Elfangor's Folly

by Kim Hoppy

After the crash landing, Elfangor finds himself on Earth, alone, the only ones knowing of his presence being the five children who saw him crash. Confronted with the choice to fight or to hide, he chooses to continue the battle. AU

21. Epilogue Version 3

Disclaimer: Rights to Animorphs and its respective characters belong to the respective parties.

Warning: Just remember, higher-than-likely chance that things may be lifted directly from the text without warning, scenarios imitated, battles poorly written.

[~.~.~]

A/N: And he stays Andalite. Some mature content.

[~.~.~]

Epilogue Version #3

[~.~.~]

—Marco—

[~.~.~]

We were all a little nervous. I mean, it was obvious. We all expected Elfangor to be around when we got to this point. Sort of magically appear, like he usually did, even though he had gone with the Hork-Bajir and others to deal with Yeerk threats there. But he didn't. We were just a bunch of dumb kids.

Toby had come to report that, as we expected – hoped – the Yeerks still alive would rather become nothlits than be killed. But she didn't know where Elfangor was. They had split up. Ax said he went down to the weapons, but he was bound to come up to the bridge.

We had followed the plan, more or less. Our plan got spectacularly screwed when the Andalites decided, hey, I think now we should show up, just to mess the Animorphs up. Instead of a very nice, friendly-dangerous plan to take the two Yeerk ships, it all went tits up. Visser One ignored our diversion – which, okay, probably meant a lot more people lived – and headed into space. I don't know what Mom and everyone else on the Blade ship was going through, but we all knew we had to work fast. If the Andalites got the Yeerks to deal, we were screwed over no matter what we told the people. So we hit them hard and fast, while half of our team probably had no idea what was going on, since we messed with communications. Ax had certainly been shocked when we told him about this latest development.

Andalite fighters were messing with us and the Yeerk fighters, which helped get rid of a lot of the bad guys. It made it slightly easier. By the time we all got on the bridge and subdued Visser One, which was pretty easy as he was still screaming at my mom's image, and Ax very quickly forced contact with the Dome ship and his homeworld and demurely asked that they please stop trying to kill us, we've already got the ships, thank you very much, too late you can't screw Earth over now, can you, hahahaha.

Well, Ax didn't say that, but he should have. Instead, he was his polite self under literal fire when the Andalite on the screen demanded to know who we were. Since Ax wasn't sure, I stepped in. "This ship is under the control of the Earth Liberation Army." Something stupidly grandiose for us. Elfangor would have rolled his stalks and muttered, ‹Children.›

Between Mom on one side and Ax on the other, the Andalites weren't looking too willing to agree. It wasn't until Alloran, newly freed, stepped in and suggested a great course of action to prove we were not a Yeerk trap. Mom agreed just as readily, and I think the faces of two of the worst Vissers in the Yeerk empire had some weight.

Still, Elfangor appearing at any time would be good.

At that time, Captain-Prince Asculan-Semitur-Langor – of the Dome Ship Elfangor, and was Elfangor going to be shocked at that whenever he decided to get his big tail up here – and was totally going to ruin everything, since he didn't believe or want to believe a bunch of human kids did what half the Andalite fleet couldn't. Self-preservation kicked in and my mouth opened.

"Hey, Ax-man, is it true the Andalite homeworld is watching all this? Can I wave to them? Hi, everyone! Howard Stern rules! Yaaah!" While I grinned and waved, everyone else sort of froze. I thought my mom wanted to leap through the screen and kill me herself, while Ax just wanted to pass out. I wondered what Elfangor would have done. Probably do his narrowed stalk-eye glare at me. But it worked. Everyone understood, and those who didn't understood when it got explained to them in simple little words.

Yeah, we called your house and told your mommy what was going on. If you're nice, we won't tell her your smoking weed and watching pay-per-view porn. Thanks to Elfangor's very expressed orders, you were totally caught and you better play ball otherwise you were so going to get grounded.

Part of me wondered distantly what was going to happen to Elfangor for ordering that. We all knew what he was doing when he gave the order he really hadn't had to give, because we weren't complete idiots. When he said it in that tone, it was easy. Taking the blame, shielding Ax and us from anything that would happen. Ax had looked troubled but promised. By his face, we all knew Elfangor was going to get into big trouble. Like prison and chopping-off-his tail trouble. We had all gave each other a look and agreed – somehow, we'd make sure Elfangor didn't get the shaft.

That didn't mean we didn't want him to face the firing squad with us, though. Any time, Elfangor, any time.

Jake stepped in, a friendly face with no nasty Yeerk ties as far as the Andalites were aware of. He was a good diplomat. Said how we were pleased that the Andalites were devoted to stopping the Yeerks, how they did so much to help us – two of them – and how we were so happy to share credit, and you are so not going to blow up our planet with your people watching, and definitely not on a Dome ship named Elfangor when the real Elfangor did all the work.

So there.

When Asculan asked who Jake was, I opened my mouth. "This is Jake. Jake Berenson. President of Earth."

‹Really? I must have missed the primaries.›

We all turned, shocked at the voice. Elfangor, finally. And he looked like crap. But a good crap. Elfangor always knew how to stand and walk, and he walked towards the screen. I could only hope to look half as good. Rachel could probably pull it off.

His fur was matted with red blood, and it dripped when he walked. He didn't actually look hurt, but then again, Elfangor never did. There were burns on his arms and shoulders, and he might have been favoring his back right leg. And his blade, poised high and ready … well, it had definitely been used.

Any other battle, we would have run to him, happy he was alive, but we all sort of realized we couldn't do that now. But we were all smiling, especially Loren.

He was making an impression, and I wondered if he even realized it. Elfangor understood appearances, but he could be remarkably dense on how others saw him. I bet he was only standing like a good Andalite warrior, but the fact was he was standing like a good Andalite warrior covered in blood. He was doing the slow walk, the walk of the good guy into the saloon, but Elfangor always walked like that. I'll never admit it to anyone, but sometimes I tried to act like him, but Elfangor had no sense of humor and I did, so it was impossible. It could make someone insanely jealous. Elfangor was the ultimate cool guy, and he wasn't a jerk about it. No wonder everyone loved him.

Well, except the Andalite on the screen.

‹Prince Elfangor.› There was a definite cold sneering tone.

‹War-Prince Asculan,› he said formally, and then he looked at Alloran for a long moment, before saying with far more deference and a bow, ‹War-Prince Alloran. It is a pleasure to see you freed at last.›

I wondered how he knew, but then realized, of course. If he was still Visser One, there is no way we would have been so calm around him.

Alloran didn't respond right away, but he finally replied. ‹Thank you, War-Prince Elfangor. It is good to be free again.›

Elfangor nodded and then looked at the screen. ‹We shall await your arrival, War-Prince Asculan, and prepare to discuss the cessation of this war.›

Asculan sneered. ‹Earth may be freed, Prince Elfangor, but the war still goes on.›

‹But it does not have to. The Andalite people have the opportunity to offer at least a hope to a swifter end. One without death.›

Asculan didn't believe it. Neither did Alloran. Both were looking at Elfangor like he was crazy. Everyone probably was. But he had to say it now, when the Andalite civilians were watching. I saw him look at Jake and Jake subtly nod.

‹And what way is that?›

‹We finish what Prince Seerow started.›

The result was instantaneous. I was glad Asculan was on the other side of the view screen. Alloran was looking at him in shock and betrayal.

Elfangor stood poised while the insults washed over him. ‹Perhaps I am mad,› he agreed. ‹But we have held a way to end this war since it started. Since before it started. We've been blind to its full potential. We've let one mistake – a tragic mistake, to be sure – dictate our actions these many years. It is time for Andalites to stop hiding.›

‹And what do you propose we do, Great Elfangor?›

He didn't even flinch. ‹We give the Yeerks, the Taxxons, and any other species that desires it the ability to morph. We offer them a different life.›

‹Impossible! The Law –›

‹The Law is out-dated! Made out of a moment of pure fear and panic and should never have been created as it was!› Elfangor continued ruthlessly. ‹The law bans the giving Andalite technology to inferior species. To what definition is inferior applied to but any creature that is not Andalite. Aren't we a proud race?› he spat, ‹And how we have paid for our pride.

‹The morphing technology is little use to Yeerks or Taxxons. There are rebel Taxxons on Earth who desire it to be freed from their unending hunger. There are Yeerks who desire to do without their Kandrona rays and parasitic nature. We have the ability to give them this chance, as a people. Not all will accept, but perhaps enough. And this … this is worth it. If it makes it so there is one less enemy an Andalite warrior must fight, I say we do it.›

‹Give the yeerks the ability to morph, we would be even a worse position,› Asculan snapped.

Elfangor gave a small smile. ‹While it is true that if we want peace, we must prepare for war, it is also true that if we want war, we will most assuredly get it. If I must continue to prepare for war, I prefer it to be for peace and that the war may never come, not for a war that will never end.›

Sometimes, I wondered if he practiced these speeches, wrote them up and delivered them in front of a mirror.

Communications ended so and Elfangor slumped, exhausted while we headed for the rendezvous point. He seemed sort of lost for a moment, before he asked us about the ground force, listened dimly as Mom talked about the Blade ship, reported what she had seen, who we had lost. I looked at Jake as he took in the news, how it shattered him for a moment, but he pulled it together. Next to him, Loren touched Elfangor's arm, but he ignored her while he listened and catalogued.

I'd never tell Tobias this, but if I had a woman like Loren touch my arm, I wouldn't be ignoring it.

"Look, Elfangor, you can't go falling apart on us, now," I said.

He looked at me and gave a small smile. ‹Marco, falling apart is the last thing on my mind.›

‹They won't do it,› Alloran said. ‹You know they won't.›

Elfangor turned and looked at him. ‹They will. Because the People know about the option. Millions of parents worried about their children. They want this war to end. It will be slow, yes, but in the end, it will happen.›

"And because he said it," Loren added.

Alloran gave a derisive snort. ‹Ah, yes, because Prince Elfangor has supported it. I had not remembered that.›

‹You do not think it will work.›

‹I think you are still a young, naïve fool,› he snapped. ‹But … but it may work. Not all of the Yeerks will join.›

‹I do not expect them. But enough. And the Taxxons … they will wish it. Arbron and his followers will get the ability.›

Alloran's eyes were wide. ‹Arbron? He is still alive?› Elfangor smiled and nodded, and Alloran snorted. ‹We are merely one human and a white orb short of where we started.›

‹Terrible, isn't it?›

The other Andalite looked at his tail and twitched it. ‹No. No, it is not.›

"So this is it? We won?" Cassie asked from the other end of the view screen, crying.

"Of course we did," Rachel said. Despite her bravado, I could see the great Xena was trying not to cry. Tom was her cousin.

"Kicked their butts," I added.

Elfangor shook his head at us and he probably muttered, ‹Children,› to himself, but Loren smiled.

‹Prince Asculan will want to board once we prove to him we are being honest,› Aximili informed.

Elfangor gave a small huff. I recognized it, as he usually gave it to me. ‹That won't be pleasant. Asculan is known to be a … a prickly pear.›

"Elfangor, we're not five. You can swear around us," I said. "You can say he is a complete –"

"Marco, shut up," Jake said gruffly.

‹He has always been difficult,› Elfangor commented dryly. ‹But he got worse once he had a ship named after him. Quite frankly, Andalites who get ships named after them should be shot. It would save all of their compatriots a lot of grief.›

It took me and the rest of us a moment to realize he didn't know the statement applied to him, and we laughed. "So do you have any last words?" I asked cheekily.

He eyeballed me.

‹Prince Asculan is captain of the ship Elfangor, brother,› Ax said, amused but still deferential.

Elfangor raised his stalks in surprise and his face blanched. Still, he recovered quickly. ‹I still stand by my statement.›

"We'll set it for noon, because who wants to get up at dawn," I said.

"Not you," Jake said.

"Perhaps it's named after another Elfangor," Loren said mischievously. "It is a very common name, after all." For a moment, Elfangor looked perturbed at her, and we grinned at each other with the same thought. We all knew he had his pride, and while he didn't care if he got a ship named after him, Elfangor wouldn't even think of letting someone else get his kudos. It was a funny twist, but that was basically Andalites. They were never really humble, and Elfangor was no exception.

"I bet now it is," I said.

[~.~.~]

—Loren—

[~.~.~]

"So this is good-bye?" I smiled, trying not to cry.

‹Yes, I fear so,› he said. ‹I have already said good-bye to the children.›

"So this is your planet? It's beautiful," I said, waving around the Dome part.

‹I'm glad you believe so.› His main eyes looked around awkwardly, but his stalks never left me. ‹Loren, I am sorry. I should never—›

"No, don't apologize. Never apologize. Not for anything."

He looked at me, pained. ‹I do wish things could have been different,› he whispered.

