Esvill 873 left my head to feed, and I was dragged away under the hot midday sun over the dry, dying grass of our home. He had spent all day yelling at his workers, because the work that needed to be done simply wasn't. So he was gone, but his words stayed right where they were. When he was angry, he would sometimes yell at me, instead, and those were the words that stayed longest.
There was only one thing that even made me happy anymore. My son. But he was like me.
I had yelled at him today. No… Esvill, the Visser, had yelled at him! He always did it, just to hurt me when I misbehaved.
Sometimes I would see him when his Yeerk was gone. Sometimes he would see me in my cage. Rarely, we saw each other, both freed, but across the massive Yeerk Pool context, too far to hear each other.
When the Yeerks threw me into today's cage, I saw him. For the first time in so long, joy filled my chest. It was a bitter joy, but I savoured it greedily. I ducked my head blades beneath the bars and went straight to him. He was looking out the other way, motionless like a corpse.
"Jara Hamee!" I spoke, wrapping fingers around his bicep. "Father is here, Jara Hamee."
His eyes widened, but it was in happy shock. A smile crept to his snout, and he bowed his head forward. I sat close to him, comfortingly, and joined my head blades to his.
"Not see Father so long." He said.
He had grown so well, and so strong. He looked like his Father-father. I had only seen him three times now. The first time I saw him, he was in the nursery, and Esvill told me that he was my child. The second time, he was a year old. That time, I named him, and I held him for as long as the Yeerks took to pry me away. Now, older and more curious, Jara Hamee would be looking for something more than just my love.
"Seerow so sorry for Jara," I told him regretfully. "Seerow Yeerk try to hurt Jara. Seerow tells him to stop!"
"Jara know, Father," He replied. "Jara Yeerk do the same."
I held him again, and it lasted for some time. Closer than I would hold other Hork-Bajir caged with me. He was my son, and he was not free. Maybe he would never be. I couldn't bear to look into his soulful eyes and think of all the ways they could hurt him, just like they did me.
Then Jara started to speak, his warm breath over my back. "Father, Hahn say to Jara that all Hork-Bajir have mother. Jik say, too. Does Jara Hamee have mother?"
I let the embrace loosen so that I could see his face again. I sat back more comfortably beside him. "Yes. All Hork-Bajir have a mother. Jara Hamee have a mother, too."
He was hopeful, but also cautious. "Jara meet Mother someday?"
I stopped myself before I said anything. I remembered something that Esvill did a lot, something that was new to me. I think my own mother and father did it, too. Maybe it was what I needed to do with my son. It hurt me to do it.
"Jara Mother is dead," I told him sorrowfully. "Die long ago. Kill by Hruthin."
His face was blank for a moment, but something shimmered and sparkled, running down his cheek. His eyelids shuddered. I embraced him again before I saw his sadness take him fully. He cried on my shoulder, knowing now that he could never meet his mother. His hope broke a little bit more.
"Mother love Jara always," I whispered to him. "No matter what Jara do. Mother always love."
"Will Jara see Mother w-when Jara die?" He whimpered through another rough sob.
I couldn't contain it. I shed tears myself, and clutched him harder. It felt wrong, telling him something that wasn't true. The lie still hurt him so deeply. The truth would hurt more. I never answered his question, because I didn't know.
"Jara not cry," I finally said. "Jara Hamee must be strong. Always fight Yeerks."
He sat back and rubbed the latest tears from his snout with the rear of a hand. "Jara not know."
I cocked my head. "Not know?"
"Yeerks always here?" He weakly pointed a claw to his temple.
I realised that he couldn't have known. So few Hork-Bajir at this pool were around during the invasion of our home. Nobody had told him. He thought that Hork-Bajir had always gone through this.
"No," I responded. "Hork-Bajir once free. Now slaves."
"When do Yeerks come?"
"Years ago," I said, closing my eyes to recall. I rocked lightly, backwards and forwards, a meditation to bring home the memories. I started to feel sick. "Hork-Bajir live free. Then the Yeerks come. Jara Father-father fight Yeerks. Lead our people, but then they lost. Now, not live free."
He was attentive. Still watery-eyed, but curious. He wanted more, so I relented, leaning into him to offer my body warmth as a cold chill rolled over from over the rippling pool surface nearby. I felt an urge to guard him, comfort him as much as I could. It was a sad story, made sadder still by my own memories of the way it ended.
I told him the story that my Mother and Father once did, cuddled around a sheltered campfire with the other resistance fighter. I remembered sitting between them, coddled as a young child between them. The flicker of the fire in their eyes, the soothing of their hushed tones.
And then the fear of a distant fighter zooming overhead, and the rush to extinguish the fire. It was so vivid that it even infiltrated my tale told to him.
It ended right where we sat. I came back to reality, and to my frightful son. His head rested on my chest, but not to sleep.
"Sad story." He said.
