Terminus typeR505 Concept/Line Art (New Wave/New Vision)
{The Magazine of Game ray=out Issue N°0~6, The Magazine of Model ray=out Special Issue May 2006}
Requested by: Anonymous
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi

JBB: An Artblog!

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Acquired Stardust
todays bird
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Not today Justin

Product Placement
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$LAYYYTER
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@pixelatedshinobi
Terminus typeR505 Concept/Line Art (New Wave/New Vision)
{The Magazine of Game ray=out Issue N°0~6, The Magazine of Model ray=out Special Issue May 2006}
Requested by: Anonymous

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Truth
Macross The Ride - #2: Up, Up and Away
Compared to the galaxy as a whole, mankind’s history is no more than a speck of dust. The galaxy knows none of this. But we do. A person’s life and death may be no more than a fleeting moment, but the human soul lives in a way that understands the value of each moment. Thus, the radiance of each soul is no less brilliant than the galaxy itself. That is the nature of this story.
“How the hell did things turn out like this!?”
The girl named Chelsea Scarlett had uttered these words to herself every time she woke up for many years now.
An unfamiliar ceiling.
Not the stark, specially-armored ceiling of the Macross Quarter battle carrier. She rubbed her tired eyes, looking up at the decidedly classic, wood-panelled ceiling.
Sparkling sunlight from an artificial sun streamed in through the window, enveloping her old yet clean sheets.
She was confused, but not quite uncomfortable.
The bedroom assigned to her was small and cluttered, but not dirty at all. Old photographs, models of Variable Fighters and engine blades of unknown origin were scattered throughout, telling the story of its inhabitant's love for planes and childish attachments.
She sat up halfway and brushed her hair back from the linen pillow.
Did I… sweat in my sleep…?
As usual, she wondered if she’d feel the sticky remnants of a nightmare on her, but there was no such thing. All that tickled her senses was the faint, rustic scent of sun-kissed linen.
Not having that dream about sleeping in an icy coffin actually gave her a slight sense of unease, but she forgot all about it as soon as she felt the scent of coffee in her nose.
“Yo, good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
The man’s unfamiliar voice startled her, so she rushed to pull her sheets up to cover her ample breasts, barely concealed by her T-shirt.
“Wh-who’s there!?”
“C’mon. ‘Who’s there’ is a bit much, don’t you think?”
The man, coffee cup in hand, gave a dramatic shrug.
“You, you must be…”
“Hakuna. Hakuna Aoba.”
“Hakuna Aoba…”
Chelsea managed to salvage his face from the murky depths of her hazy memory. He was the man that she’d met at a small repair shop that she was sent to on a temporary assignment from S.M.S. Though, strictly speaking, it wasn’t really a temporary assignment. Her commanding officer, José, had cobbled together some borderline forged documents to shield her and send her out under the guise of a temporary assignment just as she was on the verge of being laid off.
She was grateful for that, and relieved that she hadn’t been sent to a disciplinary hearing, but that didn’t mean that being asked out of the blue to become a Vanquish Racer wasn’t a breach of contract in its own right.
I specifically joined S.M.S. because I didn’t want to be a sideshow anymore!
Regardless, that was the reality in front of her.
Since it was there, she had to deal with it.
She’d already gotten into a long argument with Hakuna over it, but she ended up borrowing a room…
“Sorry for entering a lady’s bedroom without knocking. But, if you could recall that it was my room not long ago, that’d be great.”
Setting his coffee cup down on a plywood sideboard crammed with tools, the man who introduced himself as Hakuna turned his back to her.
“Breakfast should be ready in about half an hour. Once we’ve eaten, let’s continue that discussion from yesterday.”
✥✥✥
“So, about that conversation.”
Chelsea, now wearing an S.M.S. jacket, decided to get right to the point after taking a sip of her brim-full mug of herbal tea.
“Yup.”
Hakuna, on the other hand, sat relaxed in his well-worn overalls.
“I’m not just gonna become a racer! I don’t know what Captain José told you, but I firmly refuse to go along with it!”
“You’re definitely a fighter pilot. I mean, sure, if we made you be some short-haul passenger plane pilot who just does what a computer says, that’s one thing, but the actual work you’ll get here can’t really be that different, can it? D’you think a chicken cares about the difference between ham or bacon with their eggs?”
“But I care!”
“What a coincidence. I’m the kinda guy who spends his life obsessing over the difference between ham and bacon, too.”
—He was an odd man.
He looked as rough as a rock, but no matter how hard she pounded him with her words, he seemed to just brush them off like wind through a willow tree. She’d spent the whole night debating him, only to be outmaneuvered at every turn.
But it wouldn’t be right to call him an unapproachable or cold man, either. There was something about his defiant smile that melted Chelsea’s heart. A heart which, after a long life in the entertainment industry, had grown wary of others and learned not to trust people so easily.
Otherwise, even if she couldn’t return to her room on the Macross Quarter, she certainly wouldn’t have stayed the night in the room of a man she’d only just met.
“Okay, lemme explain it again. Chelsea Scarlett, you couldn’t pull the trigger during combat… is that right?”
“…That’s… true, but…”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Did you know? They say that even if you put a gun in the hands of every Earthling and sent ‘em straight to the battlefield, seven out of ten times they won’t be able to fire at another person—even if it means they’ll die. It wouldn’t shock me if the same was true of Zentrans.”
“—”
Chelsea had no words to respond with.
The Zentradi were a warrior race. They were bred that way. That was why people generally believed that they had no qualms about killing. But the fact that the girl named Chelsea differed from that was an exception, nothing more, nothing less.
“When it comes to soldiers, only about three out of ten people actually make it through training. Even with those who don’t make it, that’s just how it is—a swan who can’t keep up with its flock is still a swan, y’know?”
“Next time… next time I’ll definitely…”
Trying to shake off the image of the boy’s face, his frozen expression of terror that was etched into her mind, Chelsea forced out the words. It wasn’t as simple as saying them. There was that much resistance within her.
“It’s no use.”
Hakuna replied immediately, in a matter-of-fact yet resolute tone. It was as sharp and devoid of unnecessary force as the slash of a top-tier swordsman.
“Neither José nor I have ever seen anyone say something like that and actually be able to pull the trigger in their next battle. They eventually die, kill their allies, or end up drowning themselves with drugs. That’s about it.”
“Kill their allies…?”
“Yeah, Chelsea. The fact that you can’t pull the trigger means that the enemy won’t die. It's simple math. There aren’t even numbers to it—you get what I’m saying, right?”
The man of unknown race and creed went on.
“The idea of sending you to race as an S.M.S. operation isn’t half bad. When José thought it up, I didn’t hesitate to accept. I get the partner I’ve always wanted. You get to keep your job. I don’t see the problem here.”
“I didn’t join S.M.S. to race!”
“But still, the nature of your missions is at your employer’s discretion. You could’ve just as easily been fired on the spot, but José covered for you. You should be grateful for that.”
“I… I want to be with them! On the Macross! That’s my family!”
Chelsea slammed her fist on the desk. Her mug bounced slightly. The force of the blow shocked even her.
“Family, huh?”
Hakuna didn’t ask about her real family. She didn’t know if it was indifference or kindness.
“Yeah, I get that. Any pilot who’s flown with a Macross would say the same.”
“...”
“Hmm…”
A silence passed over them. It was objectively brief, but felt like an eternity to Chelsea.
“Alright, how about this? Wanna play a game with me?”
Hakuna grinned, baring his white teeth.
A smile like the sun. The kind of smile that could make anyone who saw it feel at ease. The smile of a true man among men.
“A game?”
“Yeah. Let’s give this a try. You challenge me to a Vanquish Race. If you win, I’ll negotiate with José to get you back into the S.M.S. If they won’t agree, he’ll have to talk it out with me.”
“Can you… really do that?”
“He and I are friends, after all.”
What he said didn’t exactly make logical sense, but it struck a chord within Chelsea more than logic ever could’ve.
The world he comes from isn’t one full of lies and tricks.
“...And if I lose?”
“If you lose, you’ll just have to race with me for a while. Of course, I’ll treat you as a proper racer and take care of you. That’s separate from your S.M.S. salary.”
“Isn’t this bet a little unfair? I’ve never raced before…”
“I’ll give you a handicap. That’s what sportsmanship’s all about. Come with me.”
With that, Hakuna stood up from his chair. He was gentle, but still had an undeniable, commanding presence about him.
✥✥✥
He led her to another hangar, adjacent to the one she was staying in.
With landing gear to serve as evidence that it was brand new, a large Variable Fighter sat inside.
“They’ve entrusted me with it. This hangar’s meant for customers.”
“This… is from S.M.S…?”
“Yep. José gave it to me for you to race with.”
“Gave it away? So soon?”
“You could call it a prototype under testing. We’ll gather extensive data in conditions close to live combat and that should help speed up development on the new model. Putting it simply, they’re letting us borrow it.”
It was an incredibly beautiful machine.
So beautiful that it was hard for her to believe that it was a Valkyrie, a Variable Fighter originally created for killing.
If she had to compare it to something, it’d be a sword.
Shining brilliantly, sharp, without a single flaw, forged solely for its singular purpose. A sword.
Its wings made her feel that the swordsmith who forged it must have offered their soul to the gods, without any hint of doubt or shame, carving out a beautiful thing for the sake of the world.
“A VF-19EF…? No, it’s not. The shape of its wings is…”
It did resemble her beloved plane.
But everything about it was so different.
Its distinctive shape was like a swan gracefully spreading its wings, but it was nonetheless evident that the electronic equipment and navigational support systems integrated throughout it were as up to date as could be.
“The model number within S.M.S. is VF-19ACTIVE. It’s called the Nothung.”
“Nothung? Like from Wagner’s opera?”
“Is that right?”
“Act I, Scene 2. Siegfried, a hero born from forbidden love, takes the sword Nothung as his own to slay Fafnir, a giant that was transformed into a dragon. It’s the sword wielded by the man that the most renowned Valkyrie, Brünhilde, loved. S.M.S. must have a bit of a romantic streak in them.”
Chelsea stroked the Nothung’s wings tenderly, like a lover would.
