ed beyond the expansion wave of the big bang itself。〃
Rick went wide…eyed。 〃You mean we've jumped outside the galaxy？〃
Lang shrugged。 〃It's simply one theory among many。 A jump beyond time could perhaps explain how and why the Protoculture vanished； although our own continued existence would seem to contraindicate it。〃
Rick staggered backward into a chair adjacent to Lang's。 〃But…but there has to be something out there。〃
Lang shook his head。 〃Not according to our instruments。 We are nowhere； Admiral。 Not even a when that I can determine。 I'm sorry； but there's no other way to put it。〃
Rick turned to face him。 〃Then get us somewhere； Doctor。〃
Lang rubbed his chin。 〃What would you have me do fashion a world for you out of nothingness？〃
Rick forced out his breath。 〃Yes； damn it。 Fashion us a world if you have to。〃
CHAPTER FOUR
〃It's absolutely true。 Mom really did have a took； a different grimace for every occasion。 But I'll tell you something I've never told anyone before： The strangest of all Mom's looks was the one she reserved for any mention of Scott Bernard。 Seriously。 For the longest time I was convinced that they'd had an affair or something。 But then one day Mom told me about the time he stopped by looking for Marlene。 There was that look again； the whole time she told the story。 And I suddenly realized that I wasn't seeing one of those what…might…have…been looks but one that was saying what…never…should…have…been。
Maria Bartley…Rand； quoted in Xandu Reem's A Stranger at Home： A Biography of Scott Bernard
Scott breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the craft settle down； rubber tires chirping against the tarmac on a smooth but long disused stretch of Southlands highway。 Mission priorities and the usual red tape had made it impossible for him to procure an old VTOL； much less an Alpha； so Scott was stuck with a forty…year…old air breather； a civilian five…passenger jet some group in G4 must have liberated from a pre…Wars museum。 They'd blown the dust off the thing and fitted it with new rubber； but the cockpit had seen far better days； and the instruments were ancient。 Scott's biggest problem was refraining from trying to think the aircraft through mechamorph maneuvers。 A lot of good that would have done； anyway； the thing wasn't even equipped with a neural interface thinking cap！
Priorities aside； though； there were good reasons for flying civilian and denying any military affiliation just then。 Earth's surface； the Southlands especially； had bee a sorry place for soldiers。 With the so…called fall of Reflex Point and the Invid abandonment of their hives； Flower of Life orchards； and POW camps； humankind was once more on the move。 People were quite literally crawling out of the holes they had buried themselves in when the Invid had landed。 Tens of thousands； many of whom had spent the past year or more in internment centers in what had once been called Canada； were migrating south from the ruined Northlands； lured to Brazilas by rumors of massive reconstruction efforts and the promise of a United Earth Government rising from the ashes of the Southern Cross apparat。 At the same time thousands more had taken to the cracked and rutted roadways of the thrice…invaded world in search of lost friends and loved ones； while others busied themselves by exacting vengeance on spies； sympathizers； and any who had profited during the occupation。
Soldiers of any army； private or otherwise； were often at the receiving end of the general wrath and blood lust； espe璫ially those unfortunates who had fancied themselves insurgents or freedom fighters。 It was an accepted fact that insurgency had done more damage than good…Invid reprisals having far outweighed the dubious worth of destroying a handful of Shock Troopers or Pincer ships…and that the Regis had not really been defeated but had willingly abandoned the planet in search of richer hunting grounds。 The returning REF consequently was not looked upon as some beneficent force of liberators but as yet another conquering army； a gang of thugs looking to resume control after a fifteen…year absence。
Under the circumstances； Scott's small jet was less a product of choice than of sheer necessity。 And the same held true for his civilian attire。
Mention of the Invid sister simulagents had dropped him right back into the lap of the REF's intel people for two more weeks of memory probes and debriefings。 Ultimately； however； Scott's inquisitors had e to accept that Marlene's present whereabouts were unknown and that Scott himself stood the best chance of finding her。 That he had agreed to do； under the condition that he be given an opportunity to undertake the search alone and in his own fashion。
G2 had acquiesced； figuring that it would prove a simple matter to assign a team of agents to the colonel； but Vince Grant had received word of the operation and vetoed it before a single operative had been assigned。 Back on the surface； meanwhile； Scott had been quizzing migrants； bribing local officials； and bartering with foragers for a line on any one of his six former teammates…counting one for Lancer； and Marlene among them。 He had concentrated on Rand； who months ago at Yellow Dancer's final concert had said something about heading for the outskirts of Norristown； where he planned to write his memoirs。
