Macross Fan Fiction ❯ After Relfex Point: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit- ❯ Daily Existance ( Chapter 1 )

After Reflex Point: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit-

Chapter I

Timeline/historical note: This piece was deigned to be compatible with both the spirit of Robotech and specifically, the novel "The End of the Circle", and takes place somewhere around the year 2047. It is appropriate to other conceptions of the post Third Robotech War only with the accepted provision that Scott, joined by Marlene, eventually helped recover the SDF-3 safely after a time bending journey of about 10 years Earth relative time.

From the inky darkness emerged seven walking nightmares, each scanning the night through sensors embedded in a single, blood red eye. A century earlier, such monsters would have only existed in Hollywood farces entitled "Evil Crabs From Outer Space" or "The Real Purple People Eaters".

Perhaps the Cyclone rider they stalked was well versed enough in cinematic history to understand the irony of his actual situation, played out so many times before: a hunted, lonely human being, slated for annihilation by hideous creatures for utterly incomprehensible reasons. And like those before him in the apocalyptic fantasies which fed generations of moviegoers, he was prepared to offer one final token of defiance.

That the Invid Shock Troopers should spot his Protoculture fuel emissions was a forgone conclusion. The Cyclone rider waited for the leader to fix its cycloptic gaze on him before powering up his EP-37 cannon.

"Surrender or die, human fugitive!" projected the Invid leader, finishing a split second before an energy beam thoroughly ventilated its cockpit shell, and a full second before the battle craft itself vanished in a sheet of flame.

The lone human warrior dashed unimpeded through a storm of annihilation discs, each capable of causing him instant death through even a near miss. At point blank range, he threw the Cyclone into a headlong lunge and loosed all four short range missiles from his forearm tubes, each one vaporizing its target. By the time the rider rolled to his feet, the feral grin on his face was fading rapidly as he noticed the presence of the two remaining Shock Troopers on either side of him with plasma cannons aglow.

"Uh, oh," he managed. He hit the Cyclone's emergency boosters, practically feeling the discs' heat through his armor. He was watching with satisfaction the effect the Invids' bolts had on one another when his existance abruptly and inexplicably winked out.

"Well, what do you think, Mr. Bernard?" the computer graphics director, Fitzgerald Cates, asked enthusiastically when the studio lights came on. A quick glance in Scott Bernard's direction indicated that the Robotech Expeditionary Force hero wasn't exactly ecstatic about what he'd just seen. Appalled would be a better word.

"What kind of research went into that scene?!" Scott responded.

Cates looked at him calmly. "Something wrong?"

"Something wrong?" Scott repeated, flabbergasted. "For one thing, Invid combat drones don't talk…not in English anyway. For that matter, they shoot first and ask questions later."

"Oh," said the director, embarrassed.

"The Cyclone's targeting computer can't track two targets at once, let alone four," Scott continued. "Anyway, one missile is too weak to destroy a Shock Trooper anyway except by a direct hit to the sensor eye, and take my word for it, those Invid will block those kind of strikes with a claw whenever they're able!"

The director held up his hands in mock surrender. The gesture was particuarly ironic in that Scott had never actually taken a prisoner during his career. "Take it easy, Mr. Bernard. This is just a movie, remember? That is why we, um, hired you as military advisor, isn't it?"

Scott slowly lowered his temple to rest on his hand. "I'm so sorry, I-I don't know what came over me."

"Hey, it's alright," answered Cates amicably. "Let's say, we cut out the line where the Invid talks and cut right to the part where Mike vapes him." He winked. "That is the most important part, after all! Then he rushes the other, say, three troopers, two of which accidentally destroy one another with annihilation discs. He then launches all four missiles at the remaining trooper. It blocks one with a claw, but then two more missiles hit each leg, and as it pitches forward, the final missile hits it right in the eye. Sound okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Just fine," Scott murmured, ineffectually tucking into place the rebellious strand of hair eternally draped across forehead.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" Cates suggested sympathetically, "while we get started with those corrections? You know, take that Veritech of yours up for a spin or something?"