Even though it bore the name of the sword which slew a detestable giant, its blade was beautiful. Its state-of-the-art energy conversion armor was polished to an almost mirror-like finish, shining so brilliantly that she felt that her soul itself might end up being sucked into it.
This Valkyrie… was waiting for me.
Yes, she understood it.
Not from reason.
Not from logic.
This sword had simply been forged for her hand to hold, an instrument played for her soul’s satisfaction.
The fact that these wings were created for her sake was as self-evident as the fact that a rose has a fragrance. It was so obvious that there was no need to provide any proof of it.
They were a pair of wings forged so that Chelsea Scarlett could take flight.
The wings of Icarus, forged from OTM-reinforced titanium composite material that even the flames of Helios could never hope to scorch.
“Seems like you’re a fan.”
Hakuna smirked.
She couldn’t even pretend that she wasn’t. Her soul as a pilot, her pride, even, would not allow it.
So, she gave a different answer.
“If I fly in this—what about you?”
“You saw it already. My VF-1.”
“A VF-1!? The original Valkyrie!?”
“Yup. Those are my wings.”
“No way! Are you making fun of me!?”
“No way. I’d never lie about a plane.”
“But that’s about as big of a difference as there is between a light aircraft and a jet!”
The VF-1 Valkyrie was the most famous Variable Fighter in the galaxy.
The simple fact that “Valkyrie,” which was just a nickname, had become a generic term for its type of weapon spoke volumes.
No one could doubt the excellence of this humanoid fighter which could transform into three different stages, which once fought the invading Zentradi as the Earth’s main fighter during Space War I.
Though, when compared to modern Variable Fighters, its performance was hardly worth mentioning. Putting it bluntly, it was an outdated model.
After all, Space War I was fifty years ago now. Both Chelsea and Hakuna were from the generation that had no memory of the war itself.
In contrast, even if there was a successor currently in development, the VF-19 remained an unparalleled masterpiece of human civilization in terms of speed, maneuverability and range—not to mention its cost.
Pitting the two against one another would be as reckless as pitting a World War II Me-262 fighter against the MIM-31 Karyovin stealth bombers used by the Anti-UN Forces during the Earth Unification war at the end of the 20th century purely because they were both jets.
Even if it wasn’t an aerial battle, or maybe because it wasn’t, it was like a fight between an adult and a child. Like a race between a top-of-the-line sports car and a used compact. Chelsea had to assume that he wasn’t speaking with full sanity.
But the man looking at her with eyes like a hawk just twisted his lips in defiance and spoke.
“That’s why I called it a handicap. For someone like you who’s used to using an EX Gear, this would be better than something like a VF-11. I couldn’t get my hands on a 25, though…”
“Quit screwing around!”
“I’m not screwing around.”
There was a fierce resolve behind Hakuna’s eyes.
It wasn’t a joke or some casual remark. It was a resolve that said he wouldn’t allow her to say such a thing.
He’s killed someone before.
Chelsea’s instincts sensed it.
Of course, even if Chelsea was part of a private military company, she was still a professional soldier. She had killed people before, without any distinction between Earthlings and Zentras.
But the thing conveyed in Hakuna’s eyes was a darkness deeper than any that Chelsea had ever known.
“I’ve given you a fair presentation of the best possible options. I think this deal should be meaningful for the both of us. If that sounds like a joke to you, then go ahead and propose an alternative, Chelsea Scarlett.”
“—”
“We all live by taking lives in one form or another. It’s the difference between killing them on a farm or hunting ground yourself versus paying someone else to do it for you. That’s why I think I understand your argument, your desire to get sustenance in a way that satisfies you. But it’s a baby chick’s privilege to have its parents bring food whenever it holds its mouth open.”
“You’re calling me selfish now!?”
“If that’s what it sounded like, I’m sorry.”
“—Gh!”
Chelsea clenched her fists.
But that was all she could do.
Because it was true.
Her cheeks flushed; her well-shaped eyebrows twisted in humiliation.
It wasn’t rage. It was shame.
Shame toward who?
Toward herself, of course. For having been so childish.
Toward herself, who was faced with adult logic and could only counter it with childish emotion.
Just because she hadn’t been able to say anything back then, when she stepped off the stage, didn’t mean that she could say anything now. It didn’t mean that doing so had made her into an adult.
Even so—even so, Chelsea Scarlett was no longer a child. She resolved to stop letting her emotion dictate her words.
And, just as she had when she first stepped onto the stage, she planted her feet firmly on the ground and tensed her stomach.
She felt that she had to do it.
“I’ll do it—but don’t cry if you lose, alright?”
“Right.”
With a sly grin, Hakuna gave her a thumbs-up.
“That’s what makes you a pilot.”
✥✥✥
TV news was abuzz with reports of victory over a faction of renegade Zentradi. An excited news anchor announced that President Glass’ approval ratings were through the roof, which served as the driving force to fend off his opposition’s attacks about the delay in tax reforms.
Of course, the news made no mention of S.M.S.’s involvement in the fight.
The only mention of it was a line tucked away in the corner of an official document that read: “We received cooperation from a private military provider.”
Works for me, Ozma Lee thought.
They weren’t ordinary troops who fought for glory. They were professional soldiers who worked for money. If there was ever a time when he would truly stake his life and honor, it’d be when those bugs finally arrived.
“Hey, Ozma.”
Next to him on the living room sofa was his beloved sister, Ranka Lee, with jade-green hair so different from his own. Her big, round eyes peered into her brother’s raptor-like eyes.
“Why do they call them renegade Zentradi?”
“Officially, the galaxy isn’t supposed to have nations aside from the New United Nations Government. From the government’s perspective, all Zentradi not under their rule are rebels.”
“But aren’t there a thousand or so ships in the Zentradi main fleet? I heard that the Boddole Fleet that came to Earth was just one of many.”
“You’re so smart, Ranka.”
The ace pilot’s eyes softened. It was a look that his subordinates would never see. He would do anything to protect his sister.
“That’s right. That’s why the Frontier Fleet is headed toward the galactic center, where there’s minimal activity from the main fleet. They just said it on the news, right? That detachment was only sent for recon, they were wiped out before they could contact the main fleet, so this won’t escalate into a full-scale war.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. The New United Nations Forces are doing just fine.”
Ozma was actually troubled about this, and wondered if a hint of sarcasm crept into his words. The part of him that cursed at his subordinates and enemies, seething with rage at the New United Nations Forces’ cowardice and corruption, tended to clash with his desire to raise his sister to be a refined and gentle lady.
“Hey, Ozma?”
“What’s up?”
“You’re not going to do anything dangerous, are you?”
“C’mon.”
Ozma gave a wry smile. One with a double meaning.
“I’m just a human resources guy at a security firm. I couldn’t get myself into trouble even if I tried. They don’t transfer office guys like me into anything that’d make me wear a uniform.”
“—You’re right. Sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
With the same hands that gripped control sticks every day, the same fingers that pulled the triggers of missile launchers and machine guns, Ozma ruffled Ranka’s hair.
Soon, Ranka lost interest in the topic when the entertainment section of the news drew her eye toward the radiant superstar, Sheryl Nome. Then, leaning her weight on her brother, she drifted to sleep.
As he carried his sister’s light body to her bed, Ozma looked up at the galaxy through the window.
—I wish this could last just a little while longer—
✥✥✥
“Phew.”
After assigning Chelsea a spare room, Hakuna was finally able to lay in his own bed. He could feel the scent of a young, beautiful woman lingering somewhere in his room, which did make him a bit shy.
“Still, who would’ve thought.”
He picked up a photograph. A nostalgic image.
“That’s what makes life so interesting. It’s like that saying about the hedgehog who sleeps under a cactus, never knowing about the bird incubating its eggs just beneath him.”
Cracking his shoulder blades, Hakuna spread his fingers out from pinky to thumb, then folded them into each other one by one several times.
“Well, things’ll work out somehow. I swear by the summit of Kilimanjaro."
✥✥✥
The Macross Frontier Fleet was classified as an Island Cluster-type Long-Range Emigration Fleet.
An Island Cluster was, in essence, a collection of self-propelled space colonies.
At their core was Island One, which was 15 kilometers in diameter. On the surface of the nearly circular, salad-bowl-like spacecraft with thin walls, urban areas modeled after various Earth cities were recreated, with a layered city extending beneath them as well.
Extending out behind it like a flock of birds were Environment Ships. Glass tubes each 8 kilometers in length.
Each Environment Ship was a spacecraft capable of self-propulsion, each with its own semi-independent natural environment. Along with Island One, they formed a greater ecosystem, allowing them to circulate waste and atmosphere among them.
Island One had a population of approximately 5 million, and the twenty-or-so Environment Ships behind it housed another 5 million. A total of 10 million people were on an endless pilgrimage, in search of a new home, with this vast, glass-walled world serving as both their land and sky.
✥✥✥
Island Reno was unique, even among the Environment Ships.
Typically, the artificial recreation of Earth’s natural environment served one of two purposes: to support key industries like agriculture and fishing, or to create a warm, habitable environment that could allow humans to survive in the harsh, inhospitable conditions of outer space.
However, what made this ship unique was that it recreated a desert, specifically, the deserts of Nevada in North America.
Naturally, there were residential areas underground, but the surface was nothing but a barren wasteland. Newspapers on the Macross Galaxy, which generally valued practicality above aesthetics, sarcastically referred to this Island as a “flying test tube full of sand” and “an archaic form of adoration toward pebbles.”
Nevertheless, Island Reno generated wealth for itself primarily through its unimaginable peculiarity among Environment Ships. Tourists from all over the galaxy travelled through its recreated desert in covered wagons, reflecting on the hardships of pioneers from the faraway past. In Western Land, they dressed up as heroes and villains and carried out four-act plays as a kind of survival game.
Come nightfall, the red lights of the casino district built in the center of the island drew people in. The crowd appeared in the desert just as the stars appeared in the night sky.
Amid that town’s hustle and bustle, Chelsea Scarlett had just arrived.
✥✥✥
“All these people are here to watch the Vanquish!?”
It had only been three days, but Chelsea was once again struck by the realization that a powerful current of fate had swept her up.
There were so, so, so many people.
