(I…sir, now is really not a good time--) Escafil stuttered as Zydrin continued to seethe.
(Good time?!) Zydrin boomed, making the gaggle of Andalites behind him shirk back in fear. (Do you really think my purpose is so meaningless that I am only here to accommodate you?)
(Well, yes,) Escafil choked out. Zydrin's eyes were blazing, and for someone so old, he was holding his tail rather high and stiff.
Escafil's mind began churning, wondering what had clued Zydrin into Escafil's most recent success. (This is your fault, isn't it?) Escafil asked Tlaxick privately.
(Indirectly,) Tlaxick sighed back. (I'd forgotten to turn the recording device from its closed network broadcast to simple digital recording. Your morph broadcast to everyone watching channel 5.)
Indirectly was right. That was Cirell's job. But she had a good excuse for forgetting. Escafil groaned, feeling a prickle of fear run up his neck. Zydrin closed the distance between them.
(I told you I wanted to be here,) he seethed privately.
(It's my work. I'm not your pet.)
(Really? I feed you and praise you for doing a good little job and give you shelter. If not my pet, then what are you?)
(Zydrin, let us see the technology,) one of his associates said. One of Zydrin's stalk eyes snapped back.
(Of course,) he said. (Escafil, where is it?)
(Escafil,) he suddenly heard a private gasp in his head. (Escafil, send them away. I have to demorph.)
(Just hold on, Cirell. We've got time.)
(But if they--)
(Cirell, calm down!) He shouted. His impatience had reached its threshold. He knew she had just been through a very traumatic experience and had meant to employ patience and comfort, but he couldn't. They all wanted to take things from him. They all wanted it for themselves. He felt himself seethe, felt his skin crawl in rage, felt tremors run up and down his stiff, immobile tail.
(Just hurry up,) she hissed back.
(If you have time, now, Escafil, we really would love to see a demonstration of your technology. I know what a busy, difficult life you lead, appeasing prima donna scientists and funding boards and shuffling resources, but please, take your time.) Zydrin had started by addressing the entire group, but ended talking to him privately.
(Sir, where's Cirell?) Tlaxick asked, again privately.
Escafil's head was beginning to throb. He did not like being the center of attention. He did not have the concentration to address all of these problems at once.
(I would love to give you and our colleagues a demonstration,) Escafil said, using far too bright a voice, something unsettling and uncharacteristic. Zydrin took a step back in confusion. Escafil approached the group clasping his hands together, waving his stalk eyes in far too friendly a matter. (Please, come around the lab table. My assistant here will ensure your protection. You all know how unstable Kafits can get! Tlaxick, please return Specimen 824 to his cage.)
(But I thought he already was--) Tlaxick began
(That is Cirell, you moron.) Escafil whispered privately.
(Hi, Tlaxick,) she said.
(Does that mean…oh…well, okay.)
(There, now we can get down to business!) Escafil chirped.
(Is that one of the specimens?) One of the professors asked. Escafil recognized her. It was Neffergil, a prominent zoologist. (I'd love to examine the specimens you've already morphed.) Another wash of fear spread through Escafil.
He had a decision to make. Zydrin was furious that Escafil had morphed without informing him, and Escafil didn't want to imagine how he would react to the fact that Cirell obtained the technology before he did. Zydrin's tail was still twitching, and Escafil feared that he may use it.
He could do a demonstration and answer any of their questions in less than 165 minutes. Or 144. She would be fine.
(Tlaxick,) Escafil said to the young boy. He nodded a stalk eye in response. (Answer any questions Professor Neffergil asks. She has a tendency to get wrapped up in one task, so just try to keep her moving. Do your best to give Cirell the privacy she needs to demorph.)
(I'll try, sir, but it was Neffergil that stopped me in the first place. She said she's wanted to examine your specimens for some time.)
(Cirell,) he said to her privately, (I need you to act like a Kafit for a while. I'll make sure you don't get trapped. I promise.)
(I trust you,) she said to him. (You've earned my complete trust, after today.)
