My apologies for the delay; I've been insanely busy at work.
Fortunately, that's pretty much behind me, and I can begin devoting more
time to writing.

Standard disclaimer about this particular fic:  it's more a fantasy than
a story.  My Avatar more or less hangs around in the background, filling
in some of the details glossed over in the cartoon, adding or altering
bits of the plot here and there.  Those of you who have seen Robotech
might become quite bored; fair warning.

-Richard

---

"All right, recruits, listen up."

Richard stood in the back of the crowded room.  Approximately fifty
people milled about uncertainly.  The man addressing them was young -
mid-twenties - but spoke perfect martinet.  "Now, you all understand
that you've joined the military.  That means obey orders or die.
Understood?"

A few murmured replies.  Richard smiled.

The man glowered.  "UNDERSTOOD!"

"Yes, sir!"  This was said by nearly everyone.  Richard smiled more
widely, and found that a man with blue hair and glasses was smiling as
well, although Richard suspected that the smile stayed there most of the
time.  Richard moved up next to him, intrigued.  The man glanced at him
briefly and gave him a polite nod, still smiling.

The uniformed man seemed unsatisfied.  "Next question.  Who here has
flying experience?"

Everyone raised their hands.  Richard raised his eyebrows briefly; they
must have recruited everyone who could fly in Macross City.

"All right.  Who has over one thousand hours logged?"

Although his hours weren't exactly logged, Richard kept his hand raised.
The blue-haired man lowered his, along with about thirty or thirty-five
others.

"Seen any kind of combat?"

This time only Richard and two other men kept their hands raised.
Richard examined them briefly; a thick, gray-haired man who looked to be
about fifty and a young, short man with thick black hair that looked
like it was made to ruffle in the wind.

"All right.  Those with one thousand or more hours, you are Alpha group.
The rest of you are Betas.  Betas, remain here.  Alphas, with me."  The
man turned and walked quickly away.

Richard nodded a parting at the blue-haired man, regretful that he
wouldn't have a chance to get to know him any better.  He joined the
others as they followed the uniformed man to a kind of indoctrination
area.

They were told to line up and receive uniforms.  Richard noted that all
of the Alphas were men, and wondered just how sexist this pre-FTL
society was.  He shrugged it off, remembering that Commander Hayes was
the first officer and that was probably a good enough sign of relative
egalitarianism.

Richard again hung around the back of the room and did not get a uniform
himself.  A little to his surprise, the martinet did not object; he must
have been briefed on Richard's status.  Instead he led the Alphas to the
next stage, where a quick and disturbingly thorough medical exam was
taken.  Richard bore it stoically, wondering if there were any major
differences in his anatomy that they would detect.  Evidently not.

Other minor details were taken care of, they were shown their barracks,
told to store their gear, then taken out for a run through some of the
SDF-1's maze-like interior.  Richard was fascinated by the details of
the mammoth ship and found himself objecting much less than he'd
expected to.

Back to the barracks and standing at attention while indoctrination
lectures were shouted at them.  Richard struggled to keep his attention
focused; there was important information here.  The martinet also took
the opportunity to yell at just about everyone, although again Richard
was left out of it, for which he was grateful.

Finally they were led to a mess hall.  Richard, somehow expecting
benches and slop, was a bit surprised to see carpeting, chairs, and
decent food.  Not a restaurant by any means, the d�cor was strictly
utilitarian.  But it was far from unpleasant.

Richard took the opportunity to look around at the other men.  Besides
the gray-haired man, they were all younger than him.  The youngest was
definitely the short one, who looked to be no more than sixteen or
seventeen.  Richard felt himself grow a little sad at the thought of a
young man who should be enjoying a high school existence instead forced
to fight a war.

Some of the men knew each other and began, cautiously at first, to talk
to each other.  Reminiscences were shared about the war so far, and
Richard listened attentively.  It seemed that no one really understood
what was going on or how the war had started, only that the enemy had
overwhelming numbers and it was a miracle that they had survived so far.

The youngest of them - Rick, his name was - talked enthusiastically of
his late father's flying circus.  Rick had been flying since he'd been
seven, and had won some civilian flying contest eight years running.  He
also had a story about being trapped inside the SDF-1 for several days
with a teen-aged woman.  This led quite quickly to some speculation from
the listeners on how he had passed the time, which further led to hot,
embarrassed denials from the young man.