It was like they had gathered from every corner of the galaxy. The streets were packed not only with what seemed like every ethnic group that once existed on Earth, but also with Zentradi, intelligent species of even more obscure varieties, and mixed-race people descended from all of the above. It was a mosaic of color and culture.
“Yep, that’s right. After all, the Vanquish is the only place you get to see Valkyries fight up close outside of combat. There are plenty of fools who wanna fly in the sky.”
Indeed, the vast desert was one of the best environments for flying aircrafts. No rain, and even if they were to crash, the thick sand would prevent them from piercing through and dealing any damage to the residential district below. The exposed hotels and casinos were protected by pinpoint barriers, too. It was a perfect place for Valkyries to fly.
A plane with forward-swept wings and flash coloring flew above Chelsea’s head, trailing rainbow smoke as it sped away.
A deafening roar of cheers erupted from the crowd.
“A VF-19!? Not an EF-type though… is it a domestic model?”
“You got it.”
Hakuna provided commentary, his tonea mix of rivalry and admiration.
“That’s Oscar Brauhitsch’s VF-19A. It’s won three consecutive Vanquish races in the Frontier Fleet.”
“Wh—Why is a machine like that taking part in some ordinary race!?”
“Hey now, races have been a showcase for a sponsor’s technological prowess since the days of horse racing. A racer of Brauhitsch’s caliber was able to get the company itself—Shinsei Industries—to back him. He’s their personal pilot now. I don’t see much of an issue with it. I’m in cahoots with S.M.S. myself.”
“That thing’s in today’s race too?”
“Yep. He’s on his way back from the qualifiers. If you let the fact that he’s got a new model bug you this much, he’ll trip you up before you even get to facing me.”
“Right… that’s actually… kind of exciting.”
Her true feelings slipped out before she could stop them. As a fellow VF-19 pilot, she got an itch to go head-to-head with him. She was honest enough with herself to not deny the feeling.
Fireworks went off. It seemed like the real battle was finally about to begin.
“Here we go—showtime!”
✥✥✥
She settled into the cockpit of the VF-19ACTIVE, revealing a prototype EX Gear pilot suit built into its seat, which doubled as a power assist unit.
The flight support AI, Brünhilde, activated, sending a message confirming that there were no abnormalities. It was a military-grade AI, cold and impersonal, lacking the gentle, pseudo-human interface common in civilian systems. But that fact was what made its matter-of-fact message feel reassuring to her.
It was Chelsea who’d named it Brünhilde. She also drew the emblem on the nose of the plane, which was inspired by Brünhilde, queen of the ancient Norse Valkyries.
The anthropomorphism may have been childish, but any pilot worth their salt knew that personal attachments like these could sometimes be the final thing keeping them going.
Besides, she also wanted to try out having a personal emblem, since the amount of covert operations they carried out meant that she never got to try it back with the S.M.S.’s Apollo Platoon.
“I have control! OK, OK, here I go!”
The battle between Chelsea and Hakuna would take the form of a Vanquish qualifier.
Put in the simplest terms, thirty-something Valkyries would take off and fly in a predetermined circle. Strict restrictions were placed on flight altitude and transformation in certain areas, so there were some parts of the course where a Fighter Mode’s performance was crucial, and other parts where the GERWALK and Battroid Modes were the key to victory.
The winner, the first to capture a specific flag, would earn the right to compete. That said, this particular event had nothing to do with Chelsea. Her only objective was to cross the finish line before Hakuna did.
But if I’m doing this, I should want to win, right Brünhilde?
The thought did cross her mind.
More than any of this, the first beat of the Nothung’s heart was a magnificent rhythm that lifted Chelsea’s spirits.
She checked its instruments. The sound of its reactor idling was crystal clear, as beautiful as resonant quartz. The vibrations that shook her seat and the hot hair being sucked into the engine rang out like a symphony.
Beautiful—yeah, almost too beautiful.
It was a question.
She understood that José wanted her to collect data for this experimental craft in near-combat conditions.
She understood, but it was still far too extravagant for her. She couldn’t fathom why even the flight assistant AI had to be a new LAI design. No matter how she looked at it, it just cost far too much money.
After all, all of the other planes, from Hakuna’s VF-1 to Brauhitsch’s VF-19, were civilian units, restored and modified from former military aircraft. The Nothung was a state-of-the-art plane that shone from tip to tail. It was just too beautiful.
The S.M.S. is still hiding something from me—
Chelsea couldn’t tell what it was, or if it was separate from her existing paranoia about her situation.
✥✥✥
Chelsea wasn’t the only one with these doubts.
Oscar Brauhitsch, a macho man with blond hair cut so short he was almost a skinhead, asked the chief mechanic about the exact same subject.
“Hey, what’s with that VF-19? I haven’t heard of any other company sending in a VF-19 series model.”
“Rumors say they’re from the S.M.S.”
“I see. Must be LAI or something, then.”
LAI was an Italian conglomerate that maintained friendly relations with the Japanese military conglomerate, Shinsei Industries. However, there was an irreconcilable difference in the corporate cultures of LAI, a space-based enterprise that had completely shifted its management to the Frontier, and Shinsei, which remained strictly an Earthling-based company. Their relationship was extremely efficient, but they each kept a knife hidden behind their backs, just in case.
Shinsei was a rising star that completed the VF-19 and propelled it to become the de facto standard, so the fact that LAI, which co-developed the Frontier Model “Caliburn,” would introduce another VF-19 into the Vanquish race felt to them like someone they’d lended their roof to was trying to take over the entire building.
Brauhitsch, racing under their banner, felt the same way.
“And what’s with that pilot? Is she just some chick with nothing going for her but her big chest?”
“You’ve got a good eye.”
“Of course. A pilot’s eyes are his life—well, she is good on the eyes. I’ll give her that, but…”
With a grand gesture Brauhitsch waved his hand.
“If they wanna use her as a poster girl to make a name for themselves in Vanquish, those Italian bastards at LAI must have a screw loose. I mean, c’mon. If you’re gonna do it, at least do it properly. Handing a machine like that over to some privateer, not even a works team—it just doesn’t add up.”
“She’s an S.M.S. pilot, they say her skills are solid.”
“Sure, maybe in a fight. But this is Vanquish. It’s the most extreme race in the galaxy. If they think they can bring in some fancy new model, stick a pretty girl in the cockpit and make it to the podium, they have another thing coming.”
Brauhitsch laughed defiantly.
A trained eye could see that his left arm, encased in his pilot suit, was a chrome cyber-arm. He hadn’t augmented his brain through implants, but he’d lost his original arm in a Vanquish accident five years prior.
He spoke with the pride of a man who lived and breathed Vanquish, not envy.
✥✥✥
With cheers roaring out, colorful Variable Fighters took off from the desert runway.
Of course, Chelsea’s Nothung was no exception.
Taking full advantage of its variable wings, she adopted a configuration optimized for low speeds to start riding the wind in one swift motion, soaring into the skies above Island Reno.
Hakuna really did come in a VF-1. I admire his pride, but that’s not everything. Relying on my machine’s power alone isn’t exactly my—!?
Her convenient train of thought was cut short.
Like a bolt of silver lightning splitting the sky, a Valkyrie streaked right past the Nothung.
“The VF-1…!? No way, this acceleration is…”
“Hey, what’s the matter, latest model!?”
Hakuna’s voice came over the radio.
She opened her throttles wide and transformed her wings into high-speed flight mode. If she didn’t, she would’ve been left completely in the dust.
She couldn’t believe it.
This thing—it doesn’t just have tweaked aerodynamics.
Powered by Super Pack boosters that were sourced from somewhere she couldn’t say and forcibly mounted on its legs, along with a main engine with clearly extraordinary thrust capabilities, the VF-1 entered supersonic flight at almost the exact same moment the VF-19 did.
The two planes closed in at a distance so close that they might have been able to touch their hands together if they reached out, slicing through the sky, intertwining like a spiral, tearing through the air as they closed in on the gate to outer space.
No.
Enduring the G-forces, Chelsea listened to the sound of the VF-1.
There wasn’t the slightest disturbance in it.
Using gentle, sometimes strict commands, its pilot took the wail of a machine that should have been crying out in agony from being pushed beyond its limits and transformed it into a flawless melody.
What is it—why would someone like this be racing in a place like—!?
That question was cut short.
Because Brauhitsch’s plane accelerated from behind, taking a straight trajectory toward the gate.
She activated the high-mobility units at her wingtips and tried to fly while responding and blocking Hakuna’s course at the same time. Naturally, Hakuna wouldn’t allow it. Since she also had to fly the designated course, her trajectory became even more complex, tracing a smooth curve.
With each pass over the neon lights of the Reno cityscape, once, twice, three times, they could hear the cheers of the crowd.
The three Valkyries, tangled together, passed through the pinpoint barrier gate that served as the boundary between them and outer space.
✥✥✥
The pinpoint barrier gate was a technology that utilized the pinpoint barrier—originally designed to protect ships from asteroids and enemy attacks—to create a special field that allowed Valkyries and people to pass through into space without allowing the atmosphere to escape.
Strictly speaking, crafts didn’t actually pass through. Rather, at the exact moment they pass, the barrier vanishes quantum-mechanically for a fraction of a second, too brief for human eyes to perceive. If she were honest, Chelsea didn’t understand how it worked even after it was explained to her.
In any case, when she broke through the auroral gate at the absolute limit of her speed, she found herself in the void that surrounded the fleet. Outer space.
There was a three-dimensional course the shape of several ovals, passing through a number of gates installed on the surface of Island Reno and then returning to its interior.
“Out of my way! Rookies who bet on the power of fancy machines alone should just stay off of the path!”
Brauhitsch’s VF-19 cut between Hakuna and Chelsea, executing a maneuver that bordered on ramming them. Chelsea’s course was thrown off because she instinctively dodged it. Her ears picked up the sound of Hakuna’s engine, which she never should’ve been able to hear, as he flew away.
Dammit—
Indeed, this was a race. Not air combat. Moves that would work in air combat wouldn’t necessarily be correct in a race.