A downside week had gone by before Scott locked onto what seemed a worthy lead； and that lead had now brought him and the toy jet to Xochil； a pueblo not far off the route the team had taken through Trenchtown； in the heart of the Southlands。
A tatterdemalion crowd of vacant…eyed townspeople and rough…trade foragers was gathered around the craft by the time Scott raised the canopy and climbed out。 He answered a few questions about the state of things on the north coast in exchange for information on Rand and； for five hundred New Scrip （with a promise of that much again when he returned from town）； enlisted the services of a couple of locals sporting turn…of…the…century military…issue projectile rifles to keep an eye on the jet。
Twenty minutes later he was negotiating a narrow alley off Xochil's earthen main street； zeroing in on the throaty revvings of what he took to be a fossil…fueled motorcycle engine。
Rook Bartley was standing alongside the chopped machine； twisting the handlebar throttle with her right hand while her left ponytailed her long strawberry…blond hair。 Seeing her； Scott smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks。
She was dressed in mechanic's coveralls； back and rolled up sleeves emblazoned with motorcycle brand…name patches。 She was also quite a few pounds heavier than when they had exchanged good…byes； her hands and one cheek smeared with grease and grime。 Scott waited for the bike's growling sounds to die down before he called her name。
Someone's metal…rock rendition of 〃Look Up〃 was blasting from stereo speakers。 The song had bee something of an anthem in the Southlands； much as Lynn…Minmei's 〃We Will Win〃 had captured the spirit of the First Robotech War。
Rook turned； startled； and regarded him quizzically for a good ten seconds before a smile split her freckled face。 〃Well； now maybe all this exhaust is getting to me； but I'd swear that's Scott Bernard standing in the doorway。〃
〃Hello； Rook；〃 he told her over the music and the rumbling sound of the idling machine。
She shook her head in disbelief； wiped her hands on a scrap of towel； and sauntered over to embrace him； kissing him lightly on the mouth and then jabbing a fist into his upper arm。
〃I thought you were off looking for your friends； soldier boy。 Figured you'd be halfway to Tirol by now。〃 Rook's blue eyes gave him a quick once…over。 〃And look at you…what'd the REF boot you back into real life or something？〃
〃You look great；〃 he said； beaming。
Rook took a step back and pinched out the coveralls' pants legs as though she were wearing a skirt。 〃You think so； huh？〃
Scott nodded。 〃Guess you're eating better now。〃
Rook laughed。 〃Figures you'd notice； Scott。 Fact is； I'm pregnant。 〃
〃Pregnant？ Jeez； I thought there was something different； but…〃
〃Six months；〃 she said。 〃She's going to be a Virgo if I've puted it right。 But then I figure it's about time they changed the signs of the zodiac； don't you？〃
〃She？〃 Scott said。
Rook smiled broadly。 〃Call it woman's intuition。 Rand's skeptical； but I've even got her name picked out…Maria。 Maria Bartley。 What d' you think？〃
Scott ran it through and nodded。 〃I like the sound of it。 So this place is yours？〃 he asked after a pause。 In the naked glare of generator fed incandescents sat a score of partly restored bikes。 There were perhaps a dozen engines resting on blocks； spoked wheels hanging from the rafters； rusted frames and spare parts piled in corners or littering the top of thick wooden worktables。 The air reeked of solvents and exhaust fumes。
〃Will be someday；〃 Rook said； looking around。 〃Right now I'm only helping out。〃 She caressed her stomach。 〃Gotta keep the family fed。〃
〃Why here； of all places？〃
Rook tugged at her lower lip。 〃Trenchtown； mostly。〃 Scott recalled something about rival motorcycle gangs in Rook's past； the Blue Angels and the Red Snakes。 〃You've got family there； don't you？〃
〃Mom and a sister。 Guess I'm thinking about mending fences one of these days。〃
Scott grinned。 〃What about Rand？〃
Rook screwed up her face。 〃The Great mentator； you mean？〃 She jerked a thumb over her shoulder。 〃We found a place a couple clicks west of town。 All he does is write morning； noon； and night。 Like there's going to be an audience for his book or something。〃
〃Have you read any of it？〃
〃Yeah； I have；〃 she said； moving back to the cycle she had been working on。 〃And it's actually not bad。 'Course I have to straighten him out on a lot of the facts。 To hear him tell it； you'd think he won the war single…handed。〃 Rook was quiet for a moment。 〃So what brings you around； Scott？ I don't figure you just happened to be in the neighborhood。〃
〃I'm not；〃 Scott confessed。 〃I'm looking for Marlene； Rook。〃
Rook appraised him silently。 〃Talk about mending fences 。。。 That oughta be some reunion； partner。 You plan on selling tickets； or what？〃
Scott worked his jaw。 〃Have you heard from