КНИГИ • MACROSS CITY RUSSIA

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ГЛАВА ПЕРВАЯ

Те, кто был удивлен тем, что Дана Стерлинг избрала карьеру в вооруженных силах, выказали не только нехватку понимания о Дане, но также и нежелание постигать природу Протокультуры, и её влияние на судьбу.
В конце концов, будучи ещё ребенком, Дана сиграла основную роль в решающем сражении в Первой войне Роботек, в атаке на орбитальную Меха-фабрику Зентрэеди; Будучи воспитанной двумя из самых великих борцов в истории - её родителиями, разве удивительно, что она избрала путь воина?

Но что более важно, Дана - единственный потомок Человека и Зентреди, появившийся на Земле, и Протокультура работала непосредственно через нее. 
Она должна быть центром продолжающегося конфликта, который сформировал Протокультуру, и это означает быть Исключительным солдатом Роботек .
Дтр. Лазио Зенд, заметки к Горизонту Событий: Взгляд на Дану Стерлинг во Второй войне Роботек

Это была дата, которую знал каждый школьник, хотя для некоторых её значение несколько поблекло.
Но не для людей собрался в аудитории в Военном училище Южный Крест. Многие из ветеранов-почетных лекторов и среди преподавательского состава академии и кадров знали значение этой даты, потому что, они пережили её. Все выпускники уважали этих людей и традиции самопожертвования и храбрости, традиции, которые им предстояло блюсти с сегодняшнего дня.

"Сегодня мы празднуем не только Ваши достижения как первых выпускников Академии," -говорил Высший Командующий Леонард, грозно смотря вниз на молодых людей и женщин, сидяхих пред ним рядами. "Мы также празднуем память о храбрых людях, которые стояли на защите нашей планеты до вас."
Леонард продолжал, подводя итоги последней большой войны роботек. Если бы он остановился посреди слова, указал на любого из кадетов, и попросил, чтобы он или она продолжили изложение истории, то указанный выпускник сделал бы это ещё более точно и подробно.

Все они знали наизусть: как Адмирал Генри Гловэл поднял ржавый, "почти списанный" SDF-1 в воздух для заключительной битвы с психопатическим военачальником Зентреди - Кайроном , и погиб в пылу того сражения.
Они также знали славные имена женщин с капитанского мостика, которые погибли с ним: Ким Юнг; Сэмми Портер; Ванесса Лидс - всех их: волонтеров и технических специалистов, бывших едва ли старше чем любой из кадетов - и Командующую Клаудию Грант.

Сидя в конце ряда своего отделения, Старший кадет Дана Стерлинг оглянулась на лица сидящих возле неё кадетов. Одино из них, с кожей цвет темного меда, ярко выделялось на фоне остальных. Дана могла видеть что Боуви Грант - племянник той самой Командующей Клаудии Грант и близкий друг Даны с самого детства безучастен к происходящему.
Дана не знала, радоваться или волноваться. Носить имя героя Объеденной Земли, было тяжелым бременем, как хорошо знала Дана.

Леонард продолжал о бескорыстных актах героизма и передаче факела надежды сидящим в зале кадетам, ни один из которых еще не достиг двадцати. Им вдалбливали все это в течение многих лет, и кадеты нетерпеливо ерзали на своих местах, горя желанием поскорее дождаться их первых служебных назначений.
Но, видимо, не все курсанты разделяли это желание. Сидя в конце ряда, Дана могла видеть отсутствующий взгляд Боуи.
Леонард, с его побритой головой в форме пули, массивный как медведь и с водопадом медалямей и лент, завершал речь, не сказав ничего нового. С его стороны было бы глупо говорить им, о том что Земля, медленно восстанавливающая за эти семнадцать лет с окончания войны Роботек и пятнадцать если вести счет с самоубийственного демарша Кайрона-Бьющего в спину, по сути своей представляла собой прискорбно-феодальное государство. Кто знал это лучше, чем молодые люди, которые выросли здесь?

Или эта речь должна была стать призывом к долгу и преданности общественной пользе во имя светлого будущего Человечества? Но у кого ещё могло найтись больше ответственности, как не у них: молодых людей и женщин, сидящие там,и кто поклялся служить тому делу и доказал их определение, вынося годы беспощадного тестирования и обучения?
 
 Наконец и к счастью, Леонард окончил свою речь, и пришло время принимать присягу. Дана стала смирно со всеми кадетами , отмечая точку окончания трехлетнего обучения.