In a Valkyrie race where they were flying at super high speeds, even the slightest deviation in trajectory could create a gap that was impossible to close with only a few seconds left. Falling slightly behind those in the lead, Chelsea’s Nothung accelerated once more.
Once in space, the Valkyries changed their path into a race course by passing through gates set near the Island or on non-environmental ships.
“You little—! Don’t underestimate me!”
No missiles were coming at her, at least. She stopped treating it as a game, but slipping from gate to gate at top speed was hardly a challenge for someone like Chelsea.
Superior maneuverability that could transcend human limits was the true strength of the VF-19 Series. Even in space, the trio of EX Gear, support AI and high-mobility nozzles fully demonstrated this fact. Overtaking two or three of her more hesitant opponents, Chelsea managed to take a position to chase the leading group consisting of Hakuna, Brauhitsch and about five others.
But that was where the two men’s cunning came into play. Their movements were precise and had no waste, born of intimate knowledge of the course. They gave her no opportunity to overtake them.
With the leads firmly established, the race went on.
✥✥✥
Again, she passed through the pinpoint barrier gate and returned to Island Reno.
The GERWALK Mode slalom was brutal.
She wasn’t averse to flying through dense, rocky terrain by any means, even if she was restricted to a certain altitude. The problem was the VF-19’s structural limitations. Because it used forward-swept wings, the arms and wings get in each other’s way in GERWALK Mode, limiting its ability to use a swing of the arms to shift its center of gravity, as is necessary in slalom. The same applied to Brauhitsch, so, incredibly, Hakuna’s VF-1 managed to pull ahead.
This thing—it’s tuned specifically for low altitude aerodynamics—
It lived up to its reputation. But that wasn’t all.
The VF-1 was a bit smaller than current models. That made it well-suited to Vanquish, navigating narrow passageways in GERWALK Mode where one’s width can normally become a hindrance. Several times, Chelsea was forced to lose time because she couldn’t squeeze through gaps that Hakuna could pass through easily.
I won’t lose—!
✥✥✥
They navigated the slalom course and charged into the flag area. Like the slalom course, the flag area was a rocky desert, but transformation was now unrestricted. Whoever captured the few flags placed in the area would advance to the main Vanquish tournament.
They were permitted to use gunpods loaded with mock battle shock rounds (projectiles that use an electromagnetic pulse to disable a machine temporarily) that were placed haphazardly throughout the area. Vanquish Valkyries carried no weapons aside from defensive pinpoint barriers, so this was a bit of a breakthrough for them.
But still—!
With the freedom to transform, there was no way that Chelsea and her Nothung, which excelled at high-mobility combat at low altitudes, could lose. She quickly grabbed a gunpod and used a combination of GERWALK and Battroid Modes to race forward.
She slalomed past a punch thrown by a VA-3 Invader, then performed a half-turn and transformed into Battroid Mode. She outmaneuvered the enemy and tried to break away. Even with close combat and shock-round fire now unrestricted, she didn’t have time to be dragged into some chaotic brawl.
In fact, behind her, that same VA-3 had already been knocked out of the race after a spectacular kick from a VF-14 Vampire perched on a rocky outcrop crushed its head.
It was no exaggeration when they called it the most extreme race in the galaxy. Chelsea knew all too well why they raced in planes with limbs and fought over flags.
What about him—where’s Hakuna!?
In GERWALK Mode, the composite sensors in her head, which were normally sealed behind her armor, activated. It didn’t take long to find him.
“Got him!”
Words. Transformation. They came simultaneously.
Hakuna hadn’t secured a flag yet. Brauhitsch had sped up to snatch it from him. Hakuna banked, searching for another one. Chelsea knew the sound in her ears.
That engine sound—!
She used her Battroid feet to kick off the ground. She transformed into Fighter Mode. The Nothung soared just above the surface. It moved at a speed that would make even a decent pilot flinch. The ground was right below the lower cockpit monitor.
A Battroid, pelted by a hail of shock rounds, was spinning and hurtling toward her at a terrifying speed. Even if their unit survived the crash, the pilot inside wouldn’t have it easy.
But Chelsea wasn’t afraid. The wind’s grace, the sound of her wings; they told her all she needed to know about the world around her more eloquently than a sensor ever could. Her ears didn’t miss even the slightest rustle in the air.
Her engine beat out a rhythm. The flag flapped in the wind. The intricate pillars of rock played a symphony called “The World.”
Chelsea was part of that song. So, she thought that as long as she could hear it, she wouldn’t lose. She thought that she could fly.
She gave chase.
Hakuna’s white VF-1 charged toward the flag. If she let him take it, she faced certain defeat.
As if the towers of rock didn’t even exist, her ears read every nuance of the complex air currents and sent the Nothung soaring along the optimal course as simply as if it were a straight line. It was a silver sword slicing through the world. The audience stared in awe, cheered, and showered her with thunderous applause. Even the other competitors were forced to admit that she was no longer relying on her plane alone. Even Brauhitsch was staring with wide eyes. With the EX Gear linking them, Chelsea and the Nothung had undoubtedly become one.
If I go at top speed…!
No matter how many boosters it had or how its engine had been upgraded, the VF-1’s fundamental aerodynamic characteristics hadn’t changed. With transformable wings, a sturdy frame capable of withstanding the massive thrust of its engine, and Chelsea at its controls, the Nothung could catch up and overtake it.
Like pulling up roots.
That was the only way to describe it.
In one swift motion, she overtook two VF-11 Thunderbolts.
Locked on.
Before her eyes.
One plane—
Transformed into Battroid Mode.
But Hakuna was still too fast.
I’m not gonna make it—
The white back of the VF-1, reaching out to the flag.
Its wings, so defenseless. Too defenseless.
There’s no way he doesn’t see me closing in—
In the VF-19’s right hand was a massive gatling gunpod.
She wouldn’t miss. She couldn’t miss. No. Even if she did, she could use a pinpoint barrier punch…
If they’re just practice rounds—then—!
Her finger reached for the trigger.
Her finger reached for the trigger.
Her finger reached…
“No!”
Instead, Chelsea transformed.
Quickly nullifying its perfect opportunity to shoot and performing a spectacular somersault, the VF-19 left everyone blinking in disbelief. Her flying itself was still magnificent, so there were still those who cheered.
✥✥✥
“…You knew… that I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger?”
After the qualifiers, Chelsea muttered to Hakuna as he climbed out of his cockpit.
“...I guess.”
Hakuna seemed a bit troubled. He hadn’t been able to beat Brauhitsch either. But so it goes.
“No, that’s not exactly it. If you could shoot, then you should’ve won and went back to S.M.S. anyways. If you couldn’t, then you shouldn’t go back. That was the idea.”
“So it wasn’t a serious fight?”
“No, that’s not it.”
His voice dropped slightly.
“Back there, even if I banked to evade or moved to counterattack, your shot would’ve been spot-on. In a VF-1, I could evade, but I wouldn’t have been able to get the flag afterward. My bet that you wouldn’t be able to shoot me was just the best strategy. There’s one thing I can say without reservation, though. You’re a great pilot, Chelsea!”
“...”
“More importantly, you’d better go answer their cheers.”
“...Huh?”
She hadn’t noticed.
Before her eyes, she saw people cheering for her, Hakuna, and the other pilots. Cameras were flashing nonstop. Even if it was only the qualifier, it had been quite a race.
—Oddly, she wasn’t afraid.
It wasn’t like it was back when she couldn’t get on stage.
There was a sense of satisfaction. A sense that she’d given it her all, soared through the air, and was now being celebrated for it.
So, quietly, Chelsea murmured.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“Hm?”
“Vanquish—But only until I can pull the trigger again. How’s that?”
“Ahh—Works for me. I’ll let José know.”
“Okay, okay.”
She felt a little lighter.
On the vast horizon, contrails from someone’s Valkyrie in flight stretched until they faded away.
Chelsea didn’t know what lay at the end of it.
NEXT RIDE Translated by TrafalgarLog Edited by PixelatedShinobi and Melos Catcher
Macross The Ride - #1: Deep Space War Bird
In the sea of stars, there is no forward nor backward. It is a world governed by inertia alone, where all one can do is float. It is a hollow world where one neither flies nor advances, merely drifting along the course of another’s vector. Even so, she thought that she wanted to fly.
The cockpit of a VF-19EF Variable Fighter is cramped.
Chelsea Scarlett had a slender frame, but even she had little room to move when tucked inside of it.
It made sense that their name was synonymous with “chicken coops.”
After all, Chelsea was no chicken—she was a young woman, and, if we were to speak impartially, a beautiful one at that. She had recently emerged from girlhood into womanhood, but was still too pure to be called a fully-fledged woman. She was a radiant maiden reminiscent of a drawn saber. Her appearance reminded one of a Valkyrie, the beautiful, white-winged maidens who guided people to the afterlife in Norse mythology, who also happened to be the namesake of her Variable Fighter.
“Is another war coming?”
Muttering this, the maiden with the face of a silver goddess soared through the cosmos in her Valkyrie, alone.
There would be a war.
Her mindset was wrong.
Totally wrong.
She knew full well. It was only that, just like those around her, she chose to call the period without attacks, the time spent preparing for the next battle, “peacetime.”
Even so, people were still being deployed. The thought of it made her anxious. Though, that was a natural thing for a living being to feel.
Trying to distract herself from the fear and tension, she took a small, melodious breath, but pressed her hand to her mouth before it could escape.
✥✥✥
In the upper right corner of the heads-up display in front of her, a warning began to flash.
As Chelsea blinked, the VF-19EF Caliburn’s support AI magnified the image ten-thousandfold.
It was a massive, almost impossibly large spaceship, likely several kilometers long, which glowed with a dull, deep green in the light of the nearest sun-like star.
There weren't just one or two of them, either. There were enough to call them a fleet.
The beam guides and missile bays equipped throughout them, not to mention the swarms of combat pods circling like small fish around a giant whale, left no doubt that they were the creations of a people born for combat.
“...Zentradi.”
The word slipped out from her throat, full of tension and something beyond it.
She sent her control stick moving in a complex sequence, activating the sensor pods mounted on the VF-19EF’s wings. With layers of decoy signals camouflaging it, optical scanning cautiously locked onto the Zentradi fleet.
