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Thousands　of　miles　distant；　the　fey；　aged　crew　of　a　second　ship　monitored　the　sphere　ship's　protracted　plunge　into　the　black　hole　and　the　subsequent　departure　of　the　Ark　Angel。　They　then　turned　their　attention　to　the　reconfigured　Haydon　IV　and　waited。


PART　III

AWAKENINGS

CHAPTER　TWENTY…TWO

Survival　recognizes　and　rewards　anything　that　sustains　life；　and　here　was　undeniable　proof　of　that。　No　matter　how　noxious　its　central　characteristic；　it　proved　itself　to　have　a　stark　value　in　what　the　Earthers　call　Darwinian　terms…even　a　functional　formidability。
The　Scribe　Triumvirate　of　Aholt；　Ulla；　and　Tussas；　Nothing　but　Animus：　A　History　of　the　Robotech　Elders

Death；　their　tireless　enemy；　had　them　cornered　at　last。

It　had　pursued　them　for　an　age；　ever　since　they'd　cast　off　the　bonds　of　a　mortal　life　span　and　received　unholy　munion　with　the　Protoculture　a　naive　Zor　had　fetched　home　to　them　from　the　stars。　Death　was　the　inevitable　dark　side　of　nthe　bid　they　made；　immediately；　for　eternal　life。　Not　just　longevity　but　immortality；　anything　less…prolonged　years　in　dread　of　the　end…was　nothing　but　a　unique　torment。

For　the　Robotech　Elders；　death　had　bee　the　greatest　of　fears；　in　some　ways　a　Singularity　of　fear。

Watching　the　sphere　ship　plunge　into　Ranaath's　Star；　somehow　surving　the　deadly　swirl　of　the　accretion　disc；　the　utter　anihilation　of　the　event　horizon；　the　Robotech　Elders　had　shuddered　at　the　risk　its　passengers　and　crew　were　running。　Foolish　little　subcreatures；　so　reckless　with　their　brief　lives！　

The　Elders　sat　despondent；　even　their　mindspeech　silent；　in　their　habitual　circle。　They　arranged　themselves　in　their　triumvirate　from　habit…from　reflex；　by　now。　Between　them　was　their　darkened　Protoculture　cap；　a　mushroomlike　console　of　instrumentality　ten　feet　across；　a　hateful　mockery　of　its　former　glorious　self。

Once　it　had　bent　worlds　to　their　will。　In　the　years　since　the　Elders　had　fled　Tirol…upon　the　arrival　of　the　SDF…3…it　had　kept　them　alive；　barely；　through　its　residue　of　power。　With　the　disappearance　of　all　Protoculture　in　the　Elevation　of　the　Invid　race；　the　cap　had　died；　bee　nothing　more　than　a　burnt…out　artifact。

Their　ship　was　a　small　prototype　a　Scientist　triumvirate　had　been　working　on　when　the　Invid　onslaught　had　finally　reached　Tirol。　The　vessel　was　considerably　smaller　than　the　assault　ships　that　had　once　carried　the　Robotech　Masters'　colossal　Bioroids　into　bat；　smaller　than　the　tri…thrusters　their　Zentraedi　giants　had　flown　in　battle　in　an　age　now　vanished　forever。

They　had　languished　in　it　for　years　with　little　to　behold　but　one　another；　each　ing　to　hate　the　others　and　yet　incapable　of　surviving　without　them。

Some　of　the　craft's　systems　had　been　altered　over　the　intervening　years　to　run　on　more　conventional　power　sources。　Thus；　it　could　still　provide　life　support　and　had　marginal　maneuvering　capability。　But　nothing　could　power　the　cap　except　Protoculture　itself；　after　all　this　time　the　Elders　were　looking　death　in　the　face　as　they　never　had　since　that　first；　transmogrifying　taste　of　the　Essence　of　the　Flower　of　Life；　so　long　ago。

The　SDF…3　had　first　shown　up　near　Tirol　to　establish　contact　with　them；　to　seek　a　peace；　but　the　Elders　had　never　really　considered　that　idea　seriously；　they　had　presumed　it　was　their　onetime　Zentraedi　slave…warriors　e　home　for　final　vengeance。　Besides；　when　SDF…3　unfolded；　the　moon　of　Fantoma　was　already　under　genocidal　attack　by　the　forces　of　the　Invid　Regent。

Terrified　as　they　were　of　abandoning　their　seat　of　power；　lust　as　they　might　for　the　Protoculture　the　warring　armies　carried；　the　Elders　had　fled。　There　was　too　great　a　risk　of　death　on　Tirol；　and　their　fear　of　oblivion　outweighed　any　other　impulse。

Learning　the　REF's　true　intentions；　the　Elders　still　shrank　from　any　contact。　Masters　of　deceit　and　treachery；　they　were　incapable　of　trusting　anyone　else。

