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missiles.
The missiles moved faster than the eye could follow, detectable only by
their flaming wakes and corkscrewing trails of smoke. Somehow, though, they
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weren't fast enough to get Max Sterling; he twisted and rolled his VT through
seemingly impossible maneuvers, jamming some of the missiles' guidance
systems, getting others to commit fratricide, and just plain outflying the
rest.
He was putting his Veritech through mechamorphosis even before the last
of them had gone by. Changing to Battloid mode, he leapt down at his attacker
like a cross between a sleek, superswift gunship and Sir Lancelot.
Max fired his autocannon, riddling the Quadrono and blowing it to
burning shreds that fell almost lazily. He turned just in time to catch a
Quadrono that was trying to sneak up on him. The Robotech chain-gun made its
howling, buzzsaw sound again, and the alien became nosediving wreckage.
Miriya had seen it all, the blue-trimmed VT's latest victory in its
rampage across the sky. No Zentraedi had been able to stand against it; who
else could this be but Khyron's vaunted Micronian champion?
She cut in full power, diving at him like a rocket-powered hawk. "Now
you die!"
Except dying wasn't on Max Sterling's agenda today. He dodged her first
volley and got a few rounds into her armor as she zigzagged past.
Miriya turned and loosed a flight of missiles that arced and looped at
the Battloid, leaving ribbons of trail as graceful as the streamers on a
maypole. He dodged those, too, while he charged straight at her, firing all
the time. An unbelievable piece of flying.
"You devil!" Miriya grated softly, almost fondly, knowing now what a
pleasure it was going to be to kill him. The powered armor and the Battloid
whirled and pounced, the upper hand changing sides a dozen times in a few
seconds. Miriya was astounded; could this Micronian have artificially enhanced
reflexes and telepathic powers? That was certainly the way he flew his
aircraft.
She went into a ballistic climb, and Max got a sustained burst into the
Quadrono's backpack thrusterpower unit. Miriya's mecha trailed sparks and
flame as it tumbled back down but suddenly straightened out again; she played
hurt and turned the tables once more.
Her particle cannon pounded away at the Battloid, knocking it back as
several rounds hit home. Max regained stability by shifting back to Veritech
mode and taking evasive action to get a little elbow room before going at it
again.
Miriya laughed like some wild huntress and pursued him down through the
clouds, crying, "You can't dodge forever!"
"That's very odd," Lisa murmured. "Those alien mecha aren't attacking
us. In fact, they seem to be holding off, covering the one that engaged Max
Sterling."
Claudia nodded. "It seems like the leader, or whoever it is, has a
personal vendetta against Max."
"Who can understand the mind of a combat pilot?" Gloval shrugged.
"Especially an alien one?"
"There must be some reason Max has been singled out."
She was right. "Order the lieutenant to retreat. If they continue to
pursue him, it will mean that the target isn't SDF-1."
Max received Roy's order with a good deal of bewilderment. "Retreat?
Wa-wait, I don't get it!"
It would not be exactly true to say that he was having a good time, but
he was doing what he did best-did better than anyone else alive. Bashful,
unassuming Max Sterling could afford to be deferential and mild-mannered on
the ground. It was a kind of wide-eyed but honest noblesse oblige, because in
aerial combat he lived life at lightspeed and ruled the sky.
"That bandit on your tail is trying too hard," Roy explained. "They want
to find out what his game is."
"You got it," Max said amicably. He thought there was something
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different about this one. At any rate, whoever this alien was, he was one hot
pilot.
Max shoved his stick into the corner for a pushover and dove for the
surface of the ocean. The Quadrono powered armor streaked after.
Watching the instruments on the dimensional fortress's bridge, Gloval
came to his feet. "So, now we know."
Roy's gift box hadn't contained a bathrobe at all but rather his
treasured and superb collection of miniature aircraft.
Rick's favorite was also Roy's: a fragile yellow World War I fighter, a
German Fokker triplane with black Iron Cross markings, made at the time of
that conflict and nearly a century old. "Fokker, Little Brother, that's me!"
as Roy liked to say.
The door opened, and Rick looked to it uninterestedly. Then, abruptly,
he was sitting bolt upright in bed. "Minmei!"
She was looking very stylish in a long, red suede coat with white fur [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]