Richard let them go on for a while, then threw in his own comment.  "All
right, fellas, back off.  At least the kid protected her virtue, and
that's a job enough for any man."

One of the pilots eyed him curiously.  "And I suppose you would have
done the same?"

"Oh, I didn't say *that*."  Richard grinned.  "At the very least I would
have given her a firm handshake."

A couple of mild chuckles from the crowd, and another man spoke up.  "So
tell us your story.  Why don't you have to wear a uniform?"

Richard lay back on his bunk, his hands behind his head.  "Oh, mine's
the typical 'traveler from another universe arrives under mysterious
circumstances and ingratiates himself to the natives' kind of story."

This got displays of various kinds of incredulity from the audience.
Richard grinned and began to patiently offer details, although he had to
repeat several of them many times.

Eventually the talk wound down and people began to fall asleep.  Richard
still lay atop his covers, staring up into the darkness, wondering what
the future would bring.

"Richard?"  A quiet voice from two bunks away.  A young voice.

"Yes, Rick?"

"Thanks.  For back then, I mean.  I had to go through all that when we
were rescued.  I didn't want to go through it again."

"You're welcome."  Richard smiled even though Rick wouldn't be able to
see.  "You're a fine young man for acting the way you did.  I liked the
story about the tuna fish."

"Thanks."

Richard thought for a minute, then hazarded a guess.  "You have a
picture of her in your locker, don't you?"

"No!"  The voice was just a little louder, and elicited some sleepy
protests.

Richard waited for them to die down.  "Sorry, didn't mean anything by
it."

He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.  Before he did, he heard a
voice say, "But I joined because of her.  I gotta protect her, and this
is the best way I know how."

Richard suppressed a chuckle.  No matter which universe he went to,
young love remained constant.  And just as strong.

---

Richard banked left and cut his power, applying a counter-thrust to try
and get a tight turning radius.  His finger hovered on the fire button,
waiting for the target to appear in his sights.

It never did.  He caught a glimpse of it off to his right before it slid
behind him and the lock warning buzzer sounded.

Richard muttered a curse and tried a twisting dive, but he didn't
balance the thrust correctly and it became a long banking curve.  He
became an easy target and the canopy flared white with the explosion.

With a shake of his head he waited.  After a moment, the words "PROGRAM
END" flashed in the air in front of his cockpit.  The canopy slid
backwards, and Richard blinked at the brightness of the training room.

He unbuckled and climbed out, grinning at the young man opposite him.
"Rick, you are one hell of a pilot.  How'd you get behind me so
quickly?"

Rick shrugged.  "It wasn't hard.  You kind of stayed in one place while
you were doing that turn, and I saw where you were going and put myself
behind you."

"But you did it so *fast*."  Richard waved his arms.  "How?  Are your
reflexes that fast or are you just that good?"

Rick grinned.  "A bit of both."

Richard laughed.  Rick was not hesitant to express his opinion about his
own flying abilities, which were superlative.  Neither did he try to
lord it over anyone or act arrogant about it.  He was just better than
anyone else in the training program, and he knew it, and that was
enough.

"Well, next time I'll get you."  He looked up at the man running the
exercise.  "When do we pilot the real thing?"

The lieutenant looked at him evenly.  "If some of you can get your
scores up, tomorrow."

Richard laughed.  "Trust me, I'll do a lot better in my ship."

"Perhaps."  The lieutenant cleared his throat, then spoke loudly.  "All
right, all of you into the meditation room."

A general groan greeted the announcement.  Richard merely exhaled
loudly.  Richard slapped Rick on the shoulder, then walked with him to
the meditation room.

This was no misnomer.  The room was unadorned, the walls gray, the floor
padded.  The pilots quickly took up places in a large circle, the
lieutenant in the middle.  As soon as everyone was seated, the lights
went out, except for a small point of light - sort of an artificial
candle - on the mat next to the lieutenant.

"Pure and clean in mind and body," the lieutenant intoned.

