Chapter 27

David gingerly pulled himself through the window-frame of the abandoned building, trying hard not to aggravate his damaged ribs any more than necessary. He wasn't entirely successful, however, and he hissed through clenched teeth in an attempt to compensate for the pain that lanced through him. He muttered a silent string of curses and pulled himself clear of the window - drifting slowly down to the glass-covered floor. He lay prostrate on the floor for several moments, willing the fire in his chest to die down, before climbing to his feet. 

Removing the flashlight from his belt, he flipped it on and surveyed the interior of the room. Countless tiny specks of dust gleamed in the beam as he swung the beam around. Upon closer inspection, the damage to the interior of the building wasn't nearly as bad as it had looked from the outside. There was broken glass everywhere, and nearly all of the furnishings in the room had been knocked over, but the airlock doors to the rest of the building were intact and the structure itself seemed stable. 

Then again, he reminded himself grimly, he wasn't an architecht in any sense of the word. The building could be on the verge of collapse and he'd never be able to tell - unless, of course, chunks of it started raining on his head. 

"David?" 

He almost jumped, but instead turned and glanced towards the window. Lauren wasn't there, of course, since she couldn't reach that high. "What is it, Lauren?" 

"Everything okay in there? You've been awful quiet." There was a note of concern in her voice. 

He nodded absently, even though she couldn't see him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just doing a little sight-seeing." 

"Well, I hope you're seeing some oxygen in there, or else we're up a creek." 

"I'm checking on that right now." he replied, walking over the to the green pressure cylinder hanging on the wall. "I'll get back to you in a minute." 

"You'd better." she muttered, the concern that David had noticed in her voice before now replaced with what he could only assume was resignation. 

David's thoughts turned towards the oxygen cylinder now before him. He wiped the dust off of the pressure guage, then sighed with relief - the guage indicated that there was still oxygen in the cylinder. Lifting the cylinder off of its bracket, David was struck by a troubling thought. Mars Base had been evacuated because of a threat by Anti-Unification Forces. What if they had sabotaged the equipment that they had been forced to leave behind? What if the guage on the cylinder was broken, and there was nothing inside? Or - taking into account the nature of the building - what if the cylinder had been filled with some biological agent of some sort? He pondered this for for several moments, rolling the metal-mesh hose from the cylinder between his fingers, the brass coupling on the end of the hose glimmering in the beam from his flashlight. 

"Ah, screw it." he growled, and removed the protective cap from his suit's inlet port. Slowly, deliberately, he threaded the coupling into the inlet port. Taking a deep breath, David proceeded to shut off his suit's air supply, then twisted the handle on the cylinder. The muted hiss of incoming air graced his ears as a chill puff of the stuff blew across his face, and he relaxed - slightly. Steeling himself, he exhaled, paused, and took a shallow breath of the new air. It was cold - damn cold - and there was a metallic tang to it. Still, it didn't gag him right off, so he inhaled deeply and held it - still no physical effects that would indicate any sort of fast-acting poison or oxygen deprivation. 

He released his breath and chuckled. "I think we're in luck." he spoke, knowing that Lauren was listening. 

"You sure?" She sounded both relieved and exhausted. 

He chuckled. "Best tasting air I've ever had the opportunity to breathe." 

"Well, I hope you don't plan on hogging it all for yourself." 

"Huh?" Then he realized - she was stuck outside. "OH! Of course not." He kicked at an overturned cup, raising a small cloud of dust, and turned towards the door. "I'm checking on the entrance now." He tapped on the keypad, even though he knew that there wasn't any source of power to operate the door. "No harm in wishing, I suppose." he mumbled quietly to himself. He glanced around and spotted a red wheel-type handle off to one side. "Lauren?" 

"What is it, David?" "I'm going to open the door now." He spared a glance back. "I've got to warn you - it's not the Waldorf Astoria or anything." 

"As long as there's a usable oxygen supply, I don't care about the rest, David. And there might be something in my survival pack to brighten the decor a bit." 

He smiled. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that." 

