Even though these things give you about as much legal coverage as a G-string on a stripper, I am going to include it anyways. Most of the characters in this story are the property of Harmony Gold, and a whole lot of other companies who's names escape me at the moment, and are used without their permission. However, since this is a not for profit undertaking, I dont think its neccecary to worry about it. At any rate, I'm so broke suing would be a waste of time. The few original charecters in here are mine, so please ask before using them in a fic of your own. Comments and Criticisms welcome: E-Mail Starrngr@aol.com. Flames will be promptly filed in file 13 and ignored. Previous parts of this story can be found at: Ranger HQ: HTTP://home.talkcity.com/TheSanitarium/Da_Muck/Libr/wndr/ AND at Sofaspud's Couch HTTP://www.sofaspud.org/ ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Tales of the Wanderer Book 2: Wandering Ace Episode 4: Responses "I'm. I'm sorry, Claudia. I tried to warn you." the prisoner murmured softly, looking up from his lap. Claudia noticed that he had a downcast expression on his face, but his confusing words only added to the barely controlled pain in her heart. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "At 19:30 hours this evening, Commander Roy Fokker was pronounced dead in the ER," Micheal replied softly. Claudia rocked back on her heels, in shock, as that soft pronouncement tore open the scab over her healing hurt. Catching everyone, including herself by surprise, she snatched the weapon from one of the MP's and leveled it at the prisoner. "Who the hell are you and how did you know that?" she demanded. "Freeze this." Lisa Hayes' voice cut through the darkened briefing room. The image on the screen obligingly froze, and the lights came up to about half brightness. Around the U-shaped briefing table were most of the department heads aboard the SDF-1, with Claudia Grant seated in the center of the room, as if she was the subject of an inquiry; which was accurate as she indeed was! Lisa turned to her fellow bridge officer and friend, trying her best to keep her voice cool and professional. "Lieutenant Commander Grant, what exactly were you thinking about when you did this?" Claudia looked from the briefing room screen into her friends eyes, and then to the assembled officers. Lisa recognized the haunted look of loss there, one she herself had seen in the mirror in the weeks following her confirmation of Karl Riber's death. Claudia's voice was weak but unwavering as she directed her answer to her fellow department heads. "To be honest, Commander, I wasn't thinking at all at this point. Commander Fokker had. " Claudia's voice broke for a moment, but she took a deep breath and continued in a slightly stronger tone. "Commander Fokker had just been declared dead about an hour before, and I had just come to terms with the initial grief. Then the prisoner's statement sent me into a total state of shock. There was no way he could have known what happened, and yet he was apologizing for it. I would have to state that I wasn't thinking at all, I just reacted." Claudia's eyes dropped to the table she was seated at as she finished her statement. "With this result," Lisa finished for Claudia, then turned her attention to the young yeoman manning the playback controls. "Play the next section at ten to one reduction, no sound." The briefing room obligingly darkened again and the image on the large screen behind Claudia again began to move. In response to the sudden threat, the prisoner in hospital dress handcuffed to the chair began to change. Even at a ten to one reduction in playback speed, it lasted less than ten seconds. The prisoner pushed the chair backwards, and his skin took on a silvery hue, starting from his extremities and moving to the center of his body mass, absorbing the clothes encountered on the way. The handcuff that secured the prisoner to the chair popped open, its lock shattered. The prisoner then leaped into a backward somersault, its form changing from that of an almost human to another that was readily familiar to the assembled officers. In less than a second of real time, the `prisoner' had landed on its feet, but now looked almost exactly like one of the SDF-1's Veritech fighters, complete to the gun held in its hands and pointed at Lt. Cmdr. Grant. "Freeze here," Lisa again ordered, but this time the briefing room remained darkened. "As you all can see, at this point the prisoner superficially resembles one of our own Veritech fighters. There are however, several critical differences. First, none of our fighter squadrons use this green on black color scheme. More important are these back-mounted modules here, the underarm pods here, and the leg pods here. Again, none of our Veritechs are configured like this. Also, remember that even fully transformed, this person stands approximately six feet tall, or 1/7th the size of a Veritech." Lisa again turned to the video tech. "Play the