Dana stood straight and proud, a young woman with a globe of swirling blond hair, average height for a female cadet, curvaceous in a long-legged way. She was blue-eyed, freckled, and pug-nosed, and very tired of being called "cute." Fixed in the yellow mane over her left ear was a fashion accessory appropriate to her time-a hair stay shaped to look like a curve of instrumentation suggesting a half-headset, like a crescent of Robotechnology sculpted from polished onyx.
 The first graduating class received their assignments as they went up to the stage to accept their diplomas. Dana found herself holding her breath, hoping, hoping.
 Then the supreme commander was before her, an overly beefy man whose neck spilled out in rolls above his tight collar. He had flaring brows and a hand that engulfed hers. But despite what the UEG public relations people said about him, she found herself disliking him. Leonard talked a good fight but had very little real combat experience; he was better at political wheeling and dealing.
 Dana was trying to hide her quick, shallow breathing as she went from Leonard's too-moist handshake to the aide whose duty it was to tell the new graduates their first assignments.
 The aide frowned at a computer printout. Then he glanced down his nose at Dana, looking her over disapprovingly. "Congratulations. You go to the Fifteenth squad, Alpha Tactical Armored Corps," he said with a sniff.
 Dana had learned how to hide emotions and reactions at the academy; she was an old hand at it. So she didn't squeal with delight or throw her diploma into the air in exultation.
 She was in a daze as she filed back to her seat, her squad following behind. The ATACs! The 15th squad! Hovertanks!
 Let others try for the soft, safe, rear-echelon jobs, or the glamorous fighter outfits; nowadays the armored units were the cutting edge of Robotechnology, and the teeth and claws of the United Earth Government's military-the Army of the Southern Cross.
 And the 15th had the reputation of being one of the best, if not the best. Under their daredevil leader, First Lieutenant Sean Phillips, they had become not only one of the most decorated but also one of the most courtmartial-prone outfits around-a real black-sheep squad.
 Dana figured that was right up her alley. She would have been graduating at the top of her class, with marks and honors succeeding generations would have found hard to beat, if not for certain peccadillos, disciplinary lapses, and scrapes with the MPs. She knew most of it wasn't really her fault, though. The way some people saw it, she had entered the Academy with several strikes against her, and she had had to fight against that the whole way.
 Cadets who called her "halfbreed" usually found themselves flat on their faces, bleeding, with Dana kneeling on them. Instructors or cadre who treated her like just one more trainee found that they had a bright if impulsive pupil; those who gave any hint of contempt for her parentage found that their rank and station were no protection.
 Cadet officers awakened to find themselves hoisted from flagpoles...a cadre sergeant's quarters were mysteriously walled in, sealing him inside....The debutante cotillion of the daughter of a certain colonel was enlivened by a visit from a dozen or so chimps, baboons, and orangutans from the academy's Primate Research Center...and so on.
 Dana reckoned she would fit into the 15th just fine.
 She realized with a start that she didn't know where Bowie was going. She felt a bit ashamed that she had reveled in her own good fortune and had forgotten about him.
 But when she turned, Bowie was looking up the row at her. He flashed his handsome smile, but there was a resigned look to it. He held his hand up to flash five outspread fingers-once, twice, three times.
 Dana caught her breath. He's pulled assignment to the 15th, too!
 Bowie didn't seem to be too elated about it, though. He closed the other fingers of his hand and drew his forefinger across his throat in a silent gesture of doom, watching her sadly.