[Friday 12 Feb 12 2010 - Mars Base Bio-Research Lab 3, 1745 hours] 

"Ah, this air's wonderful!" Lauren sighed, patting the small cylinder that lay on the floor next to the chair she was sitting in. "How long will this tank last, David?" 

"What with the re-breather systems in the suit and all, about ten hours or so, I think." he replied without looking up from the technical manual he was paging through. "When they abandoned this base they took all their tech orders with them, including the ones that had the tables showing how long a typical air cylinder should last." He leaned back and stretched, gingerly feeling the left side of his chest. The patch he had applied earlier was holding, but the area felt swollen, and it was definitely sore. He couldn't be sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he had either bruised - or cracked - one or more of his ribs. <Just my luck.> 

He motioned over to the small stack of cylinders he had managed to scrounge from the various rooms of the building. "We have eleven cylinders, not including the ones we're using now. At roughly ten hours each, that gives us roughly three days of air. Maybe four if we stretch it." 

"I see." After a moment's hesitation, she continued. "And you're going to spend all that time reading a book?" 

He sighed and picked up the manual he had been examining. "I'm surprised they left this 'book' behind at all. Not that it does us much good. In order to use the oxygen reclaimation systems, you need to have power, which is something we don't have." 

She cocked her head to one side. "Don't they have a back-up system? Generators? Batteries? Solar cells?" 

"I thought about that. There might be a back-up generator around here somewhere, or maybe a battery bank - I'll have a look around after I finish reading through this thing." 

Lauren cocked her head. "But I thought you said..." 

"There might be something in here that might do us some good. And if I do find a functioning power supply, I want to know how to hook it up." He sighed. "I just wish we had a radio. Or a working beacon." 

"You know electronics, don't you? Can't you fix mine?" 

"Maybe I could, if I had the proper tools. Unfortunately, all my tools are on the Macross." He shrugged. "Not that I have many there, for that matter." 

"Oh." Lauren shifted in her seat. 

He silently berated himself. The last thing that either of them needed was to succumb to depression. He climbed to his feet, walked over to her, and wrapped his arms around her. "Don't worry, Lauren. We'll get out of this. I promise you that." 

David stood silently, arms crossed, his eyes wandering over the dust-shrouded generator unit. He took in every detail, including the fuel hoses - hoses that ran to the large fuel storage tank. A fuel tank, he noted disgustedly, that bore a large, gaping hole in its side. He didn't need to look to know that the fuel had long since evaporated away. So much for emergency power. 

[Friday, 12 Feb 2010 - Mars Base Bio-Research Lab 3, 1950 hours] 

He was laying on top of the Lab, staring up into the star-studded sky. It was impossible not to notice that a large number of the stars in the sky above him were in motion. "Alien warships. A LOT of alien warships." He shuddered. "I wonder how long the Macross will stay in orbit? They could be gone already, for all I know." 

He sat up. "Wait a minute. The main engines were disabled. Are disabled. And they need the main engines to get out of orbit. How long would it take to fix them?" He shook his head angrily. "How the hell should I know? I'm no engineer." He thought for a moment. "A couple of days, at least. I hope." 

His gaze returned to the darkening sky above. "It's still there. It HAS to be there. All I have to do is find a way to contact it." He nodded, once, to himself. "Lauren's beacon's damaged, but there might be another wrecked Valkyrie out there, one WITH a working beacon, or a functioning radio." He chuckled humorlessly. "Might be? We got our asses kicked out there. There has to be one out there. There has to." 

He climbed to his feet and brushed dust off of his legs, examining the emergency patches that dotted his suit as he did so. Unbidden, a small tidbit of information surfaced in his mind. Flight suits were only rated for 24 hours continuous exposure to vacuum before they began to lose integrity. 

48 hours in extreme low-pressure environments like Mars. 

[Friday 12 Feb 2010 - Mars Base Bio-Research Lab 3, 2005 hours] 

Lauren was rubbing her arms and hopping from foot to foot when David stepped through the half-open door. "What are you doing?" he asked. 

