Corps HQ. Birds were singing, and a fountain splashed nearby. "As a matter of fact, they're hard to come by, and the scalper charged me plenty for these!" She frowned a bit, wondering if she was making a fool of herself.
Zor gave a thin smile. "Well then, how can I refuse, Lieutenant?"
An officer in the 10th squad who had seen the movie last night had said that it was romantic as well as exciting. Dana liked the idea of seeing a movie about alluring, captivating alien women with Zor.
She rushed on, "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't said yes!" Then she stopped, looking perplexed. "Only-now I'm not sure what I ought to wear..."
Zor watched her as she deliberated, certain that no matter what she decided to wear she would look beautiful. He tried to sort out the conflicting emotions and veiled impulses that kept him in a state of confusion much of the time. Zor wondered if these feelings for his lieutenant were what the Human beings called love.

In a geostationary orbit some 23,000 miles above the Earth hung six stupendous mother ships-the invasion fleet of the Robotech Masters.
In the huge flagship, which still bore the scars of battles with the Human race both in space and on the surface of the planet, stood the Triumvirate of Masters. They looked down from the vantage point of their floating Protoculture cap-the enormous, humplike instrument that gave them total control of superhuman mind powers and abilities.
Like virtually all members of their race, the Triumvirate of Masters functioned as a triad, each standing upon a small platform attached to the hovering cap. They were males, with hawklike faces that wore perpetual scowls. The severity of their faces was emphasized by scarlike V's of tissue under each cheek. All of them were bald-or shave-pated; their long, fine hair fell below their shoulders. They wore monkish robes, their wide, floppy collars suggesting the tripartite blossom of the Invid Flower of Life.
The Masters usually mindspoke through direct tactile contact with their Protoculture cap, but they chose now to say their words out loud. Shaizan, who was often the spokesman for the Triumvirate, said, "So, you're saying our Bioroid clones are limited in their effectiveness?"
Looking up at him was a triad of Clonemasters, two males and a female, standing under their own, smaller Protoculture cap. All were tall, pale, and slender. They wore tight-fitting clothes vaguely suggestive of the early Renaissance.
Both males wore full blond-brown mustaches and mutton chops, and one of them had a beard; the androgynouslooking female wore her long blond hair in a simple style. The minor differences between them only served to emphasize their sameness of body and features.
The leader of the Clonemaster triumvirate nodded. "Precisely. Their current cerebral composition makes them undependable. They perform adequately as shock troops, but in order to deal with an Invid attack, we'll need clones much more tightly mindlinked to our triumvirate."
And they all knew that the need to deal with the savage, relentless Invid might come soon. The Flower of Life had bloomed on Earth, and where the Flower bloomed, the Robotech Masters' mortal enemies, the Invid, were bound to appear in short order.
It was all so frustrating to the Masters, even though they didn't reveal any emotion. They had traveled for nearly fifteen years-across the galaxy-in search of the last Protoculture Matrix in existence. There were determined to find that source of power that could return them to their rightful place as lords of all creation. And yet, although they were near their prize, they were unable to claim it because of the stubbornness of the primitive Humans below. Unbeknownst to the inhabitants of Earth, the Matrix, sealed under one of three mounds on the outskirts of Monument City, was going to seed.
The Masters' calculations showed that the Protoculture would soon shift from a contained mass, kept in the prefertilized state in which it exuded its incredible and unique forces, and convert into the Flowers of Life that the Invid ingested to sustain themselves.