Chapter 7

We had to rely on Amara entirely. She was our ears, our eyes, our nose. We had no senses at all, only a mind floating somewhere amongst the grass plant. How the science behind it functioned, I couldn't be sure, but then the ability to morph had always confused me.

Putting our trust into her made us both wary. We'd barely known her a day, and she really hadn't made the best first impression. If she were to abandon us or hand us over as criminals, we wouldn't even know. If she wanted, she could force us to become imprisoned within these terrifying bodies, forever lost in darkness. All of our confidence – what there was of it – lay in the knowledge that Caysath was behind this. Even then, he hadn't shown himself to be entirely trustworthy.

And yet, there we were, putting ourselves into that danger. Despite responsibilities. Despite friends and family. Despite Ronnie. I felt sick.

With what information she reported to us, Amara had assured us that she had successfully moved us into the transporter. Using her ID, she entered, took a look around, spoke to various workers to make it seem like she had purpose to be there, and taken us to the storage hold where the grass was being placed. She said that the transporter would take roughly two-and-a-half hours to reach the Dome Ship and dock. She would take her own vessel and get there before us, once more finding ways to make herself look inconspicuous. We would wait alone in the cold, breezy and humid storage hold.

When she told us that we were safe to demorph, we waited a little while longer before doing so. My senses all began to return sporadically, the smell of cut grass arriving first to greet me. I'd never treasured the sense of smell so adoringly before that moment. My eyesight returned next, but it was only to the faintest slits visible through a mosaic of grass. My nerves returned, starting from my head and working down to my toes, as if my whole body had already returned but had no nervous system at all. I was partially buried, and laying almost upside down, my brain taking a pause to figure out where and what I was. I began to right myself, using the cushion of a pile of grass to adjust. My head finally emerged, and the dark storage room greeted me with cold, cruel arms. I spat blades of grass from my mouth and rubbed as much as I could from my hair.

"C-Clarissa," I coughed, regaining the feeling of my lungs. "You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," She replied from my right. "Wow, that was, like, the worst."

"Tell me about it. Looks like Amara picked a good spot, though. I can hardly see anything in here…" My eyes had only barely adjusted enough that I could start to make out the silhouette of her upper body poking through the sloped mountain of grass.

I heard the rustling of the grass, as Clarissa took a handful and played with it nonchalantly. "Can we agree to never morph grass again after today?"

"Yeah, sure. That was awful," I said. "So we have a couple hours to waste in here."

"We could play I Spy."

"Not much else to do," I sighed. "I just really wish we didn't have to do this."

"Kinda have to. I know it's shit and all, but it's this or somebody goes to jail. Maybe you."

I nodded, but she probably couldn't see. I laid back deeper into the damp grass. "It would be me."

"You wouldn't tell them?" Clarissa asked. She didn't sound surprised, even though she'd asked.

"Of course not. What do I even do these days? I cut banners at opening days. I sit in on big meetings as just another voice, surrounded by money-grubbing businessmen. I'm a picture, not a person. I just represent something."

"You're underselling yourself, you know," Clarissa said. "You trying to justify it?"

"Look at what they're doing. They're out there to save Ax. They're fighting Kelbrids and Yeerks and god-only-knows what else. You probably know a lot more than I do. What they're doing is far more important than what I'm doing."

"I've been watching you for years, Cass. I've seen the stuff you do."

I groaned inwardly at the thought. "Yeah… Should that make me feel better?"

"You know, TV and stuff like that. I've read your books and kept up with your website. You do so much stuff, you know? There are presidents that did less good stuff than you. The reason you have an image and a reputation is because you earnt it."

I tried so hard to accept her words, and at the very least I could appreciate the sentiment. "Thanks," I said sincerely.

"And what you're doing helps them. You know that, right?"

It was tempting to say a final couple words that would either confirm or deny her assertion, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. It hung in the air, and Clarissa felt no need to further drive it at me.

"I say we get this over with," She said. "And we get home to some sushi. I've, like, really gotten into that Japanese stuff."

"No grass. Not even seaweed." I insisted.

"Deal."

We talked of vacations and the holidays. Christmas was a high talking point. In the cold, damp room filled with only grass, there wasn't much else to do, and we strived to keep our minds occupied before we would inevitably have to morph the grass again. I talked about Ronnie, and she talked about some guy she'd been seeing called Zak. Once more, my mind considered the true meaning behind it. Clarissa and I had gotten so close, and yet I still felt so distant from her. I knew she was trying, and that her attempts at friendship were genuine, but her goals and her mission made it so difficult to avoid seeking subversive purposes behind everything she did. No doubt Toby would feel the same way.

Without any way of telling how long it had been, we used the feel of the ship to judge when we had to change back. With four hours of morph time, it should have been plenty, but we were very aware that once we morphed, there was no way to tell when we could morph back. Not until we heard from Amara, who would have to arrive back on the vessel. There could have been some costly delays. The ship had a constant hum that had been ever present since we'd previously demorphed, and we assumed it to be the sound of the vessel actively travelling. So when that hum suddenly and abruptly died down to little more than a whisper, shortly after a light bump, we thought it best to re-enter the hell that was the grass morph. It was just as traumatic as before.