"It's getting cold in here!" she explained. "I'm trying to keep myself warm." 

David paused. That was something he hadn't considered - or even noticed. The flight suits had a layer of thermally-reflective material, which helped the pilots keep warm in case they had to eject in the midst of a space battle. But the suits would begin losing heat after extended exposure to sub-zero temperature, especially if the wearer wasn't moving around much. Yet another vital feature that decays over time. And - as he recalled from the briefings he had received before the battle - Mars got damned cold at night. "I see your point. Let's see if there's something in the survival pack." 

He rummaged through the contents of Lauren's survival pack for several minutes before coming up with a small, plastic-covered rectangular block labelled "Cover, thermal, 4 by 6." Not quite sure what it was he had found, David began peeling back the plastic, silently cursing military logistics personnel who couldn't label things in plain English. 

Lauren stepped up beside him. "What've you got there, David?" 

"I'll let you know in a minute." he replied, pulling off the last shred of plastic wrap. He carefully unwrapped the olive-drab block, revealing a roughly four foot by six foot blanket - one side of which was coated in a silvery material. He turned to Lauren and winked. "Care to join me under the sheet, ma'am?" 

"I'd love to." she chuckled - the first time since the battle. 

Ten minutes later Lauren was nestled in the crook of his arm and snoring lightly. David's thoughts were centered on what preparations he would have to make before he started his search the next day. He'd have to make sure he took enough air to last the entire trip, and he'd need to figure out how to find his way back to the Lab. And what would he find out there? What would he do if there was nothing to be found? 

He glanced down at Lauren's sleeping form. No - there HAD to be something out there. Something he could use to pull both their asses out of the mess they had found themselves in. He only hoped that the ship would stay in orbit long enough for him to find that something. He had to get back - they both did. There were so many people that would miss them. 

Turning his eyes toward the ceiling, David's eyes widened in shock. "Tamara!" he cursed. He had completely forgotten about his date with her - not that he was in any position to do anything about it. Still, she was going to be furious at him for standing her up. He chuckled. Here he was, stranded on the surface of a hostile world, with no certain way to save himself, and he was worried about Tamara being angry with him for standing her up. 

"Ah... she'll understand. At least, I HOPE she'll understand. At least, I hope she likes the flowers." He looked around. "After all, it's not like I did this on purpose, or anything." With a shuddering sigh, David banished those thoughts from his mind and closed his eyes, willing himself to get some rest. 

"Ah well, at least it can't get any worse." 

[Saturday 13 Feb 2010 - Mars Base Bio-Research Lab 3, 0620 hours] 

David groaned and slowly stretched his arms out above his head. He blinked wearily, attempted to rub the mist out of his eyes - and laughed softly when he realized that, with his helmet on, it was quite impossible. Then he realized that Lauren was no longer lying beside him. "Lauren? Lauren, where are you?" 

"I'm outside, David. Glad to see you're finally awake." 

He glanced at the digital clock stapped to his wrist. "Finally awake? Hell, it's only 0630. I could go for another four hours or so." 

"Maybe you could, but you should probably change your oh-two tank before you try." 

"Wha...?" He glanced at the guage on his oxygen cylinder. It was down to 1/8 full. "Ah... I see. Oh well, early to bed, early to rise." He climbed to his feet and began working the knots out of his legs and back. "God, what I wouldn't give for a decent waterbed, or at least a hammock." 

"Beggars can't be choosers, David." Lauren chided, hobbling through the doorway on a make-shift crutch. 

David noticed the implement and whistled. "Where'd you get that contraption?" 

Lauren waved towards a pile of broken office furniture. "Bits and pieces, with an ample supply of duct tape." 

He nodded approvingly. "Damned fine work. At least you'll be able to get around while I'm gone." 

Lauren spun around sharply, almost losing her balance in the process. "Gone? What do you mean 'while you're gone'?" 

He held up both hands in what he hoped was a calming manner. "Whoa! Calm down, girl! I have to go out and see if I can find anything that I can contact the SDF-1 with. A radio, a beacon, anything." 

"There's no other way?" 

