Ku-Tagg had that feeling again.
It started kind of as a trembling at the base of his rib cage, almost a palpitation deep within his third atrium. A roiling stress that burned and seethed, and soon spread throughout his chest, to the tips of his fingers. He wondered if there was some way he could predict it. Some galactic event that could clue him in. If it matched the sporadic solar flares of some distant sun, if it synced up with the activation of some series of celestial events. He wondered if they were beautiful, whatever they were. Maybe a nebula somewhere had ignited.
Ku-Tagg gulped, preparing for the inevitable.
And there it was. Dust particles suddenly froze in mid-air. The blinding, pulsing galaxy outside of his plexiglass viewscreen paused. His partner, a young Na named Brit-Fang, poured coolant into the tank and the cascades froze before they could slosh inside. Ku-Tagg was suddenly very aware of a rhythmic thudding and a high-pitched humming sound. The sound of his heart and the blood rushing through his veins.
"Let's just get this over with," he sighed, his voice artificially loud, in some idiomatic Galard that actually produces the same frustrated, impatient affect.
And then he appeared. An old client. Someone Ku-Tagg had not vetted very well, though Na, by practice, don't generally ask many questions when there is work to be had.
Skrit-Na culture is actually very predictable, though most alien species think their actions are irrational yet mostly harmless. Some unique, deep instinct drives all species. For the Taxxons, it is hunger. For the Yeerks, it is conquest. For the Andalites, though they work very hard to convince you it's something else, it's that rich, potent feeling of superiority. Humans, monstrously social, were guided by the quest for love and acceptance, at least Ku-Tagg thought, but he'd only dealt with humans once before.
It had turned out to be the biggest mistake of his life. But it was just a contract, like any other. Na are guided by an impulse, just like any other species, and their impulse is work. The drive to stay employed, on tasks menial and vast, selfish and philanthropic, whimsical and grave. They weren't greedy, just naturally bored. They bear no prejudice or judgment for their clients, as long as the work is challenging. They follow no politics, obey no rules, and work to please no one. Their purpose is solely economic, and though many species found them troublesome, the galaxy had actually carved a niche for them. There were plenty of willing clients to be had.
So a man, by the looks of him an alien that Ku-Tagg had never seen, had offered a contract. It would be a two-ship job, so Ku-Tagg might have to hire his new nephew-in-law, but the contract was his. Travel to some distant, backwater world. Retrieve some items. Kidnap some locals. Let the Andalites catch you, but don't make it easy. "Yes yes, of course," Ku-Tagg had said impatiently. He was a good Na. He was addicted to work. The particulars of it didn't interest him.
The alien had looked at him with pity. Ku-Tagg was unsettled by this, because he didn't know why, but not unsettled enough to refuse or even postpone the contract. The war had made everyone nervous. Work was hard to come by. He would have been a fool to refuse it.
So he took it.
The chain of events he'd unleashed upon the galaxy would have been entirely unknown to him, except for this one fact.
His client felt guilty.
So Ku-Tagg stood and gestured for his client to take his seat. His client shuffled by, keeping his head down. Ku-Tagg was not normally polite. Na aren't really by definition anything, but by now they knew to recognize taboos and needs of certain cultures and adapt to them.
It turns out most species like it when you give up your seat for them.
"I brought you Stoli's," his client said. Ku-Tagg sighed and took the bottle. Na bodies couldn't metabolize ethyl alcohol. It seeped through them, like acetone through plastic. But he had to stay polite. The gift was a gesture. A poorly thought-out one, but…well, predicting this particular client's motives was as useless as any alien trying to predict a Na's.
"What happened now?" Ku-Tagg huffed impatiently. His client looked up at him. And Ku-Tagg was lost, just for a moment, like he always was, in that gaze that was like the stars.
"Do you have some sort of vessel I can pour this into?" His client asked. Ku-Tagg gave an exaggerated huff and sauntered to the cabinet.
"I still have this, from the Pyramids," Ku-Tagg said, pulling out a gold chalice bedazzled with rubies and emeralds and diamonds, that could potentially bring him quite a lot of money, and potentially work, if he could find a buyer who cared about Earth artifacts.
"It will do."
Ku-Tagg watched as the being uncapped a bottle of some clear liquid. "You will never tell me what this Tanqueray actually is," Ku-Tagg said.
His client gave a sad laugh. "I'll never understand what drives your curiosity. All the things I've told you, and all you can think to wonder at is how humans name their potables."
Ku-Tagg gave a noncommittal shrug. "I could ask how it is that human chemicals affect you at all, but I doubt you would deign to answer that. Besides, it is probably something very boring, like a child's name."
"I would never ruin the mystery for you," his client said as he rolled his head back and swallowed the liquid in one wincing gulp.
Ku-Tagg watched him in silence for a moment, as he wiped his hand over his head, as the skin around his sparkling eyes crinkled in grief.
"What happened now?" Ku-Tagg repeated, with just a touch more concern that was partly sincere.
"They were reunited, you know. The boy and his mother."
This news made Ku-Tagg happy for a moment, until he thought about it. A reunion was happy, wasn't it? Yes, for those humans who longed for companionship and family. But his client was still here, and he looked guiltier than ever.
"And?" Ku-Tagg prompted.
"It didn't last long."
"I see."
