I remember finding the DNA sample and holding it in my hand. I remember picking off just one hollow piece hair. I remember reporting back to my F.O. Then I remember finding myself in my old human morph, looking straight at Tobias, standing in a depressing Yeerk vessel.
It was not the reunion with Tobias I had often envisioned.
I have very rarely visited Earth since the end of the war. It is not, entirely, due to a lack of want. An extended Earth stay would be quite pleasurable. I do miss many things, like the abundant variety of food, the unique and almost spicy feel of Earth grass soaking into my hooves, and the many intriguing Earth entertainment programs. While a handful of these things have made it back to homeworld, much of it has been altered. The homeworld Cinnabon, for instance, does not have easy access to Earth livestock or animal byproducts. To compensate, liquid from the s hilarn fruit is used to replicate bovine breast secretions, and illynva algae is used as a binding force in the Cinnabon mixture. It is a worthy and much more ethical approximation, but it is just that — an approximation. There is a field of Earth grass planted by the government for tourism's sake, but the grass has been spliced with the homeworld's hearty lara plant, and I can feel a significant difference. Some Earth entertainment has been imported to homeworld, but much of it is boring to me. Many are films and documentaries about the Animorphs, but I feel little need to relive those experiences. Other imported pieces tend to be documentaries about Earth flora and fauna, which are rather boring if you have morphed many of the creatures on the planet. At my urging, the Electorate did broadcast a few compilations of These Messages , which went over quite well with the public. However, it is the only truly fascinating Earth media I have managed to share with the people. I desperately wished to know what happened on Days Of Our Lives or Passions. Those characters were as comrades to me, and I miss them dearly.
There were many fine reasons to take a brief leave to Earth for leisure, but there were also many difficulties. Frankly, I did not have time. It was a testament to my own successes. A trip to Earth takes anywhere from four days to three weeks in Z-space, and I would want to spend at least one week to justify the travel. To leave my post for that long would require much discussion and negotiation. After all, I was Prince Aximili of Earth. My attendance at meetings and war-councils, while largely symbolic, was still imperative. I held monthly lectures on humans and Earth culture, which are widely attended and often broadcast. There were many smaller appearances I must make throughout the seasons, even when I am not on active duty. I am a hero, and it is a hero's job to inspire bravery in others. I did not take this role lightly.
I also did not need an Earth leave, at least in respect to contacting the Animorphs. I still spoke to whom I needed to speak. Cassie and Marco have both made plenty of contact with me; Cassie for professional reasons, Marco for indiscernible ones. I will always treasure my time serving under Prince Jake, but he is suffering from what is called the warrior's quiet, and I often find our brief conversations disturbing. For me, it is enough to see those three on my occasional visits as Ambassador. It is fun, as humans say, to 'catch-up,' and then leave.
Yet, I would have milked every bit of my clout to request leisure time and visit Tobias. More than food, grass, and amusements, I have longed for Tobias. Of course, he had made himself unavailable. It was, initially, a joy to look upon his face, even in his human morph. His eyes were familiar. His smile was the same.
It was a brief but warm moment, quickly followed by chill and fear.
Tobias filled in the gaps in my memory. I did not allow the fate of the Intrepid to cloud my thoughts, nor did I allow myself to dwell on Tobias onlyspeaking to me about The One, and not apologizing for avoiding me for nearly a full Andalite year. I quickly went to Menderash, and waited by his side in the small and cramped infirmary. The enclosed space made me anxious, but I rose above it. I wanted to make sure I was here when Menderash awoke.
Menderash-Postill-Fastill. A nothlit. A vecol.
In human parlance, Menderash is much closer to a traditional 'Prince' than I or Jake. Andalite spacecraft is built by the people as a whole, all in pieces, and then assembled at one of our three spaceports. My family designs ducts for air and Dome irrigation. Both Elfangor and I learned the craft from our parents before enlisting in the army. As is tradition, we would retrain once we were released from service. We learn once before experience, and once more after we reach maturity. It is the Andalite way. However, many families also make ducts. It is a simple thing. Not all pieces of spacecraft require expansive knowledge and inherent talent. Families like mine are simple roots of a flower. Sturdy, but blunt. Necessary, but indelicate. Our work was enough to give us a bit of leeway in Andalite society, but only in comparison to families that are not allowed to participate in the building at all.
