The opening line to one of the most epic science fiction franchises ever produced!
Back in high school, we used to spend our lunch breaks blasting through malicious alien mecha in defense of the remnants of humanity precariously huddled into a handful of settlements across the inner solar system.
This was the folder that contained all the source material, character sheets, maps, and errata that were necessary–outside of the main books–to sustain the game, enthusiastically “donated” by Mr. Wes Davis (of the “Bloody Bastard” squadron), a friend that I introduced to the wonderful world of anime and RPGs.
In addition to all the lunchtime RPG nonsense, we developed our own little version of the Robotech universe that brought together even more marginally-related properties into one big, Carl Macek-inspired soup. We even had our own website (hosted on Angelfire) that let us reach out to other fans in the pre-social Web! Since I now have my own dedicated corner of the web, I figured it would be fun to migrate the old sites over to the AirborneSurfer domain, just as a sort of art piece and a reflection of how far we’ve come in the past 20 years.
My long-time friend Wes sent this over to me, and I thought it a pretty great re-creation of the iconic opening sequence to a television show that not only defined a generation of fans, but also opened the doors to an entirely new fandom that has since spawned worldwide conventions and inspired everyone from the quiet kid at the lunch table to executives at Walt Disney Studios.
No assembly required.
Dear writing staff of Robotech: Battlecry,
You’re a bunch of goddammed bastards and I hate you. Please find the pointiest object within reach and impale yourselves upon it, you [edited for content].
Sincerely yours, et cetera,
A recent post from–well, you can probably imagine–prompted this entry. After reading said post, I fell into a tempest of emotions bringing me to another state of grief and guilt, but, thanks to strong words from one of my best friends, I am pulling myself back from a state of abject pity. Anyway, this song from ROBOTECH has always been very poignant–both in its minor key and forceful lyrics–to me, and, like my fictional brother Veritech pilots, a rally cry to never give up even if the odds seem more than impossible.
Each and every day we dream of winning and beginning a new life.
Another bit written by Chris, posted for posterity.
Born unto Bavarian aristocracy, Armand Lestat Clovis grew up privelidged, but lonely. He hated the constant aloofness and arrogance his position demanded. A constant, building resentment of stereotypes and mass popular society started at a very early age. His parents were always the life of every party they hosted, which was almost a daily event. Armand hated this. He despised the shallow, champagne-sipping, conformist persons his parents were involved with. He was the complete opposite of his parents. They, the rich aristocracy, and always willing to rub that fact in. Armand, an intellectual realist and philosopher, who would rather be poor and happy. To his parents dismay and anger, he would spend their parties alone reading or writing. Always the quiet loner, he relished playing tricks on his parents’ guests. After an incident involving crossed wiring and a few other gizmos he rigged together under the punchbowl, Armand’s parents decided they had been subjected to enough misbehaviour and sent him to boarding school in England.
Ecstatic to be so far removed from his parents, Armand turned out to be quite the bright pupil, thus was allowed a leave of absence on the weekends. Of course, Armand never quite made it back to the family castle–he spent his time around Picadilly Square in nearby London, in the arcades, or in the used bookstores. He also fell in with the underground movements and styles, and this soon melded his eccentric, more romantic realist than anything else, personal styles and ways. He was soon an ecclectic mix of punk, goth, and Thoreau-styled philosopher/intellectual. This soon led way to an educational but illiegal habit with some friends, stealing books. This small band was soon known as only the 451ers, after Ray Bradbery’s book, Fahrenheit 451.
During a stint in one of these old hang-outs, Armand happened upon the manager who was about to dispose of an odd-looking game machine. Armand asked the manager if he could look at the machine. Thus, Armand had his first real practical application of electronics: he restored an original Space Invaders cabinet to perfect working order. It was about this time that Armand also met an interseting individual–a sort of Zen Pinball Master. A combination of Confucius and The Who’s “Tommy.” He taught Armand much about life and devulged all of his wisdom to the teenager. Around this time Clovis “aquired” a used copy of J.D. Salinger’s “Catcher in the Rye”, and soon aquired the nickname of Holden from the many similarities between the main character, Holden Caulfield, and himself.
After going on Holiday in the spring, Armand and his roommate, James, the remiss son of the CEO of the British Broadcasting Corporation, pooled their combined intelligences and built a small radio station able to be received throughout the campus and surrounding hamlet. This illiegal station, and the busting of the 451ers, soon got Armand arrested. He was allowed to keep his rather large liberary due to lack of evidence, and his portion of the equipment of the station. Consequently, Armand was returned to Germany, but disowned by his socialite parents.
Having nowhere else to go, Armand, now eighteen, sold the station parts to James, and a few books, and bought a bus fare to the recruiter’s office. He quickly enlisted into the newly-formed U.N. Spacy where he went through basic training, then to radio school, and finally to pilot school. Around this time, Clovis had a short but monumetal relationship with a blind date, Moira, set up by an old friend from basic training. Upon recieving his wings,
Corporal Clovis was assigned to the 12th Veritech Tactical Attack Squadron, Galaga Squadron, on board the SDF-1. Soon after assignment, Moira ended the relationship and Clovis seemed to lose his mind in the following weeks. Proving to be an excellent pilot despite his glasses, he rose through the ranks quickly and was soon a staff seargent. He was then assigned corporal Kellen Rand as wingman. Soon the team was known for their bravery and ferocity. Rand was quickly promoted to lieutenant and reassigned to the 42nd VTAS, Angst Squadron. Earth Defense high command soon transferred Clovis as well, fearing repercussions from splitting up the infamous team.
Okay, Chris actually wrote this, I’m just posting it for posterity.
7 Okt. 2014
There’s just some days I wonder why we go on. There’s nothing in this portion of space. Our patrols have been uneventful for weeks, but I doubt the Zentraedi have abandoned this sector. They logically couldn’t have, it being a major space armada attack force route. They may be massing somewhere for a large scale attack, and this has make some of the squadron more nervous than usual. Or more drunk than usual, whichever the case may be….. Our last major combat gave us all a strategy. But its been so long since then, and we’ve had enough time to refine this strategy, but it may be at the point of refining that the strategy as been refined almost to the point of corruption by over-refining. This situation is quite similar to a situation we had back in Galaga squadron. Our CO had refined his and our strategies so precisely that they worked too well, thus resulting in in five dead Spacy pilots. Lt. Cmdr. J. Peters, our CO, was among that count. These deaths were not in vein, however. Since it was of the first deep space skirmishes, the intel we managed to bring back, along with our internal gun camera footage, aided the U.N.S. in formulation and teaching of advanced combat techniques that exploited the Zentraedi weaknesses. It was after this battle I was promoted, and assigned Rand as wingman. Thus, a premonition of things to come, being Angst. But is it also a premonition of history repeating itself, and imminent disaster approaching? Time will only tell. But the constant ‘what ifs’ that really punctuate the slowness of time passing.