"Yes," Scott said softly, as Cates began arguing with his CG technicians, "I will."

The pleasant aroma of tea filled the living room of the Bernard household as Marlene Bernard and Rebecca Hutchinson of Polaris Magazine seated themselves in a pair of comfortable chairs. The cozy dwelling was still only sparsely decorated, save for a few photo and holographs on the walls and an Alpha Veritech model displayed on the table between them.

"…So, what made you decide to make your home in New York, Mrs. Bernard?" the reporter was asking.

"Well, I don't think the citizens of Manhattan will ever forget the sight of Scott's four fighters soaring out of the sky to deliver them from Corg's holocaust," Marlene answered with a gracious smile. "After we returned with the SDF-3, they offered us some land here, just outside the city and we accepted."

"Most of the rest of your resistance team settled in the Southlands though, isn't that correct?" Hutchinson inquired, rapidly jotting down notes on the old-fashioned legal pad resting on her knee.

"Yes, that's right," acknowledged Marlene as she placed her tea on the table and leaned back into her chair. "Truth to be told, our settling in New York probably had to do with partially with the fact that collaboration in North America was so less common than down south. Scott…doesn't forgive some things very easily."

"Your husband seems to have avoided media attention after your return from deep space," Hutchinson commented. "Do you think he feels that the people of Earth don't appreciate his sacrifices?"

Marlene shook her head, frowning. "No, that's not it at all." She paused, searching for the right words. Marlene couldn't tell the reporter that she had asked the same question herself during preceding months. "Scott is a very…private person," she began slowly. "He's suffered so much. I mean, can you imagine the guilt of surviving when an entire division of your fellow soldiers went down fighting? Without having the missions to Reflex Point or locate Admiral Hunter to occupy him…Let's just say there are a lot of things he needs to work out for himself, and I hope people can try and understand that."

There was a hiss as the front door slid open and Scott Bernard strode slowly into the room. Marlene rose and kissed him softly on the mouth.

"You're home early," she remarked.

"Uh, yeah," he said uncomfortably, his hand resting on the back of his neck. "The studio was going to work on some of my suggestions, so-" He paused when he noticed the reporter in the room.

"Mr. Bernard, this is such an honor," she said, standing and extending her hand with a broad smile. "Rebecca Hutchinson, Polaris Magazine. I was just finishing up an interview with your wife."

Scott gave her hand a firm, if awkward, shake. "I'm pleased to meet you. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"Just one question, if I may, Mr. Bernard?" the reporter asked politely. "Next week is the annual ceremony at Reflex Point. Are you planning on attending?"

He offered her a wane smile. "I wouldn't miss it."

Marlene found Scott in the hangar adjacent to their house an hour later, running the standard preflight checks on his Alpha Veritech. The mecha was a gorgeous replica of the Alpha Scott had flown during his time on Earth; indeed, he had traded the battle scarred original (with a bit of prompting/outright begging) to the Invid War Museum for the new one. Outwardly it was the same, down to the classic blue and white paint scheme and markings: A black "21" on the left wing, and the triangular insignia of the Earth Reclamation Mission of the REF on the right. In place of the interior Cyclone bay though, there was a second cockpit for a passenger, much like the cargo compartment on the Beta fighter. The mecha had even come with a full load of dummy short range missiles stuffed into its numerous deltoid compartments, but Scott had mothballed them as well as the drained gun pod to save weight.

The delighted Museum curators had, much to Scott's bemusement, thrown in what amounted to a lifetime's supply of second generation Protoculture cells. They explained that the supply had been procured to fuel the replica, but there was no way in hell that they were going to risk flying the real thing!

Scott looked up from the cockpit controls when he saw Marlene leaning against the smooth metal of the Alpha's radrome.

"Well, there's one more reporter who will go right back to her desk and write about the latest non-adventures of Young Stone Face, Earth's favorite tragic hero," Scott told her ironically.