Their　little　prototype　ship；　with　its　superluminal　drive；　had　made　a　few　planetfalls　over　the　years　（since　the　Elders　dared　not　show　their　faces　near　any　of　the　advanced　Local　Group　worlds　they　had　once　ground　under　their　heel；　of　course）。　There　were　species　sufficiently　organized　and　domitable　to　be　of　some　minor　help…retrofitting　the　craft　under　the　Elders'　supervision；　installing　conventional　power　systems　to　minimize　the　drain　on　their　Protoculture　supply。

But　the　very　act　of　dominating　a　population　used　up　Protoculture　at　an　agonizing　rate；　and　the　Elders　feared　detection　by　their　former　subjects；　who　were　sallying　out　among　the　stars　on　their　own。　More　than　anything；　however；　the　last　Robotech　Masters　lusted　for　a　return　to　their　former　power。

For　that；　they　needed　clones；　warriors；　the　irresistible　power　of　Robotechnology；　but　above　all；　they　needed　the　secrets　that　had　died　with　Zor。　So　they　took　to　space　again；　feeding　on　bitterness　and　resentment　of　the　universe。　They　were　the　unseen　watchers　of　the　Sentinels'　struggles　against　the　Invid；　the　hidden　monitors　of　the　conflict　that　had　nearly　consumed　the　Local　Group　like　a　black　hole。

They　looked　for　their　advantage　at　every　turn；　but　events　defied　them。　Then　the　Invid　transubstantiation　swept　away　their　last　hoarded　reserve　of　Protoculture　like　a　whirlwind。　Growing　weaker；　sickened　like　addicts　gone　cold　turkey；　they　seemed　wraithlike　themselves。　The　Elders　clung　to　life　single　mindedly；　feeding　on　their　own　rapacity…the　stark　craving　to　rule。　They　became　their　own　worst　tormentors。

Finally；　as　they　spied　on　the　drama　played　out　around　Haydon　IV　and　Ranaath's　Star；　they　felt　the　last　of　their　life　forces　ebbing。

They　had　no　idea　how　the　planet　had　assumed　its　shape；　or　kept　it；　without　the　forces　of　gravity　deforming　and　distorting。　The　very　idea　of　two　half　spheres　the　size　of　the　opened　Haydon　IV　was　untenable　by　any　physics　the　Elders　knew。

But　that　was　something　for　the　lower　orders…Scientist　triumvirates　and　the　like…to　wonder　about。　The　task　of　Masters　was　to　rule。

Nimuul；　the　First　among　them；　could　barely　lift　his　chin　from　his　breast　as　he　sat　sprawled　in　his　thronelike　chair。　Still；　when　he　managed…to　bring　his　head　up　a　bit；　his　face　wore　the　furious；　blazing　glare　that　was　the　Elders'　only　expression。　It　was　an　ax…keen；　hawk…nosed　face　with　sharp；　angular　cheekbones　under　which　were　scarlike　creases　of　skin　suggestive　of　tribal　scars。　His　pate　was　bare；　but　fine；　straight　blue　hair　growing　from　the　sides　and　back　of　his　head　fell　to　his　shoulders。

Nimuul's　fight　to　shape　words　was　even　harder　than　his　effort　to　raise　his　head；　but　he　chose　the　spoken　word　over　thought…speech　because　only　a　trickle　of　their　mental　power　remained。　〃We　。　。　。　must　。　。　。　reveal　ourselves。　To　the　。　。　。　Awareness。〃

Hepsis；　of　the　silver　hair；　stirred　on　his　high…backed　chair。　His　nailless；　gracile　fingers　trembled　feebly　on　its　arm。　But　after　a　grunt　he；　too；　brought　forth　sound。　〃No！　The　。　。　。　risk　。　。　。〃

The　third；　Fallagar；　was　the　most　weakened　by　the　prolonged　ordeal。　It　seemed　he　could　feel　death　before　him；　ready　to　blow　his　mind　and　personality　away　to　nonexistence　like　a　puff　of　dust。　His　terror　gave　him　the　strength　to　shape　words　aloud。　〃Our　last　chance。〃

He　radiated　waves　of　impotent　rage　and　fear　that　even　a　nonsensitive　could　have　felt。　There　was　no　telling　what　the　Awareness　of　the　planet　would　do　in　its　battered；　virus…altered　state　once　they　dropped　their　mental　shields　and　revealed　their　presence…supposing　that　they　could　rouse　it　from　its　slumber。　But　there　were　no　other　options。

They　were　agreed。　They　dropped　their　shields　warily；　each　making　sure　neither　of　the　others　betrayed　him；　left　him　exposed　while　ducking　back　behind　psi…cover。　With　a　heightened　sense；　they　perceived　the　Awareness；　hanging　not　far　off　in　space；　as　a　cold　moonlet　of　mental　energy。