"Pure and clean in mind and body," the pilots echoed.  Richard let his
mind drift, thinking of the hours he'd spent already in grueling combat
training, armed and unarmed.  The purpose was not really to train them
in hand-to-hand combat - no one was under any illusions about their
chances against fifty-foot tall aliens - but to make sure the pilots'
physical conditioning and reflexes were at their peak.  Richard had
struggled in the training, pretty much trailing the rest of the field.
While Jetfire kept his physical condition near-perfect, that condition
just wasn't remarkable.  Rick, for one, appeared to have the reflexes of
Tigra and the stamina of He-Man.

Beyond the physical conditioning was the mental training.  Every day
they meditated, using exercises to clear their minds of all extraneous
thoughts.  Here Richard fared a little better, finding that depending
largely on himself as he moved from universe to universe had instilled
in him a single-mindedness that helped him focus.

After they had more or less mastered the art of imagining a blank piece
of paper or the sound of one hand clapping, the lieutenant had moved on
to having the pilots think through simple actions - lifting an arm,
making a fist, walking - with only their minds.  This concept was harder
than it sounded, but again Richard picked it up pretty quickly and tried
to help the others with the exercise.

Today the lieutenant had them imagine firing a heavy rifle.  Richard
felt the weight in his arms and the feeling of the metal in his hands.
He aimed and pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil in his body.

After a couple of hours, the lieutenant spoke again.  "Very good, men.
Remember these things tomorrow.  Your Veritechs don't just respond to
your controls; they respond to your mind as well.  Your flight helmets
have special receptors in the shell that can read your thoughts and
transmit those intentions to the Veritechs.  You can command your
Veritech to walk, but if you don't *think* it through, it won't work."

"Oh!"  This came from nearby; Richard opened his eyes to see Rick
looking startled.  "That explains everything!"

Gentle chuckles from the other pilots.  Richard smiled, remembering
Rick's tales of piloting a Veritech without any training whatsoever.  He
had ended up in robot form - called Battloid mode - in the middle of the
still Earth-bound Macross City with no idea how to move.  His attempts
had been less than successful, and had in fact caused serious damage to
several nearby buildings.

Even the dour lieutenant seemed amused.  "Indeed, Cadet Hunter.  Your
flying skills are only one component of piloting a Veritech.  The other
part is visualizing while keeping your mind focused and free of
distractions.  These machines can do some amazing things - with the
right pilot."

With that the session was over.  The lieutenant then ran them through a
comparatively light workout, not wanting them to tire them out.  He
dismissed them, telling them to be prepared for their first
non-simulated flight training in the morning.

The pilots broke up, talking excitedly.  Most of them had seen the
Veritechs in action and were dying to put their hands on one.  To a man,
all the pilots congregated on a terrace overlooking the city.  No leave
would be granted until their training was done, but they could still see
Macross City from the barracks and most of them took every opportunity
to do so.

Richard stood against the railing, gazing out at the city with several
of the other pilots.  The reconstruction was proceeding rapidly.  This
version of Macross City was a combination of a standard city layout and
Pueblo Indian dwellings.  Much of the city had taken to perching here
and there on various ledges, and large areas were completely cleared
away, with bright paint and large words warning of danger in the event
of a transformation of the SDF-1.

Richard looked up at the false sun.  It was in the process of setting,
and whoever was in charge of programming the simulation was working
overtime providing artful streaks of red and gold in the clouds.
Richard found himself impressed almost in spite of himself.

One of the other pilots - Brent Hall, Richard remembered his name
being - sighed at the sight.  "Damn.  So close and yet so far."

Richard looked over and smiled.  "Are you so eager to go out and try to
impress women with your new uniform."

Brent laughed.  "Hey, nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Richard shook his head, noting that Rick's cheeks were a little flushed;
evidently Richard had struck closer to home with Rick than he had with
Brent.  He went on, speaking ostensibly to the older, balding man.
"Just a couple more weeks and we'll all get liberty.  Then you'll get
your chance."

"Maybe."  Brent thinned his lips.  "If all the women aren't taken by
then."

"You're talking like we're in an ark or something."  This from another
pilot, Hank Boeder.  "We'll get home in a few months, and then there'll
be millions of women who want to talk to us."

A few of the pilots laughed, but Brent only got more depressed.  And,
Richard noticed, so did Rick.  Brent cupped his head in his chin as he
looked out at the city.  "I don't want millions of women.  Just one will
do."