Certain other families have much, much more weight in society. They are the petals of the Andalite fleet. Menderash-Postill-Fastill is from such a family, yet even more so. It is hard to explain. If other families are petals, than Menderash's clan is a delicate drop of dew that reflects light off the flower just so. His family is so respectable that Menderash is as recognizable as I.
His family created our weapons.
The secrets of weaponry are not well known. While weapons are necessary, many Andalites find them distasteful. It is seen as brave, to take on the mantel of ship cannons. Often Andalites become bloodthirsty and hungry for destruction, or they fall into the quiet. Menderash's clan has stayed sturdy and strong for generations, all while innovating and surprising. Many battles were won thanks to their ingenuity. They were the backbone of the Andalite military.
Menderash was a third-born. Their clan is one of the few that would be granted such a request. He was never a particularly great soldier, but it was rumored he was as brilliant an innovator as his great-grandfather, Calysen-Postill-Maestill, who invented the handheld shredder. I was nervous when I first met Menderash, but I was ultimately surprised by his personality. He reminded me of Marco, in some small ways. A brilliant and dangerous mind wrapped up in a playful personality that distracted you from the genius inside. However, where Marco was crass, calculating, and often rude, Menderash was always welcoming and kind. He used his influence and status copiously, but always invited his friends to enjoy his perks. Because he himself is so well known, he was not at all intimidated by me, Prince Aximili of Earth, and I found this comforting. When we first met, I was well out of my depth in the military. I was a Prince, but I had never formally completed my aristh training. It was a difficult time for me. He aided me, and lent me his credibility and influence. We became very close. I promoted him to First Officer, even if he is not nearly the soldier that he is an inventor.
He was not without fault. He would often suddenly become sullen and petulant, going from open and friendly to withdrawn and taciturn simply because something did not go his way. He is impatient with those who are not as brilliant as him. He traumatized many of the arisths on my ship with his brusque teaching methods. When I finally spoke to him about this behavior, he snapped at me, and told me I was Earth-softened. He refused to apologize for the comment. That was two nights before the events on the Intrepid . It is much of why I was in a restless enough mood to lead the away team myself.
None of that meant he deserved this fate. I knew he enjoyed his human form possibly even more than me, but that is not enough reason to willing give up his tail blade and stalk eyes. What had happened? What would ever possess him to become a nothlit ?
Now, he was crippled on top of it all.
He slept for almost the entire first day we were in Z-space. I stayed by his side, feeling both wild and numb with my grief for The Intrepid and for Menderash. In time, Menderash woke.
He forced himself upwards with difficulty. Humans were already so desperately unbalanced, and now Menderash has to suffer through his life missing an entire arm. He had already gone from six limbs to four. Now, he had three. My hearts beat with a guilty and sympathetic quickness, and I felt a fervent longing for my stolen memories. What had happened? Was there anything I could have done to save Menderash his fate? Had I made a mistake? I was sure I had made a mistake. Perhaps I understood Prince Jake's isolation more than I thought. If I had been able to run the mental video of the attack on the Intrepid again and again in my mind, I may also have wished to never leave my quarters.
I leaned over to help pull Menderash upwards. He recoiled from me. "Do not touch me," he said."You have already suffered more than enough indignity by coming to see me." He spoke in Andalite, which is difficult enough to understand when coming from a human mouth. To make matters worse, his words were mangled and slurred, likely from the chemicals that Sergeant Dean Santorelli had fed him. There was a significant delay in my response as my translator noisily attempted to decipher this new language, which was, of course, impossible. I temporarily shut it off. I could still understand him, but just barely. I shifted my body, so that my face was in front of him, and he was unable to avoid looking at me.
Please, use thought-speak, I said. He lowered his eyes in response.
"I do not deserve the elegance and and simplicity of our language," said Menderash. "I am no longer an Andalite."