Even　at　the　zenith　of　their　power　the　Elders　had　forborne　to　probe　or　seek　to　alter　the　Awareness　of　Haydon　IV。　They　were　averse　to　risk　to　themselves；　the　Awareness　was　tractable　and　presented　no　apparent　threat。　But　always；　in　the　recesses　of　their　inner　thought；　Nimuul；　Hepsis；　and　Fallagar　had　harbored　misgivings　about　the　titanic　mindforce　residing　in　the　core　of　the　artificial　planet。　Certainly　it　had　no　reason　to　take　pity　on　them；　quite　the　reverse。

But　Nimuul　managed；　〃Let　me　。　。　。　speak　for　us。〃　Where　once　it　had　shone　forth　like　a　nova；　the　triumvirate　mental　force　of　the　Elders　was　a　wan　beam；　like　a　ray　from　a　dim　nebula。　But　it　carried　Nimuul's　message：　We　are　the　last　of　the　Robotech　Masters。　We　can　lead　you　to　new　Protoculture！

With　that；　all　three　slumped；　spent；　in　their　chairs。　Their　breathing　slowed；　began　rattling。

But　within　Haydon　IV；　something　quickened。

The　message　activated　a　deeply　nested　subroutine；　which　enabled　a　function　that　had　been　totally　inert；　and　so　was　missed；　during　Louie　Nichols's　epic　cyber…burn。　Mechamorphosis　had　always　been　a　cardinal　trait　of　Robotechnology；　a　reflection　of　Protoculture。

Cyber…systems　could　mechamorphose；　too。

Deep　in　Haydon　IV；　new　data　highways　shifted　into　existence；　circumventing　the　blockages　on　the　old。　What　pure　information　had　done；　physical　change　undid；　at　least　in　part。　New　topographic　features…mountainous　ones…grew　out　of　reshuffled　ponents。

The　Awareness　roused　itself；　took　stock　of　the　situation；　acted。　Control　and　other　systems　on　the　Elders'　ship　came　to　full　available　power。　Its　attitude　thrusters　fired；　and　it　began　a　full…boost　approach　to　Haydon　IV　even　while　its　three　oc璫upants　felt　life　slipping　away。

The　planet　shifted　massively　as　the　Awareness　ignored　all　the　frightened　queries　from　its　inhabitants。　The　surviving　Haydonites　drew　back；　afraid　to　interfere。

Even　as　the　ship　closed　on　Haydon　IV；　a　Brobdingnagian　alloy　tentacle　took　shape　out　of　shifting　machinery　to　emerge　from　one　of　the　shot…up　factory　tubes。　The　Awareness　guided　the　ship　into　the　grasp　of　a　specially　fashioned　claw。　It　was　enfolded；　and　the　enclosure　was　pressurized。

The　lock　cycled　open　in　response　to　the　Awareness's　unspoken　mand。　Remote　units　swarmed　in　around　the　Elders；　propping　them　up　on　their　thrones；　inserting　tubes；　sensors；　actuators。　In　seconds　the　Elders　were　encased　in　life　support　systems；　their　vital　signs　increasing。

The　Awareness　saw　at　once　that　the　triumvirate　could　not　be　kept　alive　that　way　for　very　long。　It　stepped　up　its　efforts　to　revive　them。

From　a　hidden　storage　nook　deep；　deep　in　its　internal　reaches；　the　planet　fetched　forth　a　half　dozen　or　so　eggplant　purple　cylinders；　round…bottomed　and　quiveringly　gelid。　They　were　the　last　of　the　particular　manifestation　of　the　fruit　of　the　Flower　of　Life　that　the　Invid　Regent　had　grown　in　his　hive　on　Haydon　IV。　That　had　been　back　during　his　occupation　of　the　planet…before　the　Sentinels　had　unseated　him　in　a　cataclysmic　battle…and　now　these　few　specimens　were　all　that　remained。

There　was　no　Protoculture　in　them　as　such；　true；　but　there　was　some　vestige　of　the　Flower's　essence　and　substances　akin　to　the　ones　on　which　the　Elders　fed。　In　moments；　fluids　drawn　from　the　fruit　were　flowing　into　the　bodies　of　the　three。

They　began　to　regain　consciousness。　The　Awareness　knew　that　this　emergency　measure　would　not　sustain　them　for　long；　it　introduced　stimulants；　heedless　of　the　shock　to　their　systems；　and　waited…anxiously…for　some　sign　of　life。

Nimuul's　eyes　blinked　open。　He　did　not　feel　well…indeed；　he　felt　a　bizarre　disorientation…but　he　knew　death　had　retreated；　at　least　for　the　moment。　He　saw　at　once　what　had　happened。