"And I thought Romeo and Juliet had the star-crossed love," I joked, touching his face. He covered my hand with his and closed his main eyes for a second, and a stroked my thumb against his skin.

‹At least we are alive,› he said, pulling down my hand to hold it between his weak ones.

At least they were together, I thought but didn't say. "What's going to happen to you?"

‹I will face an inquiry, have to face the High Command. Because we won, at least I will still have my tail, but ….› He sighed and trailed off.

"What?"

‹It is nothing. I will be fine. I will retire and return home.›

"Could we write or call each other?" I asked hopefully.

‹No.› He brushed my cheek. ‹Maybe someday, but not now. In a few years, perhaps.›

"A few years," I repeated, swallowing. "I'll miss you."

‹As will I. Everything I have is yours, Loren.›

I jumped up and hugged him tightly and felt his arms wrapped around me. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, how much I wanted him to stay or that I wanted to go with him, I didn't care if we were different species. But the words stuck in my throat, because I knew he wanted to say the same things. We couldn't. We were Rick and Ilsa at the airport. Had to get on the plane otherwise I'd regret. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of my life. Except today and tomorrow I knew I'd regret leaving. And part of me thought I'd regret it the rest of my life, damn the movie lines and clichés.

Why did I have to love this man – Andalite, who cared about a petty thing like a noun – so much? I sniffed into his neck and tried to commit the smell to memory.

‹I have something for you, in my room. Under the dresser,› he whispered. ‹Think of me?›

"Even when I had amnesia, I never forgot you, Elfangor," I whispered kissing his cheek and then where his mouth would have been if he had been human. "I could never forget you."

‹And I you. Take care of the children.›

"I always have. God knows you didn't."

His eyes smiled. ‹I'll walk you to your ship,› he said, and he wiped my face. ‹You should not cry. We won. Earth is saved.›

"I think that's why I'm crying."

[~.~.~]

When Elfangor said he left me everything, he really meant it. The house and money, and because he wrote it in his will, I gave the kids their share, even Paul and Emily. What was I going to do with all that money anyway? I was content to stay in my house and let the kids shine.

Under his dresser, I found a file that contained all the written Andalite fairy tales Elfangor had promised me. I don't think I really believed him when he said it was 500 pages long – and he lied, because it was a lot longer than that – and scrolling through the pages on the screen, I couldn't help by cry at a few of his footnotes, laugh at them as he offered descriptions of animals and places, or just explained some strange Andalite custom. In a few parts, he had even somehow inserted a few bits of Andalite text in his native writing or attempted to draw something to explain in the story, the trees or animals or a map.

I took the file to get made into a set of books, because if I had printed it up myself, I would have had loose papers everywhere or a fat binder that would be impossible to carry around. I liked how my cute little volumes came out. They weren't professionally done, not with real covers, but I had stuck some of his more amusing pictures on there, under the volume number, and what he claimed translated into fairy tales.

It hit me as a huge shock when direct copies had started appearing in everyone's hands and there was a huge investigation and lawsuit. Shocked and angered beyond words, I couldn't believe someone could do that, go into my personal things and just … sell them like they were nothing. It didn't cheapen what Elfangor had done for me, but it did cast a bit of a dirt on it. I desperately hoped this wouldn't get Elfangor in any more trouble.

It wasn't until about fifteen months after everything that Tobias came home with a strange little contraction and showed to me. I blinked at it.

"What is it?" I asked, afraid to even touch the shiny bit of technology.

"Our own little phone off world. Ax sent it to us. Pulled a lot of strings, it sounds like." He grinned.

"What? You mean we can … with this?"

Tobias nodded. "He already programmed how to reach him and how to reach his parents' scoop. Elfangor's there. Speed dial one and two, I guess."

I stared at the machine hungrily. "How did we get this? This is … Lordie."

"I know. I tested it out by calling Ax. Really freaky. Sort of holographic. He's doing really well, he might even get to be a Captain soon, which is big news. The Andalites are really shrinking their military now, he said."

"Did he say how Elfangor's doing?"

Tobias paused. "He's all right, but I guess the way Ax made it sound, he really got grilled by the Andalite government. Ax said they put a bunch of restrictions on him as an unofficial reprimand. He's stuck on the homeworld and can't talk to anyone about anything. They got him by the balls. Erm, figuratively."

"Guess it'd be by the tail. But he's doing all right, otherwise?"

He shrugged. "Ax thinks he's hasn't … had many reasons for positive emotions lately. And he says that if we're going to call him, we have to call at …." Tobias stopped to dig into his pocket and he pulled out a scrap of paper. "At 3:52 AM tomorrow night."

"Why then?" I asked, curious.

"Ax wouldn't say. It's probably when Elfangor is around to answer."

"How do you work this thing?" I could barely work the TV and DVD player, and Ax thought I could use this safely. I felt like if I pushed the wrong button, it'd end up in orbit and I'd have to call for roofers.

I watched as Tobias showed me what to push and was relieved when he promised he help me make the call.

[~.~.~]

"Is it supposed to take this long?" I asked, staring at the screen. It was making a quiet humming noise, but otherwise nothing had changed over the past few minutes.

"Well, Ax answered fast. But he was probably expecting me to call," Tobias said, shifting uneasily. "I know I did everything right."

We sat staring, but each second made our disappointment grow. I was just about to suggest hanging up when the blank image finally changed. It was like a fog rising, and then it solidified, and then I heard him. ‹War-Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul answering.›

"It's about time!" I scolded, because if I didn't talk, I might have cried. "Do you let your phone ring for minutes on end?"

The picture was clearer now, and his stalks whipped forward. ‹Loren?›

"And me. Hi, Elfangor!"

‹Tobias?› He looked between us, confused. ‹I … I don't understand, how?›

While Tobias gladly retold the story, I looked at the image of the Andalite. While his main eyes were on Tobias, his stalk eyes were definitely on me. He looked tired, thinner, not nearly as vibrant as when I last saw him. Then again, his head was now only five inches tall, but I still felt concerned from what I was seeing. Was there more tan in the blue now?

He smiled at the end of it. ‹So this must be what Aximili talked about. He promised me a gift for my birthday.›

"It's your birthday?" I repeated.

"Happy birthday! How old are you?" Tobias asked.

‹I am 13 Andalite years old today. Approximately 40 human years.›

"Ax would give us down to the day."

‹My brother has too much time on his tail,› Elfangor replied.

"Happy 13th birthday, Elfangor," I said.

‹Thank you, Loren. How have you been?›

"Okay. Things have been pretty good. How about for you?"

‹There is nothing that should be complained about. How are the other children? Are they well.›

We sat talking about the kids, about all the gossip and everything else that came over our brains. It wasn't until that was done that Tobias looked at me, smiling, before saying good-bye and letting us talk in private. We stared at each other for a long moment.

"How are you, really?" I asked.

‹There is nothing to be concerned about,› he said.

"Elfangor, please. No offense, but you look like crap. I think you're tanning."

‹There is nothing I can speak of,› he said, looking up for a moment before looking away and then back at me.

God, I wanted to give him a hug and never let go. Those bastards, making him never talk about what he was going through. "I understand," I said. "I've missed you. We've all missed you."

‹I have missed you as well.› He paused, and then asked, ‹Did you ever find …›

I laughed and suddenly told him everything about the books, and then about the reporters and the hassles, and then how everything was being rebuilt, and he told me about his parents and being home again, about how the cities have changed, about how much the Andalites erred about human things.

We ended up talking for hours.

"Can I call you again?" I asked, when we finally ran out of topics.

‹I would like that. I would like that very much, Loren.›

"Me too."

[~.~.~]

We talked at least once every other week, but usually weekly. He never said much about his life, not at first, but over the years he started getting a little freer. He beamed when Tobias went into college, just as I grinned when Ax got made Captain of his own ship, the Intrepid. He had gone to the ceremony (I never asked, if he had to ask for permission, if it could have been denied,) and explained in great detail about everything. There was so much pride between the two of us as we poured over pictures and impressions, and secretly I was glad I had Elfangor to talk to. This big old house and Champ really wouldn't have done it for my sanity.

Together we mourned over the death of Rachel, a senseless tragedy that the tabloids exploited. He wished he could have come to the funeral, but personally I thought Naomi was glad he was off the planet. Her version of the war and Elfangor's part was decidedly contrary to what everyone said, but it made for great print. Secretly, I was relieved I would have no reason to meet with her, because one of these days I was going to snap.

Around the same time, Elfangor had gotten transferred to a new position in the Andalite civilian work network, which did him well, though he'd never admit it. After that, he was far more able to talk about what he did with enthusiasm, and I said it was only because he now had an excuse to read crappy Earth books to translate or correct other Andalites about what they got wrong in their papers on humans. Sometimes I read the same book he was working on and we talked about the characters, and he'd make a comment that sometimes it was very difficult to make decent translations into the written Andalite language. And when Andalites started getting interested in cook books, Elfangor might have fell into his perfect profession.

He did slightly disapprove of how I spent my time, but I think that was because he still didn't trust the nothlit Leo. Even though he tried to sound gracious and said my work was doing good for everyone, there was always the hint of petulance.

Even if we were light years apart, he was always there. He cheered with each achievement the children managed, subtly teased and congratulated Tobias about meeting and marrying Georgia, mourned when Champ died. And I was always there for him. Sometimes I ended up talking with his parents. At first, they hadn't been very open with me, especially his mother, but eventually Noorlin would regale me with great exploits of his own life and Forlay talked with me about gardening. I don't know if she knew the truth about Elfangor and me, but Elfangor reported with great pleasure and glee that she had turned her match-making schemes to Ax and left him alone.

The years flashed by, as they always do, but my world only stopped a year after Tobias got married and the doctor told me the news.

Cancer.

I listened numbly to the prognosis. It was early, it was curable, I would survive this. It probably wasn't a side effect of the morphing technology, but maybe the technology could help. Instead of slashing and burning, it could greatly speed my healing since I could morph afterwards. I might not even have to go through chemo, which could be a good thing, because they didn't know how the morphing technology would react to it.

My first instinct was to call Elfangor, but I stopped myself. What could he do, except worry and panic and think worse-case scenarios? Or worse, violate his orders and rush here, for this silly, curable thing? No, I wouldn't worry him with this.

[~.~.~]

—Tobias—

[~.~.~]

"Did you tell Elfangor?"

Mom laughed quietly and pulled off her glasses. "No. There's no need to worry him."

"Mom, he'd want to know. You can't keep this from him. And it's not like he's not going to notice something's wrong."

"It's going to be fine. They might even try to Andalite witch-doctor cures on me," she joked, but I could tell I struck of nerve.

"Mom, you have to."

"I'll tell him when it's over. Better to beg forgiveness, that sort of thing."

I gapped. "Mom, do you even remember what Elfangor got like when he was totally freaked out, do you remember what it was like when he yelled? I don't care if he's going to be over the transmitter, the entire planet will hear him."

"He's not that bad. Only the city. Don't tell him, Tobias."

I sighed and slumped in my seat. "Fine, I won't." It wasn't my place to give it. I wasn't even sure if I could tell Ax, because Ax had no scruples and would tell his brother like a shot. "So what's going to happen?"

"There will be some tests and things. I wrote it all down. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Is it bad?"

"It would have been better if it got caught a bit earlier, but it's not Stage V or whatever. It's spread a few places. It's just a few lumps and spots. The trials of old age. Let that be a lesson to you."

I tried to smile. "Are you telling me to die young? Elfangor would not approve, especially since he worked so hard to keep me alive."

"Pah. Now, you said you wanted to say something. You still have to share."

And next time, I'd be a terrible son and not let my mom go first. "I was talking with Ax. Elfangor's birthday is coming up again."

"I know. Bastard's only going to be 16 now," she groused.

I wasn't surprised Mom knew his Andalite birthday. She even knew Ax's, which is something I never even managed, and I think it was only because Elfangor had calculated the dates out years ago because she nagged him for weeks. "Anyway, Ax wants to give him another surprise."

"Dare I ask?"

"He wants to send you to their planet."

That got her attention. "What?"

I smirked, even though I understood my mom's shock. While Andalites were welcome on Earth, the same sort of hospitality wasn't completely offered on the Andalite world. Yes, humans could visit, and I had little doubt I could, with a bit of difficulty, get permission, but the problem was the Andalite world wasn't exactly perfect for humans. The gas contents in their atmosphere were very different. The higher oxygen wasn't a bit concern until the greater pressure on their world was taken into account, which greatly increased the chance of oxygen toxicity. Andalites didn't have a problem on earth, since their lungs were very efficient in removing oxygen, though Ax did say at the start he did tire easier. However unlikely the chance or easily avoided, it made Andalites wary of having too many humans on their world, especially since they still considered us primitive and basically incompetent.