rest." As Captain Gloval watched the remaining seconds of video play out, he was struck by two facts. The first was that it seemed like while one hand was trying to point the. the. thing's weapon on Claudia and the guards, the other was trying to point the gun AWAY from them. The fact that this thing was pleading with Claudia to put the gun down before something rash happened was co-incidental, at best. That the prisoner returned to his human form and allowed himself to be handcuffed after the MP regained control of his weapon from Claudia was the second. He allowed his gaze to sweep over his senior officers as the lighting in the briefing room returned too normal. "Comments, Gentlemen?" He asked. The briefing room erupted into a quiet rooba-rooba of subdued conversation for a few seconds before Col. Maistroff spoke up. "Sir, I think the video recording makes my case totally. Cmdr. Grant is presently NOT fit either for duty or to head up this investigation due to her feelings in regards to the loss of Cmdr. Fokker. In addition, whatever that thing is could ONLY be some sort of enemy spy, carefully crafted to try and infiltrate the SDF-1 without being noticed. We're just lucky that they didn't get it right!" "With all due respect," Dr Hassan countered from the other side of the briefing table, "I have to disagree. Perhaps Cmdr. Grant's actions were a bit out of hand, but given how close this incident came after Cmdr. Fokker's death I believe it was a natural reaction, and does not indicate that her loss WILL affect her ability to perform her duties. As to our `guest', if you had bothered to look at the results of the tests we performed while he was unconscious, you'd notice that he is well within human norms! Given that the Zentraedi never even laid eyes on us until their fleet arrived here at earth, your claims are unfounded at best!" "HA!" the Major in charge of the Civil Defense teams snorted. "How can you say that when we've never even captured an enemy solder to do any studies on?" "That is enough," Gloval noted in his command tone, cutting off Dr. Hassan's imminent reply. "I think that covers the territory that is pertinent to this discussion. Dr. Lang, Do you have an opinion on this matter?" "Ja, Captain. I was able to take some readings while the prisoner was still unconscious. Most of them did not indicate anything out of the ordinary. However, the prisoner does seem to be generating some sort of low-level field similar to that put out by our space fold engines before they vanished. In addition, the vehicle in which the prisoner was found also exhibits similar readings, of a more residual level. If the prisoner was intended to be some sort of spy, then the level of Robotechnology that would have to have been used to create him is far beyond anything that the Zentraedi have yet exhibited. In addition to this, the lack of maintenance exhibited aboard the Zentraedi ships during Cmdr. Hayes' captivity would only confirm this belief. Given these facts, the only conclusion I can come to is that the prisoner is not from anywhere in our universe." Gloval steepled his fingers in thought as the shockwave of that pronouncement silenced the entire room. For a long moment the hum of the air circulation equipment was the only sound in the large room as the assembled officers grappled with that impossibility. Spying Maistroff about to say something, Gloval spoke up, cutting the Colonel off. "Thank you, Dr. Lang. Given these facts, I can only make one decision. Commander Grant, I find that your actions were, in fact, a result of emotional distress caused by Cmdr. Fokker's death. Because of this you will not be charged with any wrongdoing. You will, however, be placed on 3 days leave in order to allow you to come to terms with it. Because of this, I am placing Dr. Lang in charge of the investigation of this whatever it is. Col. Maistroff, you will remand this person into Dr. Lang's custody at Dr. Lang's convenience. This meeting is hearby adjourned." * * * * * * * * * There was no mistaking the person who waited for him in the interview room of the brig. Although he could remember no scenes with Dr. Emil Lang in the series, the unearthliness of those totally black eyes clearly identified him. "Dr. Lang, I presume," Micheal noted with his best British accent, trying to lighten the mood. "It appears you have the better of me then sir, unless you actually are Lt. Commander Micheal Thunders, USN," Lang countered in a flat and expressionless voice. Micheal fought to keep his skin from crawling at the alieness of it as he replied. "So that's who I am here. No, Doctor, I am not. Where I come from I was a Captain in the USAF before I retired." "Where do you come from then?" Lang pressed. "Earth, but not this earth. One which exists in a parallel fica, or dimension. One where all this," Micheal waved his hands in a sweeping gesture meant to include everything around him, "was a cartoon for children about fifteen years ago. One in which there is a