I looked upon him for a moment, observing his new form. I was, of course, intimately familiar with his human morph. I was no stranger to the pleasures of the form, and Menderash invites many "to his bed", as it were. Andalite intimacy was sacred, but human intercourse could be shared between friends, like a friendly tail fight or a round of driftball, and we had shared it many times. His form was attractive enough to arouse me as a human, but I had never given it much consideration outside our intimacy sessions. After spending three years on Earth, I had ceased to see humans as cheaply made Gedd and had found a certain sort of attractiveness in them, much like a horticulturist may find a student's first awkward seedlings to be endearing. As I stared at Menderash, I found him to be something of an exception. In certain lights, his human form was attractive even to an Andalite. His eyes were large and gray, almost like a pair of main eyes. The lips surrounding his mouth were reasonably thin, making his mouth less disturbing than most. His hair was long and pleasantly arranged. Longer, now, that it had time to grow naturally.
As I focused on his human form, I found myself changing. I, too, was becoming human. Not the child morph I had created from the Animorphs. That morph was too young to be taken seriously by other humans. Estreens occasionally experimented with aging a strand of DNA back and forth, but for a morpher with average skill, it was a difficult process, somewhat akin to the human Animorphs years long effort to morph thicker artificial skin. I was not interested in pursuing the option for my old human morph. That form held too many painful memories, as well as the DNA of a fallen soldier. I had not been close to Rachel, and yes, I had been deeply disturbed by her toward the end; but I felt her loss all the same. After all, we had been something close to friends, in the beginning. She had taught me about artificial skin, and introduced Tobias and I to the excellent drama Dawson's Creek.
I had acquired a few of Earth's most powerful leaders during a summit as a showing of trust, and had a new human morph as a result. I chose to be male again, and aged myself somewhere within a human's second decade, which is largely considered the most important decade of human growth according to their entertainment. My coloration was somewhat different than my old Earth form, and it was made up of new shapes. It is the morph with which Menderash is most familiar.
"Am I no longer an Andalite?" I asked out loud when the morph was finished.
Menderash made a human expression I would classify as a 'sneer', and then placed his remaining hand on the left side of his head. He pointed up a finger. He then pointed that finger at me with a slight curve, clearly mimicking a bit of stalk eye language that meant disapproval. "You will have these back in four solar light periods, Aximili," he said. My name was thick and clumsy on his meaty human tongue. It was impossible for humans to say our names properly without thought-speak. It is why I never minded "Ax." The shortening of a name was unheard of in Andalite culture, but Ax was somehow more comforting than the humans balky attempts at the elegant slides and lilts of my true name.
I gently eased his hand off of his head, switching to thought-speak. It does not matter to me if you have stalk eyes. You are still you. You are still brilliant and kind.
"I became a nothlit, " said Menderash, bitterly. "I had to become a nothlit. It was a necessary sacrifice to find you. I would do it again, and again. But now?" He indicated his missing left arm. "I am deformed. I am no longer worthy."
Please, I said dismissively. You are drug addled and maudlin. I do not care from nothlits or vecols, not after fighting side by side with them. I maneuvered myself to sit next to him. I took his hand in mine. He attempted to pull away from me, but was too weak to be successful. I gently moved my thumb back and forth against his skin in a soothing motion. He relaxed.
A vecol finds peace and dignity in isolation, he said, finally switching to thought-speak. I was relieved to no longer strain to understand him, but he was also losing consciousness again.
Not you, I said. Your mind is too important to lose. I buy us time and allow you to heal. When you are strong, will work something out with the Electorate.
Then, because he was in a place between wakefulness and sleep, and because he was affected by drugs, and because my hearts had gone quiet with the weight of it all, I asked, Why did you do it all?
Menderash smiled, close lipped and delirious. Because you are my shorm , Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill, and because right before you disappeared, you managed one word to me and me alone .
I froze.
What did I say to you? I asked.
You said "Jake," said Menderash.