((What's the drill if she doesn't get here?)) Clarissa asked.

((If we aren't fed into some shredder, I guess we just demorph and hope we're alone.))

Paranoia set in as we expected, when it became apparent that the wait for Amara would be long and empty. I thought of trying to relax, but feared becoming eternally lost in the void of the grass. The threats of a failed missioned aided in keeping me alert, but with nothing else to occupy my mind, it was a brutal stretch of time.

He voice came in faint and distant, but I was oh so pleased to hear it. ((Just getting checked for permission to enter.))

((Amara?!)) I blurted. ((That you?!))

((Yes, it's me. Is everything okay?))

((Yeah, we're grass again. It's been about an hour, I think…))

((It's been approximately forty-eight Earth minutes since the ship landed.))

((Oh, good!)) Clarissa chirped. ((Plenty of time!))

Amara continued to reassure us as she made her way inside, her voice growing clearer in our heads as she approached. Eventually, she told us that she was in the storage room, alone. We told her that we were the two identical grass plants that lay alone closest to the door, having thought to place ourselves away from all the rest. She picked us up and gently dropped us into her ID holder, where there would be just enough room without the risk of being damaged. She would sneak us through the storage doors as grass to avoid us being detected as unwelcome lifeforms.

((We are proceeding through the detection doors of the storage area… Safely through. There are no more detectors from this point onwards.))

That was Step 1 complete, and it had gone according to plan. Step 2 would be to get into an office. Alone. Thankfully, Amara's knowledge of the ship and its schedule was on point, and as she continued to speak to us, it came with a confident huff. This was as easy as breathing.

((I am making my way to the main offices. War Commander Torceran is present, so he will have his set up and active.))

((Will he be in his office?)) I asked.

She took a moment to check. ((He is in his office, but standeasy commences in three of your minutes. With luck, he will leave his office. If I know officers, he will go to the Dome.))

((How long does standeasy last?))

((Half an hour. Should that be enough time?))

((That's loads of time!)) Clarissa replied.

((Excellent,)) Amara said. ((I'll wait to see if he leaves.))

((Will there be a way to lock the door?)) I asked. ((That last thing we want is to get caught mooching around the War Commander's stuff.))

((No, but I'll stand on guard. I doubt anybody will interrupt you, so long as you don't remain too long. I'll take you inside and drop the items you require in an obvious spot, and then head back outside. You should demorph as quickly as you can.))

((Busy out there?)) Clarissa asked.

((It's very normal for this work shift,)) Amara said. ((Some officers are away. Others are already at standeasy. I've seen some in other offices…)) She sighed longingly. ((The easy life. I have to work for a living!))

I left her to her complaints and spoke privately to Clarissa. ((Think half-an-hour is going to be enough?))

((With an Andalite computer? That's nothing. I can get it done in five minutes. Although, it depends on how old the system is. Everything in that terminal's history gets taken.))

((What if it's real old?))

((Shouldn't be more than ten minutes.))

That was reassuring. So long as Amara kept up our security, we should have the job done without issue. Nevertheless, the thoughts of unforeseen circumstances kept popping into my head.

((He's moving,)) Amara alerted us. ((He's heading towards the Dome of the ship. In just a moment, I will drop you into his office.))

((Great timing!)) Clarissa congratulated. ((Let's see what he's got for us!))

((Stepping into the office now,)) Amara informed. ((It's empty. I'm putting you beneath a table where you can't be seen… There. Now… I've put the device you need on the table above you. You can start to demorph. I'll step outside and keep watch.))

((Thanks, Amara.)) I said sincerely. Now it was time to get out of the horrible morph for a second time.

When I finally began to regain my senses, I was lying flat on my front, merely a torso and a head, all starting to become fully-functional. I felt like an amputee, but through the corners of my eyes I could just make our limp, green arms. I was like they were made of jelly, and as I shuffled my torso left and right, they dragged along like damp rags. I closed my eyes tight, and hoped that it would be over as quickly as it had ever gone.

I felt the power of muscle return, and I gently clutched to the ground to lift myself away from it. When I was certain that the morph was over, I allowed my eyes to fall open. Clarissa was right beside me. Green.

I closed my eyes shut again. "Clarissa," I whispered. "Tell me when it's over."

"… It's over."

I opened them again, and this time Clarissa was as normal as she could ever have been. She was even able to morph all of her make-up back. I hardly ever wore the stuff, so I had no need to learn such a skill.

"We good?" She asked, keeping her voice as quiet as she could.

"Yeah, we're good. Let's go."

I crept from under the angle-less white table, my hands and feet brushing against a grassy floor. The office was a size worthy of such a highly-ranked officer, and the purple grass stretched wide to each wall, enough space for him to jog freely in a small circle. The opening to the office was at the opposite side of the room, and we couldn't see out of it, blocked by a loose fabric of some sort. I could see his computer adjacent to the doorway. It was a podium that came up to chest height, accompanied by the backsides of two or three screens, silver in colour.

