e。
He turned his attention now to the one item that was likely to rescue him from edible plants or privation： the Cyclone vehicle stored away in the fighter's small cargo partment。 A well…concealed sensor panel in the fuselage gave him access to this； and in a moment he was lifting the self…contained Cyclone free of the cargo hold。 In its present collapsed state the would…be two…wheeled transport was no larger than a foot locker； but reconfigured it was equivalent to a 1；000…cc twentieth…century motorcycle。 Which in fact it was； after a fashion。
Originally one of Robotechnology's first creations； it had undergone some radical modifications under Lang's SDF…3 teams。 The Expeditionary Force had e to rely upon the vehicle as much as it had on the Veritech fighters； even though its design was still a basic one： a hybrid piston and Protoculture…powered transformable motorcycle that was a far cry from the Hovercycles developed on Earth during the same time period。 Unlike that Southern Cross marvel； the Cyclone required the full interaction of its pilot； whose 〃thinking cap〃 and specially designed armor were essential to the functioning of the vehicle's Protoculture…based mechamorphic systems。 In addition； it was light enough to carry； and wondrously fuel…efficient。
Scott carried the Cyclone several feet from the fighter and set about reconfiguring it； which entailed little more than flipping the appropriate switches。 That much acplished； he transferred his survival gear to the cycle's rear deck and began to struggle into the mecha's modular battle armor…not unlike the shoulder pads； hip harnesses； and leg and forearm protectors worn by turn…of…the…century athletes； except for the fact that the armor had been fashioned from lightweight alloys。
Scott was wearing Marlene's holo…heart around his neck now and gave a last look at it before snapping the armor's pectorals in place。 It's time； my love； he said to the heart。
Again he told himself to concentrate on the mission。 He recalled mander Gardner's words： If only one of you survive the invasion； you must locate the Invid Reflex Point and destroy it along with their queen； the Regis。 Scott had no idea how many people from Mars Division had survived atmospheric entry； but it was unlikely that any of them had touched down near his crash site。 He had been so caught up in the destruction of the mand ship that he had failed to lock the proper coordinates into the VT's autopilot。 As a consequence； the mecha had surely delivered him far from any of the dozen preassigned rendezvous points and who knew how far from the Reflex Point itself。 The stars told Scott that he had e down somewhere in the southern hemisphere； which put thousands of miles between him and the Regis if he was lucky； oceans between them if not。 In any case； north was the direction of choice。
Scott donned his helmet and mounted the Cyclone。 A thumb switch brought the mecha to life； he found his confidence somewhat restored by the throaty； synchronous firing of the cycle's systems。
Now let's get on with evening the score with the Regis and her Invid horde； Scott said to himself as he set off。
The worst thing about being a lone survivor were the memories that survived with you； Scott decided。 If only one could erase them； switch them off somehow。 But Scott knew that he couldn't； the people one loved were more frightening ghosts than anything imagination could conjure up。 And they couldn't be outrun。。。
Less than an hour from his crash site； Scott was surprised to find himself on what appeared to be a trail or an ancient roadway lined with trees。 But an even greater shock awaited him over the rise： a veritable desert at the foot of the wooded foothills that witnessed his crash； stretching out toward distant barren mountains。 Scott slid the Cyclone to a halt and stared homesick at the sight。
Who said there were no Fantoma landscapes on Earth？
Scott had never heard Wolff； Edwards； or any of the old…timers brag about this。 It was almost as vast as Spheris！
Now reassured as well as renewed； Scott twisted the Cyclone's throttle and streaked down into the wastes。
Elsewhere in the wastes rode a survivor of a different campaign； but his cycle was of a different sort； （twenty years old if it was a day； and running desperately short of fuel pellets）。
A clear…eyed； short； sinewy teenager with a shaggy mop of red hair and an unwashed look about him…both by necessity and by design…he called himself Rand； his inherited names long abandoned。 He was born about the time the SDF…3 had been launched from Little Luna； and he had seen the rise and fall of Chairman Moran's government； the invasion of the Robotech Masters； and humankind's subsequent regression to barbarism； a turn of events that had culminated with the arrival of the Invid and their easily won conquest。