"Actually, I think that title belongs to me," Marlene replied, a radiant smile on her face. "You know, with the whole no identity, oops, turns out you're really an alien sort of thing." She laughed when his jaw dropped involuntarily. "Plus, I publish poetry and grant interviews to the press about my life, rather unlike you, 'Stone Face'."

Scott wiped the expression off his face with the back of his hand and grinned as he gave her a hand up. "Touché ," he conceded.

Marlene perched cross-legged on the rim of the cockpit. "Anyway, I think you did just fine," she said, smiling sympathetically. "Besides, I already explained to Rebecca that you just need some more time to sort things out in your mind before you start sharing your story with your legions of fans."

Scott smiled wanly. "Are you one of them?"

Marlene softly grasped his hand and placed it against her cheek. "No, Scott, because I know and love you for who you really are. Some people, maybe even including you, imagine Scott Bernard as merely the resolute hand of vengeance against the Invid. But I know you as a noble, compassionate man, driven to fight only by a just cause. And if you believe any differently, you aren't being true to yourself."

As she leaned in to give him a long, gentle kiss, Marlene was certain that her words had created a fissure in the shell of stoicism that Scott had wrapped around himself for so long. But even as he returned her affection, Scott's thoughts focused on another conversation entirely, one so easily forgotten by his better half.

...Wouldn't it be possible for you to love me…even only for a little while?

Marlene, I'm capable of only one thing, and that's fighting against the Invid. Goodbye...

Scott stood gazing out the window of he darkened bedroom at the skeletal silhouettes of trees outside swaying in the night's wind. Even the cool air and drops of sweat on his skin did little to ease the burning sensation which permutated his face and neck, nor halt the parade of horrifying images that danced before his eyes and within a mind feverish with fatigue. Even his eyelids refused to blink without the gravest resistance, lest doing so attract the attention of the demonic apparitions of Scott's past so easily banished during the day.

The sound of Marlene stirring in bed behind Scott mingled with the shriek he imagined Marlene Rush must have uttered in her final moments of life. He shook off the death cry with a vigorous shake of his head.

Marlene's voice pierced the darkness, full of concern. "Scott? What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

Scott didn't look at her. "To have nightmares, you first must be able to dream. No, it's just images seared into my brain. Forever, Marlene." He glanced back to where she was standing shivering against the chill in the air with her arms folded across her chest. "I mean, in the ten years Earth time it took to find the SDF-3, the rest of humanity just seems to have forgotten everything. What's wrong, Scott old boy?"

He felt the warmth of Marlene's touch on his shoulder. "Maybe that is all you have to do," she said gently. "Forget."

"It's all very easy for you to say," he snarled, "when you have, what, two years worth of memories?"

She withdrew her hand, stunned. "You don't know what it's like to be a leader in combat," he continued angrily. "I made decisions that affected hundreds, or even thousands. Even millions, at the end." A single, tiny tear escaped as he shut his exhausted eyes. His warrior's reflexes slapped the drop into oblivion before it had even rolled an inch down his face. "Now I'm not even sure that I made any decisions at all, save one."

Marlene waited expectedly as Scott clenched his teeth together: "To exterminate the Invid!"

"It hasn't been easy for me either, you know," Marlene said quietly, the pain in her voice ripping into his soul.

"To not have a past, or even know what my purpose in life was? I-I…envied you. You knew exactly what your mission was-" she admitted, walking around in front of him to cup his face in her hands. "-and Scott, you accomplished it!"

He tilted his head back, muttering: "If only it were possible to make your mind a complete blank…But you can't, and the people you loved are more frightening ghosts than anything your imagination can come up with-"

"-and you can't outrun them," she finished for him. At long last, Scott looked directly into her eyes as she smiled softly in the pale light. "It's one of those things you murmur to yourself when you think no one's within earshot."

Marlene drew in close, her eyes anxious. "Please…let me help."

But no force in the universe, even love or empathy, could prevent her graceful eyes from undergoing transformation inside his head into the sinister crimson gaze of her Invid heritage. Scott snapped his eyes closed in silent denial against this vision.