When my grandfather was a boy, he cherished a certain film; and so, in my own childhood, my father would cradle me upon his knee and watch it with me. That, in essence, is how it all began.
What lingered most vividly in my memory was the scene in which the scientist-pilot climbed into his sleek, futuristic aircraft and called out to the local Fascists, "No more war." My dear, if only you knew how often I have wished that one might halt war with such effortless resolve.
—
"Fireworks," Major Roy Fokker murmured to himself. He tilted his head back to catch sight of the blossoms of color blooming across the heavens. The colossal SDF-1 fortress obscured much of the sky, yet the soaring trails of light remained clearly visible, their radiance illuminating every corner of Macross City. Flags and banners hung everywhere; bands played at every turn; and thousands of people erupted now and again into waves of laughter and applause.
Fireworks had replaced bombs; celebration had taken the place of war. Roy nodded. "If only every day were parades and picnics. I've had more than enough of war."
A decade had passed, and Macross Island had changed beyond recognition—though, in Roy's eyes, all for the better. Ever since the United World Government ordered the alien battleship's reconstruction as its highest priority, supplies and equipment, building materials, engineers and laborers, along with their families—soldiers among them—had been flown to the island. A gleaming, modern city had risen around the vessel's immense hull.
A busy deep-water harbor had been carved out as well, where two aircraft carriers now lay at anchor. Though massive in their own right, even they were lost within the vast shadow cast by the giant warship. Helicopters and fighters swept low over the island, saluting Earth's new guardian—the SDF-1.
Roy glanced again at the fortress. Ten years on, it still filled him with awe. Its hull was now painted in blue and white, its surfaces gleaming softly—sleek, imposing, unmistakable. The wide, bubble-shaped bridge windows, like the visor of a spacesuit, lent it an uncanny air, as though the ship itself were silently watching every movement within the city below.
He wondered what it had looked like before it crashed to Earth, and how much of the original Dr. Lang's team had managed to decipher.
One thing was certain: Dr. Lang and his colleagues had achieved one of the most astonishing scientific feats in human history. They had yet to unravel all the vessel's mysteries, but that was only a matter of time. Already they had restored every system aboard the SDF-1 and shared their discoveries with the Earth Government, enabling the creation of the Robotech Defense Force—the RDF.
Today, at last, civilians would have the chance to gaze freely upon what had long been hidden behind the highest levels of secrecy.
A group of variable fighters soared effortlessly through the sky, their wings swept back for high-speed flight. They were members of Skull Squadron, under Roy's command. "Just wait," he laughed. "We'll show them a real performance."
A motorcade rolled through the city with lights blazing and horns sounding, headed toward the SDF-1's docking site. The ship's maiden voyage had already been delayed, according to the schedule. Police cars cleared the way, followed by a long, luxurious limousine. Bright banners lined the streets.
But not everyone shared in the day's excitement. The mayor of Macross City—a short, sturdy man with a wry sense of humor—wore a grim expression as the procession thundered past. Standing beside him was Ben Harvest, one of the island's hardware suppliers.
"Something bothering you, Mr. Mayor? What's got you in such a mood?"
Mayor Tommy Luan shrugged. "Oh, after all these years, it's hard to believe—today may be our last glimpse of that great lady."
They stared at the immense warship dominating both city and island, its lights blinking and shimmering.
Of course, the SDF-1 was only setting out on a test voyage. If all went well, it would embark on a brief shakedown cruise afterward. But the mayor was likely right—no one knew when, or if, the fortress would ever return. And Macross Island would certainly never be the same again.
"We shall all miss her," Ben said with a nod. "But aren't you proud to see her finally set sail?"
"Of course. But if the test goes well, we'll all be out of work!" the mayor retorted.
Ben, though reluctant to see his long-running business end, still remembered the war too vividly. He liked the idea of launching the fortress into space to defend Earth far more than the mayor seemed to.
The motorcade roared away. "Quite the spectacle," the mayor muttered disdainfully. Everyone knew he was never invited to major ceremonies; the higher-ups in the World Government always kept the honors for themselves.
"Captain Gloval didn't look very pleased either," Ben observed, hoping it might lift the mayor's spirits.
Gloval indeed looked far from cheerful. Seated beside Senator Russo in the limousine's rear compartment, the senator waved tirelessly at the crowd—smiling the hollow, perfunctory smile of a career politician.
Without turning his head, he scolded, "Wipe that look off your face, Gloval. This is a glorious day! These good citizens think of you as a hero. At least wave to them."
Grumbling, Gloval folded his arms across his chest, his chin tucked against his collar. His dress uniform glittered with every medal he had earned—many of them undeserved, arranged by an over-eager aide. Gloval had always disliked the spotlight, perhaps owing to his own thorny temperament.
As always, Russo prattled on, likely imagining this was his triumph, though the truth was that it belonged to the thousands outside: ten years of labor, hope, and sacrifice dedicated to peace and to a safe future for their children.
"Fine, fine," Gloval sighed. He only hoped the pompous speeches and political preening wouldn't delay things too long. His thoughts were already fixed on the mission awaiting him beyond Earth's atmosphere.
Aboard the SDF-1, the scene was one of controlled chaos. The variable fighter demonstration team stood ready, but the final preparations for launch were behind schedule. Communications systems and internal networks responded in testing order; engineering, navigation, life-support, fighter squadrons, support units—each confirmed and reconfirmed. Thousands of crew members were required to run tens of thousands of checks in the final days.