I　will　not　deal　with　you；　Nimuul　mind…spoke　to　the　Awareness。　I　will　bargain　with　your　master　only。

By　then　Hepsis　and　Fallagar　were　awake；　too；　and　the　triumvirate　integrated　itself　once　more；　still　weak　but　less　so　than　it　had　been　in　a　long　time。

We　will　speak　only　with　Haydon。

There　was　a　moment　of　utter　silence　all　around　them；　through　the　ship　and　the　life　support　systemry；　in　the　air；　and　seemingly　through　the　artificial　planet　itself。　Then　the　Elders　felt　vibrations…physical；　psychic；　extradimensional…and　Haydon　IV　began　to　move　again。

The　Haydonites　saw；　heard；　and　sensed　the　changes　all　around　them。　They　began　to　assemble　in　designated　places　and　make　ready　in　answer　to　the　instructions　of　the　Awareness。　The　planet　shifted　and　reconformed　in　its　most　important　mechamorphosis。

The　Elders；　encased　on　their　thrones；　found　themselves　no　longer　in　their　ship；　it　had　been　dismantled　around　them。　The　Protoculture　cap　was　whisked　away；　straight　up　into　the　air；　by　some　outsize　waldo　apparatus　they　glimpsed　only　for　an　instant。

The　thrones　were　set　in　a　line；　facing　the　same　way；　on　a　circular　platform　containing　the　equipment　that　ran　and　controlled　their　life　support。　That　disc　sat　in　turn；　now；　in　the　middle　of　one　of　the　Haydonite　transport　devices梬hat　the　humans　had　dubbed　〃flying　carpets。〃

The　claw　must　have　drawn　them　back　to　the　surface　of　Haydon　IV　itself。　At　least　they　found　themselves　atop　a　high　tower；　seemingly　a　mile　and　more　in　the　air。　How　the　planet　retained　its　atmosphere　and　kept　from　freezing；　they　did　not　know。　Below　them　the　landscape　heaved　and　crept；　glittered　and　digested　itself。

The　carpet　lifted　off　the　tower　and　flew　out　over　mecha…morphosing　terrain。　The　Elders；　hair　whipping　in　the　wind；　were　held　immobile　by　the　life　supports　grappled　in　place。　They　could　see　other　carpets；　huge　ones　laden　with　thousands　of　Haydonites；　converging。

Beams　of　light　began　to　break　from　cracks　in　Haydon　IV's　surface；　as　if　the　Robotech　landscape　were　a　cracking　coat　of　paint　on　a　light　bulb。　There　were　deep　reverberations　from　the　planet's　core。　For　the　first　time　since　their　transmogrification　to　Elders；　the　three　knew　another　emotion　besides　anger；　fear；　and　the　lust　to　conquer　and　rule。　Even　in　them；　spirits　hollowed　by　centuries　of　slavery　to　the　Protoculture；　mere　was　awe　at　the　magnitude　of　what　was　taking　place　below。

Something　climbed　into　prominence　on　the　horizon　immense　even　at　that　distance　and　altitude。　It　had　a　curve　to　it；　suggesting　a　cyclopean　dome　even　bigger　than　the　hives　of　the　Invid。　But　the　curve　swept　in；　too；　as　if　it　were　a　sphere。

There　were　more　flying　carpets；　the　whole　of　the　remaining　Haydonite　race　ing　together　to　watch　their　world　carry　out　the　purpose　for　which　it　had　been　given　form　so　long　ago。　The　Elders'　carpet　went　into　a　descent；　angling　down　toward　the　curve　in　the　planet's　surface。

It　was　not　a　dome　but　rather　the　open　end　of　a　curved；　circular　tube；　as　if　an　unimaginable　horn　of　plenty　had　wound　its　way　up　from　the　heart　of　the　world。　There　was　an　impenetrable　darkness　within　it。

The　Elders'　carpet　continued　to　descend　while　the　carpets　of　the　Haydonites　ranked　themselves　in　rows　all　around　the　gargantuan　aperture　below　like　angels　assembling　for　a　heavenly　choir。　The　Elders　strained　against　their　confinement　uselessly；　then　gave　it　up。

Their　carpet　was　the　only　one　to　descend　to　the　surface　of　the　planet。　It　came　to　a　stop　before　the　yawning　opening；　but　there　was　no　telling　how　far；　the　scale　of　things　threw　off　any　normal　sense　of　perspective。

A　long　silent　moment　went　by；　except　for　the　wind　fluttering　the　Robotech　Masters'　hair。　Then；　at　the　same　instant；　a　light　appeared　far　down　the　conduit　from　some　source　beyond　its　curve；　and　the　Haydonites　took　up　a　single　piercing；　tentative