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Vince nodded。 〃I have。〃
Scott folded his arms and stared at the floor。 〃There's just one more thing； sir 。 。 。 The； ah； Invid simulagent。 I was； you know； thinking it would help having her along。〃
〃Marlene will acpany us； Scott。〃 Vince traded brief looks with Louie。 〃There doesn't seem to be anything left for her in this realm。〃
Or much left of her； Scott kept to himself。
The transfer of supplies and personnel took less than twelve hours； during which time Haydon IV did not so； much as stir。 But finally the moment arrived for the Ark Angel and the pirated ship to part pany。
Louie canceled the override and punched up the original mands the Awareness had programmed into the sphere's drives； and the ship's systems instantly came on…line。
While Cabell and the rest watched from the Ark Angel bridge； the sphere's massive drives flared once and hurled the ship toward the dark eye of Ranaath's Star。 The sphere seemed so hang suspended at the edge of the whirlpool for the briefest of moments before it vanished from space and time。
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； b