The Protoculture Wars
Aubry Thonon
Robotech:
Alternate Points
Of View
Thallin
Braywater
This book is dedicated to the following people:
K. Wiley kkwiley@uccs.edu Lieutenant Kay Landers
Alex profnut@nyongwa.montreal.qc.ca Warlord Agar
Derek MondoMage@aol.com Sergeant David Marshall
Steve epustay@aol.com Augustine Rassimus
Kirstin adathono@cc.uq.edu.au Sergeant Tamara Sam'di
This work is c 1994-1996 Aubry Thonon, except for those names,
songs and concepts copyrighted to the appropriate owners (how
do *I* know who they are? They know, that's good enough).
Feel free to copy this book and distribute it as long as:
A) The copyright notices are left in;
B) If it is printed in a fanzine or any other free,
non-profit publication, could you mail me a copy
please?
C) It may *not* be printed in a commercial publication
without the prior assent of *all* the copyright
owners, myself included.
[Reality Check - Saturday Jun. 27 2009, 1548 hours, SDF-1 Pluto Orbit]
<All right, let's not panic here.> Thallin tore
himself away from the view-hole and returned to the
computer console in the corner. He sat down heavily in
the padded seat and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his
hand. <Taking stock. One - My Veritech is probably gone
the way of all things by now. Two - I'm going to get
fried for losing it. Three - We ain't in Kansas no more,
Toto. Four - *Macross Island* ain't in Kansas no more.
Five - Eve is gone. Six - I don't think Pluto was the
intended destination so there must have been a stuff-up
in computation. Seven - My link with Luna Research was
stuffing-up the computer. Eight - I'm *really* going to
get fried for this. Nine, Ten - Never sleep again.> He
sighed at the straying of his thoughts and looked at the
console. Most of the indicators were still registering
red all over the board, making Thallin look closer.
"Well, I'll be." he reflected out loud. "I'm still
getting telemetry from the Valkyrie. Veritech - Built To
Last." He tapped in a few commands on the console's
keyboard and confirmed that the telemetry was not a radio
ghost of his own signals. He smiled. "Well, that's one
less worry off my list. Now for the console."
Algorithms and programs ran through the deck, software
and hardware checking each other and reporting their
finding. Most of the screens were so much crystalline
dust, but a few were still active and displayed the
reports. The link to Luna Research had been severed when
the SDF-1 had folded to Pluto - there was simply no way
for the link to be maintained over such distances.
Thallin looked at the transmission logs and noticed a
sudden increase in packets from the Moon. A closer
scrutiny revealed a salami-like attempt to download
information into the deck's processors. The transmission
of these packets had taken a good twelve minutes and had
been completed scant seconds before the Hyperspace Fold.
Thallin looked at the listing of system files stored in
the deck and noticed an entirely new set of hierarchy in
the already-existing one.
A thought struck him. He remembered Eve's hurried
voice, as though she was trying to finish something
before a looming deadline. What were her last words
before she was cut off? "Just remember that you need to-
" To what? What were these files?
A quick rummage through the new hierarchy revealed
most files where in some sort of compressed format, with
only one in an executable stage. Thallin shrugged and
flagged it for running on the deck's main processor. The
three remaining screens lit up with a light green light
and started a count from one to twenty, then switched off
again. Eventually, after a couple of seconds, a list of
messages appeared on the central console.
< All files present >
< All files pass corruption checks >
< There is not enough room to install new core >
< Delete system logs (Y/N) >
The cursor stopped its movement and flashed on the
screen, waiting for an answer. "In for a penny..." mused
Thallin as he reached over and depressed the `Y' key.
The cursor moved to the next line where it stayed for a
few seconds before the screen continued its litany.
< Building new hierarchy >
< Building new core - please wait >
Thallin stared as the console, wondering what was
going through the deck's electronic mind. The cursor
moved to the bottom right of the screen and started
counting in percentages. Watching it for a while,
Thallin realised it would be the better part of the
afternoon before the installation was finished.
Thallin wandered out of the room and into the
corridors of the Macross, following it until he came
across an interphone. Picking it up he dialled the
ship's Tactical Control and waited for the officer on the
other to respond. "TaCon. Make it good."
"Hi, this is err..." Thallin looked down at his
uniform, trying to remember what grade they had boosted
him to so that he would fit in with the command structure
of the SDF-1. "This is Lieutenant Thallin Braywater,
from Research. You have a plane out there, VF-117. Is
that correct?"
"Yes, the plane hasn't been reported as a casualty
yet." Sounds of muffled explosions and screams came
wafting over the line. "But we can't be sure."