very small percentage of the people who can do THIS." With that, Micheal shimmered into his Star Ranger form, holding it for about a moment before returning to his human one. "I see." Even after the demonstration, neither Lang's voice or his face showed any change of expression. "They can assume the form of cartoon characters." "No, they have abilities `Far beyond those of normal men'" Micheal replied. "Some of us use them to enrich themselves at others expense, while the rest of us try to defend the helpless from them. You know, like the old superman cartoons? Stopping villains, saving people from natural disasters, those sort of things?" "I see. And you've decided to just `drop by' and help us with the Zentraedi threat?" "Nooooot exactly," Micheal admitted slowly. "Then how is it you happen to be here?" Lang continued to press. "Because I'm a perfect example of why you don't let people play with teleporters." Lang did not reply, but his raised eyebrow clearly indicated that an explanation was desired. "After I got out of the Air Force, I went back to school. I was able to secure a grant to study the effectiveness of teleportation as a way of moving troops around. The problem was, I needed to prove my theory or loose funding, so I stepped into the prototype and set the arrival co-ordinates to that of my boss' lab. The problem was that I `arrived' at the very spot that she was using to demonstrate HER present research project, a robotic probe. As a result, I became this;" once more Micheal shifted into his Star Ranger form. "And once that happened, I was done in research. In fact, the only real job opening for me after that was as a superhero. And that is how I wound up trying to stop a mad scientist who was also using teleportation to try and dominate the world. The problem is that in stopping him, I damaged his equipment. The resulting explosion blew me out of my home dimension, and I'm actually just trying to get home." Micheal returned once more to his human form and sat down. "So the explosion is what brought you here." "Again, not exactly. I wound up in another Fica than this one. They helped me build FRED, and since then we've been jumping from dimension to dimension trying to get me back home." "Fred would be the car you were discovered in?" "Actually, Fred would be the AI that controls the car as well as the portal sensors and generators mounted in it. Without him, I'm going to be a permanent resident of Macross City." * * * * * * * * * Gloval sat back and busied himself with the ritual of filling and lighting his pipe as the rest of the recording played out un-noticed on his desktop terminal. He used the delay while he got the pipe to draw smoothly to organize his thoughts before turning back to face the SDF- 1's chief engineer. "And you want to allow his request for access to his vehicle, Lang?" "Ja, Captain. I see no reason to believe Col. Maistroff's allegations. If this person was a spy, I do not believe he would claim that he was an accidental visitor from another dimension. He in fact seems most interested in seeing if his vehicle is capable of allowing him to leave here as soon as possible instead. A spy would want to be trusted and allowed to snoop around gathering whatever data his masters had sent him after, not to leave as soon as possible." "And you believe his claims that his information comes from seeing a cartoon when he was a teen?" It was now Gloval's turn to press; though Lang had never been known to lie or previcate since the jolt he had taken in the first exploration of the SDF-1. "Ja. He knows things that no spy, however carefully briefed, could know. Things that even I didn't know until I asked Cmdr. Hayes about them." (1) Gloval did not reply, instead leaning back his chair and looking at the overhead of his cabin as he smoked and thought. The pipe was nearly finished by the time that Gloval again returned his gaze to Lang, but the look in his eyes was one who had come to a decision. "Very well, Lang. If our visitor is willing to let you and your experts look under the hood and confirm that there is no Zentraedi technology there, you can allow him access to his vehicle." * * * * * * * * * Micheal looked at the assembled members of Tiger Team 9 in their protective suits and sighed. (2) Turning back to Lang, he asked, "Do they really need all that gear? If Fred's damaged, either the fail- safes kicked in or he would have blown sky high long ago. According to what you've said, it's been almost a week since I arrived." To emphasize the point, neither he nor Lang wore a similar suit. Lang simply returned his gaze, neither replying nor ordering TT9 out of their suits. It wasn't until Micheal sighed and looked away in an obvious gesture of acceptance that Lang signaled for the hatch to be opened. And it wasn't until Lang received the all clear that he and Micheal entered. "Damage report, Fred" Micheal asked as soon as he was through the door. The only response was a single beep of the horn, and a couple