“No response from New United Nations Forces-type identification. Response to Zentradi Axis IFF. It’s the Zentradi Koperl Main Fleet’s 201581976 Reconnaissance Squad…?”
Hidden in the shadow of a small celestial body they called a meteorite and concealing all trace of herself with Fold Active Stealth, Chelsea sighed from the cockpit of her VF-19EF. No matter what it was or how obvious of a prediction it was, it never felt pleasant when a bad prediction ended up coming true.
“It’s black… pitch black.”
With her toes and the fingers on her right hand, she unconsciously tapped out a rhythm as she stroked her well-defined chin with her left. She had a habit of doing so when she spoke.
“The fleet’s roughly fifteen light-years away. For a short-range Fold, that’s just a short hop away. They could be space pirates or smugglers pretending to be Zentradi, but I guess they’re all cut from the same cloth at the end of the day. Hmm, okay, okay.”
Confirming that she’d gathered 100% of the data she needed, the maiden’s lovely fingers tapped at the console in front of her. Sitting in inertial flight, she redirected her craft’s power to the Fold Booster mounted on the upper surface of its hull.
The Fold Booster was a specialized device which made the hyperspace navigation often referred to as “warping” in the science fiction of centuries past into a real possibility even for single-seater spacecrafts. Looking like a translucent crystal less than ten meters in length, the device remained extremely expensive even a decade after it had entered practical application. Virtually no one had access to it outside of certain military forces and criminal organizations.
In the blink of an eye, her VF-19EF was enveloped in the rainbow-colored bubble of Fold Space. The false signals emitted by it prevented even that light from reaching the Zentradi fleet.
Probably.
Yes, probably.
Unfortunately, Chelsea didn’t actually have any way of confirming whether the camouflage actually worked. She could only assume that it did because the enemy had yet to react to her.
She was the Emperor with beautiful new clothes, but unlike that old fairy tale, she was the only one who could see them. To figure out if she was naked, she’d have to go and see how others reacted.
Just like the entertainment industry.
She thought.
✥✥✥
About fifty years ago, there was a war.
Compared to the vast interstellar war that had been raging on for tens of thousands of years, one could describe it as no more than a minor skirmish.
The conflict between the Zentradi and the Supervision Army, two warring races created by the ancient interstellar civilization known as the Protoculture, ended up engulfing the remote planet Earth and leaving it in ruins.
Nevertheless, the people of Earth managed to escape alive thanks to a single ship called the Macross and the power of a lone singer who lived on it, allowing them to make peace with the much larger Zentradi race.
However, none could say whether mankind and its culture would survive the next war.
Having made peace with the people of Earth, the Zentradi cooperated to ensure the survival of a culture which they themselves once lacked, a culture that had captivated them so deeply that they willingly abandoned war.
This effort would be called the Humanity Seeding Project.
Most of the surviving members of mankind left Earth and set off for the far reaches of space aboard Super-Long-Range Emigration Ships.
Even if some or even most of them would be destroyed, they planned to scatter as many seeds of their culture, as many memories of the Earth as they could, throughout the cosmos. It was a plan that could be classified neither as tragic resolve nor extreme optimism.
Nearly fifty years had passed since the first Super-Long-Range Emigration Ship, the Megaroad-01 departed.
The journey of the Zentradi and mankind continued.
✥✥✥
She heard a song.
She always heard a song.
When one entered the subspace known as Fold Space, they dreamed.
It’s said that the silver thread which connects a sentient being’s physical and ethereal bodies unravels, carrying the ethereal self away to a higher astral plane or subspace.
None of this was certain, none of this was scientific.
And yet, the phenomena’s existence was undeniable, so people resorted to outdated occult terminology to put it into words.
Reality comes first, then scientists assign it a name, not the other way around. Faced with the vast field of the cosmos, the superdimensional Fold that transcended the world of Newtonian physics, mankind had no choice but to become far more humble than they were when they still clung to the Earth.
Chelsea had no doubt that it was her ethereal self unraveling into Fold Space that caused her to dream.
This was fine.
What she hated was the fact that those dreams were always nightmares.
The terror of her soul being sucked away.
That long sleep, trapped in a coffin of ice.
No one was there.
No sound.
Just endless silence.
She hated remembering it.
That sense of anxiety she felt in dreams, knowing it was a dream but still being unable to move her body.
Her body told her that she was frozen, that she was inside of that cold coffin.
Even though that was over ten years ago.
Somewhere deep down, Chelsea’s rational mind raced. But she was still stuck, unable to move.
Maybe I really am still in that coffin.
Flying through space, leaving home, becoming a pilot. Was all of that just a dream she saw in that coffin of ice?
Was this reality? Was the life she thought was reality just moments ago actually no more than a dream?
Chelsea couldn’t say.
Uncertain, she emerged from the Fold.
✥✥✥
Emerging from the Fold, the first thing that greeted her was the shimmering green and blue of the town she called home.
The land that filled her vision did not belong to a planet.
It was a massive, circular spaceship with a circumference nearing 30 kilometers.
One could think of it as a sort of glass canopy—though, strictly speaking, it was a different kind of reinforced material, not glass—covering a diorama of land and sea arranged on a plate.
It was far smaller than Earth, but a biosphere teeming with life nonetheless.
A city built within a former Macross space battleship.
Island One was a flagship which carried on the tradition of the Super-Long-Range Emigration Ships.
The fleet led by this ship was known as the 25th Super-Long-Range Fleet, Macross Frontier.
Behind Island One there was a string of small cylindrical spacecraft called islands stretching out like a peacock’s tail. Connected as a single entity, they formed an ecosystem that some described as being like an archipelago.
Heading toward the Macross, the VF-19EF slowly banked its beautiful, crane-like frame and entered a landing approach course.
✥✥✥
“A joint operation?”
A man with scars that made him look like a pirate, Jeffrey Wilder flashed a defiant grin at the sponsor on the other end of the monitor.
He was a man of the sea.
A man with such brazen audacity that he almost resembled those heroes from the times when men fought on sailing ships with muskets and sabers in hand, making it rain with the blood of those who stood against them.
He was a pirate, a sailor, or perhaps both wrapped up into one. If he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, it’d be impossible to believe from his appearance that he came from an age of space travel.
He was not a soldier belonging to the New United Nations Forces or the national military of any fleet nation.
The private military contractor S.M.S. That was his affiliation.
As mankind expanded its reach across the galaxy, they began to seek out their own self-defense forces rather than being reliant on armies swayed by national egos. This was particularly true of those involved in trade. Eventually, these forces came to be leased to nations as a form of commercial enterprise.
It was like the merchant fleets from the Age of Discovery were reborn.
He was the Captain of the flagship of that armed merchant fleet, which bore the Macross name, the Variable Space Carrier Macross Quarter, and the Commander-in-Chief of the S.M.S.'s combat force. That was the man’s true identity.
“Yes, a joint operation. Even if it’s a reconnaissance sub-fleet, it’s still division-class. Well, let’s just say that the new President would love to get the credit for repelling it.”
On the other end of the monitor, the sponsor laughed heartily.
He was an alien.
With pale green skin and a massive implanted mask covering half of his face, it was clear from a single glance that he was a Zentradi giant.
The giant’s name was Richard Vhirler.
One of the giants who naturalized to the Earth’s side during Space War I. Though he was old enough to be described as elderly, his gaze still felt like a young boy’s, radiating with an odd, friendly warmth.
“Then we’ll proceed with the standard response under Code Z. Does that work for you?”
“Please do. Having the government reaffirm our usefulness should allow us to seize the initiative if we should eventually have a Code V.”
“Right. Consider this a good opportunity to demonstrate the power of our new Quarter-class ship and the VF-25 series.”
“Mm-hm! That’s precisely what I meant.”
Vhirler nodded several times, like a child staring at a new toy in a store window.
It was an oddly innocent expression, he seemed entirely unconcerned with the fact that they were about to use the latest in human weaponry to vaporize his own people in space.
“By the way…”
“—What?”
“According to our reports, it looks like it was Lieutenant Chelsea Scarlett who sent this tip.”
“Sure. Is there a problem with that?”
“No, no—well, I suppose if this were the ordinary military, they might nitpick and ask ‘should we send a Zentra to scout these Zentra and see if they surrender?’ Though I certainly wouldn’t make a fuss about that.”
“I don’t plan to either. It could be a demon from hell and I wouldn’t care as long as the mission got done.”
“Yes, yes, well—”
Vhirler scratched his thinning head, looking a bit shy.
“You see, I was the one who recommended her for recruitment. It makes me a little happy to see that the girl who joined because of one of my whims is doing a great job.”
“She’s a good pilot. When it comes to aerial recon, she stands out even among our best pilots.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. Well now, I’ll leave the rest to you. As for me, I’ll do my best to sell your work to the government’s top brass.”
✥✥✥
“The core of this operation is to let the New United Nations Forces young’uns earn their stripes.”
It’s serious business, Commander Ozma Lee addressed everyone while standing in front of a screen, to which a burst of laughter devoid of any formality erupted forth.
“All you gotta do is seize victory. So we’ll have the New United Nations Forces’ Ghosts break through and open a hole in their air defense network for us. Then, we just rush in and rack up a kill count. Once we’ve taken out the long-ranged artillery and their barriers, the New United Nation Forces fleet will follow up to destroy the enemy flagship. We’ll get that part on video.”
Ozma shrugged and the laughter erupted again.
After all, for the government big-wigs, the war was something that happened far away. They never even consider the possibility that they might lose. To them, the idea of victory came as naturally as having a hamburger served to you when you order one at a hamburger shop. All they were concerned about was how to report on each victory and use it to their advantage in the next election.
“Welp, it’s all just capitalism in the end. Our generous sponsor says they’ll pay us a hazard fee along with a bonus based on our score.”
He was fearless.
Chelsea felt that there wasn’t anyone in the world who looked better in the S.M.S. flight jacket than he did.
Though, there were those rumors that he was a creep who was into young girls.
It was one thing that he bragged about his middle-school-aged sister all the time, but there were also the rumors that he’d dated a young lady from a well-off family while she was still a preteen, even if they eventually broke up. That said, she thought that this whole story would be best taken with a grain of salt when it went as far as to say that the young lady in question was the President’s daughter.