"He thought it'd be a good surprise."

I got her interest. "And how is that going to stay a surprise? If I take a step off this planet, someone will know and then Elfangor will find out."

"Not if you go incognito." I grinned. "Ax think is you go as an Andalite tourist returning home, you could sneak by."

"And I'm just supposed to ask a bunch of Andalites if I could acquire them, huh?"

"Ax said if you agreed, he'll arrange a small shipment of samples."

"How much power does that boy have?" she gasped.

I laughed. "Ax knows who to talk to, and he's better at asking for things than Elfangor. He actually manages to not glare at them into submission and sound like he means it."

"Elfangor would point out that his way worked. But Ax at least is acting like an adult." She bit her thumbnail and thought about it. "They'll figure it out, I have to demorph, I have no ID, and I can't act like an Andalite."

"All that time with Elfangor and Ax, you could totally pull off an Andalite. And all the tourists have their own quarters and Ax can swing a temporary ID."

"That's it, he has too much power, he has to go down. I'm telling his parents."

"Mom, think about it. You deserve it. And just imagine his face."

I knew she'd agree. Mom would give some token protests, maybe pretend to think about it for a day or two, but she wanted to see Elfangor again. In person. I seriously hoped Ax knew what he was doing.

[~.~.~]

—Loren—

[~.~.~]

I would have been completely lost if it there hadn't been one familiar face. I knew the Ports were busy on the Andalite homeworld, but I never realized how busy. It was like they shoved the top five most populated cities on Earth and laughed at us calling them busy. I thought Andalites didn't like cities. It was like someone overturned an anthill and it ended up being an Andalite-hill.

‹Loren?›

My eyes – stalks eyes were great, but all they did was give you more stuff to have to filter out – snapped and I sagged with relief. ‹Noorlin?› I asked hesitantly. I was sure it was him, but I wasn't sure either.

He smiled. ‹Come along, kallei. The ship loading and unloading areas are always too busy. Everyone must come here, if only to get to the other side of the world or the moons.›

I followed him, relieved that he seemed right, because after a few blocks the sea of blue thinned out and I could breathe a little easier. Noorlin chuckled. ‹Are you fine for your time?›

‹Yes. I morphed just before we landed. Where are we going?› My eyes darted around, eagerly taking in everything. It wasn't anything like the pictures. There were Andalites morphing beautiful creatures and several calling out things for sale. Even if it was alien, it was also very human.

‹To my personal transport. We are close enough to make the trip in a few hours.›

I was excited and Noorlin was nice and smart enough to merely point out interesting things while we walked, and then pointed out his vehicle. It wasn't until we were zooming through the fields that everything that he said, ‹You can demorph now.›

After I did, he was a very thorough guide, pointing out a lot of things and laughing when I beat him to a few of them. It was a long ride, but Noorlin was a very open Andalite and quite chatty. While he was certainly an Andalite and had all the traits that described the lovable blue fuzzballs, I could see why Elfangor considered his father a softie. There was a lot of Elfangor in him, or vice versa, especially in the smile and humor.

‹We are getting close. There is a chance Elfangor may see us if he is running now.›

I laughed at his glee. "You are cruel parents."

‹No. We are very nice parents.›

Shaking my head, I morphed back to my Andalite form and it was only about ten minutes after that I saw what had to be their scoop. Part of me still marveled that all Andalites really lived in what a system of heavy-duty plastic tents. And just like for humans, around them were small gardens and belongings. As we landed, I saw another Andalite appear, and just a glance showed it wasn't Elfangor.

‹Was your trip pleasurable?› Forlay asked as I got off the transport.

‹Wonderful,› I smiled.

‹I did hesitate in sending my Noorlin. He can never keep himself quiet.›

‹I think he can, he just won't,› I said, giving him a look with my stalk. He laughed at me.

Forlay's eyes smiled. ‹You understand him very well, but, then again, he is not a very difficult study.›

‹I can sense when I am being made fun of. I think I shall escape with some pride and find our Elfangor.› He trotted off.

‹Let's take care of your things. They will be back soon.›

After placing my bag in a scoop, she gave me the tour, and she spent some minutes showing me a very complicated DNA pattern she was examining. I nodded politely, turning my stalks every which way, and I turned my head when I saw the father and son appear.

‹Looks like he is to be reprimanded, doesn't he?› Forlay sighed.

I giggled at her point. Poor Elfangor looked like he was being dragged in front of the principal's office when he didn't do anything wrong.

‹His father wasn't nearly so difficult. I hope Aximili isn't so impossible.›

‹Do you think it's even possible?›

‹Shush, don't tempt the Ellimists. And do not give yourself away too soon.›

I might not even get the chance. Noorlin's eyes were smiling too broadly. Once Elfangor got near enough, he did straighten and looked like a polite adult instead of a petulant child being forced to play with the weird kid.

‹I have found him!› Noorlin greeted broadly. ‹You must forgive our son, time escapes him.›

‹I do apologize for not being present to greet you properly upon your arrival,› he said in a very blank sort of tone, and out of habit my hand moved to cover the smile that wasn't there on my face.

‹We were not insulted. Our dear friend knows all about you, Elfangor,› Forlay said, answering before I could.

‹Have you known my parents long?› he asked.

‹For many years! You must have heard us talk about her, Elfangor!› Noorlin boomed.

‹Forgive me, I forget details like that.› He was staring at me, as if running through a list of possible suspects and finding each of them worse than the last. However, he finally succumbed to politeness. ‹I am Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul, I welcome you to our scoop. May our grasses and suns be pleasing to you.›

‹You still are an arrogant ass, Elfangor,› I replied.

He blinked at me. And then blinked again, eyes darting between each of his parents and me. ‹Loren?›

I held out my hands. ‹Happy birthday. Ax's little surprise.›

‹But we did help,› Noorlin boasted.

‹Pull your stalks down before they fall off,› his mother added dryly. ‹Now, do show her the fields. Go on, now.›

He shook himself and managed to obey, and I followed him, giggling to myself. ‹Why are you here?› he asked.

‹Because Ax thought it'd be a good surprise. And if the mountain won't come to me, I guess I had to go to the mountain. What, aren't you glad to see me?›

‹Of course I am! How long do you have in morph? You should demorph, it'd be better.›

‹I'm that hideous, aren't I?› I wasn't sure how I looked as far as an Andalite's sense of beauty, but I doubted I was any fashion model.

‹No, no! You're very pretty,› he hastily assured. ‹I mean, you could have done far worse.›

‹Thanks. And don't worry about my time, I have like an hour and a half of time left. I morphed just before we got here.›

He stared at me for a long moment before he shook his stalks. ‹Your trip, it went well?›

As we walked along the perimeter of the scoop, I talked what I had gone through to get here, and he agreed with me about the over-crowded landing zones.

‹How long will you be staying?›

‹Maybe a week?› I offered. ‹There's another tourist trip to Earth.›

‹So not very long.› He sounded disappointed.

I had to agree. Remembering a thought I had when I first practiced this morph, I grinned. ‹I bet I can run faster than you now.›

He started at the topic change but then smirked. ‹You cannot.›

Without warning, I bolted, running at full speed, and then watched with one eye as he followed. It became clear he was right, but just before he could pull level, I pivoted directions and laughed watching his flounder for a microsecond.

‹You shall have to do better than that, Loren,› he called.

‹Watch me.›

Either because he actually was faster than me or because he just had more experience being an Andalite, it wasn't too much of a surprise when he managed to corner me, blocking any turn I attempted to make with either his torso or his tail, and I had to stop, even though I wasn't tired at all. Grinning at him, I accepted his suggestion to get a drink in the stream.

‹I think I wore you out,› I smirked, because there was a sheen of sweat on him.

‹You might have,› he admitted to my surprise. ‹Females are much better distance runners than males. Eventually, you would have been able to get away.›

‹Then I guess it's a good thing you caught me when you did.›

‹Yes, I think so too.›

[~.~.~]

It was a perpetual dusk this time of year instead of night, but there was enough darkness that the stars could come through. I looked up, marveling at the differences.

"You have so many shooting stars."

‹Ships, actually.›

"Whatever, it's still very beautiful."

He didn't respond and I chatted for a few minutes before I realized he wasn't responding. He was staring at me and I asked, "What?"

‹Nothing.›

"You're staring at me."

His eyes blinked. ‹I apologize. It is just … you look different. I do not mean that negatively.›

"I'm not sure I can take that any other way. We see each other each week when we talk." However, even as I spoke, I did understand what he meant. In person, I could see how much more tan he had gone, the subtle changes in his physique, even the changes his coat went through.

‹Yes. But you have developed smile lines,› he said, a finger stroking my cheek, ending just to the corner of my mouth.

"Telling a lady she's got wrinkles isn't exactly polite," I whispered, "or wanted."

‹I am only making the comment that the visual screen does not have adequate definition.›

"Some women like that amount of definition."

He smiled. ‹Tomorrow, may we run to the forests? It is a very long distance away.›

"How long?" I asked.

‹It will take several hours.›

"Shouldn't we take the car?"

His ears drooped a bit and I wished I hadn't asked. ‹We could, if you wish.›

"Well, I just didn't want you to get all exhausted," I teased.

He perked up. ‹You do not have worry about me,› he said loftily. ‹I am not so feeble and old, even if my birthday is near, to not be able to make that run.›

"And your parents won't worry?"

‹I am an adult, they do not have to watch me.›

"You're only sixteen. And that's what all sixteen-year-olds say."

‹Yes, but when I say it, it's true. You will like the forest. It is very beautiful.›

"Don't you have a job to do?" I asked. "Translating and the junk."

Elfangor waved a hand dismissively. ‹For some strange and unknown reason, my parents insisted I work ahead of schedule, so I am unusually free of obligations at this time. And as for my next assignment, I also do not believe translating the complete works Dr. Suess will take too much of my time.› His eyes twinkled with laughter.

I laughed in shock. "Dr. Suess. You're joking."

‹Sadly, I am not. Sometimes I do not believe the things they send me and think the humans are having an elaborate joke on us.› If they were, it seemed like Elfangor wasn't against it.

"Hey, Dr. Suess is one of our greatest authors. How many could think of I do not want green eggs and ham, Sam-I-Am?"

‹Certainly not an Andalite.› He looked to the sky with his stalks at another flash. ‹I know why they gave me this position.›

"Because you're an expert on humans. Or as close as they got."

‹There is that. But there is also a changing of the guards on the Council. The People do not like my silence. Oh, they will twist it in their heads that I am being a humble warrior, that will fit their mental image of me.› There was a bit of mockery in his voice. ‹Each new elected politician, each slowly younger than the last, who only know the stories, will replace the anger of the older, and piece by piece, they will rescind my restrictions, if only to deny they were ever there in the first place.›

"What are your restrictions?" I asked, touching his hand.

‹They are nothing troubling.›

"I think they are, otherwise why even pretend they never existed. Please, Elfangor."

His fingers traced over my palm. ‹You know many of them already. I must not give interviews, must not speak without first clearing it. I cannot leave my world, not even to go to the moons. To be quiet and obedient.›

"And what are they going to do if you don't?" I demanded.

‹I gave my honor that I would obey their words, Loren. I must obey them, it is my obligation as a warrior and citizen. And just because I am seen as a hero does not mean I do not deserve punishments. I broke many, many laws. But I also humiliated many, many who do not share my ideals and who still wield a certain amount of power.›

"What, are you saying they'd … put a hit on you or something?"

He smiled at the term. ‹There is no reason to strike at me to make their point.›

"You mean they'd go after your parents, or Ax?" I yelped, angry.

‹There, or maybe even humans or other aliens. Other Andalites. They could easily use my name for some cause that I would never approve of.›

"And I thought our politicians were scum."

‹I am thinking worse-case scenarios. It is a bad habit. But I know many who dislike me are deciding votes in human relations. There is no reason for me to make this difficult, to give them another reason to hold back.›

"Sometimes, you really are too noble, Elfangor," I said.

He made a scoffing noise. ‹And you make too much of little things, Loren. What is one to the many?›

"Shut up, Spock."

‹Do you know, I've always thought Vulcans were a very illogical race.›

"You've got to be kidding me! They were the logic centers of the universe."

‹And since they were created by humans, it explains much about humans. To be logical, you have to cannot be guided by your emotions; to be peaceful, you must suppress them?› He shook his head. ‹Illogical.›

Wrapping my blanket around me, I asked, "You think emotions make you logical?"

‹Emotions can compromise logic, I'll admit, but they also guide it, can help pick the right path. And Hork-Bajir are very peaceful and very full of emotions.›

"You didn't pick Andalites or humans for a reason, did you?"

‹The Hork-Bajir demonstrated the concept better.›

"But they're not very logical."