An Andalite has two hearts. This is not a concept I thought significant before my time on Earth. Humans idealize the "heart" as the center of emotion, which seemed quite foolish to me at first, as a heart is a muscle that pumps blood through the body. I used to kindly correct my comrades when they spoke of their heart having emotions. As time went on, I understood that it was a form of poetry, something any Andalite should respect. Now, I think of my two hearts in human terms, only I have adjusted the lore to fit myself. I have grown up on two planets — Andalite first, then Earth. I have become a creature of duality and contrast. It is possible for one of my hearts to feel one thing, and the other heart to feel the direct opposite emotion.
With my Andalite heart, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness, warmth, and humility at Menderash's sacrifice. I had managed to speak to him through our bond, and he had listened, and he had organized my rescue. Andalites are instinctively optimistic people, a source of both pride and trepidation for our species. Right now, I blossomed with light, and I did not want to darken my joy. I wanted my bright Andalite heart to glow with Menderash's commitment to me. I wanted to share in it, to commit myself to him in return. Menderash was quite special to me, and to know that I was special to him by not just his deeds, but the fact I was able to communicate with him when we were so far apart, was such a beautiful and important piece of knowledge and I felt I might burst from it.
My human heart was cultivated in war. It was dark, and it was suspicious. Menderash was an impulsive person, driven by the moment rather than the future. He was clearly beginning to regret his sacrifices. My ability to communicate with him through duress may not have been entirely me. If The One could listen to private thought-speak, then clearly, he could project my speech through barriers of distance and Z-space. Why else would my last words to Menderash be "Jake?" In my right mind, I would never rely on Prince Jake for a rescue. The last I had seen of him, he had been forced to morph dolphin at the other human Animorphs' naive behest. I had military training, and I knew the quiet did not go away so easily. In short, I had long ago given up on Prince Jake, as much as I was loathe to admit it. There was no reason I would have begged for Prince Jake. I do not believe it was I that spoke to Menderash in that moment, yet Menderash believed it was so, and had made choices based around that belief.
I melted back into my true form. Out of curiosity, I touched Menderash's cheek. I hadn't even touched him as an Andalite, nevermind explored the intimacy of his face.
His human skin felt coarse and plain against my hand, like fabric, like an object. It was not quite the sensation that had been often whispered of among Andalite youth.
I withdrew my hand, dejected and dark, and I watched him sleep.
—
I eventually left the infirmary. There was little I could do by hovering over Menderash. I did not see anyone else as I explored the halls. While I felt a deep gratitude toward everyone that had searched so long to rescue me, I felt that isolation suited my mood more than reuniting with my friends. I was sure everyone else on the Rachel shared my preference. I ultimately landed on the Bridge, watching the sensors. While I was there, I mused on what Tobias had told me about my time as The One.
He told me how deeply disturbing and frightening The One had been, and how The One had only allowed them escape by his own graces. It was an odd story to hear. At the center of it was me, allegedly aware enough to cry for death. I had absolutely no recollection of the events. At times, I would emerge from a battle with an injury to my head that hid many memories behind closed curtains, but I always had a few vague flashes of what I had done or where I had been. When my actions were recited to me from an outside source, I felt a vague tug of recognition. With this, I feel nothing. It is as if I had been teleported from the mysterious alien spacecraft onto the Rachel . My life had simply been interrupted. In many ways, I was glad for it. Perhaps I do not wish to know what happened in that alien spacecraft. I do not bear the burden of watching my crew die. I do not have a mental recording to rewind and watch again and again, regretting every move, replaying every horror. Though I did know I was reckless in joining the away team. Perhaps if I hadn't, perhaps if I had stayed on the bridge, perhaps —
It is difficult not to dwell.
There were three arisths on The Intrepid , all female. I tried to use my influence wisely, and bringing more women into the military was something I was very proud to do. Their names were Meinathan, Uhael, and Dalia. They were the best and brightest in their arisths' class. It was my fault they had been on The Intrepid at all, and my fault they were gone.
There was the sweet pilot Warlatan. He was talented, but nervous, and idolized me to the point that it affected his work. Menderash would often mock him for being quite unattractive, which was very inappropriate of him. I felt guilt over letting Menderash say such things, even if Warlatan was never in thought-speak range, and even more guilt that I had found many of Menderash's jests amusing. Warlatan was nothing but sturdy and kind, and he was dead.