Just now Rand was doing what he did best： keeping himself alive。 His old bike was closing in on the object he had seen plummet from the night sky two days ago； something too slow and controlled to have been a meteor； too massive for an Alpha。 He had made up his mind to track its fall； abandoning his earlier plans to try for Laako City in the hopes of beating other Spotters； Foragers； and assorted rogues to the find。
Rand relaxed his wrist and let the bike e to a slow stop a good kilometer from the impact point。 He threw back the hood of his shirt and slid his goggles up onto his forehead。 The ship was even larger than he had guessed； like some great bird with enormous hexagonally shaped cargo pods strapped to the undersides of its wings。 It was still glowing in places but obviously had been cooled by the rains that had drenched the irradiated wastes during the night。 Rand cautiously resumed his forward motion； pleting a circle around the thing at the same safe distance。 There were no tracks or footprints in the still…moist sands； which meant that no one had left or entered the wreck during the past twelve hours or so。
He cycled through a second； tighter circle and headed in； convinced that he was first to arrive on the scene。 Approaching the ship now； he could discern numbers and letters stenciled on the fuselage…M_R_DIV_I …but could make no sense of the whole…where it had e from or why。
The wreck had the stench of recent death written all over it。 He wasn't in the least looking forward to walking into cargo bays wallpapered with Human remains； but he was just going to have to shut his eyes to that part of it。 There had to be something he could use； weapons or foodstuffs。
He began to circle the ship on foot now； searching for some way to get inside。 The nose was throwing off so much heat there was no getting near it； but the rear hatch of one of the cargo carriers had sprung open on impact； and the place seemed cool enough to enter。
Rand threw himself atop the twisted wreck of the hatch and started in。 The interior was dark and uninviting； and it smelled like hell。 He knew he wasn't going to get very far； but not fifty feet into the thing…after whacking his head on a low threshold and falling flat on his face in the dark…he found more than enough to satisfy him： a bin of ten Robotech cycles。
He lifted one up and out of its rack and bent down to look it over。 It was Robotech； all right； probably one of the Cyclone type the military had used before the development of the Hovercrafts。 Rand had heard about them but never thought he would live to see one…let alone ride one！
Straddling the mecha now； he depressed the ignition switch； fingers of his left hand crossed for luck。 The Cyclone fired； purring like a kitten； after a goose or two of the throttle。
〃Awwriight！〃 Rand shouted。
He flicked on the headlight； screeched the Cyclone through a 360； and tore back toward the doorway； launching himself into the desert air from the sprung hatchway。 He hit the sand and twisted the cycle to a halt； exhilarated from his short flight。
Then he noticed something else in flight： a three…unit Invid scouting party ing fast over a ridge of low hills to the west。 Rand cursed himself for not figuring them into the picture； they； too； must have been aware of the transport's crash。 And as always； their timing was impeccable。 Even so； Rand was thankful that they were only Scouts and not Shock Troopers。 In fact there was a good chance that the Cyclone would be able to outrun them…at least as far as the forest。
The three Scouts put down next to the downed ship； positioning themselves to prevent Rand's escape； the cloven foot of one them flattening the old cycle that had seen him through so much。
〃I sure hope your insurance is paid up； pal！〃 Rand yelled at the Scout。
They were twenty…foot…tall bipedal creatures with articulated armored legs and massive pincer arms； there was no actual head； but raised egg…shaped protrusions atop their inverted triangular torsos were suggestive of eyes； while what looked to be a red…rimmed lipless mouth concealed a single sensor lens。 Rand had seen brown ones and purple ones…these three were of the latter category…and more than anything they reminded him of two…legged land crabs。 The Scouts were just that and were weaponless； except if one counted their innate repulsiveness。 However； they could inflict serious da