Elfangor gave me a disapproving look. ‹You confuse intellect with logic. They may not be intellectually-capable, but they are very, very logical and can pick between choices in ways that make sense to them. Just because the information they use is not completely accurate by our definition, does not mean their choices weren't made with logic.›

I pouted at the counter. "I still think Vulcans are logical."

‹Humans would think they are. They're not.› I saw him examine the moons. ‹We should sleep now, so we may leave early tomorrow.›

"Coward," I muttered but moved to lie against his side. "You don't mind?"

‹No. And even if I did, you would do it anyway,› he smiled.

"Hard ground, Andalite pillow. Yeah, I would." I rested my head on his side and heard the distant thumping and each breath. "Good night, Elfangor."

‹Good night, Loren.›

[~.~.~]

It was like a psychedelic Robert Frost poem. I stared in awe at the trees and flowers around me, ignoring Elfangor's expression. Even though I had seen pictures of Andalite trees and forests, in person there was so much more. I didn't think there were any trees on Earth this thick or this tall. Even the guide tree, Hala Fala, wasn't this massive, and that tree had appeared huge with the other few lone trees around it.

‹Oh my god. This is ….› I was at a loss for words as my eyes took in everything.

‹I thought you would appreciate this,› he said softly, coming closer. ‹It is nothing like to Hian Valley, that is truly beautiful, but it is a bit of paradise.›

I couldn't even begin to imagine what Hian Valley would look like, if it was more beautiful than this. There was plenty of room for us to navigate, since the large trees weren't too close to each other, and I walked vaguely, just admiring the red, purples, blues, greens, and golds. Perhaps I should have paid attention, because I walked into a brush and screeched when something hit and started climbing up my legs.

Elfangor roared with laughter as I danced away, still panicked and eyes darting. ‹Easy, easy, don't be afraid. It is nothing dangerous,› he said, still laughing, and attempted to steady me.

‹What was that?› I demanded, still high on nerves. Apparently Andalites were very high-strung, because I could not calm down.

‹Here, I'll show you.› He moved away and spent a few seconds attempting to catch whatever attacked me, and I laughed at his efforts. However, finally he succeeded and returned clutching a small red and orange creature with large eyes and antenna, its long tail wrapped around his forearm and feet and legs clutching. It looked like a strange sort of rodent.

‹What is that?›

‹A hoober. Don't worry, they're harmless, like frogs. They used to be the bane of Mother's existence, when I was younger.›

Now that he said it, I could recognize that it was a hoober, and my hearts were finally slowing down. ‹He's cute.› He handed it over and with my weak hands I barely kept a grip on the body while Elfangor unwound the tail. It snapped around my own arm. ‹They eat the tree seeds, right?›

‹Yes, and other bits of brush and insects.›

My hands released slightly, and the hoober instantly sprung from my hands into a branch, before bouncing and climbing into the leaves. After he disappeared, I glared at Elfangor. ‹You could have warned me.›

He was unrepentant, still grinning. ‹And have missed that? And to be fair, I didn't know there was a nest there.› Tapping his tail to mine, he said, ‹Let's go to the stream. You have to demorph soon.›

I followed him, but I was suddenly unnerved with a strange sensation from when our tails touched. It made a chill go down my back and my hearts sped up again. Stupid reaction, I cursed, because it was nothing more than what I had seen Elfangor do to Ax countless times years ago.

The stream was a few miles in, and Elfangor commented it was the same one that fed his home. Centuries ago they had extended the rivers so each scoop had a water source, though slowly many of those rives dried out and the families instead returned to the practice of making small ponds to collect rainwater or digging natural wells.

The water was cool and I enjoyed walking in it while Elfangor drank from the shore. "Do you have fish?"

‹Fish-like. Actually, more like jelly fish or octopi, but there are species you'd think of as fish.›

"Any sharks?" I asked, before bending to scoop up from of the flat rocks on the bottom.

‹No carnivorous animals of that size are in our oceans or rivers,› he said. ‹And you should put that back in the water, it is suffocating.›

I looked at my hand, at the rock I picked up, before dropping it back in just in case. "What was it?"

‹A nappior. Like a sponge and clam. They purify the water and excrete a numbing agent.›

My eyes flew open and examined my hand. "My hand feels fine."

‹It needs to be administered to open wounds. A very old natural remedy.›

"Huh. Well, thanks for the warning," I said, splashing him, and then sputtered when he retaliated with his tail. "That's not fair."

‹Yes it is.›

I made my way over and smiled sweetly at him. "Here's an idea. Why don't you morph human so I have a chance to duck your head?"

I never expected him to agree, but I didn't expect the pained expression to cross his face.

‹I cannot.›

"Why?"

‹I promised I would not.›

Aside from being angry that those jerks forbid him from doing that, I wanted to slap him. "You know, Elfangor, I don't think they'll find out."

‹Just because I could get away with it does not mean I should do it. Please do not ask me to again. I'm sorry.›

If he didn't have his silly code of honor, he wouldn't have been Elfangor, or maybe an Andalite, but it didn't erase my anger at the politicians. "Well, then you could dunk your head and pretend I did it. We'll all be happy."

‹Somehow, I don't think that will make me happy.›

"You mean, even if it makes me happy, it won't make you happy?" I pouted, batting my eyes.

‹That will not work, Loren. I am not an idiot,› he said firmly.

"Debatable." I sighed.

[~.~.~]

I woke to fingers in my hair and smiled into his side.

‹I wish you could stay.›

"Me, too."

There was a quiver and a pause. ‹You were supposed to still be asleep.›

"So are you," I yawned.

‹Yes, but you were supposed to be asleep first.›

"Cute." I dozed while he brushed my hair. Where the horrible idea came from, I don't know, but suddenly it was there. "Maybe I could stay."

‹You could not hide here forever.›

"I could stay with you."

There was the pause while he went through all the meanings possible, and then the firm, ‹No.›

I momentarily felt the twinge of pain, even though I expected the response.

‹You're not becoming a nothlit. I won't let you do that, not for me.›

"I'm not sure you could stop me," I said, burying my face against his fur.

‹Loren, don't. You don't know what you're thinking, what you're giving up.›

"I have cancer."

‹What?› His voice was pained. ‹Where? How bad is it? Why haven't you gone to a doctor? Can the humans cure it? We could press for Andalite doctors. And –›

"Elfangor, stop." I pushed myself up. "You panic too much. I'm fine."

‹Then you went to the doctors?› he said, ghosting his hands over me. ‹You'll be fine?›

"And this is why I was going to tell you after everything was done," I sighed.

‹You weren't even going to tell me!?›

"I was going to tell you. After. When all your panicking would have been, you know, condensed and pointless," I defended half-heartedly. "And it doesn't matter, because I told you now."

‹You did not say how bad it is.›

"It's not that bad, I guess. The doctor is very optimistic."

‹Human doctors, what do they know? They're primitive and crude. Dangerous. They have to cut tumors out.›

"Elfangor, if you're trying to not freak me out, you need to work on it."

He quieted, guilty. ‹You should not become a nothlit to escape this, not if it is curable. And not to be with me.›

"Why not? I love you, and you love me. Don't you?"

That pause that came hurt like a thousand knives. But then he put his hands on either side of my face and forced me to meet his gaze. ‹Yes. Yes, I love you, Loren, and that's why I can't let you do this.›

"Why not? Being a nothlit … that won't be impossible. If the Yeerks can do it –"

‹I do not doubt you could survive. Survive and thrive. You are beautiful as an Andalite. Perfect. Lovely. But you should not be with me. No, shhh, listen,› he said, stopping my protests. ‹I'm a terrible disgrace, even with my fame. I am known as a fool, as an unkempt ruffian, a traitor to Andalite ways. No one will deal with you, you will be stared at, ridiculed behind your back, mocked. They'll think you're manipulative, using me for your own gain, or a fool for being with me.›

"What'll I care? I'll have you." I stroked his cheeks. "And I'll be a weird-enough Andalite they'll figure out pretty easy we fit together, I think, if everyone thinks you're a mess."

There was a small smile. ‹But what about Tobias?› he whispered.

That was a douse of cold water, and I couldn't meet his eyes anymore.

‹You can't leave him, now when he has finally found you.› He took my hands and held them between us, and I could only stare at the blue and pink. ‹It's better this way.›

"No it's not, but it won't be better that way either."

‹I'm so sorry,› he whispered, dropping his forehead to rest on my head. ‹I wish … for once, I wish we still had our own little universe.›

"Our own little universe, huh? We had one?"

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. ‹Yes. We made it.›

"Tell me about it?" I pleaded, because it promised to be a good story, even if he made it up.

‹I'll tell you everything.›

[~.~.~]

"Mom, are you okay?" Tobias asked. "Do you need something?"

"Tobias, you're hovering," I scolded. "I'm fine. I'm out of the hospital, no pain, no scars, no anything."

"Then what's wrong?" he asked. "Something's wrong, I can tell."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did something happen between you and Elfangor? Did you guys have a fight?"

"No. We did a lot of talking and had fun. It was probably the most honest we've ever been with each other."

"And … that was good?"

"Yes."

Tobias shook his head. "You've just been sort of … blah since you came back."

"Blah," I repeated.

"Blah. Okay, what does honest mean?"

"It means we talked about our history. All of it, balls-on accurate."

"And how'd that go?"

"Pretty good."

"Would you tell me?" he asked, his curiosity unhidden.

"No." That was between Elfangor and me. "Do you know something that occurred to me at the hospital? Andalites live for over one hundred fifty years. And humans barely make it to fifty, let alone hundred."

Tobias didn't respond and there was a long bit of silence between us. "Mom …."

"It might be better if Elfangor and I start calling a bit less." It was something we both agreed on.

"Is that why you haven't called him for awhile?"

"Yes." I gave him a look. "I wasn't aware you kept track of that."

"Ax said something that his parents said."

"Gossip," I sighed. "Don't worry about us, we're two reasonably intelligent adults. We'll be okay. We're still friends."

"But you guys were more. Mom, don't lie to me. You two were totally doing it back then."

I whirled on him. "We were not," I snapped harshly, "and don't you dare talk that way about us, ever." While Elfangor and I may have been intimate before I knew the truth, that didn't count. He was Alan then, not Elfangor, and I understood now that you can't love someone without knowing the truth about them. And that time before the battle … that was just once.

Tobias pulled back from my tone. "Sorry. I just … we thought …."

"You thought wrong. There was nothing improper between the two of us all the time I knew him."

He avoided my gaze. "But you did love each other, didn't you?"

"We loved who we thought the other was," I said. "He loved me as an idealized past wife and I loved him as a charming human that told me about my son. And then we realized what we were doing and stopped." If only you should shut your heart off like that, because even if we stopped the old love, we started a new one.

"But you love each other now."

I refused to answer. "Tobias, what's supposed to happen? We're supposed to have a long-distance relationship, live happily ever after, human and Andalite? He's already facing enough problems without adding me into the mix, and I already went through the jokes and innuendos and degradation when certain people gave their opinion on our relationship. Those were some great drawings, and I'd love to see what'd they come out with if we were open about it, or how the Andalite's would react if that got out. And I guess unfortunately, being someone's dirty little secret isn't something either of us really want."

He was looking at the table, avoiding my gaze.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap," I said, trying to slow my breathing. "We both talked about this. We don't have a future, we can't. We can still be friends, but that's all, and it's just time to start admitting it. Love just doesn't conquer all, not in the real world."

"Couldn't it?" he asked, looking back up.

"Getting married only made you an incurable romantic. Or at least made you come out of the closet."

"Maybe." He reached over and took my hand. "Mom, there is a way you can be together. You both can morph." His voice was quiet and tight, as was his grip.

"I won't ask him to do that again, and I can't."

"Why not? Because of me?" My expression must have given me away, because he was suddenly frantic. "Mom, I want you to be happy! I don't need you human or even on the planet. And I'm not a little kid anymore. If I survived being thousands of miles away, not seeing you for months, I can handle you being away a few measly light years. I know how to work a phone, you're not going to disappear again."

Tears sprung in my eyes.

"Please, if it was me, if I had to choose between Georgie or you, and you knew it, you'd tell me to pick her without even thinking about it. Let me do that for you, too. Please. You both deserve to be happy."

I was crying and wiped my eyes. "You couldn't have given this before I left the first time? Or at least before that surgery? That anesthesia almost made me throw up."

"You know me, I never think of things until it's just before the last second."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mom. If you're sure. I know … becoming a nothlit, that's permanent, a big decision, and I get if you can't do that. I don't even think I could."

"For the right person, the right reason, I think you could." I wiped my nose on my hand. "I can't just appear, or disappear. People aren't stupid."