He shook his head. "Not unless you can come up with one?" 

She was silent a moment. "No." she admitted. 

"Then it's decided. I'll take one fresh cylinder with me, along with the flare pisol." 

She took a step closer. "How long will you be gone?" 

He shrugged. "Dunno. Depends on what I find. But," he patted the cylinder beside him "It won't be longer than 10 hours, I would think." 

[Saturday 13 Feb 2010 - Mars Base Bio-Research Lab 3, 0650 hours] 

David stood just outside the door to the lab building, his gaze drifting along the horizon, which was still lightly tinted with a reddish haze. <Such a beautiful landscape. Pity I can't stand around and enjoy it.> He blinked and looked down, checking his supplies for the tenthtime. "Compass, flare pistol, air cylinder," this last duct-taped onto two pieces of thin metal tubing that David had found and bent so that they hooked over his shoulders, "and suit patches. Should be enough." He straightened. "Lauren, I'm ready to go." 

Lauren stepped up beside him. "David, I want you to take this." 

"Hmmm?" He murmured, turning towards her. She was holding out a service handgun. "What's... where the heck did you come up with that?" 

"It was in the survival kit. You left it behind.. please take it. I know it sounds silly," she looked around sheepishly, "But it gives me a sense of security to know you're armed." She pressed it into his hands. "Please, take it." 

He almost refused - such a small weapon would be useless against the giant aliens. Instead, he nodded and strapped the weapon around his waist. "Here's hoping I won't need it." 

She dropped her eyes. "David, you be sure to come back here, okay?" She glanced back up, staring into his eyes. 

"I will." 

They gazed at each other for a minute or so, then - without a word - she hobbled back into the building. David nodded once, slowly, then turned and began walking south, towards the ruins of Mars Base Sara. 

[Saturday 13 Feb 2010 - Somewhere north of Mars Base, 0815 hours] 

His injured ribs were on fire. The support rig for the oxygen cylinder - which he had been so proud of no more than two hours before - was now digging painfully into his shoulders. The grumbling from his stomach sounded like muffled thunder. His mouth was dry, his lips chapped. And he was cold - not teeth-chatterinly so, but enough to make his movements stiffer than normal. 

He did his best to ignore these problems, concentrating on the muted sound of his footsteps as he shuffled his way across the Martian soil - which was more like loosely-packed dust and sand than anything else. A small plume of reddish dust streched away behind him, blown to wispy shreds by a light breeze. He hoped that the plume wasn't too noticeable, or else an alien patrol might spot him, ending his trip then and there. 

He knew the aliens were there - five times he had seen their gleaming white pods off in the distance, moving along the horizon. Two times they had come closer - forcing him to quickly dig himself a small trench to hide in. Both times the aliens had turned away long before they reached him. Still, his imitation of a gopher had had an unexpected benefit - he was now covered, head to toe, in red Martian dust, which made it easier to blend into the terrain. He hoped. 

Hiking the cylinder a bit higher onto his back, David continued on. 

[Saturday 13 Feb 2010 - Somewhere north of Mars Base, 0905 hours] 

David cautiously approached the dust-covered wreckage of a Tommahawk. The destroid was lying on its left side, its right arm cannon pointed upwards in a silent gesture of defiance. As he edged closer, David couldn't help but notice a large, blackened hole marking the spot where the cockpit should be. It seemed to be the only major damage the destroid had sustained, but it was enough. Standing in the shadow of the defeated mecha, David couldn't help but wonder who the pilot had been. David looked for the name plate, but it had apparently been blasted away by the same shot that had killed the pilot. He shook his head slowly. Another nameless casualty. 

He hadn't come out here to mourn fallen comrades, however, and David began climbing over the fallen Tommahawk's corpse. Fortunately, the mecha's lying position brought the shattered cockpit close to the ground, and David didn't have too hard of a time reaching it. As he clambered over the mecha, he nervously scanned the horizon and the sky above. The last thing he needed now was to have a curious alien stop by to see who was poking around the battle site. 