The rest of the ceremonies seemed to go on forever, but at last the graduates were dismissed for a few brief days of leave before reporting to their new units.
 Somehow Dana lost Bowie in the crush of people. He had no family or friends among the watching crowd; but neither did she. All the blood relatives they had were years-gone on the SDF-3's all-important mission to seek out the Robotech Masters somewhere in the far reaches of the galaxy.
 The only adult to whom Dana and Bowie were close, Major General Rolf Emerson, was conducting an inspection of the orbital defense forces and unable to attend the ceremony. For a time in her childhood, Dana had had three very strange but dear self-appointed godfathers, but they had passed away.
 Dana felt a spasm of envy for the ex-cadets who were surrounded by parents and siblings and neighbors. Then she shrugged it off, irritated at herself for the moment's self-pity; Bowie was all the family she had now. She went off to find him.
 Even after three years in the Academy, Bowie was a cadet private, something he considered a kind of personal mark of pride.
 Even so, as an upperclassman he had spacious quarters to himself; there was no shortage of space in the barracks, the size of the class having shrunk drastically since induction day. Of the more than twelve hundred young people who had started in Bowie's class, fewer than two hundred remained. The rest had either flunked out completely and gone home, or turned in an unsatisfactory performance and been reassigned outside the Academy.
 Many of the latter had been sent either to regional militias, or "retroed" to assorted support and rear-echelon jobs. Others had become part of the colossal effort to rebuild and revivify the war-ravaged Earth, a struggle that had lasted for a decade and a half and would no doubt continue for years to come.
 But beginning with today's class, Academy graduates would begin filling the ranks of the Cosmic Units, Tactical Air Force, Alpha Tactical Armored Corps, and the other components of the Southern Cross. Enrollment would be expanded, and eventually all officers and many of the enlisted and NCO ranks would be people who had attended the Academy or another like it.
 Robotechnology, especially the second-generation brand currently being phased into use, required intense training and practice on the part of human operator-warriors. It was another era in human history when the citizen-soldier had to take a back seat to the professional.
 And somehow Bowie-who had never wanted to be a soldier at all-was a member of this new military elite, entrusted with the responsibility of serving and guarding humanity.
 Only, I'd be a lot happier playing piano and singing for my supper in some little dive!
 Sunk in despair, Bowie found that even his treasured Minmei records couldn't lift his spirits. Hearing her sing "We Will Win" wasn't much help to a young man who didn't want anything to do with battle.
 How can I possibly live this life they're forcing on me?
 He plucked halfheartedly at his guitar once or twice, but it was no use. He stared out the window at the parade ground, remembering how many disagreeable hours he had spent out there, when the door signal toned. He turned the sound system down, slouched over, and hit the door release.
 Dana stood there in a parody of a glamour pose, up on the balls of her feet with her hands clasped together behind her blond puffball hairdo. She batted her lashes at him.
 "Well, it's about time, Bowie. How ya doing?" She walked past him into his room, hands still behind her head.
 He grunted, adding, "Fine," and closed the door.
 She laughed as she stood looking out at the parade ground. "Su-ure! Private Grant, who d'you think you're kidding?"
 "Okay! So I'm depressed!"
 She turned and gave him a little inclination of the head to acknowledge his honesty. "Thank you! And why are you depressed?"
 He slumped into a chair, his feet up on a table. "Graduation, I guess."
 They both wore form-fitting white uniforms with black boots and black piping reminiscent of a riding outfit. But their cadet unit patches were gone, and Dana's torso harness-a crisscross, flare-shouldered affair of burnt-orange leather-carried only the insignia of her brevet rank, second lieutenant, and standard Southern Cross crests. Dark bands above their biceps supported big, dark military brassards that carried the Academy's device; those would soon be traded in for ATAC arm brassards.
 Dana sat on the bed, ankles crossed, holding the guitar idly. "It's natural to feel a letdown, Bowie; I do too." She strummed a gentle chord.
 "You're just saying that to make me feel better."
 "It's the truth! Graduation Blues are as old as education." She struck another chord. "Don't feel like smiling? Maybe I should sing for you?"
 "No!" Dana's playing was passable, but her voice just wasn't right for singing.
 He had blurted it out so fast that they both laughed. "Maybe I should tell you a story," she said. "But then, you know all my stories, Bowie." And all the secrets I've ever been able to tell a full-breed Human.
 He nodded; he knew. Most people on Earth knew at least something of Dana's origins-the only known offspring of a Zentraedi/Human mating. Then her parents had gone, as his had, on the SDF-3 expedition.
 Bowie smiled at Dana and she smiled back. They were two eighteen-year-olds about to take up the trade of war.
 "Bowie," she said gently, "there's more to military life than just maneuvers. You can make it more. I'll help you; you'll see!" She sometimes thought secretly that Bowie must wish he had inherited the great size and strength of his father, Vince Grant, rather than the compact grace and good looks of his mother, Jean. Bowie was slightly shorter than Dana, though he was fierce when he had to be.
 He let out a long breath, then met her gaze and nodded slowly. Just then the alert whoopers began sounding.
 It sent a cold chill through them both. They knew that not even a martinet like Supreme Commander Leonard would pick this afternoon for a practice drill. The UEG had too much riding on the occasion to end it so abruptly.
 But the alternative-it was so grim that Dana didn't even want to think about it. Still, she and Bowie were sworn members of the armed forces, and the call to battle had been sounded.
 Dana looked at Bowie; his face registered his dismay. "Red alert! That's us, Bowie! C'mon, follow me!"
 He had been through so many drills and practices over the years that it was second nature to him. They dashed for the door, knowing exactly where they must go, what they must do, and superlatively able to do it.
 But now, for the first time, they felt a real, icy fear that was not for their own safety or an abstract like their performance in some test. Out in the corridor Dana and Bowie merged with other graduates dashing along. Duffel bags and B-4 bags were scattered around the various rooms they ran past, clothing and gear strewn everywhere; most of the graduates had been packing to go home for a while.
 Dana and Bowie were sprinting along with a dozen other graduates, their fifty, then more than half of the class. Underclassmen and women streamed from other barracks, racing to their appointed places. Just like a drill.
 But Dana could feel it, smell it in the air, and pick it up through her skin's receptors: there was suddenly something out there to be feared. The cadet days of pretend-war were over forever.
 Suddenly, emphatically, Dana felt a deep fear as something she didn't understand stirred inside her. And without warning she understood exactly how Bowie felt.
 The young Robotech fighters-none older than nineteen, some as young as sixteen-poured out of their barracks and formed up to do their duty.

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