Richard raised his eyebrows.  "Got one in mind?"

Brent shrugged.  "Maybe.  And maybe she doesn't really know I exist.
And the longer I spend in here, the more likely she is to forget me."

A couple of the pilots offered light-hearted jeers, but Richard only bit
his lip, thinking.  Then he reached to something he usually kept clipped
to his belt during the little downtime they had.  "I know how you feel,
Brent."  He fiddled at the controls.

Brent turned and looked at Richard skeptically.  "Do you?"

"I've got an inkling."  Richard smiled, then activated the music box.

A tune belted from it, slow, guitars and drums in an easy rhythm.
Richard grinned at Brent and began.

   When the lights go down in the city,
   And the sun shines on the bay...
   Ooh, I want to be there in my city.

   Woah, ooh, oh-oh-ooh.

Brent rolled his eyes.  Hank called out, "Don't quit your day job!", to
the general agreement of many of the others.  But they were all paying
attention, Rick among them.  Richard glanced at him, then went up and
grabbed Brent around the shoulders.

   So you think you're lonely?
   Well my friend, I'm lonely too.
   I want to get back to my city by the bay...

   Woah, ooh, oh-oh-ooh.

Richard managed a small smile from Brent.  He grinned, then moved away
and gestured extravagantly, clutching his heart.

   It's sad, oh there's been mornings
   Out on the road without you,
   Without your charms...
   Ooh-oh, my, my, my, my, my, my...

   Woah, ooh, oh-oh-ooh.

Richard turned back to the pilots, most of whom were watching him with
various expressions of bemusement.  Rick, for one, was watching without
expression other than mild curiosity.  Richard plunged on.

   When the lights go down in the city,
   And the sun shines on the bay...
   Ooh, I want to be there in my city.

   Woah, ooh, oh-oh-ooh.

He beamed at the crowd as the music played on.  He grabbed Brent and
Hank and shook them.  "C'mon, these lyrics aren't hard, sing it with
me."  He launched into it, with reluctant accompaniment.

   When the lights go down in the city,
   And the sun shines on the bay...
   Ooh, I want to be there in my city.

   Woah, ooh, oh-oh-ooh.

By the end most of the pilots had joined in, most in an exaggerated
style.  When the song was finished there was laughing and general
applause mixed with catcalls.  Richard bowed, then made Hank and Brent
bow as well.

Hank shook his head.  "You know you're not that good a singer, right?"

Richard nodded.  "But I have enthusiasm, which either helps the audience
get into the mood or makes them run away screaming."

"Next time remind me to do the latter."  Nevertheless, Brent was smiling
with the rest.

Richard spent the next few minutes showing some of the pilots how his
music box worked.  He let them poke at it, and various songs began to
play, usually only for a few seconds until someone else took over the
controls.

Richard, meantime, looked over at Rick, who had gone back to gazing at
the city, now lit by streetlamps as the 'sun' had set.  Richard went
over and leaned on the rail beside him.  "What about you, Rick?  Got
someone waiting for you?"

Rick didn't answer for a long time, and Richard nearly gave up.
Finally, though, Rick spoke.  "Maybe.  I don't know."

Richard nodded.  "The girl you were trapped with, right?"

"Maybe."  He sighed, filled with teen-aged angst.  "I don't know what
she wants.  I hope..."

Rick didn't continue.  Richard reached over and slapped him on the back.
"Well, Rick, if she doesn't appreciate you, then she doesn't know what
she's missing.  I suspect that once you show her your uniform, her
attitude will change."

Rick shrugged.  "Maybe.  Maybe."

He said nothing else, and Richard finally left him in peace.  He
rejoined the other pilots, who had figured out how to set the volume to
maximum and were now frantically trying to get it back to normal.
Richard chastised them good-naturedly and set things right.

---

Richard clambered back into Jetfire and opened up a channel.  "This is
Jetfire calling SDF-1.  Vanessa, are you there?"

On the console, the image of Vanessa appeared.  "Reading you loud and
clear.  Your designation is Fighter Craft JF-01.  Please use that in the
future."

"Roger."  JF-01.  Certainly a lot less sexy than Jetfire.  "Getting my
data stream?"