"Hey, you're talking to me. I've got a scary-crazy-intelligent wife who loves a good romance, I've got Ax and his parents, I've got Erek and the Chee, I've got two Andalites who are turning into crazy cat Andalites, I've got nothlits who'd love to screw with Andalites and humans, I've got a whole underground network to deal with that."

"I am so telling your father."

Tobias chuckled, green eyes dancing. "Somehow, when this is all said and done, I don't think Elfangor is going to be too angry with me." He hugged me and whispered in my ear, "Besides, I don't think my family is finished yet. I need some alien siblings to round it out."

[~.~.~]

‹Are you sure?› Elfangor whispered, gripping my face.

‹If you ask that again, I'm tempted to say no just to watch your expression.› I stroked his cheek. ‹I'm sure. Tobias is sure. Everyone is sure.›

‹You have to understand what you're doing, giving up. You can't undo this.›

‹So says you,› I teased, and that got a smile. ‹I don't care if we're pariahs or outcasts, and whatever you say, you are not a disgrace or not worth this. It's all going to be fine. Besides, I'm dead on Earth by now. That damn cancer. I can't come back from the dead.›

‹I'll never let anyone hurt you, I promise,› he vowed, and I felt the passion of his promise in my mind and on my skin. ‹I'll never let you regret this. Never.›

‹I promise I never will. Well, except when I think of chocolate.›

He laughed quietly. ‹I love you, Loren. Loronli.›

I felt myself trembling for the pure feeling I was picking up. ‹I love you, too, Elfangor. Alan.› I stroked his cheek while my other hand traveled over his chest. He stroked my ears and down my back and I felt our tails touching, twisting instinctively.

‹We should run. Run with me,› he whispered, and the words sent a thrill through me. ‹Make me catch you.›

‹You already caught me.›

‹Run.›

I broke away in a fast breath, as fast as I could, as if I could outrace my declining time. Overhead, it was dark, the grass wet and fresh, and I heard our hooves, saw Elfangor gaining. I found a hidden reserve and ran faster, harder. Pulled away. Yes. Catch me if you can.

And then he was closing in again, and I turned away, chose another direction, the wind ruffling. Gaining and losing and gaining again. And then he was close enough to swing his tail and make me have fewer choices. Again and again, until my tail moved on its own to block one of his, and I could dive the way I wanted. The contact was pure power and pleasure, and I laughed breathlessly. He caught me again, grinning, breathing deeply and covered in sweat, and except this time when I attempted to block him, he twisted his tail around mine, trapping our tails above us by locking our blades. No matter how much I tugged and tried to escape, he kept it prisoner, and kept us locked in a small circle, that grew smaller as our tails wrapped a bit more, until he caught my wrists and pulled me to his chest, loosening our tails to give just enough slack.

‹Caught you,› he murmured, touching our foreheads, his breath hard and warm.

‹I let you,› I lied, breathing just as hard. Even now, part of me wanted to run again, if only to get caught again. There was a high, dizzy scent and I tugged my tail futilely.

‹You're not getting away,› he promised, tightening the coil, not painfully, but there wasn't any give. And it was glorious. His hands came to my face and the pleasure made me grip in wrists and throw back my head. Almost as the same time he buried dragged his hands down and buried his face into my neck, and my hands let go to caress his head, stroke his ears, cheeks, go down his neck and over his shoulders.

Through it all our stalk eyes kept staring at each other. I watched the pupils constrict and then dilate.

But what might have been the most moving was the thoughts, the presence that started when our forehead touched and was not in my whole head, the pure passion and essence of Elfangor. I could almost guess his next motion, what he wanted, desired, and my own thoughts were just as powerful.

I still wanted to run, to move, and I was pawing the ground anxiously. When Elfangor pressed his hands on my back, pressed me down at just the right moment, my knees buckled under the weak effort, and I was sliding down to my knees, my stomach before I knew it. Staring up at him, trembling, and I knew if he loosened his grip on my tail just the slightest I'd run. I dared him to, almost hoping he would.

He twisted he tail in what must have been painful to him, as he walked around me, and then he was resting fully on my back, pinning me. Trapped at the moment, he loosened his tail enough to correct his hold. And he was dragging his hands over my arms and chest.

My hearts were pointing in my ears, my breath was coming in gasps, and behind me my tail was moving in the grass with his.

‹What are you waiting for?› I whispered, trying to feel for his cheek, stalks focused on his main eyes, straining under him.

‹The moment when you're mine. Forever.›

Even through everything, I felt the flash of panic at the reminder, fear.

‹We can stop, we can stop,› he promised, grabbing my hand. ‹Tell me to stop, there's still time.›

‹No. No. Just don't let go.›

‹I won't.›

I felt the moment when he realigned our tails, when he shifted back and then forward, the sudden brush of pain and fullness and oneness. My head was suddenly opened and he poured in, and if he had been in before, now he was everywhere.

I dreamed this, the thought echoed in my head.

You're not dreaming now.

I know.

Distantly, I knew there was movement. I knew there was pain mingling with pleasure. But all I felt was Elfangor, Us, and it was all the mattered, my mind lost of sense of the rest of the world.

[~.~.~]

—Noorlin-Sirinial-Cooraf—

[~.~.~]

I eyed my wife suspiciously as she trotted down into the scoop. She seemed far too pleased with herself. True, I would be fool to not have some idea what made my Forlay happy, but I asked, ‹What has you so amused, my dear?›

‹I merely located our son and Loren.›

Yes, I had assumed that.

Their Elfangor and Loren had been missing a day, which was not something so very unusual. It was hoped for, what everyone had worked for. I hadn't been blind that since the human left the first time, our son's mood had deteriorated, that suddenly there were so many fewer communications between the once very frequent pair. That suddenly our son was often absent from being with us. It was not terribly unusual for older Andalites to not wish to be with their parents, but it was a terrible timing. My son had been happy and then he was sad.

Neither Forlay or me, as parents, were so blind to ignore that our Elfangor had an infatuation with the human. At the start, that was how my Forlay described it, refusing to accept that our son was in love with a weak, foolish human, and she worked doubly hard at introducing him to young Andalite females, all that he ignored. I had accepted it easier, because it was the truth, and, after speaking with the human, I could see the interest. I might not have been able to understand it, but I then again, I understood little about what my children did.

It took longer to convince Forlay the truth, but finally she accepted that all she was doing was harming our son's peace with her efforts. She had another son to focus on, at least, so there was still a chance for her hopes. While she never quite forgave Loren for ruining her dreams for Elfangor, she could appreciate her for making her son smile and be happy.

‹I trust they are well,› I asked.

‹They were by the stream, speaking,› Forlay said, and her face literally radiated pleasure at the fact.

‹You did not speak with them?› I asked, knowing she had not. There were few things she wished in her life, and interfering in the continuation of a conversation between a female and one of her sons was not one of them.

‹Of course not! Do you think I'm a fool? Elfangor is with a female, finally.› She relished the idea, closing her main eyes. ‹Of course Elfangor would have to be so difficult in finding a mate.›

I smiled faintly. ‹Are you sure they were not arguing?›

‹They're tails were wrapped.›

‹I seem to recall us having very good arguments even then.›

Her eyes snapped open. ‹Do not even hint at the idea, Noorlin! I will not have you ruin this by putting ideas into his head.›

‹Elfangor is not even present to hear me! And I doubt arguing is on their mind.›

Her tail snapped. ‹Tis no matter. If they argue, if shall be because you spoke so! They were both in perfectly pleasant spirits when I last saw them.›

I waved my tail in mild amusement. She would fret about this, as if the two should suddenly now decide they loathed each other. She had pressured and cajoled Elfangor into finding a mate for years to no avail. He had expertly ignored all her words, and, when I had asked (more to save my own sanity), said he had no intention of joining when he was in this war. It wouldn't be right or fair, I remembered him saying. At the time, I had not understood, but that had been in the beginning, when everyone thought it would over soon, before the death toll mounted, how warriors were rarely home. I realized, for all this habits, my son was a rare creature, kind and wise to not wish to put a female through that grief and worry.

And now, the war long over and himself off duty, Elfangor had finally conceded, and his mother wanted nothing to spoil it. It was amazing that my sensible wife could be so insensible. After all they went through, those two weren't going to let anything separate them now.

Honestly, Elfangor's female surprised me. I never would have expected a human to draw my son's stalks, but she was clearly a match for him. And to become a nothlit for their Elfangor … she was worthy.

She would certainly be a unique addition to the family and draw attention. The morphing had given her an odd mixture of genes to live withShe did not have the long build or short fur my Forlay exhibited. Instead of the smooth fur, Loren fur fluffed about her ankles and ears, which were far larger than Andalites from this hemisphere normally exhibited. Her eyes were larger as well, yet the overall form of head and body suggested their area. I suppose she was ascetically pleasing, in a certain way, if an Andalite liked that sort.

It was all well, though, if my son was happy. And I doubted there would be a long wait for little ones, and was hopeful for. Perhaps it was merely Forlay rubbing off on me, but I wished Elfangor to start his own family, had for many years. Since the "retirement" from the military – and I was not so large the fool to not realize the true reasons, or the punishments my son was unfairly forced to endure – our Elfangor had been quiet and more apt to be off in the fields alone than was, to my mind, healthy. A family, a little one, that was the way to be, to find one's center and rediscover purpose.

But no, it would not do to rush ahead. Elfangor was always stubborn and he'd probably withhold little ones out of spite. Too much like his mother.

No matter, Forlay could hint for that. She had, after all, finally succeeded in finding him a mate, though she deserved no credit, I thought gleefully. I would have to make a point to subtly hint that for her chances of success with Aximili-kala.

She was typing in a console, and, curious, I asked, ‹What are you looking for?›

‹Well, you have to give him a Geinash flower, Noorlin,› she said simply.

‹They have not even agreed to a timeframe.› Because there was no point in saying the two hadn't agreed to join. It would not surprise me if they had already done the physical before the ceremonial. While it wasn't exactly appropriate or made me look at my son with pride, I could acknowledge that this relationship had several years already under its tail.

‹There is no harm in being prepared,› she said primly. ‹Come, help me decide. It is a good thing Elfangor did destroy your old one when he was little. These are much better than yours was.›

I remained quiet to that, because my Forlay meant well. Maybe I should agree, but that Geinash arrangement had been my father's, and my temper had been tried greatly when my eldest son, trying to be helpful, killed it with kindness. ‹Perhaps we should invest in one of those plastic ones,› I said.

Forlay scolded me, though I felt the amusement trickling from her. ‹They must set a date soon. Maybe in the Lati, such beautiful flowers. Maybe around the water.› She murmured to herself.

‹Do you mean you do not already have it planned?› I asked. ‹I thought everything was set except for his choice.› That way, it would have been done before Elfangor could change his mind.

‹I would not do that to Elfangor and Loren, they must choose. But I have several suggestions. One has to, with that child.› She was examining several arrangements. ‹I do hope Aximili can attend, he is always so busy. He must attend, I will insist.›

I shook my stalks at her fondly. No doubt Elfangor would appease her in this, after the amount of troubles he put her through, and Loren would follow an easy guide.

[~.~.~]

—Ax—

**a few months later**

[~.~.~]

‹You do realize you are a very terrible older brother,› I scolded.

Elfangor tilted his stalks at me.

‹You were supposed to let Mother do whatever she wished, so that way she would not be so zealous at my time.›

‹She would still have been. She is Mother.›

We shared a laugh and I smiled to see my brother happy and relaxed while he watched Loren speak with friends, Mother guiding her. I knew why Elfangor had stepped in on Mother's hopes. Aside from not wishing a large, full ceremony in the first place, no doubt he also did not want to overwhelm Loren with such a regale and pomp.

‹Are you going to travel?› I asked.

‹No.› There was a momentary flash of disappointment. ‹Mother and Father will be visiting their friends for a few weeks, bragging, no doubt, so we do have that.›

I wondered for a moment where they would have liked to have gone, but I did not ask. My brother soon disappeared to Loren's side, and I smiled at the sight of my brother being so visibly besotted and Loren, pleased.

At least my plan did come together, with a few unintended hiccups. And it certainly wasn't like I manipulated anyone. And everyone was happy. That was all that mattered. I was sure Tobias had a glimmer of my plan, understood what I was trying to accomplish subtly, because he had reported that if it hadn't been for him, everything would have gone down the toilet drain.

"Next time, we just lock them in a ship and strand them in Z-space and let them sort themselves out," he had said, drinking an alcoholic beverage in a victory celebration.

I didn't want to admit that would have been my next strategy. ‹As the humans say, cheers.›

"You said it, Uncle Ax."

[~.~.~]

— Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen—

***almost two years later***

[~.~.~]

‹Perhaps you should not over-work yourself, Loren,› I suggested politely to my daughter-in-law, in the tone that the males of the scoop would have taken note and obeyed. Unfortunately, while she certainly recognized the tone, Loren was too independent. It was not to say she did not respect me or was foolish, but it was very clear that, while she could take my suggestions, she could also decide not to take them.