of members of TT9 snickered into their suit comms. Micheal himself scowled, but addressed FRED again. "Fine, be that way. Authentication code Klatu Vertu Est, you obstinate hunk of steel." Behind Micheal, PS1 Milo Wassermann was about to start chewing on someone's backside for breaking comm discipline when the sound of unlocking doors turned his attention back to the car that had so far resisted their attempts to enter. And he felt his own jaw drop as the car ANSWERED the stranger who had addressed it. Granted, machines that talked back were not exactly a novelty here on the SDF-1, but most of them were idiots, capable of understanding and responding only to a limited set of verbal cues. and not always reliably at that. The voice that answered sounded every bit as human as a fellow member of TT9, and seemed quite capable of understanding complex statements! "Of course I'm obstinate. I'm a machine. and there wasn't any way for ME to know it was really you without the code, Muck. Don't blame me, you're the one who implemented that security feature, remember?" "Later, Fred. Right now I need a damage report. And open the hood, please." As Fred's hood popped open without being touched, he continued to report his ills in that same rich baritone. "CPU systems OK. Reactor on-line and nominal. Portal generator nominal. Portal sensors damaged, box A-31 is not answering to diagnostic queries. Drive system damaged, Probable loss of right front wheel and drive motor. Numerous personal effects containers out of position in the load-bed." After hearing the damage report, Micheal forgot about the others in the compartment and was around in front of the vehicle in a flash. "Front right wheel assembly is totally gone alright, FRED. I'm sure we can fabricate a replacement out of local parts though." Micheal stuck his head under the hood, not noticing as Lang and the members of TT9 gathered around him and peered at the strange equipment found there. A single look into Lang's normally inscrutable face convinced PM1 Wassermann that even the ships robotechnology miracle worker hadn't seen anything like this sort of gear before. Under their scrutiny Micheal continued unfazed. Reaching around the equipment, he wiggled something, then spoke again. "The connector was knocked out in the crash. Try it now, FRED." "I have telemetry from A-31 again, but I'm still getting negative responses from cards A-31-22 and 23, Muck." "Vas is this Muck?" Lang asked from next to Micheal, snapping his attention back to who was there with him. "It was my call sign back when I was a zoomie. I flew A-12 Thunderbolts; an upgrade of the A-10 Warthog. I was the best in my wing at air to ground tactics, so was dubbed Muck cause I was the best at getting down in the muck." Micheal straightened up and looked around at the still suited members of TT9. "I need to get that box open. Would someone hand me a number 1 Philips-head?" "Just what are we looking at, Mr. Thunders?" Lang inquired as the requested screwdriver was produced. "That big black box along the back of the engine compartment is Fred's CPU and primary storage. Forward of that is the main reactor, and forward of that is the dimensional portal generator, with the dimensional sensor clusters behind each headlight array," Micheal replied as he took the screwdriver and stuck his head back down into the array of unusual equipment. A moment later he cursed and spoke up. "A-22-C3 is blown out, and A-22-M1 and A-23-M9 are shattered, Fred. Are those what I think they are?" "Both M parts are red-flagged. We're not going anywhere till you can find or make replacements." Muck pulled himself out from under the hood, not noticing that the members of TT9 moved in to fill the spot he had just vacated. He slumped down to the deck, bracing his back against the bulkhead. "Fred, we are in serious trouble." * * * * * * * * * Gloval gazed across his desk at his chief engineer and the redheaded stranger still in a prison coverall. Beside him, his pipe still burned, ignored for the moment. "Absolutely not. This is a warship, not a place for civilians. As much as I sympathize with Mr. Thunders plight, he will be going ashore with the rest of the inhabitants of Macross City once we find someplace that will take them." "It won't work, Captain," Micheal replied softly, stopping Gloval's hand halfway to the pipe. "Ontario sector is going to change it's mind." Unfazed by the icy glare he received from Gloval, he continued undaunted. "As a result of a Zentraedi attack, a good section of Ontario sector is going to be devastated and they will rescind their invitation to accept the civilians of Macross." "Because you saw that episode of the show," Gloval noted his voice cold and hard. "Regardless of your supposed knowledge, I am still the captain of this ship and responsible for the safety of all aboard. My decision stands. Mr. Thunders, you will wait outside while I discuss your disposition with Dr. Lang." Micheal started to open his mouth to protest, but