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and twisting out of the cannon muzzles。 But Scott's aim was surer： Red…tipped heat…seeking missiles ripped from the Battloid's shoulder partments and homed in on the Invid's dark form； detonating against pincers and torso alike； and giving brief life to a blinding fireball； a brilliant orange midnight sun。
CHAPTER EIGHT
Most mentators overlook the fact that Lancer was a singer long before he was a freedom fighter； and a crossdresser long before a Yellow Dancer。 But he was first and foremost an actor…malleable； dramatic； and narcissistic。 And while it's true that he can be linked to certain literary traditions wherein heroes carried out their crusades under the guise of fops and other fabulous fools； Lancer was no Scarlet Pimpernel or ic Zorro： He was a fox of an entirety different order。
Zeus Bellow； The Road to Reflex Point
Prior to Zor's arrival on Optera； it was the Flower of Life that held the central place in the Invid's naturalistic pantheon。 But that was no longer the case。 They were aggressive species now every bit as warlike as the Tirolian Masters who defoliated Optera。 And they worshipped Protoculture； the bio…energetic by…product Zor had coaxed from the Flowers themselves。 They continued to subsist on the Flowers their captive Human population planted and harvested； but it was Protoculture that fueled the army of mecha which kept that enterprise running smoothly and without incident。 Indeed； it could be said that the Invid themselves had bee more dependent on Zor's discovery than the Robotech Masters ever were。
Enormous amounts of Protoculture were required to oversee and maintain Earth's diverse population centers and to put down uprisings and revolts in the farms and factories。 （Exedore would have been chagrinned to learn that the Invid had found their own way to manufacture Protoculture without having to resort to the matrix device that had figured so prominently in the First and Second Robotech Wars。） These reserves； fashioned by Human hands into individual energy canisters suitable for Invid and Terran mecha alike； were stored in scores of warehouses across the globe and guarded by Humans 〃sympathetic〃 to the Invid's purpose。 The privileges enjoyed by these sympathizers varied； sometimes hostages were taken to assure allegiance； while on other occasions outlaws and petty powerbrokers were given charge。 Towns and cities bartered with the Invid overlords for simple freedoms： the right to enjoy a semblance of normal life in exchange for snooping out resistance groups or seeing to it that Protoculture cells did not fall into the wrong hands。 Often the Invid allowed those in charge before the invasion to keep their lofty positions； except that there was a new authority to answer to…the Regis and her legions of territorial supervisors who dealt directly with their underlings。
Lancer explained some of this to Scott while the team licked its wounds after their encounter with the Troopers。 Even though the episode had consisted largely in their outrunning the Invid； it had nevertheless served to unite the members of the team and instill in each of them a confidence that hadn't been there two days before。 They were now beginning to understand and accept each other's strengths and weaknesses； and they were learning to trust one another as well。 Without any formal vote or voiced acknowledgment； Scott surfaced as the leader； which was only right given his training and resoluteness。 Lunk was something of a sergeant to Scott's lieutenant； Annie； everything from den mother to mascot。 Rook still held herself separate； but could always be counted on for her instinctive bat sense。 And Rand was their backwoods provider； fishing and hunting when he wasn't sitting under a tree scribbling notes to himself。 That left only Lancer。
Scott still had misgivings about the man； but as he listened to Lancer's detailed account of the Invid infrastructure and occupation techniques； he began to see him in a new light。 The female…singer ploy had yet to be explained； but it was obvious from Lancer's report that the adopted persona of Yellow Dancer had opened many doors to him。 He would discuss his former ties with the resistance only in a vague way； but Scott understood that his contacts were as numerous as his information was exhaustive。
The team had retrieved the two other Cyclones from where they had left them in the grass and spent three days in the river gorge dining on pit roasted fish； recuperating； and planning the next move in their northward journey。 They were careful about using the mecha now； convinced that Rand's theory was correct。 Most of the time the Invid Scouts and Troopers were operating in a kind of background net of Protoculture emanations and couldn't home in on any one source。 But when they were engaged in a particular search； their senses were more acute at screening out the random waves from the usually nearby active ones。 In any case； it was a moot point at the moment； the Alpha was depleted of charge； and there was scarcely enough left in the Cyclones to power them； let alone reconfigure or fire them。
That's where Norristown entered the picture。 Located somewhat east of their present route； it was one of the Southland's largest cities； transplanted like so many others from the devastated north during the reign of Chairman Moran and the formation of the Army of the Southern Cross。 The city had prospered throughout and boasted one of the continent's few surviving sports arenas。 But most important； it was the site of one of the Invid's Protoculture storage facilities； a heavily fortified castle （constructed years ago in the Hollywood style） that overlooked the city。
Lancer had a map of the place。
And a rather ingenious plan。
Less than a week later； Rook and Annie were on one of the roads leading into Norristown。 They made an interesting picture…the blonde in her red and white bodysuit leaning almost casually against the parked Cyclone and Annie in her military greens and ever…present cap perched on the seat like some diminutive ornament。 Not five miles away was the city itself； a tight cluster of buildings surrounded by forest； with Drumstick Butte and the hulks of two Zentraedi ships casting their giant shadows from behind。 The Protoculture storage facility could be discerned at the foot of the oddly shaped； topheavy butte； linked to the city below a well…maintained switchbacked roadway。
Rook straightened up at the sound of an approaching vehicle and glanced over at Annie； the youngster nodded and hopped down from the Cyclone's seat to stand alongside her traffic…stopping teammate。 Up the road a truck came into view； and Rook threw the driver a playful wink and raised her thumb in a hitchhiker's gesture。 Innocently and with well…rehearsed bashfulness； Annie pressed her forefingers together and called for the driver to stop and lend a hand。
The driver halted the truck and climbed down from the cab； taking in a long eyeful of the two marooned girls and their red Cyclone。 He bent down to inspect the mecha； plimenting them on the fine condition of the thing； but was sad to report that they were out of Protoculture fuel。 This was so mon an occurrence that the driver scarcely gave it a second thought； anyone might stumble upon some wonderful specimen of aged Robotechnology only to e to think of it as a worthless piece of junk when the all but irreplaceable Protoculture energy cells were depleted。 True； there was a black market； but it was one that few people had access to。 Between the needs of the Invid； the resistance； and your everyday 'Culture hounds； Protoculture had bee a priceless modity。
〃We were hoping you could fix it；〃 Annie said to the truck driver。 〃We're on our way to the Yellow Dancer concert in Norristown。〃
The driver smiled up at her。 〃Not without Protoculture。 There's nothing I can do。〃
〃Hey； mister；〃 Rook said suddenly； as if noticing the driver's Invid…occupation double…C hard…hat emblem for the first time。 〃You're from the storage facility； aren't you ？〃
〃So？〃 the man answered； wary now。
〃Couldn't you spare us some？〃 Annie asked； leaning over the Cyclone's seat。
The man snorted。 〃What're you； nuts； kid？ If anyone found out I'd shared my rations； I'd be in