‹This isn't work,› she stated, not even changing the position of any of her eyes. ‹This is like shopping, looking for a sale. Balancing a checkbook. And I don't know who they're kidding, charging ten dollars for a single Cinnabun. Honestly, they can't expect to get away with this, not unless this thing is super-sized, and especially since they're not shipping it off the planet.›

None of that made any sense to me. It certainly seemed difficult with the numerous pads and screens she was using. And I didn't quite trust her to handle these … finances, some strange human economic system that the Andalite government had to start examining. Even though she appeared Andalite, she only had the understanding of a human, and that had to leave her at a disadvantage in her work. How could she adequately and correctly manipulate the Andalite part of this, when she barely understood our own methods of economy? Elfangor might have faith in her, but as her other half, he should and would. It did not mean he trusted her any more than I, only that he would keep his thoughts quiet except to defend.

‹Honestly, I can't believe no one has ever looked at these things, or didn't notice that problems. Can someone say, extortion. I always knew the prices were high where Andalites were tourists, but this is awful.›

‹You should leave this for later.›

‹Forlay, I'm pretty sure once I pop, there will be even less time to do this. I thought it was supposed to take years to get knocked up. Damn liar.›

Able to make educated guesses on much of the human vernacular, I smiled. Yes, that had been a pleasant surprise and not one I was to complain about. For as difficult as my son had been in taking a wife, he had managed to comply with my next desire without me even having to make a single hint! ‹It is only evidence my son and you are compatible. Extremely so.›

‹Yeah, I noticed that with my fat, bloated self. Stupid pheromones.›

Afterwards, I would have to give her the methods at suppressing them. It had never occurred to me to mention them prior. Even if it had, I wouldn't have mentioned it anyway, not because I desired grandchildren – well, not entirely – but for the simple fact that it usually was very difficult for new mates to sync their reproductive systems. Maybe it was because Loren was not learned at manipulating her new body, so the instincts were stronger, but I could not argue the result.

‹Healer Xalpeniano told you to take it easy.›

She ignored me, making a notation, and I struggled against her very strong stubbornness. But before I could continue attempting to corral my wayward relative, Noorlin called for my assistance. Keeping my stalks on her, I went to him as he bent over a blueprint, the imager in hand and drawing the curve of the engine.

‹Leave her be, Forlay,› he said.

I scowled at him. ‹Did you call me over to just say that?›

‹Loren isn't incompetent.›

‹I never said she was.›

He raised his main eyes. ‹At this point, it may not be necessary. Don't hover over her so.›

‹She needs someone to help her, even if she does not know it.› What did she know about being an Andalite, or a mother to one?

‹Elfangor can help her. And if she does need other help,› he continued, knowing my arguments before I could speak them, ‹all you do is make her to not want to go to you to prove herself.›

‹You are being ridiculous.›

He changed a few things on the board and analyzed the results. They displeased him and he erased much of the work he had spent most of the morning on. While that would have annoyed me, Noorlin simply started another theory.

‹I have heard Elfangor speak with Loren,› he continued. ‹He made a suggestion that they could find their own scoop.›

My stalked stretched and whipped towards my treacherous offspring, who was working at another console. ‹You must have misheard.›

‹He was quite clear.›

‹That's ridiculous. There is no need for them to leave.› It was very rare for families to separate into different scoops, especially since the limit on children was enforced. It was more likely the scoops would remain empty because the death of the last family member. ‹This is because of her human sensibilities, isn't it? I read that the children and parents separate homes in almost all instances.› Such a barbaric practice. ‹How do they expect to care for their little one without our help?›

Noorlin smiled. ‹I believe we managed all right without my parents around to assist us, and your parents never did like the travel.›

‹You know precisely what I mean.›

‹No, I do not. And I am not saying I want them to leave, I am saying what I heard our son suggest. And, Forlay, Loren did not agree to his suggestion, so her old sensibilities are not directing her.›

‹Then why say such a ridiculous thing?›

‹Our son is stepping to Loren's defense and comfort. Perhaps he believed you would not take any plea to leave her be seriously and decided to skip to the most effective method. Elfangor has always been one to take the direct approach.› He tapped my tail. ‹You have always been too over-protective, Forlay, of our children and now of Loren.›

‹I am not over-protective.›

He laughed loudly. ‹Do not make me compile a list, you are so. I am only warning you that, while at the moment, Loren is able to handle your adorable over-bearing nature, that doesn't mean it will last. Whether she decides to take up Elfangor's offer or he manages to convince her, they could leave us, and I do not want that, and I will be very angry at you if they do. Just let them learn how to run a little without jumping to catch them at each stumble.›

I looked between the two youngest members of the scoop, hurt and angry. My son would dare think to leave behind my back and Loren had influenced him enough to consider it? ‹If that is what they want, I will take my help elsewhere.›

‹Do not be that way,› Noorlin scolded. ‹Just let them come to you when they truly need the help, instead of standing over their tails offering unneeded assistance.›

‹A mother knows when her children need help, even before the child does.›

‹Yes, but perhaps she does not understand what her child needs help with. Please, Forlay, at least try.›

I scowled. ‹I said I shall.›

‹That's all that matters. Elfangor and Loren shall notice it too.›

As long as they stayed, I would be pleased. That was all that matter. And when they needed my assistance, which they would, I would be near enough to offer it without delay.

[~.~.~]

My son was lying on his stomach, smiling and trying gently to coax my grandchild out from under his mother. It seemed that for as much as the little one may have trusted him, he was as much terrified to leave the safety of Loren.

‹I remember those days,› Noorlin chuckled. ‹Feeling dejected that my own sons did not want to be with their father. And a bit jealous.›

‹He is very tiny.›

‹Not much smaller than Aximili or Elfangor were. Healer Xalpeniano wasn't concerned.› He laughed when our son appeared to give up, getting to his hooves, and we watched the little one hide back more. Elfangor did not look upset at the fear and stood alongside Loren. She wrapped tails with him and leaned her head against his shoulder, and I averted my eyes at the personal scene. Sometimes that girl was too bold; it was the human in her, I knew it, but by now she had to recognize it wasn't done.

Noorlin appeared to agree with me, for he suggested touring the meadows, and we left the private awning to the far broader fields. There were several other private birthing awnings, and medical personnel and guests travelled between them. Further down, there was the larger domed shelter, where other medical concerns were taken. It was not a very pleasant field to be in, but it had its purpose. While some might think giving birth in the home field was the right course, I very firmly held my tail and disagreed, not that the rest of our family wasn't of the same opinion. Loren had commented on the very different human medicine, especially with regards to birthing. I was in complete shock when she mentioned the labor could go on for over a day. How very inefficient! Humans were a species with many biological flaws. While some weaker Andalite mothers may need medications to help them through their time – I am proud to say I was not one of them – the process was not something that needed much intervention. However, because misfortunes can happen, the ability to get interventions was necessary.

Loren had managed perfectly, delivering a sixteen pound six ounces, nineteen inches high, twenty-four inches in length from nose to tail-tip male in little more than three hours. My son had been more worried than her, but that is males for you. Put them in a situation where they can do nothing, where they are at the whim of something they cannot control, and they panic and fret and become utterly useless for sense. My Noorlin had been the same way, even if now he denies it. I was of a great mind to not allow him in the same area as I during Aximili's birth.

Healer Xalpeniano – who had delivered both Elfangor and Aximili, and many more children in his nearly one hundred and eighty years – had examined the still stunned little one, pronounced him without any health complaints, and gently assisted when the infant attempted to stand and retreat to Loren. Withheld only until he was dried and cleaned, the little one was now quite firmly under his mother and had no intention of leaving, and was so very bashful I had not even gotten many looks at him.

The final name hadn't been decided upon. Elfangor and Loren had agreed to follow tradition and name him after Noorlin, which the fool was giddy about, but they were still in conversation about the other names. They did not ask my opinion, and I was hard-pressed to keep it to myself.

‹We should be able to leave tomorrow,› Noorlin commented.

‹Did you contact Aximili?›

‹Yes, and he promised to contact the human they speak with.›

Between the two of us, there was always a tacit agreement not to bring that human often into conversation. We understood who he was in terms of our daughter-in-law, and despite his approval of his mother's choice, neither of us could feel comfortable in it. To leave her old form was one thing; to leave her son, grown or otherwise, was another, almost disgraceful. But to know she would not have made my son so happy if her son hadn't convinced her to do so … that was a terrible thought, to know our happiness was the result of the unselfish act of a human. To have destroyed his family in order to create our own, even if he had been willing, created a gnawing sensation within both of us.

Loren and Elfangor did not appear to share our guilt, though they probably had their own. She still called herself his mother, and my son was not against being a strange sort of father. With the birth of the human's offspring not more than several month earlier, they also considered themselves grandparents, though that title was only within the family.

We did not stay away long, only for the amount of time we would need to eat, as both of us were still eager to hopefully examine our little grandson. Aximili did need images sent of his new nephew as well.

It was to our shock that we found the little one awkwardly running between his parents, pausing only to catch his breath under the safety them, to a laughing Loren and grinning Elfangor, sometimes grabbing their hands.

‹Why couldn't our sons have been that open?› Noorlin laughed, regaining his senses faster than me.

However, noticing our arrival, the little one panicked buried his face against his father's legs. ‹There, there, Zefer, they are not so very scary,› Loren smiled, bending and waving us closer. ‹They're your grandparents. Can you come out and say hi? Pretty please?›

‹Zefer?› I repeated, while the little one cautiously stuck his stalks out. The vision this young wouldn't be much, but he could see vague shapes with the now-blue eyes.

‹His name, Zefer-Sirinial-Agathil,› Elfangor said, bending forward enough so his hand could touch his son's head. At the touch the little one looked up. ‹Come on, now. You're safe from them, at least for a few years. We're here and we're not scared. Come out, come out.›

To my utter glee, little Zefer did step out enough so we could see him clearly. Adorable! Oh, yes, definitely Elfangor's son, the basic features were so close. Next to me, my Noorlin dropped to his knees. ‹Well, aren't you a brave one, little Zefer-pen!› he said proudly, but at least he had the sense to keep his thoughts soft and less threatening.

Zefer ducked himself back, startled despite the effort.

‹Noorlin,› I scolded, bending to lie on my stomach. ‹There, now. Can I see that pretty face?›

It appeared not.

Loren smiled. ‹Don't worry. I think he'll be nodding off soon. I definitely am getting sleepy vibes.›

‹Yes, I agree. Then you two can hover to your hearts' content,› my son added, tracing his fingers against the tall ears, a calming gesture that appeared to be working. Within a few minutes, he had succumbed to the ministrations and gravity, letting Loren arrange him around a cushion.

Perhaps I am biased, but he was perfectly adorable. The data card for the camera, already showing signs of use, was soon replaced with another, and when my son dared make a comment, I reminded him his brother was not present and would appreciate it. Loren agreed with me, and together we spoke about the foolishness of males.

‹You are aware, Zefer is a male, too,› Noorlin pointed out. ‹Disparaging your own grandson, when he's not even a day old.›

‹At least his foolishness has an excuse,› I smiled. ‹And we can work on his. It's too late for you.›

‹I suppose that does explain why I still love you.›

‹Well said, Elvis,› Loren laughed, and Elfangor promised to explain the reference to us later.

[~.~.~]

At home, Zefer grew with the rapidity Andalite young are known for. While he generally stuck close to his parents, he grew comfortable with Noorlin and me. My Noorlin was being ridiculous, pulling out all of the old children's toys to teach Zefer, and later Loren. Part of me wondered how she could teach the child anything if she couldn't even figure out his infant toys, but there was time, we could teach young Zefer, all wasn't lost. But still, to not be able to solve a uite … were all humans so intellectually deficient?

As with all newborns, Zefer at first communicated primarily with Loren and my son. The mother-child bond had been created in the womb, and bond between mates was often strong enough to cross between father and son, if the father made the effort. Of course my sons would make the effort, just as their father did. It took him several weeks to make a whisper to others, and my jealous would have to be admitted in that he communicated with Noorlin before me during their playtime. My Noorlin teased me until he realized how much it did trouble me, and then he was all that was consoling and supportive, creating opportunities. But it still hurt that I was the last my little Zefer opened himself to.

‹Now, Zefer, this is a neighal plant, with three chromosomes altered so the colors are more vibrant and speckled. No, no, we don't play with them,› I scolded gently, pulling him away before he could destroy them. With the chromosomal change, they had become very fragile, too fragile to be practical. It surprised me that sometimes, with all our knowledge, these things can still take us by surprise.

Zefer was displeased at my interference and tried again.

