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back at once, by using an infighting trick; she didn't.
Nova shook herself loose of the paralysis, the realization that she
couldn't fire at these people, that her oath conflicted with the ideals it was
supposed to uphold.
She looked to Zor. "But-isn't she one of the clones? Zor, they did such
terrible things to you-"
Zor was shaking his head, the lavender curls swaying. "She is a Muse,
the very soul of harmony. She is vital to the Robotech Masters, however.
Look!"
Nova and the others followed Zor's pointing finger. They were watching
the great mass of the Flowers of Life, hearing the tonalities from the Matrix
that were so like the Muse's songs. "From the Protoculture all life flows.
Once the clones have been quickened, it is the playing of Musica and her
sisters that keeps them docile and obedient. That tells them, in effect, who
they are."
"And now, she's learning to play the songs of Humankind," Louie Nichols
said quietly, the words forming a core of argument there at the very center of
Nova's decision. There was too much happening for her to consider the fact
that it was an amazingly profound thing for such a mechie-as she had always
thought of him and his ilk-to put forth.
And if Fredericks and Leonard and the UEG got their hands on Musica?
They would pull her every which way like a wishbone-cruelty was one of their
first resorts. Musica embodied the hope of peace, but Nova dreaded to think
what her songs would sound like once she had been put into the United Earth
Government's mill.
"We have to move quickly," Nova said. "I commo'ed for a flying squad of
GMP officers; it'll be here any time now."
"We've gotta get out of here!" Dana snapped. Emerson was in battle, and
there were few others she could trust. But the world was wide, much of it
unpopulated, and a Hovertank squad mounted plenty of firepower. They would
have to lay low, try to get to someone sane. Perhaps they would have to
contact the Robotech Masters as well, and force some kind of ceasefire. Then a
truce; then peace.
She threw aside her oath in that moment; the other party-the UEG and, by
extension, the Army of the Southern Cross-hadn't kept its end of the bargain.
She sensed that her ATACs stood with her, as did Nova and Musica.
Peace renegades! It sounds so weird, she thought.
"Your officers won't make any moves without instructions from you," Zor,
who knew from experience, reminded Nova. "We must move calculatedly, but very
quickly now."
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He showed no emotion as Dana clapped her hands and began organizing the
escape, somehow drawing Nova into her little band as if the GMP lieutenant had
always been an ally. That instinctive talent for commanding loyalty and
cooperation must be something Dana had inherited from both her warrior-woman
Zentraedi mother and her ace-of-aces Human father, Zor reflected in passing.
Suddenly there was that sound again, the one Bowie had heard before, as
if something was moving among the mass of Flowers. They all heard it, as they
heard a sudden, high, playful sound, like a cross between a small dog's yip
and the tones that came from the Matrix.
"Polly!"
Dana was on one knee, beckoning to him, and Bowie groaned. "I should've
known." Nova and the others stood trying to fathom their latest marvel.
The little creature looked a low-slung white dog or mophead, some kind
of crypto-Lhasa apso with a sheepdog forelock, until one noticed the
knob-ended horns and feet something like untoasted muffins. He showed a
miniature red swatch of tongue and yipped again, running to her.
"You know this thing?" Angelo demanded, scratching his head.
Bowie answered for Dana. "All her life. Her godfathers introduced her to
him. Only I never believed in Polly till now, never saw him. I, uh, always
thought he was imaginary."
Dana was nuzzling and laughing, hugging the little beast. A Pollinator,
her three unlikely, self-appointed godfathers, the former Zentraedi spies
Konda, Bron, and Rico had called him. Three-year-old Dana had given him his
shortened name right then and there.
She had quickly learned that Polly was a magical beast who came and went
as he willed; no walls or locks could hold him. He showed up very rarely and
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