Chapter Ten

Jennor

PART ONE OF TWO

The first thing that hit me was the smell.

I breathed in hard, and just from the smell, I could tell I wasn't home. The air tasted filtered, stale, artificial. Like a ship lot, like a fuel refinery, like stale organic waste. No solar heat radiated from the grass, and the ground was not spongy with dirt and moisture. There was no jet stream, no air flow, no circulation. Everything was stuck inside this terrible little space.

I opened my main eyes. I was about two meters away from Trainer's hooves. He was idly shifting his weight from side to side, carefully scratching an itch on his haunch with the blunt edge of his tail blade. Dry grass prickled my face. Even up this close, it didn't smell like grass. It smelled like Styrofoam or rubber. It was withered and flaccid, drooping down to the ground like wet hair. It looked like it had given up.

I opened a fuzzy stalk eye and gauged my situation. I turned, looking up at the blank, shining ceiling with my main eyes, inspiring a primitive rush of panic. Andalites are not meant to lie on the ground, and though I felt the sharp inclination to scramble to my hooves, I stayed still, silently hushing my throbbing head. I glanced back at my waist to see that my holster and Shredder were gone. I lifted my stalk eyes, scanning the rest of the ship, blinking the aching dullness away, and gazed up at Trainer. He was at the control panel, hands hovering carefully over the tactile controls, eyes focusing hard on the psychic ones. The single stalk eye always reserved for me was gazing curiously up and down my prostrate body. I looked away, suddenly aware of a significant change in his demeanor.

It was just like that terrible smell, the way I could sense how different he was. I had been too blind to notice it before now, distracted by my own selfish fear of failure. But he'd been nervous too. No, not nervous. Terrified. Self-doubting, panicked. Was he scared about my potential failure too? My failure would reflect poorly on him, but…no, he'd known the status of my acceptance before I'd found out, and his terror persisted beyond my admittance to the training facility. His fear was selfish, too. He was afraid of failing at something that had nothing to do with my career. But it had everything to do with me.

I didn't understand, but I could tell he was different now. He was content. His terror was gone, replaced with smug pride and self-assuredness. Whatever he had done, he had gotten away with it.

Yes. That distinct thought passed through his mind. I got away with it.

(I'm sorry that I hit you,) he said, distracted by the control panel, as though my presence was a mild inconvenience. (Dangerous to be up and about in a ship jumping to Zero Space, no?)

(Where are we?) I asked, rolling onto my stomach so I could pull myself to my hooves.

(Zero Space,) he answered slowly, annoyed by my question, as if it should have been perfectly obvious. I thought of a way to rephrase it to make it clearer, but decided against it. Trainer liked his games of wit and evasion. Especially when he had something to hide.

(Go get something to drink, Jennor. There's a pool in your quarters.)

I pulled myself to a standing position, eyes fluttering, head heavy with throbbing pain. I stumbled to the aft living quarters, guiding myself carefully with the smooth interior edge of the ship. The temperature increased as I walked, heat radiating from the normal-space engines. Poor compensators. Mediocre life support. It was why the air tasted so artificial, why I felt so trapped. My eyes roved around once more, corroborating my surroundings, calculating the volume of the ship. Less than a hundred cubic meters. A choking sensation in my throat. Sweat trickled down my temple. I put a cold finger to it, which helped the persistent throbbing from the initial assault.

The entrances of the quarters faced each other, separated by a narrow hallway. I heard the high-pitched hum of the twin Zero Space engines from within each room. I glanced inside the starboard quarters, but it was clear that Trainer had claimed it. He had already unpacked a number of personal items. I felt a thrill of unclear fear. A withered branch from a long-dead wish flower hung over the small, circular, ramonite window that looked out to the sleek, unnecessarily aerodynamic Z-Space engine. His holster and Shredder, a newer, sleeker model than mine, lay tidily in the corner of the room. He had a small, round, metal desk adorned with a bouquet of flowers suspended in mid-air inside an orb of water—a pretty elementary manipulation of artificial gravity. On the other side of the desk, obscured by the orb, was a small holographic image of a beautiful woman. I was drawn to her image. I wondered who she was.