Ku-Tagg hated being involved in this inter-stellar battle that was no battle, this ages-old conflict that moved as slowly and purposelessly as the galaxy itself. He would be fine just ignoring it and taking contracts as often as he could, just like he'd used to. But this being, this client, this Ellimist, as he referred to himself once he'd ingested enough "Tanqueray," this being insisted on keeping him involved.
"That part wasn't even my doing," the Ellimist confessed. "Those Yeerks came up with a plan that involved her again. I wanted to leave her alone. I'd hurt her enough."
"She did nothing to deserve it," Ku-Tagg agreed. The Ellimist turned to him again, crinkling space eyes expressing more sadness than they should have been able.
"No. She did nothing. But if not for her…"
They sat in awkward silence for a moment. The Ellimist poured himself another shot. "Do you ever feel guilty about kidnapping her, in the first place?"
"Guilt? About work? Why would I feel that?"
"No, of course not," the Ellimist sighed. He delivered the shot to his mouth, this time with a little less hesitation. "I just wonder…"
"You want the fault not to be yours."
"Yes, I suppose that's it."
"Why are you here if the boy and his mother were reunited?"
"The girl that the boy loved died."
"Tragic."
"Scoff all you want. You know that means a lot to humans."
"And had you any part in that?"
"No, not by design. By interference, I suppose. I didn't have to show myself to her. I could have let her die alone, without answers, the same way billions of organisms throughout the cosmos die every day. But I wanted…I wanted her to know. I wanted her forgiveness. No, not forgiveness. I wanted…"
"Not to be so alone," Ku-Tagg offered.
"Such a strange species, you Na. You're more insightful than you're given credit for."
Ku-Tagg shifted uncomfortably. He'd been playing too close. He wanted to be relinquished of this responsibility, not further engulfed by it.
"It is work. You get paid," the Ellimist said, indicating the bottle of human alcohol with his eyes. Ku-Tagg almost protested, but thought it useless.
"So she died. It wasn't your fault. Everything dies. Why today?"
"The boy abandoned his mother without a second thought. The mother is more alone now than she ever was."
"Ah. And humans long for companionship."
"Yes."
"Then make her a companion."
"It is not so simple. I can change the direction of a planet's rotation, cure a system-wide blight in an instant, create a species from nothing. And I delivered her a companion. I gave her love. And they served their purpose. To involve myself again would be inappropriate. Incestuous. Unnatural. I fear I may begin to unwind the strands of the space-time continuum in her sector, destabilize the balance I've worked so hard to attain…but I bore you."
"You annoy me," Ku-Tagg corrected. The crinkles, for an instant, seemed amused.
"No one in the galaxy is as good a listener as you," the Ellimist said quietly. He poured himself a third shot, and held it in his delicate fingers. "Do you know what it feels like to be directly responsible for the lifelong suffering of three closely related sentient individuals?"
"I dragged my nephew-in-law and his two pods along on that mission, didn't I?"
The Ellimist chuckled softly. "But I punish only you, Ku-Tagg."
Ku-Tagg took the bottle of alcohol and put it in his cabinet. Maybe some race out there would trade him for it. Maybe they'd give him work. The war had ended. Work was more plentiful.
"Whatever happened to that big, white sphere you asked me to steal?" Ku-Tagg suddenly thought to ask.
"Still where Elfangor buried it."
"Do you worry about it at all?"
"Sometimes."
"You wouldn't want me to retrieve it for you, would you?"
The Ellimist turned to Ku-Tagg and stared, gaze inscrutable, for some time.
"Thank you, Ku-Tagg. That will be all for today."
"So this is it, then? The war's over. What more could possibly happen?"
The Ellimist rose to his feet and capped his liquor. "You don't know the potential this universe has until you've seen it like I do, Ku-Tagg. There is no ending. There is no conclusion. Straight lines insist on curling. Predictions are made to be foiled. Gravity itself could shift without explanation or warning. The only thing I am sure of is that I will never tire of you, dear friend."
Ku-Tagg slumped in disappointment.
"But I already know I will be back. In roughly three years. At your pace, at least, it may be a little bit less. Relativity and all."
"Bring something I can drink next time?" Ku-Tagg asked. That was always the last thing he said. Sort of an unofficial ritual. And his client always responded:
"Yes, of course." The Ellimist disappeared, and time started up again.
Ku-Tagg was back in his seat, without having moved there. He stared out of the viewscreen as the hum of the engines and Brit-Fang's inane, idle whistling restarted. Did he feel guilty about capturing the yellow-haired human and the male she was with? About introducing the Andalite hero to the woman he would love, the mother of his child? No. It was just work. Kept him employed. Kept him moving. Nothing worse in the galaxy than being stagnant. No greater pain than inaction. Because when you were inactive, you could start to picture the pain that the Ellimist referred to. That loss, that grief, that cold, terrible knowledge that forces greater than you could influence you. Change your mind after you'd made it up. Force you into sadness for a greater good you might never see or understand. Break your heart because it saves a life.
The communicator on his panel beeped. Ah, an old client who'd hired him many times before, to transport Hylior livestock to an outpost about fifteen lightyears away. It was the end of the breeding season. He'd almost forgotten.
"Brit, you'll have to reorder your anti-histamines," Ku-Tagg chirped. "We have work to do."
A/N: I'm just super sick of editing to be totally honest. I wanted to write something new. I'd like to thank Kim Hoppy for writing "Another Chance," because I'm pretty sure that was the sole inspiration for this plot bunny. Hope you enjoyed it!