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lighter and far stronger than the wooden stuff she was used to, fabricated by
Robotech equipment out of reprocessed wreckage; but it looked close enough to
the original tables and chairs to make her feel like she was home again. She
worked happily, humming, not realizing that the tune was the "Wedding March."
The front doors swept apart, just like the ones back on Macross Island,
and her uncle and aunt came in. "We wasted half the day standing on line for
this," Uncle Max was grousing, shaking a food ration package no bigger than a
good-size book.
She thought again what a strange pair they made, her uncle broad and
substantial as a boulder, barely coming shoulder-high to his willowy, serene
wife. And yet when Minmei thought about what it meant to be completely in
love, she often thought about these two.
"We're lucky to have anything," Lena reminded him gently.
The SDF-1 had been equipped and supplied for a variety of missions, but
not for feeding tens of thousands of refugees. Aeroponic and hydroponic farms
and protein-growth vats were already in operation, but for the time being the
dimensional fortress's stores, and the supplies salvaged from the shelters,
were the extent of the food supply. Those were quite considerable, rumor had
it, but rumor also had it that SDF-1 faced a very long trip back to Earth, and
Captain Gloval was being careful.
"Hi, you two!" Minmei said brightly. "Welcome home! How'd it go?"
Aunt Lena tried to put on a cheerful expression. "About as well as could
be expected, I guess."
"I'm feeling much better now," Minmei said, gesturing around to show
them the progress she'd made toward putting the place in order. Uncle Max
looked around despondently; it was so much like the White Dragon that was gone
forever.
"I'm glad to hear that," Aunt Lena said. "And how's Rick? Is he up yet?"
When the medics released him, Aunt Lena and Uncle Max had insisted that
Rick stay in a spare bedroom in the rebuilt restaurant until he was fully
recovered. "I suppose he's still in bed," Minmei said. "I haven't heard him
moving around up there."
"I'm not surprised." Lena smiled. "After watching over you for two
weeks, he probably deserves a rest."
Minmei grinned. "I guess you're right about that. Oh, by the way, are
you going to leave everything like this or will you reopen the restaurant?"
"What d'you mean reopen the restaurant?" Uncle Max exploded, though she
could hear the sudden hope in his voice.
Minmei gestured around at the stacked chairs and boxed flatware and
bundles of table linen. The White Dragon, which originally stood at the
virtual center of Macross City, had served as a kind of field test for the
engineers seeking to help the Macross City survivors rebuild their lives, an
experiment to see if a piece of the city could be reproduced down to the last
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detail. There were working dishwashers and ovens and sinks and rest rooms,
freezers and refrigerators, lighting and a sound system.
The only thing that was different was that there were no garbage pails
or dumpsters. A system of oubliettes was being built into the new Macross City
because everything-everything-would have to be recycled and reused. It made
perfect sense to Minmei, who'd known thirst and hunger and other privations
well in the past two weeks; anyone who couldn't see that was just being
stupid.
"We have everything we need," she pointed out. "It'll be fun!"
She saw a rekindling in Uncle Max's eyes, but he said slowly, "Maybe so,
but it'd be awfully difficult to run a restaurant when these are all the
rations they give at one time." He shook the book-size box. "For four of us,
for today."
"But you kept your place open all through the war!" Minmei cried.
Uncle Max ran his hand through the tight black curls on his head. Aunt
Lena looked shocked, but happy. "Whff! That was much different," Max said.
Then he reconsidered.
"Well, the army had imposed rationing then too..."
"But-we're living inside a spaceship, Minmei," Lena said.
"But the main problem right now isn't shortages, right?" Minmei reminded
her. "It's distribution and control. We've got thousands of people spending
half the day on line! How's anybody gonna get anything done? That's the
ultimate in stupidity!"
She saw that they were getting the point. "Aunt Lena, once the
authorities know you're reopening the White Dragon, they'll give you all the
supplies you want! And it wouldn't surprise me if they put us all on salary as
food distribution specialists!"
"And people can pay us with their ration cards; the army pays at least
part of the overhead; there's room for a little markup, I would think; the
tips are pure profit, whether they're in military script or in goods or
service IOUs; and we'll get that new bookkeeping computer they're setting up
to keep track of cost/profit margin!"
She was out of breath but triumphant. And she could see from their faces
that she'd sold her aunt and uncle. "What d'you think?"
Uncle Max rubbed the back of his neck, wanting very badly to believe it.
"I suppose it doesn't sound like a bad idea, after all."
"I guess so," Aunt Lena allowed. She drew in a great breath, looking at
Minmei. "Doing business as usual is the answer to a lot of problems, right?"
Minmei nodded until her hair was rippling around her.
"Right!" barked Uncle Max. "Let's get cracking! Full steam ahead!" He
laughed, full-throated, at the dark starburst of happiness in his wife's eyes
and at Minmei's gasp.
"Wait just a second!" Minmei dashed off, hair whipping behind her. "I'll
be right back! I'm just gonna change my clothes!" Mandarin dresses were no
problem at all for computer-directed fabrication units that had reproduced
alien technologies.
Uncle Max expanded his chest in pride. Aunt Lena put her arm around his
broad shoulders and said, "I'm glad she's excited."
He nodded. "I only hope we're not making a mistake about this."
Lena kissed him tenderly. "We're not."
"Careful, that's it," Uncle Max instructed anxiously as he and Minmei
carried the little stand out onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
"Now turn it around. Good!"
"Everybody'll see this!" Minmei said excitedly. The stand was covered
with a bright red and yellow silk cloth announcing the restaurant's name in
Chinese characters. Minmei's elegant mandarin dress was made of the same
stuff. She'd arranged her hair in large buns with a braid to one side, weaving
a rope of pearls into the coiffure.
She was so intent on her work that she almost collided with the mayor
Page 84
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