Lieutenant Commander Lisa Hayes stepped onto the bridge, responsible for verifying that all launch preparations were complete. As the daughter of Admiral Hayes, she had always believed that excellence, skill, and tireless devotion were honors in themselves—and everyone knew her promotions had never been the product of favoritism.
She had carved a brilliant path for herself. Not yet twenty-four, she now served as first officer of the SDF-1. Only Dr. Lang surpassed her in knowledge of the ship's systems; she knew every bolt and switch as though born to them.
Her record glittered with honors and commendations. Some found her too strict, too earnest, too uncompromising, but no one questioned the legitimacy of her rank.
Tall, slender, fair-skinned, with honey-brown hair that fell in soft strands over her shoulders, Lisa paused to survey the bridge. Her crew were already at their stations.
Claudia Grant, having completed her tasks, sat at her console issuing commands over the internal comms: "Acknowledged, engine room. Understood."
Vanessa, Sammie, and Kim—recruited technical officers—had likewise finished their preparations. Vanessa entered fuel-consumption data, Kim completed the navigation tests, and Sammie oversaw the manual-control systems. They were all young—most of the RDF was—better suited to mastering unfamiliar alien technologies than old veterans bound to habit.
Lisa brushed her hair back and moved to her seat. "The ceremony begins in fifteen minutes. I hope the captain makes it on time—word is he slept poorly last night."
A mischievous smile flitted across Claudia's face. "Well, the officers' club held a farewell party. No doubt they spent the whole night bragging about their war stories—just like always."
Lisa forced back a playful grin. "And where were you last night, Claudia? Hmm?"
Claudia stiffened, deflecting the question. "What do you mean?"
"You didn't return to the dormitory until four in the morning. That says enough. You were at that party too."
Claudia lifted her chin with theatrical elegance. She was taller than Lisa, older by a few years, with short coffee-brown hair and an exotic charm.
"Jealous? I had dinner with Major Fokker late last night."
Lisa, who had intended only a harmless tease—thinking Claudia had spent the evening with family before leaving Earth—felt suddenly and irrationally affronted.
"Claudia Grant! You stayed out all night! Do you not realize you and Roy both have flight assignments today?"
Duty was everything to Lisa; she could not fathom treating such responsibilities lightly.
Nor was that her only reason. Claudia's romance with the handsome, gallant Roy Fokker cast an uncomfortable light on Lisa's own solitary life—not jealousy, but something far more confusing: a sudden, hollow ache, a flicker of doubt in principles she had never once questioned. Startled by it, she smothered the feeling beneath the strict discipline that had always kept her steady.
But Claudia flared up as well, hands on her hips. "So what? It won't affect the mission. We're adults—and you're not my mother!"
Lisa felt heat rising to her face. "Your duties are meant to come first, Claudia!"
Neither woman would yield. Claudia's patience snapped. Had she been any larger or fiercer, no one could have matched her—she had long since passed hand-to-hand combat training.
"My private life is my own concern!" Claudia snapped. Yet there was an unspoken message beneath her anger: You could stand to loosen up yourself, Lisa.
Calming herself, she gestured toward Lisa's console. "Now, shall we work? We have a job to do."
Lisa hesitated; retreat did not come naturally to her. Still simmering, she realized she had overstepped her authority. Vanessa spoke shyly, "Lisa doesn't understand men at all, Claudia. She's in love with the ship."
Claudia couldn't suppress a grin; Kim chimed in, "Exactly!"
The words stung Lisa deeply—she would sooner die than admit such nonsense. She knew the crew called her "Ice Queen" when the SDF-1 was nearing completion.
Yet outside regulations and routines, she had grown genuinely fond of the women she worked with, and Captain Gloval fostered a relaxed, almost paternal environment. Friendship flourished easily there.
Now, though, her face flushed scarlet with embarrassment and fury. "This isn't funny. Vanessa, we have more serious matters—"
Claudia, still bristling, cut her off. "Meaning I don't take the mission seriously?"
Sammie, barely twenty and the youngest on the bridge, could stand it no longer. "Oh, please stop fighting!" she cried.
Her distress softened the tension only slightly.
"I'm not the one prying into personal business," Claudia muttered.
Lisa refused to relent. "I warn you—" She had picked up that commanding tone from Gloval himself. But she stopped mid-threat as another sound rose over the argument.
Claudia, mischievous again, nodded toward Lisa's console. "Hate to interrupt, but you might want to check your monitor, Commander."
Lisa noticed the blinking signal at her station. She strode over, struggling to set aside the quarrel. Kim called out, "Unidentified aircraft approaching—coming straight at us, Lisa!"
Lisa checked the monitor: the craft was following its assigned approach vector and requesting landing clearance. The island's patrol fighters had not intercepted it—so it must be friendly.
She opened the comms, keeping her tone cool and steady. How she wished this day would unfold without incident, that the launch would be perfect. Why, she wondered, did no one else share her hunger for perfection? Was she doomed always to be the odd one out?
"Attention aircraft on vector 1-0-7," she said icily. "State your identity."
A young man's voice replied, "Rick Hunter reporting. I'm invited to today's ceremony—invitation code 2-0-3."
Weary of these petty tasks, Lisa nevertheless ran the verification. The SDF-1 was moments from launch, and here she was playing air-traffic controller.
Finally she answered, "Confirmed. Invitation issued by Major Fokker." Fokker. She avoided Claudia's eyes, steadying her voice. "Proceed to landing lane 5-7."
"Roger!" he answered cheerfully, and the signal cut off.
Everything ends up on my shoulders, Lisa thought bitterly. Babysitting half the sky—and now a Rick Hunter too.