Джек Маккинни - Dark Powers / Sentinels

We're even picking up systemry that appears to be-well, like something from the steam age, Captain."

"Thank you, Colonel," Lisa said, and the woman's image disappeared from the bridge's main screen.

She turned to Exedore and Breetai. "Gentlemen-friends-can you tell me what we've encountered?"

Breetai drew a breath, expanding his massive chest, then crossed his tree limb arms across it.

"It is galling to us, Lisa, and so we were slow to bring it up, but many of the memories of the Zentraedi are false-constructs of the Robotech Masters, implanted when they-"

For once she saw Breetai's head, as huge and indomitable as a buffalo's, hang in dejection.

Lisa could feel immense grief and loss coming from him. "They deceived us; made a mockery of our loyalty, our valor, our sacrifices…"

Exedore hastened to fill the ensuing silence. "We know less of this local star group than we do of far-distant ones; the Zentraedi were expanding the Masters' empire-the outer marches, as your ancient Romans might put it. But you must understand, Mrs. Hunter-um, Captain! — that we cannot trust our own memories in matters like these."

Breetai's chin had come up again. "Still, we'll tell you what we know. Praxis, Peryton, Karbarra, and the other planets whose technology you see mingled there-they were all valued parts of the Masters' empire. Planets of the local star group, easily reached, they were allowed to keep a large measure of their self-determination so long as they subordinated themselves to the Robotech Masters'

ambitions. They survived, in their fashion, in the eye of the storm."

"So-they would be the last to fall to the Invid," Lisa said slowly.

Exedore nodded. "The last, except for Tirol. And worlds upon which the Invid Regis and Regent might wish to vent their anger, or as much of it as they can mount, now that both sides have been so reduced in numbers."

It was true that the Invid were victorious in the long war against the Masters, but in many cases what they ruled was an empire of ash. Planets, even suns, had died. What was left in that region of the galaxy seemed scarcely worth taking.

Rick's face appeared on the main screen. "Landing party standing by, Cap'n." He saluted his wife. He showed nothing but an unerring precision, aware that his demeanor and expression would be studied on a thousand other screens throughout the SDF-3. Behind him were the two heavily armed landing craft that would fly down with the expedition's envoys to greet the Sentinels. Max's Skulls were forming up to fly escort and cover. The GMU had already churned into position, its titanic cannon trained on the grounded space-battleship.

Lisa returned Rick's salute. They cut their hands away from their brows smartly, just like the manual said. She wondered if anyone who was witnessing the exchange could tell how happy he was, now that he was once more venturing into danger. She wondered if he knew it himself.

The Sentinels' ship had chosen a big patch of ground that would serve as its landing pad. VTs and ground units came in to cover; fearsome armored vehicles clanked and wheeled on their tracks. The descent of the landing craft kicked up clouds of sand and dust that settled quickly.

The protocol had been argued a bit, but nobody on the council wanted to be the one to go up and knock on the Sentinels' door. So it was Lisa and Rick, flanked by Breetai and Exedore and Lang, who approached the ship unarmed. The group walked under Fantoma's light and the glare of a hundred of the two-legged Tiresian Ambler spotlights, to what appeared to be the main hatch of the Sentinels'

starship.

But when the main hatch of the ship rolled open, there were none of the dramatics Lisa had unconsciously braced herself for. Instead, a robed figure stood there, at the top of a ramp extended like an impudent tongue from the side of the Sentinels' ship.

Actually, the figure floated there; the hem of its robe billowed gently an inch or two above the ramp.

Lang had been elected to speak for the REF. He coughed a bit in the swirling dust, one foot on the ramp where it met the sand. "If you come in friendship, I offer you my hand, on behalf of all of us, in friendship."

The being looking down on him was virtually smoothfaced, like some blank mask. "I cannot offer mine," it said in the same voice they had heard over the commo.

Other figures, larger, loomed up behind it. Still more crowded at the sides, lower and surreptitiously slinky. Out-gassing from the Sentinels' ship's atmosphere put a sudden mist in the air of Tirol, and it got even harder to see.

Then Rick heard Lisa's scream, and he cried out her name. All at once he was grappling hand-to-hand with the devil.

I suppose we shouldn't have been surprised. We had already discovered, back during the Robotech War, that wherever the basic chemical building blocks of life coexisted, they linked preferentially to form the same subunits that defined the essential biogenetic structures found on Earth. In other words, the ordering of the DNA code wasn't a quirk of nature.

The formation and linking of ammo acids and nucleotides was all but inevitable. The messenger RNA codon-anticodon linkages seemed to operate on a coding intrinsic to the molecules themselves. We knew that life throughout the universe would be very similar, and that some force appeared to dictate that it be so.

But that didn't keep the sight of the Sentinels from knocking most of us right off our pins.

Lisa Hayes, Recollections

The devil who was fending Rick off wasn't quite the one from Old Testament scare stories. At least he seemed to lack the power of fire and brimstone, and was trying to reason in accented Tiresian rather than condemning Rick to the Lower Depths and Agony Everlasting.

"Release me! Unhand me!"

All Rick could see was a grinning, slightly demonic face from which horns grew. Then Rick felt himself pulled away with such strength that he thought the massive Vince Grant or even Breetai himself had laid hands on him.

To Rick's astonishment it was Lang, carefully but forcefully preventing a diplomatic catastrophe.

The Protoculture, working through him? the young admiral wondered.

The air was clearing and a riot had been averted. The Humans' jaws dropped in wonder as the Sentinels presented themselves.

"I am Veidt, of Haydon IV," the robed one-the one who had refused Lisa's hand-said. "And as I was about to say, I cannot offer you my hand, for I have none, nor have I arms, as you understand the concept. Yet, I welcome your words of friendship, and reaffirm mine." Veidt floated down the ramp toward them and inclined his head solemnly.

Lisa, finding no words, returned the gesture.

The envoys from the Sentinels adjourned with those of the REF to a big, round table, set out at the council's decree, under the jade glow of crescent Fantoma in the long Tiresian night. The area was lit by banks of illuminator grids, and by the odd-looking, two-legged Tiresian searchlights.

Human servitors brought trays of food and drink, and some of the Sentinels showed no reluctance about helping themselves, though others declined, having different nutritive requirements.

Great Breetai, his oversized chair creaking ominously beneath him, noticed figures pressed against viewports and observation domes in the thrown-together battleship. At his suggestion, a wide assortment of provisions was placed in the airlocks; the Sentinel envoys were loud in their thanks, and mentioned, almost as a matter unworthy of discussion, that they had been on near-starvation rations.

The beings who looked like male and female bears walking around on broad, elephantine feet-and wearing harnesses that supported cases and pouches and hand weapons of some sort-were Karbarrans.