Even though he shouldn't have been able to talk to a bird, and didn't want to reveal who that bird truly was, he smiled a little.
(Yes, that is one of the specimens,) he said to Neffergil. (Tlaxick here can show you the rest. I would be more than happy to perform a demonstration for all of you as well.)
(Well, don't keep us waiting,) Zydrin said as Tlaxick unconfidently led Neffergil away, clinging to a strangely cooperative Kafit bird.
Escafil watched them descend from view, almost too distracted to listen. (Yes…) he said. (Yes. My apologies. Stand back. There is a moment at the beginning of the morph when I am entirely overwhelmed by the djabala's brain.)
(Fascinating,) croaked Puxikil, a psychologist specializing in xenomorphic identity. (You say this only happens at the beginning?)
(Yes,) Escafil said patiently. He'd managed to avoid this step in the scientific process, and was glad to have postponed it until now. He had friends in the scientific community, of course. People who knew his name, had met his wife, remembered his birthday. But he was not particularly close with any of them. He preferred being alone in his work, and sharing the important things with Cirell. Despite their brilliance, most of his colleagues were very self-conscious. Entering discourse with intelligent, educated people can be very rewarding, but not when they're only talking to you so they can reassure themselves of their own intelligence and education.
(So how does the Andalite identity reassert itself? What is the physical process by which that occurs?)
(A channel remains open between the new, physical body and the mass expelled to Zero-Space,) Escafil explained. (The identity, the mind, remains mostly intact and functional within the superdimensional folds of Zero-Space. It simply takes a few moments for the morph's instincts and the Andalite identity to jibe and interact in an efficient manner.)
(So there is mass just floating around in Zero-Space, while our ships and transports have the power to slice right through it?) That was Grinfarn, a Zero-Space specialist. They were generally a paranoid bunch. He'd worked very closely with Escafil in the initial phases of his project.
(As you recall, my dear colleague, Zero-Space, like normal space, is very big. The odds of that happening are infinitesimal. In fact, I would stake the claim that something like that scenario could never, ever happen.)
(Is there any limit to taxonomic difference between the base species and the morph? How many specimens have you tried?)
(Only two. Right now, it seems we can only morph CNS-based organisms.)
(That makes sense. I wonder if guide trees qualify…)
The group of scientists got lost in their idle speculation and incessant questioning for over an hour. Before long, however, Zydrin grew impatient and silenced the increasingly excited group of old intellectuals.
(Excuse me for being a visual-based learner, but can we see you perform a morph or not?) He huffed.
(Of course.)
His colleagues all silenced themselves in giddy anticipation, rocking backwards and forwards on their hooves, wobbling their tails from side to side like a child on his first day of school. Escafil breathed deeply, held his breath, and began the morph.
Bursts of thought-speech entered his mind.
(It's happening insequentially, the morph is different now than the recording-- )
(There is no heat by-product, the energy transfer is entirely self-contained--)
(Evolutionary patterns are evident! Look at the hooves, they're so similar to the pads on the djabala's feet--)
Each of the specialists retreated to their own selfish work, watching their colleague demonstrate his before them.
The only thing going through Escafil's mind, however, was the hope that he would not embarrass himself as badly as last time. There were still a lot of djabala females in that cage room.
From which Neffergil had still not emerged.
Escafil stalled the morph out for a moment, recalculating the amount of time that had passed. Seventy-two minutes. Cirell would be fine.
He finished a few minutes earlier than the last time. And though he could feel the presence of the djabala's instincts and drives, it did not overwhelm him as badly as before.
(Fascinating!) A few of his colleagues blurted out at once. Escafil tried to blink away his hyperopia, forgetting that it was inherent to his current form. A few of his colleagues stepped closely, touching his flesh without permission, breaking manners Andalite foals learn within days of birth. Perhaps they had forgotten that he was still an Andalite.
(It truly is a djabala, inside and out,) one of them said, though it was getting difficult to tell them apart. (I admit my doubt, Escafil, I thought your technology was simply glorified deception, a tool by which to dupe the Andalite people. But you've really done it. You've honestly found a way for a man to change his form.)