Randy and Richard had worked together to set up a way for Vanessa's
bridge station to receive telemetry and other data from Jetfire.
Vanessa looked slightly to the side and nodded.  "Roger.  You are clear
for take-off.  Proceed to Rendezvous Alpha and meet up with Training
Group One."

"Okie-dokie" he said in retaliation for JF-01.  Vanessa narrowed her
eyes but said nothing, merely cutting the connection.

Richard smiled, then watched the flight deck officer, dressed in a
spacesuit to accommodate the vacuum of the launch bay.  She asked for a
thumbs-up and he gave it to her.  She nodded, waited a few seconds, then
gave him the launch signal.

Jetfire lifted off the deck.  The landing gear retracted, and Richard
eased the ship forward, once again marveling at the control.  This new
interface made piloting a breeze.  He kicked up the speed slowly as he
cleared the aircraft carrier Prometheus.  He looked back at it,
momentarily saddened at the thought of all the people who had died on it
when it had been caught in the spacefold along with the battleship
Daedelus and Macross City.  The two sea ships had subsequently been
more-or-less grafted to the side of the SDF-1, providing convenient
storage and launching platforms for the Veritechs.

He shook his head to clear it of the extraneous thoughts.  Although he
had no "thinking cap" connection him to Jetfire's systems like the other
pilots did, nevertheless the discipline he'd learned in the meditation
studies were still valuable.  Richard tended to let his thoughts drift
too much, and he needed to pay more attention to what he was doing.

Quite a few tan Veritechs hovered close by a blue one.  Lieutenant
Dodson's image appeared on Richard's console as he addressed the
squadron.  "All right, we'll start with simple maneuvers.  Once around
the SDF-1, to get you acquainted with the difference between atmosphere
and vacuum.  I've programmed markers into your flight computers.  In
pairs as I call them off, and don't dawdle.  Peirson and Chang."

Richard watched as two of the Veritechs moved away from the group and
into a two-craft formation.  They appeared to be maneuvering
competently; Richard felt a tingle of group pride.

His own name was called after two-thirds of the others had moved away.
He was teamed up with Pat Tribiani, and they went off together, his
computer plotting a course from the information fed to him via Vanessa's
bridge station.

The course *was* pretty simple, and Richard quickly grew bored.  At the
speeds they were going, the trip was interminable; Richard could have
done a hundred laps in the time it took them to do one.  But Pat, on his
wingman's channel, was making various exclamations of delight at the
maneuvering, so Richard felt that the trip wasn't completely useless.

They practiced more formation during the morning, flying in two, three,
and squadron-sized groups.  They did three more landings and take-offs,
the last one simulating a scramble.  Here Jetfire's superior
maneuverability became apparent, as Richard was able to simply lift away
from the general traffic route and get underway much more quickly than
the other Veritechs.

Rick took the opportunity for a close fly-by.  He keyed in on Richard's
wingman frequency.  "That's some ship you got there.  It sure *looks*
like a Veritech from a distance, but up close I can see that you're
missing a lot of the maneuvering jets.  How do you control it?"

Richard chuckled.  "Magic."

Rick sounded disgusted.  "Oh, come on."

"Well, okay, it's not magic.  It's an impulse drive that's been heavily
modified to make it seem reactionless.  I can go FTL, too."

"FTL?"

"Faster than light."

"Wow.  So you could go back home."

Richard winced.  If only.  "Yes.  I could travel to Earth in a few
minutes.  That doesn't do us much good; it would take me an awfully long
time to shuttle fifty-thousand people there one at a time."

"I suppose."  Rick still seemed a little wistful.

"All right, cut the chatter."  Dodson's voice cut across their comm.
"Trainees, you will now land yourselves.  Run to point Delta-Five as
indicated in your flight computers as fast as you can without running
into each other.  Then head back to the SDF-1 and ask for landing
clearance.  See if you can organize yourselves without making life too
tough for the Bridge Bunnies."

Richard blinked at the comment even as chuckles from the other Veritechs
drifted across the comm channel.  Bridge Bunnies? That didn't seem a
very complimentary term.  Bordering on contemptuous.

Frowning thoughtfully, he turned Jetfire towards the nav point.  Most of
the other Veritechs were already running pell-mell towards it.  Richard
moved Jetfire forward, trailing most of the pack.  He lifted the corners
of his lips as he heard the enthusiastic shouting of the other pilots.