Pilots Tariall, Sathan, and Marasia had always resented my status as Prince, feeling that it was a smoke and mirrors move done by the military to save face in the light of poor decisions. I had worked hard to win them over and, at the time of the event, had made little headway in the matter. They were gone. They had died despising me.
I thought of Yandera-Shartan-Dalarrouth, the beautiful on board mechanic, who always seemed to be feeding when I fed. She would speak to me with an audacious familiarity, even if I was a Prince and she was a mere mechanic.
I missed them so terribly. I felt heavy with ghosts. My legs trembled with their weight. I see their faces no matter where my eyes rest. Yandera, Warlatan. Menderash.
Menderash.
I forced myself to find balance, to sooth my dark human heart with my Andalite one. I mourn next to my old comrades. Tobias, my shorm, for all he had not acted like one for three Earth years . Jake, who was once my true Prince. Marco, who is also here. This provides peace. I also find myself wondering at my decision to join the away team on the alien spacecraft, and asking myself if the decision had truly been mine. Yes, I was frustrated with Menderash, and yes, I was much more interested in firsthand exploration than a typical Prince, but the coincidences piled on much too neatly. I had been the tool of the Ellimist, and now, perhaps, I had been the tool of The One.
I felt violated, used. I felt angry. I felt deep sadness and loss. I felt joy and warmth at the loyalty of the Animorphs.
It was an imperfect balance, but it was enough for now.
I studied the sensor commands. They were, admittedly, hard for me to tell. I am not entirely trained on many modern devices due to my quick promotion from aristh to Prince. My Animorphs friends always thought so highly of my technical skills, but back on Andalite, it is well known I should not be left alone with computers. This ship — the Rachel , a heartbreaking and fitting name — had been outfitted with modern Andalite systems. The controls were slightly above my outdated knowledge. Out of curiosity, I started to play with the sensors, just to ensure they were working as they should. Somehow, I almost took us out of Z-space and into a system with a dying star, a jump that would have depleted all our energy supplies and left us dead in space with no hope for return.
It was minutes after that mishap that Marco walked onto the bridge and said "Ax, catch."
My hands flew off the sensors and I held them in air in a classic Earth motion, one that meant 'My hands are up! I'm innocent! Please, do not shoot high velocity pellets into my chest from your primitive weapon!'
Whatever Marco had thrown hit my chest, and then fell on the floor.
Marco looked at me strangely. "Yeah, okay," he said slowly. I noticed that Prince Jake was trailing behind him. His hair was wet, meaning he had recently cleansed. I got the singular impression, especially with what I had witnessed the last time I saw the two together, that Jake had only bathed and left his cabin at Marco's harsh insistence. Jake's expression was entirely blank. I wished Marco had left him alone, and let him stay in his cabin. I very much dislike seeing my first true Prince suffer from the quiet.
Marco distracted me by pointing to the thrown object. "M&Ms. I won't lie to you, I brought some other things to give you in case we, you know, were successful, but after about five months of vitamin pills, freeze dried nutrition packs, and exactly zero leads, I did what I had to do. Sorry, man."
I picked up the package of M&Ms and smiled at him. I admire your restraint. I will save this, and savor it at a later time.
"Savor? Later? My God , have you changed," said Marco, flopping into what must be a sort of Captain's chair. It was much too large for a human. This ship had been designed by Yeerks for Hork-Bajir, Taxxons, and human needs, then refitted by Andalites for a mostly human crew. The end result was a ship filled with strange furniture and mismatched things, many with purposes at which I could only guess. "Jake brought some food for you, too, but that stuff went, like, week one." He swiveled around and stood on the chair, peeking over the back to stare at Prince Jake. "Right, BigJake?"
Jake simply shrugged. Marco stared at him for a moment, then slid back into a proper sitting position, no longer facing Jake. His expression momentarily twisted into a human look of disgust, and then immediately melted into Marco's normal relaxed charm. "How are you, Ax-man?"
I am mourning the entire crew I was tasked to lead while reconciling my apparent possession by an omniscient beast, both events of which I have no memory.
"Ah," said Marco flatly. "That."