Climbing up level with the remains of the cockpit, David peered into the hole. A similar - but slightly larger - hole had been punched out the back of the destroid, and he cursed at what remained of the cockpit. Everything was gone - everything. it looked like someone had taken a massive blowtorch and burned a path through the middle of the mecha. Nothing remained of any of the instruments but blackened wires and sub-components. Of the command seat - and the pilot it had once held - there was nothing but a twisted stump of metal that had once been the seat's mounting point. 

He poked around for several more minutes, but there was nothing salvageable to be found. As he clambered out of the cockpit, his thoughts were fifty miles away, high in orbit about the planet. <I'm gonna get back. I swear it. Somehow, I'm gonna get back.> 

[Saturday 13 Feb 2010 - Somewhere north of Mars Base, 1115 hours] 

He was kneeling on the ground, massaging his aching shoulders as he caught his breath. He had removed the make-shift backpack that held the oxygen cylinder, and now checked the guage. It read a little more than 1/2 full - and David cursed. He had come so far, and hadn't found anything but a wrecked destroid, several smashed pods and the rear half of a Cat's Eye recon plane. 

Growling angrily, he drove a fist into the ground. "Dammit! All this way for nothing! Damn!" He drove a fist into the ground to punctuate each exclaimation. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" Movement off to his left caught his attention, and he whipped his head around. "What the...?" He squinted, then gasped. A small flock of white objects were bearing down on him - objects he recognized instantly. "Battle pods! Oh, hell!" 

He looked around wildly, but there was no appreciable cover anywhere close by - just a small crater. Cursing, David heaved himself to his feet, scooped up the cylinder, and sprinted for the crater. He reached it quickly, spared a glance up - the aliens were no more than three kilometers away now - and jumped in. It was barely waist-deep. And not much wider. "DAMN!!" David screamed, now on the verge of panic. There was nowhere else he could reach before the aliens would be upon him. 

He hesitated the briefest of moments before dropping down into the hole. He scrunched himself down, knees nearly up to his chin, legs crushing against his chest - bringing tears of pain to his eyes as his ribs exploded in pain. His head still stuck partially out of the hole, but he was in as deep as he could go. He reached out and pulled the oxygen cylinder over and unceremoniously pulled it over his head, then pulled his arms in as close as he could get them. He wasn't sure what he looked like from outside, but he prayed that with the cylinder on top he looked enough like some discarded debris that the aliens wouldn't look too closely. 

The ground began to shake. 

They were getting close. <Some kind of mess you've gotten yourself into now, David. Just like always.> His thoughts turned morbid, and he began to wonder if he'd ever have a chance to apologize to Tamara in person. A chance to apologize for being such a jerk in the past. And what about Sarah? Would he ever see her again? Or Vanessa. Or Commander Landers. Or anyone else, for that matter - even Lieutenant Fate. 

The shaking intensified. David didn't dare move his head to see where the aliens were now. 

Izabelle Fate... what was it about her that made him so suspicious of her? The fact that she looked so much like Christina Leeds? No, it was more than that, he realized. It was Vanessa that had drawn him into the situation. So eager to try and win her favor, he had rushed blindly into a situation and had aggravated things more than he had helped them - such as he had with Tamara. Perhaps a different tact - a different approach would be better. Perhaps- 

A gigantic metallic foot smashed down no more than twenty meters in front of David's hiding place, shattering his train of thought and causing part of the hole to collapse around him. He held his breath as the foot lifted up and disappeared from view, only to be replaced by four others, then two more. The impacts were so violent that he was sure that they were shaking his teeth loose. 

He was shaking violently - both from the impact of the pods' massive feet and his own terror - and was silently wishing he was somewhere else when one of the pods slowed, then stopped, no more than ten meters away. David waited for it to move on, but it didn't. Instead, it shifted it's weight and turned. Trying to swallow, David titled his head slightly, just enough to glimpse to entirety of the alien pod. It was standing there, unmoving. The cyclopean "eye" of the thing clearly visible. It seemed to be staring right at him. 

Forward to Chapter 28. 
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