Many revealed themselves as they approached the nav point.  Most were
going full speed when they hit it, and began long banking curves back
the other way.  Some had begun braking well before the nav point to come
to a full stop when they reached it; Richard was already passing them
by.  A few - Rick included, Richard noticed - had actually been aiming
at a point wide of the nav point, and had begun tight, high-speed turns
that would take them through the nav point on their way back to the
SDF-1.

Richard decided to show off.  He approached the nav point without
slowing down.  When he hit it, he came to a full stop in half a second,
spun, and shot back towards the SDF-1 at the same speed he'd approached
it.  The result was that he was significantly ahead of the rest of the
pilots.

He used his computer's sensors - in perfect working order after he,
Vanessa, and Randy had given the AI a good talking-to about variable
laws of physics - to track the trailing Veritechs.  Rick was the
closest, still a good ways back.  As he watched, Rick's ship leapt
forward.  Evidently he had applied his afterburners.

Richard smiled, bemused.  He wondered if he should keep his lead or if
he should let Rick pass him.  Then again, Rick already knew that Richard
was capable of FTL travel, so letting Rick win might be seen as
patronizing.  And maybe it *would* be patronizing.  Richard decided that
was all the excuse he needed, and accelerated Jetfire until it was
traveling just over Rick's top speed.

Satisfied, he punched up a comm channel.  "Control, this is JF-01
requesting landing clearance."

"Roger."  This was Lisa's voice.  It was quickly replaced by Vanessa's.
"JF-01, clear to land on Prometheus, bay 1."

"Copy, Control.  Landing now."  He approached the aircraft carrier at
full speed, then decided not to scare anyone and slowed down to a
reasonable speed.  He checked Rick's progress and saw him cut off his
afterburners at the last possible second and begin a braking maneuver.
Richard nodded; Rick was not exactly cautious, but neither was he
reckless.

Richard landed and moved Jetfire quickly to its designated berth as
other fighters began to land behind him.  The bridge crew handled the
mass landing competently; the pilots were occasionally confused but
quickly and forcefully corrected.  Richard noted that Commander Hayes
didn't exactly have a good bedside manner; she was brusque and quick to
berate the pilots.  Lieutenant Grant was much better, ready with a
humorous comment to defuse a tense situation.  Sammy handled only one
pilot, when Claudia and Lisa where overwhelmed.  Vanessa was never a
part of the landing procedure, which led Richard to believe that he was
her one and only responsibility.

The pilots dismounted and gathered around Dodson.  "All right, that was
good for a shakedown cruise.  Hunter, the use of afterburners is for
emergency use only, got that?  Hunter, Blackwood, and Vicarro did a good
job on that last run; study what they did and learn to emulate it.
Don't emulate Lawson, he's got a magic ship."

Laughter, all the louder for the fact that Dodson seldom made any
humorous remarks.

"Tomorrow we'll do some transformations to Guardian and Battloid mode.
You'll practice landing in both modes - not an easy task, gentleman, so
please do what's necessary to keep from wrecking your expensive
Veritechs.  For right now, do the following things in the following
order:  shower, eat, and assemble at the obstacle course."

They were dismissed, and Richard soon found himself surrounded as they
walked.  "How the hell'd you do that?" Brent asked, with the murmured
support of the others.

Richard grinned.  "A magic ship, weren't you listening?  Jetfire uses
technology developed in other universes that obey laws of physics that
simply don't apply here.  That allows me to maneuver in ways your
Veritechs will probably never be able to emulate.  Unless you got ways
to bend reality."

Hank snorted.  "In other words, magic."

"Right."  Richard shrugged.  "I wouldn't worry about it; from what I saw
when I arrived, you guys will still be much more maneuverable than those
ostriches."

A slight hush fell over the pilots.  Richard wondered if it had been a
good idea to remind them of the enemy they were training to fight
against.  He decided it probably was; at no time should this be
considered a game.

The euphoria of the first flight was not to be denied, however, and soon
the other pilots began talking excitedly about their experiences.  Some
pestered Rick and the others for information on their flight style,
while others had still more questions for Richard about Jetfire.
Richard answered their questions freely, feeling a peculiar, satisfying
glow as they walked back to the barracks.

---

More soon.

-Richard