The doors opened and Tobias flew in. He landed on what looked like a broom attached with human "duct tape" to the weapons sensor. A makeshift perch on a bridge specifically designed for a red-tailed hawk, looking strangely not out of place among the other various Yeerk amenities. What an odd ship.
I acknowledged Tobias with my right stalk eye, just before remembering he would not understand the meaning of the gesture.
It is passing strange to be among humans again. I have been a human-influenced Andalite for so long that I am forgetting how to be an Andalite among humans. The irony is not lost on me. Among Andalites, I am often considered to be vague and inscrutable. Due to thought-speak being our first and only language, the concept of an accent is hard for most Andalites to comprehend, yet I suppose I have one. I forget to send or read certain emotional impressions sent through thought-speak, because the Animorphs had never quite picked up on receiving or sending those nuances. I shrug my shoulders, nod and shake my head, and hold my arms and hands in certain gestures unknown to my Andalite crew. My sense of humor is not understood at all by either Andalites or humans, as it's an oddly shaped Frankenstein of both cultures. At least, that is what I tell myself. Perhaps I am simply not very funny. (That was, of course, a joke.)
Among humans, I was simply an alien. Much of what I do was written off as otherworldly without any attempt to understand, though I would always try to use their body language and navigate their quirks anyway. Undersecretary Cassandra Gardner was the only one to truly appreciate my efforts. She was not on the Rachel, a decision I respected. Undersecretary Gardner is often the only human the Andalites will listen to, and while I would never say this in public, sometimes The Electorate needed to listen to a human.
I always knew Tobias would listen if I chose to explain the many aspects of stalk eye or tail blade communication. He would be genuinely interested, and ask me challenging questions. This, and so many other reasons, is why he is my shorm. It is also why I have been so angry with his complete lack of contact for the last three Andalite seasons. We spent so long dreaming of a simple life away from the confusing bustle of human cities that I had naturally assumed he would return to Andalite with me one day. Instead, he flew off into the wilds, and I hadn't even gotten the chance to offer.
I let my right stalk eye return to a figure-eight pattern. Hello, I said to him.
Hey, Ax-man, said Tobias. His thought-speak was layered with dull, repressed emotions that I couldn't quite make out. He knew that speaking with a plain tone while allowing another to read your emotions was the only dignified way to use thought-speak, but he often had difficulty either knowing to project or turning off his projection. I got the feeling that he did not wish to project right now, but was struggling to keep his emotions down.
Marco craned his neck to look at him. He rolled his eyes and looked away. "How long until we rendezvous with the Andalites?" he asked me.
Around three of your hours, I said.
Marco pointed at me and grinned. "No. No. Not today. This is an Earth ship, and the only hours we've used for the last six months are the only hours that matter."
I smiled at him. Ah, but the Andalites set up a standard unit of time to use in space travel decades ago, I said. It was, of course, our standard Andalite time measurements, which are the only sensical measurements in the galaxy. Your use of human time is an aberration.
Marco made to respond, but was interrupted by Tobias. I didn't miss this joke, he said. Earth isn't the only planet, alright? Let it go.
"Jesus," said Marco under his breath. The air grew awkward. Prince Jake went to the navigation sensor and sat down. He started working with the controls, which made me nervous. I admire Prince Jake, but if I had nearly damaged the ship by attempting to use the navigation sensor, then Prince Jake definitely would put us in some sort of danger. To my surprise, he pulled up an Earth "video game." I was both impressed and shocked that the Animorphs were using Andalite tech to play racing games. Did Menderash install that for you? I asked.
Jake glanced over at me while Marco swung his legs to the side of the chair, dangling them across the edge. "Nyah," said Marco. "The Yeerks had A/V ports installed for whatever fucked-up Yeerk reason. I just figured out how to switch display modes. Figuring out the sensor screens was my personal project for the first couple of weeks, specifically so I wouldn't be bored to tears when I was stuck up here manning navigation." Marco looked at Tobias. "You got anything fun to say about that?" asked Marco harshly.
No, said Tobias immediately.