The scent of Andal spices hit me. Curious but pleasant. It came neatly with the visage of comfort coating the spacious office. Delicate tinsels and webbing plant life lined the walls, shadow all but eliminated by the artificial sun that glowed inoffensively through the ceiling. Between the waves of flora were circular frames, with golds and silvers and crimsons spilling out as 3D bulges. Details of Andal symbols and the fabrics that lined them were captured so brilliantly, with the perfect contrasts on each and every occasion.

An office worthy of Ol' Torch, indeed. It felt like a field of natural beauty, all contained deceptively within one room.

Clarissa had already retrieved the computer implant from atop the white table that was one of the few obstacles around the room. She seemed entirely focused on the task at hand, not idling to gaze around at the superb room. Being on Enrich had maybe dulled her senses to the wondrous and the outstanding.

I continued to whisper, more than aware that officers could be wandering past the room in close-proximity. "Can you get straight in?"

She swerved around the podium to stand ahead of its work surface. A dash of white blurred her facial features. "It's on. Password protected. That doesn't matter."

She took the tiny object in precise fingers and starting to manipulate the podium with knowing hands. A barely-visible dial was turned beneath the screens, and a compartment was unveiled, displaying the wiry guts. She reached in, and through the tiny gap I couldn't make out what exactly she was doing as I moved to her side. All I noticed was that the screens suddenly went a dark shade of purple. An Andal symbol that I read as 'Input cannot be determined' appeared.

"Is that supposed to happen?"

She came back away from the compartment, the implant having been left inside. She looked at the screen. "Yeah, that's right."

"Will he notice something wrong when he gets back?"

She smiled wide. "Not a thing."

At that moment, I almost felt superfluous to the mission. It made me feel bad, in a way, that my own task didn't even require me to really participate. Rather than wallow in the usual self-loathing, I stepped away from the podium and refocused on Torceran's office. Specifically, I looked to the walls that gleamed and sparkled like an inverted night sky. I was drawn to a golden plaque, the closest to the computer podium and in plain sight. It was written in Andal, as would be expected, and that meant that it looked like a collection of detailed images, kind of like Chinese, but more intricate and interwoven. They didn't write in columns, or in rows. The symbols danced around, and would seem entirely random to somebody that couldn't understand the language. The pattern, however, was purposeful. It was beautiful, artwork in itself.

It was an oath, inscribed into gold. I read it in my head: For ours, you fight. For ours, you sacrifice. For ours, no matter the obstacle. For ours, no matter the choice. For ours, you.

It had a couple signatures. One of some Ammarumor, and the other was his own. His signature indicated his rank as Prince. It must have been very old.

Along that wall were placed other oaths and certificates, framed as fancifully as he would apparently like. There were certificates for each of his promotions up to War Commander, all arranged chronologically. Cadet, Aristh, Prince, War-Prince... And in-between all of them were hoisted medals, glimmering like diamonds, and they became more numerous as I moved down the line. When I arrived at his certificate for promotion to War Commander, the medals stopped abruptly. After it, something new came. It was a three-dimensional image, which was not out of the ordinary, but the contents did not follow naturally from the line of medals and oaths.

It was a picture of him. Behind him, his family. A wife, and three children that looked spookily like him, over the backdrop of a long-stretching Andal meadow. Tiny little War-Commanders. Stubborn and proud, like him, but with the innocence of children and their parents' hands over their shoulders. The War-Commander himself was smiling.

No… It did follow logically from the oaths and medals.

For ours, you.

"How's it going?" I whispered back to Clarissa. She was gazing blandly at the purple computer screens.

"Nearly there."

((Quieten down!)) Amara blurted loudly. ((I can hear you whispering in there. If I can hear you, so can others.))

I rolled my eyes and steadily wandered back to Clarissa. I could lower my volume even further, if I needed to. Having studied the walls, I could fill out the rest of the short time around his work area. It didn't feel right to go snooping through his work, but… that was the whole point of us being there. I found what would be the equivalent of a set of cupboards tucked away in the corner behind a leafless Andal plant that was growing straight from the grassy floor. I swung open the oval door to a messy ensemble of loose items. Being far out of arms-reach from his podium, whatever was inside was probably unimportant. It was gloomy, untouched by the ever-present artificial sun, and from it radiated a damp, worn smell. I saw old computer parts and spares. Some spare decorations and some empty polyester containers. A couple had loose items inside, and one of them caught my attention. I pulled it to the edge of the cupboard where it slammed a little too hard into the door frame. I gritted my teeth at the noise.

((Are you trying to get caught?)) Amara grumbled from outside. ((You're lucky nobody was around the hear that.))

I finally breathed again, and looked back into the container. Inside were three pieces of metal, ranging from dark grey to black, and they looked a little worn, adorned with scratches and scrapes. From the twisted, jagged edges here and there, it was clearly that they'd been removed from something bigger. Their presence was curious. I tipped one forward with a careful finger when I saw a hint of writing. With it revealed, though slightly blurred, I could read: Hevik Constructor -Vessel 248.

I dropped down the vessel part and gently replaced the container back into the cupboard. I closed the door, just as Clarissa spoke.

"All done. Let's get out of here."