Gloval cut him off before he could say a word. "This discussion is over. Say one more word and I will have you returned to the brig in irons!" Micheal slowly closed his mouth and departed the cabin without another word. Once the door had closed behind Micheal, Gloval picked up his pipe and took a long draw. As he exhaled, he returned his gaze to his chief engineer. "Your certain about your findings?" "Ja, Captain. All the components we have looked at are either duplicates to our own, or nothing we have ever seen before. Everything points to his being exactly what he claims." Gloval pondered that as he finished his pipe. This stranger was correct in frightening detail. He was in negotiations with the Ontario sector and had just about reached an agreement with them. But no one outside of his bridge crew even knew he had been talking with the officials of Ontario, and here this person had just said that they were doomed to fail. Still, it gave him a way to prove or disprove this Micheal Thunders' claims. "Go ahead and release him from custody, Lang. Get him quarters in the city, but don't let him wander around alone. Assign someone as a guide. and to make sure that he doesn't go poking around in things he shouldn't." "Ja, Captain. And his vehicle?" "He can remove his personal effects, but other than that it remains impounded until he goes ashore." "Ja, Captain." * * * * * * * * * HM1 (3) Elsa Bibat stepped through the hatch as the MP waved her through and stopped in amazement. As a member of the Civil defense teams aboard the SDF-1, she had seen many things, but a grown man guarded by an MP while crying over a broken coffeepot was a new one to her. (4) Even her days as an anti-Huk rebel hadn't prepared her for it. The man in question was about a head taller than she was, with red hair cropped short on top and a small collar length ponytail in back. A loud floral print shirt and jeans covered his frame, not allowing her to determine his build accurately. Still, the image of this man in 3 quarters profile cradling a shattered coffee carafe like it was a child brought giggles to her for years to come, just as it had the first time she had seen him. At the sound of her voice, he turned, revealing green eyes and a comical red mustache. Fortunately, his gaze reminded her of exactly what her assignment was, and she banished the giggles and squared herself into attention. "Petty officer Bibat, sir. I'll be your guide during your time in Macross City." He gazed at her for a long second, and she knew he was examining her. She wondered just what he thought of her warm brown eyes and dark hair, along with her trim but still feminine form in its duty jumpsuit. She had survived her years as a rebel by being able to read the emotions in a man's eyes as he looked at her, yet she wasn't able to read his. Elsa wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing when her charge sighed and broke eye contact, turning to drop the remains of the coffeepot in a nearby wastebasket. "And I'm Micheal Thunders. This is my other keeper, Og," he noted, inclining his head to indicate the MP watching him with a level gaze. "Corporal Bailesu (5) has a name, sir. Its right there on his uniform," Elsa noted in an attempt to be polite. "As does Corporal Hosmer outside the door, Petty officer Bibat. But talking to them is like talking to a brick wall. Worst damn conversationalists I've ever met." Micheal returned to the open back of the Humvee in the compartment and removed to large black boxes that looked similar to the ammo cans Elsa used to hide for her fellow rebels. He opened both and showed the contents to Corp. Bailesu who nodded slightly, and Micheal added them to the small pile of similar container stacked outside the vehicle. "Well, that's the last of it," he sighed. "Do you have a first name, Corpsman Bibat?" "Elsa is fine, sir," she replied as he managed to pick up four of the cases at once and looked at her expectantly. "And please, drop the sir, Elsa. Just call me Muck," he replied as Elsa grabbed two of the remaining cases and indicated for Corp. Bailesu to grab the remaining case and the coffeemaker that no longer had a carafe. "All right, `Muck'. I have a vehicle outside to take us to your new quarters. If you'll come with me, please?" To be continued. (1) If you're wondering, he mentioned the `Mr. Lingerie' incident as well as the real motivation behind Lisa's actions at Mars Base. (2) Once again, Tiger Team 9 is the property of Jamie Wilde, and first appeared in his story "Snipes in Wonderland". They were supposed to appear by permission, but when I sent their scenes to him for comment, he never got back to me. (3) Hospital Corpsman First Class, Also Elsa appears courtesy of herself. (4) See Tales of the Wanderer: Book 1 at my web-site to better understand the Wanderer's travails when it comes to coffee makers. (5) Bailesu and J. Hosmer are both members in good standing of the FFML. I couldn't resist the thought of using them as MP's ^_^