Still, speaking of him purely as her superior officer, rough edges aside, he was an excellent pilot who’d served as a frontline commander once, so she decided not to dwell on those things too much. Besides, she’d seen plenty of eccentrics back at her old base.
“The enemy entered the Fold and made contact with the Frontier. We’ll strike them right under their noses by having our ship enter an emergency Fold. We launch in four hours. Formation: Pattern Delta. Keep your formation tight!”
✥✥✥
“You got a moment, Chelsea?”
As she moved down the corridor leading to the zero-gravity gun room, a voice called out from behind her.
A man with the air of a nobleman was standing there, his chestnut-colored hair flowing like a horse’s tail. Her direct superior officer, Apollo Squadron Commander José Schreier, who came from a noble house. His full name was Don José Javier Rojo Schreier, but that took so long to say that everyone started calling him José for short. Of course, Chelsea did the same.
He was an anachronistic, ever-flamboyant presence, but he had the undeniable skill to back it up. The story went that he’d joined S.M.S after being expelled from his old unit after nearly killing a superior officer who’d tried to let civilians get caught in the crossfire when blowing up a group of terrorists.
“Commander José, what is it?”
“Don’t give me that, ‘what is it’ stuff.”
The Commander gave a dramatic shrug. A theatrical, ridiculously exaggerated gesture.
“It’s about that. The scouting offer from the Queadluun Squad, please make sure to reply to them.”
“Oh… uhh…”
“There aren’t many pure-blooded Zentradi like you. Even then, they say you being an amazing pilot is all the more reason.”
“—”
Even within S.M.S, there weren’t many Zentradi soldiers. Much less those with the genetic disposition to switch between Macron and Miclone forms at will. The number of people who could use a Queadluun Suit, a Protoculture remnant superweapon which could control inertia, was extremely limited.
“...I appreciate the offer, but I can’t do it.”
“Can’t?”
“Because I’m not a Zentradi, I’m an Earthling.”
“...I see.”
For a single fleeting moment, Commander José looked apologetic, but he broke back into his usual wide smile as soon as the moment passed.
“Forget it, then. I’ll let recruitment know myself—and hey, don’t make that face. An Española hates to see a beauty’s face cloud over like that.”
“Your wife’s gonna be pissed if you keep saying stuff like that.”
“Haha, it’s just an ordinary greeting, Señorita!”
Politely brushing his hand aside as it moved toward her waist, Chelsea got back on course toward the gun room.
“Besides, I love my Valkyrie. And Apollo Squadron, too. Flying here, being here, this place is everything to me.”
Saying so, she gave a bright smile.
Or rather, forced a smile.
✥✥✥
“Hm—? Is that ship entering the Fold Course?”
Wearing an EX-Gear, a Powered Suit designed for personal flight, a rookie student in the pilot training course named Alto Saotome looked up at the cosmos through the canopy.
“News from the Navigation Bureau says there shouldn’t be any ships entering Fold at this time, though…?”
The boy had no way of knowing that his fate would soon become deeply intertwined with the ship he saw, the Macross Quarter.
For now, looking at the azure sky that stretched out above was good enough for him.
✥✥✥
After emerging from the Fold and feeling her ethereal self return to her body, the first thing Chelsea saw was Commander José’s face, peering at her sleeping visage with a look of pure amusement. He was a fierce man who looked like some sort of leopard, but his eyes alone were more like an adorable little bear cub.
“That’s unlike you, Lieutenant.”
“Unlike me?”
She sat up a bit from the custom-built Fold travel sofa in the gun room. She felt sweat on her brow. Grabbing the bottle she kept within reach, she gulped down some mineral water and felt her body grow cold.
“Yeah, you were singing. It was unlike you.”
“I was singing… Me, Commander?”
“Yeah. I don’t remember what it was called, but it was some old Fire Bomber number.”
“Oh—”
She took another sip of mineral water and looked up at the ceiling.
It felt like her mind had fogged over.
Right, back then—I heard Basara’s song—and then—
She felt like she was forgetting something important.
How was it that she’d gotten out of her coffin back then?
And then—
Someone’s voice—
“Chelsea, you used to be a singer, right?”
It was their young Frontline Air Traffic Controller, Catarina Verde’s voice that snapped her out of her thoughts. She let out a soft hum as she woke from her Fold Trip and stretched herself out like a puppy, an adorable sight fitting of someone her age.
“Just for a little while. I wasn’t cut out for it though, so I quit.”
“No way! You won the Platinum Award at the Galaxy Gold Disc Awards…!”
“It was a fluke, a total fluke. Things like that happen in showbiz.”
“Hey, Catarina.”
José whispered, tugging at Catarina’s sleeve.
“Oh, sorry…”
Realizing she’d stepped on a touchy subject, she bowed her head in apology.
She wasn’t a bad kid. She didn’t know any better, so Chelsea couldn’t blame her.
“It’s okay. Right now, flying with everyone in my Valkyrie is enough to keep me fulfilled. Singing? I’m done with all of that.”
Saying so, she forced a smile and made up her mind to head to the hangar.
Realizing she was in a bad mood, she felt fed up with herself.
She tried to sing a bit in the empty hallway, but the melody wouldn’t flow from her throat anymore.
✥✥✥
The terribly flat, inorganic wings of the AIF-7S Ghost unmanned fighters were launching from the flat hulls of the Guantanamo-class carriers Muroran, Maizuru and Belleauwood, which looked like rectangular apple pies.
By combining stealth carriers that could hide far beyond enemy range and AI with combat capabilities that surpassed human soldiers, an ideal war with zero casualties could be carried out. If a war in which people die is evil, then a war that spreads destruction and death but on a scale where no human dies must be just—that was the grotesque ideology that had been born. Of course, this also operated under the presumption that renegade Zentradi who defied the United Nations Government should not be considered human.
“Alright, Apollo Squadron! We’re taking off! Let’s tear open this wound that the Ghosts left for us with style!”
At José’s command, the Macross Quarter’s three-dimensional electromagnetic catapult gently lifted the crafts off of the deck and fired them like bullets with hyper-acceleration exceeding 10Gs.
A plasma beam fired from the enemy fleet grazed the VF-19EFs. Of course, none of them, including Chelsea, panicked enough to attempt evasive maneuvers.
“Sorry, Chelsea!”
A mass of plasma large enough to obliterate a cruiser shot past them just a few meters away. All that separated José from it was a canopy, and yet his voice didn’t waver at all as he led the charge.
“What?”
“The change in machines! It’s my fault we couldn’t get all the VF-25s we needed!”
The squadron leading the vanguard, Skull Squadron, along with several other squadrons were issued the latest model Variable Fighters, the VF-25 Messiah. The members of Apollo Squadron were still using the previous generation VF-19EFs.
“No worries. I like the Caliburn the best anyway.”
“Glad to hear it. Apparently the tech guys want data on operations with both the 25s and 19s. From a field perspective, it just means there’s a real purpose for you guys to charge in yourselves.”
Advances in unmanned combat aircraft technology had accelerated the specialization of manned fighter pilots.
Superhuman skill that machines couldn’t match up with, flexible thinking that an AI couldn’t fully process. They didn’t need standard products, but super aces that could handle any mission. Ironically, whenever such personnel were required, aside from a few special forces units, they were usually sourced from a variety of defense contractors like private military providers or security firms that could poach as many people as they wanted by offering generous compensation.
“There are always accidents on stage, right?”
“Right. Besides, this isn’t the real thing. Once this sortie’s over, we’ll give them a full overhaul and get some training on the new model.”
“Looking forward to it, Commander.”
“Oh—looks like the curtain’s about to rise. All units, draw your weapons!”
As soon as José shouted the usual command, the figure of a diva was projected ahead of them.
A massive hologram projected by the Ghosts that flew out ahead.
A singer with chestnut hair, dark skin and a bondage-style suit.
Among the Sheryl Nome followers who sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain, she was one of the most successful. Sonnet Desmont, if she remembered right.
Pretty sure I met her a few times backstage during TV programs.
She was timid, despite the flashy, revealing outfits she wore on stage. Chelsea remembered comforting her when she was frozen stiff waiting for fans to approach her. Well, none of that mattered now.
Of course, the military wasn’t playing her songs as some joke or whim.
It was something they called a Minmay Attack.
During Space War I, the Zentradi were a race without a culture. This left them so captivated by the songs of a single idol, the legendary Lynn Minmay, that they panicked and lost all will to fight. Because of this, they were crushed by the Earth’s forces and forced to sign a peace treaty. Since then, playing an idol’s songs during combat had basically become standard practice against Zentran forces who hadn’t made contact with Earth.
Of course, the amount of impact it would have was a gamble.
In movies and TV shows, Zentrans who hear music immediately lose their will to fight, shouting “Deculture, Deculture!” in a panic. That wasn’t how it really was, though. Every single Zentran losing their will to fight didn’t happen either during Space War I nor afterward.
In any case, the Minmay Attack continued based on the reasoning that even if it were only 1% effective, it was better to do it than not as long as it might disrupt the military’s chain of command.
She saw it as nothing more than a desecration of culture, but Chelsea shook off the thought.
After all, she was just a pilot now. Her days as a singer were behind her.
✥✥✥
José’s VF-19EF, flying ahead of the rest, unleashed a barrage from its FAST Pack and the over 200 micro-missiles and rocket launchers mounted under its wings.
A burst of explosions lit up the sky.
“Apollo 2 to Apollo 3, enemy crafts bearing 2-5-7, 30!”
Catarina’s RVF-19EF gave crisp and decisive commands. The strength of a well-funded private military company lay in its ability to make sophisticated tactical decisions even under electronic jamming by having their air traffic control be handled by an RVF escorted by unmanned fighters on the field.
With the enemy “Regult” combat pods falling out of formation, Chelsea’s eyes locked onto them one after another.
“Apollo 2, Fox Three!”
The missile bays in the VF-19EF’s leg engine nacelles opened, spewing out multi-shell cluster missiles as it charged forward in fighter mode.