(Your quarters are over there, Jennor,) he said sternly, charging up from behind, blocking his doorway. He pressed his tail blade flat into my chest and pushed me into the opposite room.

I stumbled inside, watching him with my stalk eyes as I surveyed the situation.

After a quick glance, I realized that my room was smaller than Trainer's. There was no reason why the rooms shouldn't be equal in size. The grass in here was even more pathetic than on the bridge. It looked almost ashen, completely devoid of life or nutrition. An artificial-looking light in a tube outlined the room, giving little flickers of surrender every few seconds. My stomach gave a sick lurch when I realized none of my personal effects were in here. No, none of my things from home, but the only things I really wanted were my holster and Shredder

Where were they?

That one question opened a flood gate of curiosity, fear, indignation, and impatience, and I looked up at Trainer expectantly. Though I hadn't said a word, Trainer knew exactly how to respond to me.

(I suppose you and I need to have a talk,) he said, standing in my doorway, an air of benign wonder in his voice, like he was predicting what the weather would be like later in the day.

(Why are we in Zero Space?) I asked him, repulsed by the look of satisfaction and victory in his black eyes, but too stubborn to break eye contact.

(We are in Zero Space because we are traveling somewhere that necessitates it,) he responded. He was still gloating, enjoying his game of psychological hide-and-seek.

(Where are we going that necessitates the use of Zero Space?) I asked patiently.

He breathed deeply, finally preparing to reveal the truth.

(We are traveling to a planet in Sector 42, Section Gamma,) he responded. (There is no native sentient species.)

(Is this a pit stop?) I asked.

(What?) He asked. I waved my stalk eyes, remembering that he would not recognize an Earth idiom.

(Are we going to Officer's Training afterwards?)

He smiled.

I wanted there to be menace and danger in it, but for the first time since I'd met him, it seemed sincere. He was proud of me, and there was an unmistakable sense of accomplishment that validated it. For a second, it reminded me of my father, but I didn't know why. Father had only looked at me like that once before.

(You are not going to Officer's Training, Jennor,) he said.

I felt prickly ice cubes run down my neck and back, pins in my shoulders and shins. I wobbled a little. But Trainer kept smiling.

(Why not?) I whispered.

He walked inside my quarters and pressed his palm to the flickering light. A control panel opened up before him, flashing navy blue warnings. He moved his fingertips there, closed his eyes in concentration, and the light stopped flickering.

(You really don't know how talented you are, do you?) His stalk eye was pinned on me, like always.

I felt the ice melt as my cheeks flushed. The stalk eye smiled.

(I spent only a few months fighting in the war before my reassignment to Frahola's,) he said, a note of bitterness in his voice. (The quality of the warriors I met disappointed me to no end. I thought I could change that, from my new position. But not until you, Jennor...) his voice trailed off. I felt faintly nauseated.

He gazed for a moment out of the small window that looked at nothing except the large, glowing Zero Space engine. He was distracted by something from his past. I could tell I didn't want to know about it, so I didn't try to probe him.

(But why now?) I asked, breaking him from his reverie.

(Because the Andalites are losing, Jennor.) he responded, still gazing out the window. (Because we need every last scrap of talent we can dig up fighting on the front lines. Because you can make a difference.)

(But two years of Officer's Training surely won't—)

(There might not be a war in two years, Jennor,) he said, turning his full attention on me. He was not angry or threatening, but I couldn't bear that terrible, black, inscrutable gaze. (Those blessed with talent are also cursed by it, Jennor. The war needs you.) I felt like he wasn't finished speaking, but he said nothing further.

(I just...I'm not that great. You cut me the first day. There's so much I still need to learn. Would they even let an aristh fight on the front lines? I really can't—)

(Let me worry about the details, Jennor,) he said, smug self-satisfaction returning to his face. (And...I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.)

I broke eye contact and looked down.

(You are...Jennor, you were, without a doubt, the best student I instructed this year. In a way, your progression from bucking, unfocused neophyte)—I scowled at this—(to graceful, finessed tail artist was the same as anyone else's, but the fighter you turned into...it was like you were born for it. Crafted for combat. It is what any combat trainer can only dream of. I have never seen someone make the transition so smoothly. It takes most men years.) He laughed for a moment. (Perhaps that is the difference. Perhaps we sent the wrong half to war.)