"Why, what's happening?"
"When we folded, we took the island with us."
"Yes, I noticed that. So?"
"And everything on it." deadpanned the voice at the
other end.
Thallin opened his mouth and closed it as realisation
set in. "Oh."
"So waddayawant?"
"Yes, err... VF-117 should be bringing in another
Valkyrie with it. If they make it back, I'd like my
congratulations and thanks extended to the pilot, and
could the pilot please report to me ASAP? Thank you."
The officer grunted something that sounded like an
affirmation, then hung up.
Thallin's ears were still ringing when he stepped out
of Lang's office. He had not thought Lang even knew
*half* of the profanities he had used on him - some
Thallin did not even recognise. He sighed, and made his
way back to the hangar bay where the deck was still
trying to compile the new control core. On the way,
Thallin passed the make-shift morgue which had been set-
up in a disused part of the SDF. Rows after rows of
bodies and parts thereof were arrayed for all to see,
some with tags identifying them, some who would only be
able to identified when the names of those missing came
in. A young woman came running out of the room, head
buried in her hands, weeping, and ran down a corridor
without looking which way she was going. She turned a
corner and was gone. A few seconds later, an orderly
wheeled out a trolley with yet another corpse on it,
looked at its tag and layed it in line with the others.
Thallin moved on.
The deck was beeping softly when Thallin walked back
into the hangar bay. Hoping that the compilation had
finished, he leant over to displays and started reading
the writing on the screen. No such luck - the system had
reached an impasse.
< There is not enough room to install new core >
< Building of new core halted >
< Emergency routine called >
< Message logged for Lt. Braywater >
Thallin raised an eyebrow in fascination, then tapped
a few commands, requesting playback of the message.
Eve's computer-simulated face appeared on the screen.
"Hello, Thallin. If you're hearing this then the deck
has reached an impasse when compiling the new Neural Net
core for the interface. This means that you will have to
prepare a new interface for the control deck before
compilation can resume. This will entail a few actions
which may be deemed as non-ethical by your peers. The
deck will now print out the instructions for the new
core. Good luck."
The screen turned black as the deck started spitting
out pages after pages of instructions into the printout
tray. Thallin picked the first few pieces of paper up
and glanced at the requirements. <Cold room, electronic
components, access to facility bay 7-G. What the hell is
facility bay 7-G? Bio-electronic components, nothing too
impossible to appropriate...> The requirements went on
for a full ten pages. Thallin started requesting the
necessary parts over the computer network as he continued
to read the instructions. He grabbed the next page from
the printer and paused, his eyes wide in surprise. "I
need a *WHAT*?!"
"Hey, Charlie!" yelled one orderly to the other. "I
thought you said to put the next stiff next to number
238."
Charlie looked up from his coffee mug. "Yeah Quyen,
so what?"
"So, where's 238?" asked the other.
Charlie got up, shot an angry look at his friend,
grabbed his clipboard and scanned it before replying.
"Number 238, Christina Leeds. Multiple puncture wounds.
Died of internal haemorrhage and concussion." He stepped
out of the office and stormed to Quyen's side. "Number
238 is therefore in row five, column 38, which is right
over th..." He paused, arm extended.
"Like I said," repeated Quyen. "Where's 238?"
Thallin was trying to look inconspicuous as he pushed
the loaded gurney down the corridors of the SDF-1 towards
the cold-room he had commandeered. He still could not
believe he had done this, could not understand why he was
even contemplating it. The only thing that stopped him
from going terminally insane with worry was the fact that
Eve had never been wrong before. Maybe not correct all
the time, but never wrong. Still, what would he say if
anybody caught him wheeling a dead body around the ship?
Thallin rounded the corner and paused in front of the
service left, pressing the call button repeatedly in his
haste to disappear from sight. He was almost there.
Five more minutes and nobody would know where the body
had gone to.
"Excuse me." said the female voice behind him. "Are
you Lieutenant Braywater?"
Thallin's forehead broke out in a sweat as his hands
tightened around the gurney's handle. "Oh boy."
Neoculture (Crash-Test Dummy On The Information SuperHighway)
-------------------------------------+------------------------------------
Dans le froid glace de l'Olympe noir | Dans le vide de l'espace infernal -
Les Dieux malins ont en vain | Fatigue, lasse, vainqueur -
Use de leur puissance, leurs pouvoirs| Ulysse pres d'une Aurore Boreale
Contre Ulysse 31. | Rechauffe un peu son coeur.
-------------------------------------+-------- Aubry.Thonon@qed.qld.gov.au