Like blooming Housenkas, the tips of these missiles, which were about as thick as a Battroid’s upper arm, launched countless micro-missiles which turned the enemy combat pods into balls of fire.
But even if the Regults were essentially just spherical armored pods with verniers, beam cannons and legs, they were still weapons of space warfare that had been used for tens of thousands of years. A poorly maintained “run-of-the-mill” unit may have been another story, but a “top-of-the-line” one that retained at least fifty percent of its original performance would certainly be capable of using its combination of defensive lasers and thrusters that could fire in any direction to evade the micro-missiles.
“Is it gonna hit!?”
Of course, Chelsea wasn’t dumb enough to dismiss a Regult as some kind of small fry. Even if the Regult squadron’s retaliatory lasers struck her projected position, her VF-19EF would not be there. She wasn’t some idiot who flew on trajectories a computer could predict, nor did she have such flimsy stealth capabilities that any ordinary auto-targeting system could lock onto her.
The Regults kicked off into the vacuum with their long legs, using the recoil to turn and pursue the VF-19EFs. But then, their thick armor was pierced by one incoming shell after another, halting their movements and making them no more than shooting stars. It was super-long-ranged supporting fire from the Destroid unit clinging to the deck of the Macross Quarter, trailing behind them.
In the blink of an eye, the enemy Regults had lost control.
Chelsea’s VF-19EF, now shifted into GERWALK mode, raced across the battlefield with its gatling gunpod, systematically destroying the isolated combat pods scattered across it.
That is not to say that it was an easy battle.
Even if the official catalog specs showed them to be superior to an overwhelming degree, the true power of a “run-of-the-mill” Zentradi weapon cannot be gauged by mere numbers.
Even if they were “top-of-the-line” ones, the difference in number was overwhelming. No matter how well their state-of-the-art stealth technology, energy conversion armor and pinpoint barriers could protect them, the fact remained that Variable Fighters were small, less than 20 meters in length.
A direct hit meant death.
That was what made the battle of these four Variable Fighters, led by José and soaring against the backdrop of pop songs flowing through space, so beautiful and tense.
✥✥✥
When she was a child, people told her she was a sensible kid.
She was happy to please her parents and never thought that there was any problem with that.
She was told that living in Miclone form was just the way things were and accepted it as such. She had fun in her singing and dancing lessons, properly learned the Earth’s culture and became a fine Earthling. She thought it was entirely natural that she went by an Earthling name.
She remembered the day that she met Nekki Basara, decided to become a singer, passed the audition and was praised by her parents.
“This means we’re not Zentradi anymore,” they said.
That wasn’t the case, though.
In the end, no matter how far she went, she couldn’t escape being labelled a “Zentradi singer.”
So, she chose to abandon singing and run away.
She would never forget her parents’ cold stares of disappointment.
She was lucky to secure a position at S.M.S. thanks to the Valkyrie piloting skills she’d gained during her time as a singer and through her connections to Richard Vhirler, who was a friend of her parents. When all someone knows is singing and dancing, what more is there for her to do when that gets taken away from her?
And so, ironically enough…
“Sorry, you won’t hit me.”
Her eyes were fixed on the lock-on marker, her left hand on her anti-air intercept laser’s panel and her right on the gunpod’s trigger. Missiles to pierce their cannons and lasers to intercept missiles coming toward her. Her gunpod blew the Regults to pieces and her wings and thrusters dodged the anti-aircraft fire as she flew.
Handling several completely different tasks at once, Chelsea closed in on the enemy battleship. Her flying was like a disciplined orchestra, each of its instruments playing its own melody but flowing as a single harmony.
Her flying, beautiful to the point of being musical, was the most eloquent proof of all that her blood was Zentradi, a race genetically engineered for battle.
And so, while fighting at least, Chelsea could forget her parents’ scolding.
“Good-for-nothing daughter who doesn’t understand culture!”
“It’s because of people like you that the Zentradi aren’t accepted by Earthlings.”
“We don’t need you!”
I…
On the surface of the battleship’s armor plating, her VF-19EF extended its legs in GERWALK Mode and went into a reverse thrust. She did a half-turn like a figure skater to evade the missiles pursuing her. After intercepting them with her gunpod, she thrust the fist of her pinpoint barrier into the guided beam turret with one fluid motion.
I’m here! I’m not unwanted!
✥✥✥
The ship’s side hatches swung open and Nousjadeul-Ger Powered Suits poured out. Using the sturdy battleship’s bulges and the wrecked gun turrets as cover, the men fired laser machine pistols at them. In the vacuum of space where there was no sense of depth, they looked just like ordinary humans.
Of course, there was no way that they were “ordinary humans.”
Nousjadeul-Ger Powered Suits covered a giant’s entire physique, which were as large as a Battroid, with over 30 tons of armor, propelling them with massive thrusters. It was a fearsome weapon that had been in use since the final stages of the Stellar Republic’s Schism War. On top of being a power-enhancing suit that multiplied the strength of giants who could already exchange blows with Battroids, it gave the Zentradi agility and heavy armor along with firepower that could even rival a Destroid.
Leaving aside the question of if they had no qualms about letting their own ship get damaged or if they simply had faith in its armor, the explosions from their anti-armor hand grenades were driving the VF-19EF into a corner. There was no hope for backup. Not just José, either, even Catarina was caught up in close combat. Until the carrier-based attack squadron broke through with large missiles, they had no choice but to hold their positions on their own.
“Okay, then!”
She dodged the explosion and broke away in fighter mode.
Or so it seemed.
Her VF-19 was experimentally equipped with the anti-G power assist armor “EX-Gear” developed by the Frontier Fleet, giving her exceptional maneuverability. In a dogfight, she could even rival the VF-25. The powered suit gave a pilot the ability to withstand random G-forces that humans normally couldn’t.
Once on the escape course, her vulnerable underside would be left exposed. The Zentradi soldiers who hoped to hit that spot were left staring in amazement at the way her craft moved. It looked less like a weapon and more like an alien creature.
A steep climb followed by a roll.
Enduring the intense G-forces that threatened to make her black out, Chelsea flew in a backward maneuver against the artificial gravity field on the ship’s surface. She would’ve crashed into the battleship if she lost control for even an instant. Just below her, or perhaps just above, she could see the “ground.” Close enough that she could touch it if she reached out. If she lost her composure, even a Variable Fighter with energy-conversion armor would be doomed.
With the dual onslaught of weak gravity and the barrage of fire pressing down on her, Chelsea was unflappable. Like a hunting dog baring its fangs at its prey. She felt the rain, the wind, the mud, but none of it got to her.
“One down!”
Circling behind the two Nousjadeuls that were firing proton assault rifles at her from the shadow of a large, semicircular anti-aircraft gun, she did a somersault and transformed into Battroid mode.
“Two!”
As she took out the first with her gunpod, she blew the second away with micro-missiles from the missile pod on her right leg.
Another Nousjadel raised a shoulder-fire anti-air missile launcher. She got a lock-on alert.
“I can’t waste time worrying about every little thing!”
Chelsea didn’t even glance at the missile.
A sound.
She could predict the missiles’ positions based on the sounds of her craft’s sensors. Combined with the Valkyrie that had become an extension of her body, it was nothing. Trusting in her stealth, trusting in her maneuverability, trusting in her own skills, she dodged one missile after another, tracking different targets with her eyes as she went.
She transformed into GERWALK mode. While being pursued by missiles, the laser cannons on each of her hips blasted another Nousjadeul-Ger to bits. She transformed into Fighter Mode, accelerated and redirected power to her pinpoint barrier. With her forward wings transformed into shining blades, she sliced through the Nousjadeuls in her path. She transformed. Dancing gracefully like a ballerina, she deflected incoming missiles with her pinpoint barrier and destroyed pursuing missiles with her head-mounted laser cannons.
“If you’d just surrender already, I wouldn’t have to do all of this!”
Multi-lock. She fired all of the micro-missiles left in her FAST Pack straight into the anti-air turret in front of her.
Her VF-19EF charged forward through crimson flames.
The usual mission, the usual job.
Like living in a dream, like flying through a dream.
Flying?
Is that what it was?
Could this, repeating hit-and-run barrages in a designated operation airspace, really be called flying?
She wondered if it was any different from floating. Like a lesson where she had to keep singing the same verse again and again. Just as the lesson dictated, her fingers and legs kept playing their deadly song.
Hollow pop music drifted in from the distance.
A song.
A song that had lost all meaning echoed across a battlefield that had lost all meaning.
A love song meant to confuse and kill giants who kept fighting an eternal war, as commanded by creators from over a hundred thousand years ago.
“There!”
She locked onto a Nousjadeul-Ger that was firing a volley at her from its proton rifle to protect the gun encampment.
She knew they were terrified. She could tell by the tremor in their aim.
She may have lacked culture, but she had a heart. Watching ally after ally turn into humanoid balls of fire, it was no wonder they were scared.
Still in Battroid form, she focused a pinpoint barrier on her left arm’s shield and flicked it upward in an uppercut.
They dodged!?
Her lunge was just a fraction too short.
Whether it was because of some unconscious hesitation or because her unit’s variable frame had developed a flaw somewhere in the transition from long-ranged Fold reconnaissance to combat, she couldn’t say.
But the fact remained. The fist of the pinpoint barrier that she’d thrust upward had blown away the armor on the Nousjadel’s face and stopped.
And so, she saw it.
A child’s face.
The horrified face of a young boy. The face of a child soldier, someone who had only recently been “produced.”
A face that was looking right at Chelsea.
On reflex, she tried to pull the trigger.
I can’t pull it—?
Cold sweat trickled down her cheek.
Despite her will, her finger refused to move. Her throat refused to create her voice.
She thought that she was used to killing people. She should have understood that she was killing her own people. And yet, the boy’s terrified gaze betrayed all of that.
The world flowed in slow motion, turning sepiatone—
The cheerfully bright idol song still flooded her ears—
And then—
“What the hell are you doing, Chelsea!?”
Like snow hitting the earth, a direct hit from an anti-ship beam gunpod vaporized the boy before he could unleash his barrage of laser machine pistol fire into Chelsea’s cockpit.
José’s voice.