Another silence fell in the room, uncomfortable and ugly. I shifted nervously. I have spent time with Marco, Cassie, and Prince Jake on the very rare occasion, but it was always in a very public setting. This is the first time so many of us have been gathered privately in a room, with a chance to speak frankly and openly. The six months in this dark and cramped Yeerk ship had done the Animorphs no favors. While we were never going to be as close as we once were — if you even considered partnerships formed with war to be a form of friendship at all — this reunion felt wrong.
The doors to the bridge were clear, and I could see Jeanne Gerard approaching the bridge with my stalk eyes. She took one look at us, then turned away. Perhaps she thought this wasn't a moment to interrupt. If I knew her better, I would have called her back in. I would have loved a distraction from the awkward air between us.
I watched as Jake failed to complete a race. He set his controller down and leaned back into his chair. "And then how long until we're back on Earth?"
Ah, I said. I have not fully accessed the damages to the Rachel, and I do not know how long a full repair could take. However, there is a shuttle dedicated to bringing visitors to Earth and back. I believe it ought to be leaving in the summer of tomorrow's day which, in Earth parlance, is roughly three days, five hours, seven minutes and thirty seconds from now. This is merely an estimate, as I am still orientating myself after my time… away. Forgive me for any errors.
"Three days," Prince Jake repeated, staring at the screen in front of him. An eight Earth-second animation loop played over and over. He watched it, transfixed, as if it held some sort of answer.
As I watched him, I noticed my vision fog, just slightly, as if a black haze was descending upon all four of my eyes. I stalled my stalk eye moving patterns in an effort to shock it away. It worked. I had never experienced such a phenomenon before. I would be sure to tell a medical examiner about the situation. Perhaps she would know.
"Well," said Marco, suddenly swinging his legs forward and bouncing out of his chair. I had not missed Marco's inability to be calm. It made me feel dizzy now just as much as it did back then. He made a sweeping gesture toward the ship. "I know The One said he was going to play hard to get and make us chase him around all the galaxies, and I hope someone takes up that invitation and you both have a really nice, terrifying time. Me? You know, I spent so much of my teen years with the Death Wish that I started thinking about the good times. All the adrenaline, the swooping in and out of the air as a bird, the rush after one of the maybe four battles we really won. I went a little Belle there for a second. You know, Beauty and the Beast? Hot chick ends up horny for the literal monster that captures her? The Death Wish had me in Stockholm Syndrome, straight up. Now, I'm done. Over it." He slid his hands together up in the air over and over, a human gesture I knew to mean 'wash my hands of this.' Humans considering washing of their hands to be a miracle ward against all disease. "This spaceship adventure was my last con. I'm too old for this shit, I'm retiring, I'm done." He held out his hands. "Screw you guys," he said, then he pointed to the left, "I'm going home."
My vision fogged again. This time, it did not clear.
Okay, we get it, said Tobias.
"I can't believe I did any of this in the first place!" Marco continued, misinterpreting Tobias's frustration as an opening to continue one of his "amusing" rants. "Do you know what my life was like? Can you even comprehend it? Britney Spears came on to me! Me! Not the other way around! Okay, she was shitfaced, but she grabbed my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and slurred 'You are so brave' and made very specific eye contact —"
Shut up! said Tobias. I felt myself begin to buckle. I recovered with flourish. No one had noticed. Tobias and Marco were staring at each other, and Prince Jake was staring at his video game.
"Jeeze, Tobias, chill out. What's wrong? Is it that time of the month? Are you laying some eggs?"
For the past six months, I have been listening to you complain and complain about what you 'gave up,' as if the moment you walk back on Earth you won't immediately start sucking up to Hollywood and go right back to getting drunk and sleeping with models. So go! Get to it! The rest of us are decent people and will work toward destroying the omniscient evil that's torturing the galaxy, he said. His anger and resentment radiated from his thought-speak without filter.
Marco opened his mouth, as if he were to volley words back to Tobias, but Prince Jake spoke first. "I'm not going, either," he said.
My vision filled with smoke and I smelled decay, sick and sweet, and when I came back Tobias was morphed to hork-bajir, Jeanne and Santorelli were on the bridge, and Marco was staring at Prince Jake with an open mouth.