He had no time to examine what lay before him, for the robot had already resumed its forward motion. Roy seized Lang by the arm, and the group pressed on. The machine guided them toward a shadowed corner, where they suddenly found themselves face-to-face with two heavily armed warship sentinels.
One soldier hastily swung a rocket launcher toward the beast lurking behind the probe robot's right flank and blasted it skyward. At the very instant the tracker's red beam locked onto the creature and reflected off its gleaming armor, the machine-gunner and a second rocketeer opened fire.
"In short," Admiral Hines concluded, "despite encountering unexpectedly fierce resistance, Captain Grover's team managed to withdraw safely from the battleship without sustaining further casualties."
Senator Russell released a slow plume of smoke as he weighed the report. "And what is Dr. Lang's condition now?"
"He seems largely unharmed," Hines replied. "They insist on observing him a while longer, but he himself is clearly determined to resume his study of the alien vessel immediately. You know what he's like."
Indeed—this greatest of Earth's geniuses adhered to his own principles when confronted with the most profound questions of existence.
"I'd like to add one more section to this already astonishing mission report," Hines continued bluntly, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "Captain Grover estimates they remained inside the ship for roughly six hours—and their watches corroborate it."
Russell exhaled a smoke ring. "And?"
"But the watches of the soldiers stationed outside show that Grover's team was gone for only about fifteen minutes." Hines lowered himself back into his seat at the conference table, his brow furrowed in thought.
Senator Russell, presiding at the head of the table, considered this carefully. He knew that a methodical officer like Hines would never accept such a report without rigorous verification.
Russell cut an imposing figure—slightly stout, with a thin, well-groomed mustache. His manner radiated genial warmth, though none of it was sincere. His face was plump, his hands pale and soft, a ring glinting on his smallest finger. A master tailor, an exceptional barber, and abundant political power—all had helped him rise to the threshold of becoming a central figure in the soon-to-be-established world government.
Now, he examined the décor of the Knossos carrier's secure conference chamber with quiet satisfaction. "Whoever sent this battleship here will eventually come to reclaim it. And if they do not, someone else surely will."
He suddenly broke into a grin. "If it hadn't descended from the heavens, we would have been forced to manufacture an incident ourselves. This is splendid!"
The other political opportunists nodded, their smiles sharp, their eyes glittering with ambition.
The timing of the vessel's crash had been nothing short of miraculous. Barely a month earlier, these same men had been plotting, within their respective factions, one of the most catastrophic schemes in human history. They had been confronted by a crisis so grave it threatened humanity's very existence. Their compromise had been born not of mercy, but of the promise of greater profit.
They had intended to orchestrate a man-made calamity—an event terrifying enough to halt the war and unite all humankind under their control. They had even prepared for it: sweeping plagues, global crop failures—yet none of these machinations matched the sheer impact of an extraterrestrial visitor blazing through the atmosphere and falling upon Macross Island.
Russell's smile took on an even darker edge. "Gentlemen, I hardly consider the pursuit of this inevitable undertaking an act of tyranny. It will show those short-sighted fools that humanity must unite!"
That construction would, of course, proceed under their own strict supervision—a fact so obvious that Russell did not bother to articulate it. The political hucksters around him understood it perfectly well. Hines and the other idealistic dreamers, however—those naïve souls driven by selflessness and courage—were moved nearly to tears.
For men skilled in manipulation, the side they served mattered little. The ideological roots and historical grievances underlying the global civil war were equally irrelevant. In such matters, Russell and his peers merely paid lip service; what truly mattered was seizing the opportunity for prestige and power. Russell's involvement in the international movement for world peace and disarmament had only one motive: personal advancement. Without that promise, he would never have joined so readily, nor cultivated his own loyal faction.
Hines resumed speaking. "We must proceed with utmost speed—divert every available resource to absorb the ship's technological secrets and apply Lopot Technology—Dr. Lang insists on using this term—to the vessel's reconstruction."
Magnificent, Russell thought. A vast defense program funded by the nation's treasury—larger and more extravagant than any project in human history. The benefits were beyond measure. The military would be bound by it, entirely obedient, and the regime would become even more unshakable. And the unprecedented power granted by this 'Lopot Technology' would elevate the world government to a position of absolute, immovable authority.
Russell frowned slightly, reconsidering Hines himself. A born soldier—obedient, diligent, dependable… yet undeniably dull.
Yes, in certain matters Hines was hopelessly straightforward. Once the Earth was unified and rebuilt, decisions would have to be made about who remained in the highest echelons of leadership.
There would be ways to handle that. Hines, after all, had a daughter—a girl barely in her teens. Yes, Russell remembered now: a plain, withdrawn little thing named Lisa.
In any case, once the goal was secured, there would be ample time to suppress Hines and those like him—and, of course, to keep a close watch on Lang.
As for Colonel Edwards, he appeared a clever young man—aware of where his interests lay. It was he who had leaked the confidential information to Russell, and he had been observing Grover and the others closely. Edwards would certainly prove useful.
"Shall we invite Dr. Lang in?" Russell suggested smoothly.
Lang entered shortly thereafter—pale, thin, yet radiating a quiet strength and resolve. Only his dark, depthless eyes held a disquieting intensity.
"Ah, Doctor," Russell greeted him with exaggerated warmth. "We've heard that a miracle has fallen from the sky. But now, we simply need you to answer plainly: can the ship be restored?"
Lang fixed him with a hard, unwavering stare, as though Russell were a complete stranger who had interrupted a critical line of thought—and likely he had.
"Restored? Of course it can. Do you imagine we've been occupied with anything else?"
The remark bordered on questioning whether Russell possessed even the most basic common sense.
Before Russell could respond, Lang continued, "That word you used—miracle—it is appropriate. But let me tell each of you something Captain Grover told me as we finally fought our way out of that vessel."
He paused deliberately, and it seemed the entire chamber was swallowed into the depths of his obsidian gaze.
"Captain Grover said that this ship saved humanity from destroying itself. Doctor—that is the miracle. But history teaches us that miracles always demand an immense price."