Seeing that Chelsea was frozen stiff, he had sniped from another sector of the battlefield to protect her. It was no more than an act of God.
“Mechanical trouble!? If you don’t figure it out, you’ll die!”
“N-no, that’s not—”
“What!?”
“I can’t… fire. My fingers… won’t move.”
“—Tch—Got it. Break away! Bearing 3-5-1, can you fly!?”
“B-but, the anti-air cannon is still—”
“We’ll figure it out somehow! Just get outta here!”
✥✥✥
Three more Nousjadeul-Gers, or rather, three pilots, closed in on Chelsea as she broke away from the battleship. Judging by their ability to keep up with the VF-19EF, their Flemenmik thermonuclear converters must have been performing at their specifications from five hundred thousand years prior. In our earlier terms, they were “run-of-the-mill.”
“Check Six! Check Six! Get out of there!”
“I know, Catarina.”
Why…? Why is this happening to me!?
She could shatter the incoming missiles with anti-missile weaponry or shoot down the Impact Cannon’s projectiles with lasers. But her body simply wouldn’t move to shoot down enemies.
Her craft shook violently.
It’d taken a direct hit from a large-caliber plasma cannon. Her energy-conversion armor had just barely deflected it, but it wouldn’t happen again. The energy remaining in her capacitors was practically zero.
“Why!? I’m a Meltrandi, so why can’t I kill people!?”
The thrust of her main thrusters dropped sharply, throwing her already unstable VF-19EF totally off-balance. Her energy conversion armor had used up too much power, her main propulsion system was malfunctioning somehow. Of course, it was a small enough amount of damage that it could be repaired in under a minute, but every second in a dogfight felt like an eternity.
Am I gonna die!?
The icy coffin flashed through her mind.
The image of the boy who died in the coffin of an armored spacesuit overlapped with the image of herself in that coffin of ice.
And then—
Chelsea realized that José’s VF-19EF had arrived like a savior, shooting down the Nousjadeul formation and leaving her alive.
✥✥✥
Looking from the S.M.S. building, the setting sun looked blood-red.
“It’s a psychological thing. The military doctor says that the stress you’ve built up over time can stop you from pulling the trigger—It’s common, and has nothing to do with your skills as a soldier.”
“C-Commander, I—”
“I don’t doubt your loyalty or your piloting skills. These things happen, y’know. Until you can find the cause of it and resolve it, I can’t assign you any piloting tasks. There were no casualties this time, but the anti-aircraft fire caused considerable damage. You’re going to have to take responsibility.”
“—But, for me, I—”
“This is the only place for you, right? But we’re not like the regular military, we’re a for-profit company. If you aren’t useful to us anymore, you’ll be fired on the spot.”
José’s logic was sound. She understood where her salary, which was several times larger than a regular soldier's, came from and why someone like her had been allowed to stay.
“That said, we’d be in trouble without you. How about this? Why don’t we try a temporary transfer?”
“Transfer?”
“Yeah. A way for you to keep on flying your Valkyrie without killing or shooting anything.”
“—I want to stay here!”
“I know. So if you prove yourself at your new job, you can come back.”
She couldn’t refuse.
This transfer system didn’t even exist in the first place. If she resisted any further, he wouldn’t be able to cover for her anymore.
That’s what José’s eyes told her.
Even if S.M.S. trusted her, there was no room to get complacent. That was the reality of the situation.
“...Understood. Lieutenant Chelsea Scarlett, accepting the assignment.”
✥✥✥
He gave her an address that led her to an old warehouse on Island 15. It stood in a vast, open field where all she could feel was the blowing of the wind. What caught her eye most was the makeshift runway.
“Uh… Is this the home of a Mr. Hakuna Aoba?”
The first thing she saw upon entering was an incredibly white wing.
It was much smaller than a VF-19 or VF-25.
An old, old craft she’d seen a few times in archival footage.
The VF-1 Valkyrie. The name of a Variable Fighter from over fifty years ago.
“Oh, there you are!”
The man, who she could clearly tell was an Earthling, but wasn’t sure if he was Asian, Caucasian, African or Indigenous, slapped Chelsea on the shoulder.
He wore overalls caked in machinery oil, with messy hair and bags under his eyes like they were lost in thought.
His eyes reflected the sky.
She knew he was a pilot. Not like José’s bird-of-prey-like aura, he was more like a giant condor, flying alone to heights far beyond anyone else’s reach like it was easy.
She could smell the wind; hear its sound.
As if his presence alone made the wind itself rejoice.
“José told me about you. You’re the girl who’s here to team up with me for the race, right?”
“Race—?”
“Vanquish! The world’s most extreme Valkyrie race! You can count on me for the long haul, buddy!”
“I-I can’t do that! I’m a military pilot! There’s no way I can get myself involved in something like this…!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it quick! I’ll be counting on you!”
—She didn’t get what was going on.
But she knew that the door of fate had closed behind her and a new page had been turned.
The wind roared and, from somewhere, she heard another song.
“Welcome! Vanquish welcomes you with open arms!”
NEXT RIDE Translated by TrafalgarLog Edited by PixelatedShinobi and Melos Catcher
even though i'm not much of an artist, i've been getting into sprite editing to "illustrate" some scenes from my undertale fanfic and it's been pretty fun :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
turning a knight into a cow girl on a dairy farm call that swords to plowshares
15 years of A Wakening of the Trailblazer
I did a small sketch of GetsuRyuu, there wasn’t much fan art of her, and then I thought “Hey I can draw, I’ll just do it myself” and did this. I’ll probably also do NichiRyuu later (I was in a rush so that’s the everything is all whack lol)
Super Robot Wars Mu - A SRW RP! Accepting Applications!
Hey there! Are you:
A fan of giant fighting robots?
Interested in text-based roleplaying games?
Dying of anticipation for Super Robot Wars Y?
If one or all of these statements apply to you, you might be interested in Super Robot Taisen MOO!
What is SRTMOO, you might ask?
SRTMOO is an online roleplaying game inspired by the Super Robot Wars series of video games! Taking place in a combined setting that draws from more than 50 years of mecha and giant hero properties, it chronicles a world's shaky journey to the stars.,
SRTMOO is in its fourth year since opening in January of 2022, in "Phase 2, Turn 2" of a long-term cycle set to run 3-4 Phases, each consisting of between three and six Turns and occasional 'Special Disc' periods that allow a little cooldown and theme maintenance.
We're currently running a little low on personnel, and are holding a recruitment drive to bolster our numbers!
Find out more under the cut or at srtmoo.net/
SRTMOO is a game run in the "MU" system of online chat-based RP by @yurimobilefort.bsky.social. We have a custom battle system, called "Kantaisen" that allows for turn-based combat replicating the actual feel of an SRPG. The opportunities for play and interaction in it are virtually endless!
SRTMOO has a large and diverse cast of appable characters puled from mecha anime, manga, video games, and tokusatsu. Passion is the #1 requirement for playing a character! If you love them, that's what counts. Furthermore, SRTMOO offers a variety of ways to modify and alter the canon path of characters and stories! Interested in making queer subtext just text? Want to save a character you felt was done dirty? All are possible!
(Art credit @harleequeen.bsky.social) We also offer OCs! They add flavor and spice to the game, and are an easy first application - no one knows an original character better than their creator, after all!
(Art credits @feralknights and @harleequeen.bsky.social) Finally, we have an absolutely massive roster list, featuring many series that straight up couldn't be in an official Super Robot Wars - including live-action tokusatsu Ultraman!
If any of this interests you, considering visiting our wiki to learn more, or popping onto the MU as a guest to ask some questions! My DMs are also fully open for any questions. srtmoo.net/
Best girl Saotome Alto from Macross Frontier in Variable Fighter Girl form

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Best girl Saotome Alto from Macross Frontier in Variable Fighter Girl form
Mazinger Z
Had this idea for a Zeta Gundam/Spaceballs crossover meme ages ago, finally made it. Here ya go!
Super Robot Wars Mu - A SRW RP! Accepting Applications!
Hey there! Are you:
A fan of giant fighting robots?
Interested in text-based roleplaying games?
Dying of anticipation for Super Robot Wars Y?
If one or all of these statements apply to you, you might be interested in Super Robot Taisen MOO!
What is SRTMOO, you might ask?
SRTMOO is an online roleplaying game inspired by the Super Robot Wars series of video games! Taking place in a combined setting that draws from more than 50 years of mecha and giant hero properties, it chronicles a world's shaky journey to the stars.,
SRTMOO is in its fourth year since opening in January of 2022, in "Phase 2, Turn 2" of a long-term cycle set to run 3-4 Phases, each consisting of between three and six Turns and occasional 'Special Disc' periods that allow a little cooldown and theme maintenance.
We're currently running a little low on personnel, and are holding a recruitment drive to bolster our numbers!
Find out more under the cut or at srtmoo.net/
SRTMOO is a game run in the "MU" system of online chat-based RP by @yurimobilefort.bsky.social. We have a custom battle system, called "Kantaisen" that allows for turn-based combat replicating the actual feel of an SRPG. The opportunities for play and interaction in it are virtually endless!
SRTMOO has a large and diverse cast of appable characters puled from mecha anime, manga, video games, and tokusatsu. Passion is the #1 requirement for playing a character! If you love them, that's what counts. Furthermore, SRTMOO offers a variety of ways to modify and alter the canon path of characters and stories! Interested in making queer subtext just text? Want to save a character you felt was done dirty? All are possible!
(Art credit @harleequeen.bsky.social) We also offer OCs! They add flavor and spice to the game, and are an easy first application - no one knows an original character better than their creator, after all!
(Art credits @feralknights and @harleequeen.bsky.social) Finally, we have an absolutely massive roster list, featuring many series that straight up couldn't be in an official Super Robot Wars - including live-action tokusatsu Ultraman!
If any of this interests you, considering visiting our wiki to learn more, or popping onto the MU as a guest to ask some questions! My DMs are also fully open for any questions. srtmoo.net/

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Old Samus as requested by Patreon a while back.
Will they ever do an old Samus? Probably not, but then I think generally all media everywhere have a bias against old women. You have no idea how letdown I was by Dandadan when the grandma wasn't an actual cool crone lol.
The remorseful player