(Sir, I—)

(You can be a hero, Jennor. That gift, on the end of your tail, that sign...you're already a better fighter than any of those boys hundreds of pounds heavier and a decade older. I don't even want to imagine the force you will be when you...mature, no?) He said the last words, sliding his eyes up and down my frame. He may as well have splashed me with cold engine oil.

(And you really believe we shouldn't wait until then?) I asked.

He smiled again, all sincerity lost. (Surely not. You're ready now.) Despite his testimony that made my hearts swell with pride, I felt unconvinced. There was something he wasn't telling me. His previous thought rang in my head: I got away with it.

Got away with what?

(So this is...good, then?) I asked him uncertainly. He laughed again, this one both lighter and more dangerous.

(Yes, Jennor, this is very good.)

(Well, my father is unaware of the good news. I shall go contact him,) I said, making my way slowly out of the quarters. Trainer grabbed me by my upper arm.

(We can use no long-range communication while in Zero Space,) he said flatly.

(Oh. When we...reach our destination, then?) I tried to pull my arm away, but he gripped it tighter.

(Certainly,) he said, releasing his grip.

Three weeks went by in the blank embrace of Zero Space. I convinced myself I'd grown accustomed to my new environment, but I began experiencing panic attacks, waking up in cold sweats in the middle of the night. Trainer spent most of his time at the control panel. I tried a few times to see what he was doing, but it's hard to spy on someone when one of their eyes watches everything that you do. He had unloaded my Shredder and given it back to me, telling me to practice holding it and walking with it. (Make it a close friend,) he instructed. He said when we finally reached the planet, he would give me all the supplies I would need to fill my holster—Shredder fuel cartridges, tiny remote grenades, artificial skin grafts, and a few painkillers. I swelled in anticipation for when that day would arrive.

I spent most of my time reviewing my tail-fighting forms. There were dozens in total, half designed to condition different muscles, the other half meant to prepare for different opponents. Most were divided into categories for Andalites—different forms for different heights, weights, and builds. Tail-fighting was an eons-old art, and only recently had the division of the military devoted to it conceived of forms for engaging Hork-Bajir and Taxxons. Those were the ones I concentrated most heavily on. Those were the ones I would need to master.

Trainer paid very close attention to my eating and drinking habits. I was only allowed to eat the grass on one side of the ship at a time, in order to give the grass on the opposite side an opportunity to regrow. It tasted dry and it was difficult to swallow. I tried to stay off the wrong side of the ship, because it's so instinctive to absorb any grass you're standing on. If he saw me eating on the wrong side, he would glare and insult my stamina, my strength of will, my devotion. My gender. My father. Sometimes I wished he would just cut me again. He always knew exactly what to say to break my spirit.

Every three hours or so, he would tell me to get a drink of water. After all, the grass was dry, and it was necessary for proper brain and body function to remain hydrated. It was an unsettling new habit, since the grass of home more than hydrated me. His final order was at 2100. I don't know why, but the water on that ship always made me sleepy. I'd usually fall asleep for the night half an hour after that completing that final order.

Finally, after I knew all of my Shredder's deepest secrets and could do thirteen of the seventeen Hork-Bajir and Taxxon forms in zero-gravity, Trainer approached me and informed me that we would reach the planet later that day.

lol remember when I said I wasn't going to make any author's notes?

So we're going to give this a try: the chapter lengths will remain about the same, but I'm going to split them up into 2,000- or 3,000-word chunks. I don't know about you guys, but my e-attention span is only about 2,000 words, and I don't want you to have trouble figuring out where you left off if you read these in more than one sitting. I realize there may be some consequences of this that I haven't thought of, so if it doesn't work, we'll just switch back to the old way.

Before I forget, thanks again to my reviewers--voodooqueen, birdie, and metamorphstorm. I'm glad you guys have stuck around so far :)

All right, without further adieu, click the right arrow for part two!