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and made a severe face, imitating Captain Gloval at his sternest. She rolled
her r's, so there'd be no mistake. "So let's have a little respect here!"
Somebody Lisa didn't recognize returned from a coffee run, and they all
had some. "It's good to be here," Lisa said meditatively, letting the cup warm
her palms. Then she made a puckish expression. "And lemme tell ya, the
Zentraedi make lousy coffee."
Claudia realized something and set her cup down. "Hold on! Lisa, I
thought you were supposed to be on special furlough."
Lisa lowered her cup, not wanting to think too hard about the ceremonies
and the tangled feelings that had driven her back to the bridge. She bit her
lower lip for a moment and said, "I wanted to come home."
Claudia was about to say something to that; Lisa was both shielding
something and waiting for someone to draw her out about it. It seemed to
Claudia Grant a good time to order the enlisted crew off the bridge for chow
or whatever and get down to business.
But just then the hatch slid back again, and the Terrible Trio stood
there. Sammie, Kim, and Vanessa spied Lisa and charged in, the dignity of rank
forgotten. Lisa forgot it, too, swapping hugs with them and loving the calm
and strength and serenity of the SDF-1's armored bridge.
Claudia filed the subject of Lisa's furlough and her strange new
introspection away for discussion in the near future. She'd been protective of
Lisa ever since they'd met and tried not to let that spill over into nosiness,
but...
This girl needs a talking to, Claudia decided. And I'm not even sure
about what!
CHAPTER SIX
As an insect seen through an enlarging imager may appear a monster, so these
Micronians, magnified by a few minor successes and by an unforgivable timidity
among certain Zentraedi leaders, are permitted to resist us. This has led to a
stalemate; what Zentraedi worthy of the name would permit this?
Khyron the Backstabber
The jeep roared down the empty SDF-1 passageway, rounding corners on two
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
wheels, tires shrieking. Ben Dixon enjoyed this kind of outing; he usually
took a slightly longer route to the fighter bays than he had to because he so
missed the open road.
Ben's dragster had been parked in an alley on Macross Island on the day
of the fatal spacefold maneuver. So now it was either a floating relic in
space back near Pluto's orbit or had been completely dismantled by the salvage
and reclamation people. Either way, he didn't like to think about it.
But barreling around the roomier parts of the dimensional fortress
helped ease his loss. The civilians had crowded-but-very-livable Macross City,
but once in a while some people needed to hit the road, floor the accelerator,
and let off a little steam. It was an open secret that some of the less
traveled regions of the SDF-1 had become virtual racetracks.
Ben took a corner even more sharply than usual and waited for Rick, who
was sitting in the seat next to him, to make a perfunctory objection. But,
lost in thought, the Vermilion Team leader didn't say anything. Sprawled in
the back, Max Sterling looked supremely unworried. Ben was a little bit
offended by that; Max was a good friend, but Ben expected passengers to be a
little intimidated when he drove. Yet nothing seemed to ruffle Max or dim the
boyish cheerfulness for which he'd become famous.
In fact, a few guys had decided that Max's goodnaturedness meant that he
was a wimp despite his ferocious flying skills. There'd been a few fights, and
Max had insisted that Rick keep Ben from interfering on his friend's behalf.
Help wasn't necessary, anyway; Max's astonishing reflexes and hand-eye
coordination more than sufficed. Max always helped his opponents to their feet
afterward, still with that boyish smile; he even performed first aid in one
extreme case. After a while, interest in bothering Max Sterling waned.
Max gave his blue hair a toss and resettled his glasses, turning at the
sound of another jeep engine. He leaned forward to tap Rick and point; at the
wheel, Roy Fokker was catching up to them, accompanied by three of his Skull
Team fliers.
"Hey, Rick!"
"Hi, Roy."
"Uh oh." Roy came up very close alongside, and Ben had to cut the wheel
to avoid an accident.
"Where d' you three think you're going?" Roy demanded.
They were on one of the longest straightaways in the ship, but they were
moving fast. Ben knew he was being tested; he sweated a bit but kept on a
steady course. But they were approaching the far bulkhead at an alarmingly
rapid speed, and there was room for only one jeep in its hatchway.
The Skulls in Roy's jeep didn't seemed very thrilled about the encounter
either, but they knew better than to say anything to their hotheaded leader.
"What'd you say?" Rick asked mildly. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]