‹No,› I repeated stronger. Little ones always insisted on pushing limits, and he cowered at the tone. I wouldn't feel guilty at it, because I would not be manipulated by an infant. ‹Now, do not pout. We behave and do as we're told here, no matter who we are. But here, you may amuse yourself with plant. Your father always enjoyed playing with it,› I said, guiding him towards the andchar. Zefer looked between me and the plant, unsure. I smiled and gave him a small push.

His hands touched the plant, and his eyes widened as the andchar started to soften and melt over his grip. Hands pulled away, he examined the bits still on him. It had solidified to its natural state, but once he picked at it, it melted again and fell to the ground. It would mean weeding later. Curious, Zefer tried again, with the same results, only up to his elbows. He turned to show me the mess, arms raised high.

‹Yes, I know. Messy. No, no, don't touch me!› Looking down, I sighed at the handprints and grinning child. ‹Thank you.›

And then I felt it. The presence in my head was subtle, but there it was, the soft emotion of happiness and confusion. I dropped to my knees and kissed his cheeks. ‹Oh, my little Zefer, you do not know how happy you make me.›

He smiled and imitated my kiss, and I felt the andchar residue on my face. Too much like his father.

[~.~.~]

‹You are not allowed to touch me ever again,› Loren scowled at Elfangor.

I hid my laughter, because I didn't want her ire turned to me and my still not teaching her how control her systems.

‹This is good news, Loren,› Noorlin beamed. ‹Unusually soon, but good news! Very good. Perhaps another male, but a female would balance it out nicely.›

‹Gah!› she spat and stomped away.

Zefer called for attention, worried, and Elfangor smiled. ‹Mother is fine. She is merely very happy that you will have a little brother or sister sooner than she intended.›

‹Intended?› I repeated, interested at the news.

‹She wasn't against the idea, and since the restriction of family size has yet to be reenacted, it was an option. We had not moved past discussion.›

‹And yet into activities,› Noorlin teased, to the annoyed embarrassment of our son.

‹You do always state the obvious,› I said, ‹in a very obvious fashion, Noorlin.›

‹Subtly has remained beyond my grasp.›

‹That is correct. You should go to Loren. This is a joyous time.›

Elfangor nodded before looking at his son. ‹Yes, but a little more space between the joys would have been more preferable, for both of us.›

He left us, Zefer following in the fashion little ones do, and I beamed at Noorlin. ‹This is wonderful news.›

‹Yes, but I think next time, you should not postpone on speaking with Loren about her cycles. As much as I enjoy grandchildren, I won't abuse Loren in such a fashion. Nor give my son such a cold punishment in her method of prevention.›

‹I will speak with her. And I will make the comment that a mental joining produces the same effect as when it is combined with the physical, as you well know. As I'm sure Elfangor knows, and so should Loren by now.›

Noorlin winked. ‹Some studies always need more data. Surely you remember that. You are not that old, my Forlay.›

There was no response I could give to that, so I said nothing. Males.

[~.~.~]

Zefer-Sirinial-Agathil

***~4 years later***

[~.~.~]

There was a difference between seeing humans, and actually seeing them. I frowned at the human – Tobias was his name. I didn't like him at all, and it wasn't because both Mother and Father were so very glad to see him. Mother had wrapped her arms around him, and he, her, and part of me felt betrayed. Mother was only supposed to do that with them, not with stinky humans.

It did not help that the human hadn't arrived alone. There was an adult human female named Jillian or Wassa Nine-Three-Two, I wasn't sure which, because my parents used both interchangeably to the same human. And then there was Megan, Tobias' daughter.

Father said they were the same age and should get along well, but I didn't think so. Especially not after Mother was so pleased to see her – and so was Father, but I would not think about that.

Bored and upset, I scuffed my hooves and studied the human girl while our parents spoke. I knew my parents had communications with humans, this one in particular, but I never really spoke with him. Why would I want to, he was a silly human, and Grandfather and Grandmother didn't. It was a shock to realize Tobias knew so much about me and Lithinon, or that he could tease his mother for being so large with his newest siblings. I very nearly yelled at the human for the mean comment, but Mother laughed.

‹See? I knew I looked like a giant blimp. They've all been lying to me.›

‹You do not look like a large blimp,› Father smiled.

‹Notice he doesn't meet my eyes when he says it.›

Tobias laughed, and then he mentioned how his wife Georgie had said the same thing before she gave birth to his second daughter, Mina. (Georgie and Mina had stayed on Earth, unable to make the trip. I was secretly glad, because I didn't know how his parents would act to a newborn human and I didn't want to find out, because I had a terrible theory they'd have reacted like anyone does around babies.)

I wondered if my grandparents had gone to the conference so they could avoid the humans.

After a while, Father suggested Lithinon and I – but mostly me, because Lithinon was too little to be a good host and merely followed me around, which was annoying, but he was annoying sometimes, so it balanced out, I guess – show Megan the scoop and to go play. There was no polite way for any of us to refuse, and we trudged away from the adults.

We didn't make any conversation. In fact, it was all very quiet and distant while I showed the human the scoop, my toys – hopefully Father wouldn't say I'd have to let her play with them – and the work stations and gardens. And then there wasn't anything else to show, and we sort of stood around watching Lithinon play with some toys in the scoop, and then run off to show the human adults.

"Where's your bathroom?" Megan finally said.

‹What?› I didn't understand the term.

Megan looked around. "Where you go potty." I still wasn't sure what she meant. "Umm … poop and pee?"

‹Do you mean … relieve ourselves?› I felt myself fluffing, embarrassed. Humans talked about this?

Megan nodded.

‹It is over in the fields. Do you have to …?›

"No!" Her face changed colors. "I went before we left." She looked around. "I'm Megan."

‹I know.› I paused. ‹I'm Zefer-Sirinial-Agathil. And that is my brother Lithinon-Marinta-Piltilma.› Mother always said humans were bad at Andalite names, so she probably had to hear mine a bunch to get it right.

"Zefer-Sirinial-Agathil and Lithinon-Marinta-Piltilma," she repeated, and I was a little surprised and disappointed that she had gotten it right. "My full name is Megan Loren _______."

‹Loren is my mother's name!› I said, surprised. Well, not really, her real name was Loronli, but everyone called her Loren.

Megan nodded. "I was named after her."

‹Oh. I didn't know that.› She was named after my mother, in the secondary position, the one that traveled through the generations? I really didn't want to be impressed that humans would chose to honor my mother like that. Of course Mother deserved it, but that humans would think it too was very strange.

"Are you named after anyone?"

I waved my tail. ‹I share my father's secondary name, but I think Mother merely liked my name. It is the same for my brother.› I struggled for a moment, trying to think of another conversation that I wouldn't be required to pay much attention to. ‹And your sister?›

She made a face. "Her name is Mina Rachel, after Great-Grandma Mina and one of my dad's old friends who died. She's really annoying, all she does is cry and sleep. When is your mom going to have the baby?"

‹Babies. She is to give twins.› I swelled with pride. Twins were rare. ‹It is to be soon. The Doctor tells her she cannot do too much activity.›

"Are they going to be boys or girls or both?"

‹I do not know.›

"We knew Mina was going to be a girl. Mommy wanted to know. I wanted a sister, but now I think I want a brother. What do you want?"

I tried to think. ‹I do not know. I like my brother and would not mind more, but I think a sister would be okay.›

Megan nodded and looked around. "Your sky is weird."

‹No, it isn't.›

"It's blue on Earth."

‹Blue? Like an Andalite?›

"Yep. But here it's red. Why is that? It should be blue."

‹No. It should be red. Your planet is just strange.›

"No, yours is." She looked at me. "Daddy said I couldn't ask, but can I?"

‹Umm … ask what?›

"Could I ride you?"

I raised my stalks in surprise. ‹No. I could not hold you and might damage my back. Can I ask you a question?› Megan nodded. ‹Why don't you fall over all the time?›

"Because I stand up straight. If I lean too far over, I fall. See." She demonstrated, and I jerked when she almost did, prepared to help, but she righted herself.

‹It must be hard to stay straight all the time,› I consoled.

"Not really." She tilted her head. "What grade of school are you in? I'm in kindergarten."

I wasn't sure what she meant. ‹My parents and grandparents teach me …›

"So you're home-schooled. Mommy thought about doing that, but Daddy said I should go to school. I'm glad, because I wouldn't have meant Jenna. She's my best friend."

Ah, something I could understand! ‹Sofor is my friend. He lives in the next scoop over.›

She grinned. "Can we visit him?"

For a second, I wondered if I wanted to introduce Sofor to a human. ‹We would have to ask my parents to take us. I am not allowed to go by myself.› I felt embarrassed at the admission.

"That's okay. My mommy or daddy has to take me too. It's poopy."

Desperately, I searched for another topic, since I wasn't sure how it related to relieving one's self, and I really didn't want to know. ‹You have very pretty hair.› It was yellow and tied up in to bunches on either side of her head.

Megan blushed and petted it a strand. "Thank you. So is yours. It's very fluffy."

Because I was so young – but not that young – but also because Mother was long-furred. ‹Thank you.› I needed another topic. ‹Who is the other human with you?›

"Jillian? She's Daddy's assistant. She's a Symbiot."

‹A what?›

Megan looked at me like I was stupid, and for a moment I felt like I was. "A Symbiot. It means she is host to a Yeerk. Wassa is nice."

I had never heard of such a thing. In fact, I heard Yeerks were evil. Not from my parents or even grandparents, but I had heard it. Who would want to deal with evil things? ‹I thought …› I stopped, not sure how to ask, or even what to ask. ‹How does it work?›

She shrugged. "Jillian wanted a Yeerk. Wassa helps her do her job. They fight a lot though, but it's funny, because it's like they're talking to themselves, since they talk out loud. Some Symbiots don't, you know."

‹Yes.› Of course I didn't, but I didn't want to admit that to a human, especially not a girl. Maybe Father could help me understand. ‹Is her … their job hard?›

Megan didn't seem to know. "I might become a Symbiot. Daddy says not until I'm older, but Mommy says I shouldn't."

‹Why?›

Again she shrugged. "Would you like to be a Symbiot?"

‹I … I don't know.›

"Jillian says she's never lonely and always has someone to talk to, but Wassa says Jillian talks too much, which is why she needed Wassa in the first place. Wassa says Jillian needs someone to keep her on task, so she's just like a big babysitter, but Jillian says Wassa is a work-a-holic."

‹Ah.› I was uncomfortable with all this talk I didn't understand, and I suggested we go back to our parents. Megan agreed and said she could beat me in a race. I disagreed, accurately.

[~.~.~]

‹Father?› I asked during our feeding. Mother wasn't supposed to go out so far from the scoop, so we had to dine in the distant grasses so she would have grasses. I didn't mind, because it was a way to get away from the humans. Mother was resting on the ground, talking with the three humans.

‹Yes, Zefer?› Father responded, helping Lithinon eat his grasses. I was glad I was old enough not to require help eating. I was nearly grown up.

‹What is a Symbiot?›

I was surprised when Father turned his main eyes to me. ‹Where did you hear that term?›

‹Megan. She said the other human is one.›

‹Ah, yes, of course.› Father was quiet, thinking, and I wondered if I shouldn't have asked. But Father was usually very patient in answering questions, and he had had never gotten upset at it, not like Grandmother, who sometimes scolded me for my poor timing. I never understood how my timing was poor.

‹Is it bad?›

Father jerked and looked at me, surprised. ‹No, of course not. Though,› he gave a crooked smile, ‹not all Andalites would agree. But humans can be a bit more tolerant in some venues.›

Father was distracted from further explanation when Lithinon demanded attention. ‹This is the icky grass!›

‹It is the healthy grass.›

‹I don't want it! I want the tasty grass.›

I ignored the scene, at his so very childish behavior. I wasn't going to act like that. Lithinon would refuse to eat his grass, and then Father would tell him he did not have to. The win would only last until Father then pointed out that he wouldn't get the other grass either. And, unlike the other elders in the scoop, Father did not back out on his statements. Father only took a few steps to eat his own meal before Lithinon screeched and said he was hungry.

Part of me remembered experiencing the same strategy when I was little. But Lithinon was a picky grazer, as Grandmother said, and he pulled the trick often. He wasn't very smart.

We ran a little until both Lithinon and I were full before Father took us to the stream to drink, and then we watched him complete his own meal while we drank. My task was to make sure my little brother did not go too deep into the stream. It was high this time of year and might take him away. Even though I sometimes wished it would, I wouldn't let it happen.

Father was drinking in the stream when he spoke again to me. ‹What did Megan say about Symbiots?›

‹She said the human -- ›

‹Her name is Jillian, Zefer.› It was half a reminder and half a scold.