"Yes," I agreed. "Sad story."
"Maybe…" He started. "Another Dak Hamee come. Will save Hork-Bajir."
It was the sort of hope Mother and Father always tried to give me. After Father's death, that hope had faded. But I couldn't steal it from it. I'd be no better than the Yeerks.
"Another come," I said. "Save Jara Hamee. Save all Hork-Bajir. Hork-Bajir be free again."
((He will die as one of us. When I see him, I'll tell him that myself.))
Esvill swore to never let me see Jara again. He said it made me rebellious. It gave me something to live for. That was a bad thing. It made his life harder.
((Why do I care?)) He retracted. ((Nothing but animals! Filthy, stinking animals. This life is all you're worth. You should feel lucky for the mercy you've received.))
((Yeerk be quiet.)) I replied half-heartedly.
((I think we should pay her a visit. I need to unwind from this stress.))
The Visser took us away from the pool where he'd been doing his work. His underlings saluted him as he past, set eyes to their work like it meant something to them. He smiled all the way past, gazed up at resting giant ships and to platoons of training soldiers, armed with shimmering blades and glowing weapons. The journey took us away from the busy, dusty openings and down into a high-sided trench. Two Hork-Bajir sentries allowed him straight in, and an escort led him through to his very own private section.
"Take me through to her." He ordered of the escort.
"Yes, Visser." The female said.
We walked past his living quarters. The entrances were tunnels dug from the ground, reinforced with metal girders and red waterproof fabrics. More guards had been placed, and they saluted to the Visser as he past. At the very end of the trench, was one final tunnel. A black fabric veil obscured the entrance, and two guards blocked access.
"Good to see you again, Visser," said one of the guards. "She has been refusing to eat again."
"Force her to eat. We've been through this before. Inject it straight into her stomach if that's what it takes."
"Understood, Visser."
They allowed him past. Many times I had brushed aside the veil to enter the chamber. Most days, if not all during his most stressful fazes. It served him many purposes: Self-relief, self-gratification and his sadistic needs. I would be witness to everything, of course. He'd have it no other way.
The room was dark. All light came from dim torches hung on the rock walls. No other light was permitted, the place doomed to darkness on purpose. The air was cold and acrid, unclean and unventilated. It stung my nostrils and my eyes, so the Visser rubbed at them, but he thought the experience to be worth the conditions.
At the far end was a structure made of wood, allowed to rest against the wall. It was shaped like a person, with legs, arms and a head. In the darkness, it would seem to be just that, but against the backdrop something living came into view. It was the sluggish motion of a weary tail, drooping down between the legs.
My eyes were adjusting, and by the time we reached the wooden object, she became visible. She was bone-thin, a sickly figure. He head was dipped weakly to her chest, her eyes barely open and her breath stuttered and shallow. Her hands and feet was locked to the wood with thick, cold metal loops, allowing only the slightest movements. Her tail was strung loosely to the ground with a rope. She wouldn't have the energy to move it anyway.
She never said anything anymore. Not to him. For years, she had been held there, only seeing change when the structure was lowered to allow her blood to flow enough to keep her conscious. She ate only the rankest sawdust, and drank water from far downstream.
He would never let her die. Never.
"I have been told that you refuse to eat again," The Visser seethed. "Haven't you learned by now that that achieves nothing?! You stupid, braindead lizard whore!"
He slammed a fist against the structure behind her. I creaked, but as always it remained strong.
"You will eat!" He screamed. "And you will live every bite!" He raised a hand to grab at her sunken snout, and pried it open. "It's not long before I finally rip out that tongue of yours."
There was no resistance in her. Nothing at all. Her eyes opened enough to look. I'm not sure who she saw anymore.
"Someday, you'll listen, and you'll learn." He warned. Standing up tall, he began to run fingers down her torso. I could feel the contours of her ribs, her sallow skin.
He found it hard to be aroused by her form anymore. It was her torment that gave him what he needed. My body reacted to his pleasure, and he pressed his body to Mother's. She struggled, just barely in her restraints, but there was nothing to stop him.
He spoke as he made sick love to her, boasting his future plans once again. "Your sons will be heading to Earth soon. My assignment here will be over. Think I'll let you go? Hm? Maybe let you die?" He split his word with a satisfied grunt as he bumped against her cracking bones. "Of course not. You're coming, too. I can't promise your new home will be as pleasant as this one, I'm afraid, but I will always keep you company."
"Love… you…" She said with nothing more than two harsh breaths.
He stopped immediately and reached to grab her neck. He thrust her head back against the window, and stared her right in the eyes. "What… was that?!" He growled.
"Always."
"Shut up!" He shouted. "Shut up!"
With an open palm he clattered the side of her head.
"No matter… what… My See- Seerow… No ma-"
He hit her again. "Your son is dead! He's dead! He doesn't care for you anymore! He hates you!"
And she smiled. "Always, my son."