This surprised him. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how much he'd needed just a little bit of positive reinforcement.
(Are the rest of you satisfied?) He asked.
(What is it like? What does it feel like?)
(Everything is different, but the djabala's brain translates all of the perceptions for me.)
(And when you morph back?)
(Allow me to show you,) he said, beginning the demorphing process.
(That's it, isn't it?) Quervalt, one of Escafil's oldest friends from medical school, asked. (I walked in here thinking you looked as fresh as the day you graduated. All of the ailments and abuses your body has suffered throughout your life were expunged, weren't they? Illsipar addiction, scars, arthritic joints. All of them can be purged through this simple transformation. Do you even feel like a sire anymore?)
It was a poor choice of words, but it made Escafil laugh. (I feel as fit as a colt,) he answered.
His colleagues were impressed. Escafil was proud. He'd warmed up to their admiration, he began to accept it as sincere. For a long time, he answered their questions, shooting a knowing, arrogant glance at Zydrin every once and a while, suddenly bemused by the fact that he had almost been shut down. He laughed with his friends, accepted their congratulations, and promised them that he would thank all of them individually when accepting the biannual Elder Award granted by the Electoral Institute for Science.
He accepted their praise for a long time. Finally, his stalk eye accidentally glanced the cage room on a random sweep and he remembered the time.
(All right, everyone,) he said with a laugh. (Thank you for coming by. I plan on beginning my report tomorrow, and I'll be sure to send all of you the first draft as soon as it is complete. For now, let's allow my poor assistants to go home for the night.)
(Where is Cirell, anyway?) Zydrin asked slowly.
(Um, resting. She was feeling a tad under the weather.)
(I heard yamphut is going around. You should tell her to get checked out if it persists.)
(Yes, well, Cirell is not partial to doctors.)
(Is that right?) Zydrin said with a reciprocal arrogant smile. Escafil swallowed back his rage and nodded. (You're right, however. We've cluttered your lab for long enough.)
(I have a lot of work to do before I go home, anyway,) Grinfarn groaned. (Zero-Space shifted last night in our quadrant. I have to rework all of my calculations.)
(What?) Escafil blurted before he could stop himself. (How?)
(I don't know. I wouldn't be able to explain it, anyway. I can only perceive how the extra dimensions behave on a very excellent day after ingesting three or four illsipar roots.)
(Yes, well, you best get to it, then. Thank you for stopping by, gentlemen!) He ushered them out as fast as he could, feeling, once again, the prickles of discomfort and danger rise up his tail.
(You seem nervous about something, Escafil,) Zydrin said to him, once the rest of his colleagues had left. (Is there something you'd like to tell me?)
Escafil was about to explode. But he knew there was only one way to get Zydrin to leave.
(Thank you,) he said. Zydrin's eyes opened wide in surprise.
(I'm sorry?)
(Thank you, sir. You're right. I don't appreciate what you do for us nearly enough. You made this possible. As far as I am concerned, it is your victory.)
Zydrin wanted to be angry, but he could only wave his stalk eyes in confusion. (Oh.)
He walked out without saying anything else.
Escafil could still feel the pulses of self-contentment flowing through him, but they were being slowly replaced by nerves. If Zero-Space shifted last night, that meant his calculations were void. The window for staying in morph had changed. He could only hope the changes were insignificant, or perhaps allowed for a greater time in morph. He rushed to the cage room where Tlaxick was holding a fluttering Kafit bird which was losing its feathers and squaking uncontrollably.
(Where is she? She has 23 minutes left, but I want her to--)
(Escafil, how do you do it? How do you demorph?)
The Kafit was Cirell. Escafil walked over, waving off Tlaxick's clutching, insensitive hands. He stroked her behind the head, along her first set of wings.
(Just concentrate, my love. Use the psychic controls the same way, just in reverse.)
(I am, Escafil. I have been, since they left. I must be doing something wrong.)
(Cirell--)
(It's not working, Escafil!) She cried. (I can't demorph!)