‹She said Jillian was host to a Yeerk and the Yeerk was a babysitter and helped her do her job and that they talked a lot. The Yeerk's name is Wassa,› I added, to show I had paid attention to that and was polite.

‹Yes, it is. Do you know what a Yeerk is?›

I paused. I knew what my friends' relatives said, but part of me didn't want to repeat that to Father. But did I really want to admit that I didn't know?

Father took my non-answer as an answer. ‹A Yeerk is a … a species that is rather helpless alone. But, if it connects to another being, it can … share control of the body.› Father's words were slow. I wasn't sure if it was because he was trying to explain something very complicated or because it was something very easy. Father was strange like that, sometimes.

‹How do they share control?›

‹They enter the host's ear and connect to the brain.›

I gave a little jump and brought my hands up to my ears without thinking about. That sounded very painful! ‹Doesn't it hurt?›

‹The Yeerk excretes a numbing agent.›

It still sounded like it hurt. ‹And then they work together, like Megan said.›

‹Ideally. But some Yeerks used to forcefully take control of their hosts. But that is not done anymore,› Father added quickly. ‹The human hosts have developed a … partnership with their Yeerks.›

I thought about what Father said. ‹Megan said she might become one.›

‹It is her choice.›

‹Her father said when she was older, but her mother doesn't want her to.› I tilted my stalks, to watch Father for his response. ‹She asked me if I was going to become one, too.›

Father's nostrils flared and stalks rose, but it was not in anger. I didn't think so, anyway. ‹It … it would be your choice. When you are older, of course.›

Everything was always when you were older. ‹Would you?›

The answer was short and sharp. ‹No.›

My stalks rose. If Father wasn't going to, then it didn't seem like a good idea.

As if realizing himself, Father sighed and looked away. There was a pause while he gathered his thoughts. ‹There are some things I am not allowed to do, Zefer, as part of my … retirement. I could not become a host, even if I desired to, because whatever I know, the Yeerk would know as well. There are no secrets.›

‹It would know everything?› I squeaked. I didn't like that idea, not at all, especially since it might tell my parents when I disobeyed when they didn't know. It could be what Mother called a tattletail, and I didn't want my tail to turn into a tattle.

‹Well, I'm sure they do respect each other's privacy these days, but I swore that I would never reveal any Andalite military knowledge. I cannot break that vow, Zefer.›

‹No, you can't,› I agreed.

‹Besides, I have no interest in becoming a Symbiot. Your mother and your grandparents and yourself and your brother and soon your new siblings are all the companionship I need. And your mother is a very good babysitter.› He smiled and touched my cheek.

I wrinkled my nose at the sign of affection. I was too old for kisses, but I didn't pull away. Father was not very obviously affectionate, at least not like Mother. Mother was always giving hugs or a cheek kiss or everything else embarrassing.

‹Perhaps you should speak with Jillian and Wassa. They would be able to answer your questions more fully than I.›

‹No,› I quailed. I didn't want to speak with someone I barely knew, especially not alone.

Father smiled. ‹Come, we should head back. Perhaps both of you and Megan could play a game.›

I made a face. To play with a human, and a girl at that. ‹Like what?› She'd want to play with dolls.

‹You do not like Megan?›

I struggled for something nice to say. ‹She has pretty hair.›

Father laughed. ‹Yes. She has her grandmother's hair.› Before I could ask what he meant, he continued. ‹Perhaps you could play with the kites your Uncle Aximili got you. Kites were invented by humans.›

I didn't like the idea of letting her touch my toy, not the prized one Uncle Aximili had sent me. ‹She can use Lithinon's.› Lithinon's had already gotten tangled in a tree, and both of my parents spent a long afternoon fixing it and consoling my little brother. I had spent it protecting my own toy. After all, if Lithinon broke one, he'd probably break mine too, and I wasn't going to take the chance.

Though Father gave me a cocked stalk, he didn't say anything. Lithinon did. ‹My toy!›

‹You should share,› I said, looking down on him. I was the elder brother and he should listen to me, because I knew best.

‹No!›

‹Yes! You can't even fly it properly, anyway.›

‹My toy!› Lithinon repeated stubbornly. ‹Megan can use yours!›

‹Lithinon,› Father said, warning.

‹She's a girl! She'll break it!›

‹You already broke yours!›

‹That is enough,› Father interrupted, sighing. ‹If Megan wishes, she may use mine.›

I stared. That wasn't fair! I'd have let her use my kite if I could use Father's, but a look from Father stopped me. Part of me wanted to bitterly hate Megan for the right, but I hoped that, when we were playing with the kites, I could coax her to trade.

[~.~.~]

Megan, her father, and Jillian/Wassa stayed a two weeks. Lithinon and I played with Megan, who knew this strange games involving red lights and green lights, whatever those terms meant, and freeze tag and hide and seek. (It had taken me almost an hour to find her, and it was because she had climbed a tree! I was in awe, and it didn't even leave when Megan's father had to climb up to get her because she was too scared to get down. To climb a tree!) In return, we taught her driftball – but of course did not expect her to play it correctly – and how to speak with the trees and catching hoobers. We scared Jillian/Wassa by sticking one in her bag and had to suffer the scolding of three irate parents, but then Jillian/Wassa made it so a herd of the hoobers chased us around by drenching us in the plant nectars. We had been overcome and licked clean, laughing at the feeling.

Jillian/Wassa didn't get a scolding.

Mother let us feel the newest siblings in her and Megan showed me where to watch when, every few days, Jillian turned her head to the side and little dark blob slid into a small contraption she called around. I wondered if that was the Yeerk. It did, like Father said, look helpless. Jillian was usually quiet after she did that, and did not seem normal until she put Wassa back in her head.

I, remembering that Megan said Jillian was probably lonely and that was why she was with Wassa, tried to keep her company and play games with the older human, but she didn't like me very much or want to play my games, so I stopped after a few tries. Besides, she was with the other adults.

Part of me was surprised to find I was sad when the humans had to leave. For a girl, and a human, Megan wasn't that bad. I tried to not show how much it distressed me, but I couldn't hide his surprise when Megan said that the next time Mother spoke with her father, we could talk too. I quickly glanced at my parents for approval and agreed, and then gave a step back when she hugged me with her much stronger human arms. I wasn't sure what to do, but before I could do something, her face parts – lips? – touched my cheek and she let go. And then, after giving Lithinon one as well – and he hugged back – she skipped to her father. He was grinning, shoulders shaking.

‹I will call in a week,› Mother said, smiling.

"I'll be waiting. Though I wouldn't be surprised if you were going to give me some news. I'm surprised you didn't already!"

Mother laughed. ‹As am I.›

Everyone else gave their goodbyes, and then the humans were gone, leaving on their transport. I stood for a long moment, though I jumped when Father tapped my tail.

‹And what do you think of humans?›

‹They're strange.›

Father chuckled. ‹Yes, they are. But they are a good sort. And we are very fond of Tobias and his family.›

‹Why?›

He was quiet. ‹I think that is something we shall explain to you when you are older.›

I sighed. It was always when you are older.

[~.~.~]

***~A Few Months Later***

[~.~.~]

I decided I loved it when Uncle Aximili visited. It didn't matter that this would be the first time he would have visited, but the entire scoop was happy and excited. Grandmother did not even scold me for jumping over things, and Father was grinning. Yes, Father smiled, I couldn't deny that, but the mixture of the smiling and happy air made my normally serious father not nearly so serious.

With my little brother, Lithinon, we were impatiently waiting for the arrival. We were the ones who were going to tell everyone when Uncle Aximili was in view. Mother said we were the best to do the job, and Grandfather had seconded. The only problem was that we had to wait, and both of us were rushing back and forth, kicking a small driftball ball.

‹Do you see him yet?› Lithinon asked, trying to stretch his stalks higher. I was taller, so it made sense he'd ask me.

‹No. But he'll be here. Father said he would be here within the hour.› And Father was never wrong. But an hour was so long.

Our Uncle Aximili was one of the greatest warriors in the Andalite military. He was Captain of his own ship, a very high honor, Father said, especially since he received his rank so young, and since he was one of the few Andalites who had honor to a ship. All of our friends were very impressed, as they should be. There was a dim part of Lithinon's and my awareness that both Father and Grandfather had also been in the military, but that did not even come close to Uncle Aximili.

Almost every seven days, he sent a communication. Mother insisted. She communicated with everyone on a set schedule and was very popular. So Lithinon and I spoke with him often, and he was very funny and told us stories and looked kind. Sometimes he even sent them gifts from his travels, which was the best part.

Both of us hoped he'd bring gifts with him.

Some indubitably long time later, I felt my mood depress and become worried. Where was Uncle Aximili? Perhaps he was hurt – no, he was a Captain. He wouldn't get hurt. But he was late. Didn't he want to see us too? Maybe he was too busy to see us?

But I put on a brave face for Lithinon, who was looking even more dejected. Still, I was glad with Father walked to them, for Lithinon rushed to him. ‹When is Uncle Aximili going to be here?›

‹Soon, Lithinon.› He smiled patiently when Lithinon huffed, and I was glad I was so much more poised. I wouldn't behave so childishly.

‹Did Mother send you out to watch as well?› I asked. ‹You are taller and can see further.›

Father gave a little laugh. ‹She said I was being under hoof and sent me here to be watched by you two.›

While pleased that Mother had such faith in us, I wasn't sure if Father was telling the truth. He looked serious and Mother might have said it, but sometimes I thought Mother never said half the things Father said she did. Lithinon did not doubt it, though he giggled at the responsibility.

Together, the three of us waited, though really it was just me, because Father and Lithinon started playing driftball, until Lithinon made me join because my little brother couldn't hit the ball properly at all and Father was nearly winning. Between the two of us, it was easy to beat Father at the game, because Father didn't use his tail properly. Even Mother was better at driftball than Father, and she was really bad at a lot of games.

So intent on the game and correcting Father on his mistakes, the two of us were surprised when Father pointed. ‹Look. There is your uncle, right on time.›

We turned wildly and saw the approaching hover craft. Leaving the game with yells and laughter, we rushed to the craft.

‹Back away so he can land, you two,› Father said, and realizing the point, we stepped back, though we hopped up and down eagerly watching the ship land, waving.

Once on the ground, though, it was different. While both of us knew Uncle Aximili, we had never actually met him. Seeing him only on the transmissions did not convey his strength and height, and he was so very tall. Lithinon moved behind me when Uncle Aximili left the craft with a bag over his shoulder, and I could only look up at him with a nervous feeling in my hooves and almost wanted to stand closer to Father. But no, I was not a baby, and Father was close enough.

But the feelings only lasted until he spoke. ‹Are these my two little nephews?› He sounded kind and good-humored and not scary at all.

We grinned and rushed to him, quickly introducing ourselves in case he didn't recognize us, because if he looked different from his transmissions, we probably did too.

‹Did you bring us something, Uncle Aximili?› Lithinon asked eagerly. I almost kicked him, the idiot!

‹Lithinon!› Father's voice scolded, while Uncle Aximili laughed. Lithinon ducked back a little, but Father merely went to Uncle Aximili. ‹Brother. It is good to see you.›

I watched them touch blades, and I wondered if I would have done that, too.

‹And you. Have you been waiting long?›

Father laughed. ‹We were not expecting you when you said. Still over-confident in the timeliness of bureaucracy, Aximili.›

Uncle Aximili smiled. ‹A failing of Captains. After all, we set the time tables.›

‹Do you want to see our awning, Uncle Aximili?› Lithinon asked, grabbing his hand.

‹We made it ourselves,› I added, not to be outdone. ‹No one helped us at all.› Well, Grandmother got us started. Actually, Father did, but she undid all his work, so it didn't count.

‹I would love to see it. And the rest of the family.›

As we walked back, Lithinon and I showed Uncle Aximili everything about our home, and he was very surprised and interested with everything! He said he never knew a lot of things we showed, and it made me proud to teach my uncle this things.

Grandmother and Grandfather met us, and they all touched blades. And now I felt silly for not doing it while they all talked about boring things. But then Mother and the twins came.

‹Ax!› she greeted, taking his hands and I felt better. If Mother did that, it was okay. ‹It's about time you got here!›

‹Loren, you look well. And are these my little nieces?› His voice was quieter, kinder than before, but I understood that. Valadia and Mayadria were young and shy, fighting for room under Mother, and faces hidden in her legs. And they were sisters, which meant different rules than for brothers. What those rules were, I hadn't quite determined, but I knew they had to be different.

Mother smiled. ‹Girls, can you say hello to Uncle Ax?› They ducked their head and eyes more.

‹Perhaps these will help.› Uncle Aximili dug into his shoulder bag and withdrew two small dolls, and then lowered himself before offering them. Valadia understood the offering and took it quickly, hugging it with an adoring smile, but Mayadria required Mother telling her it was okay, and she still ducked her face against Mother, though one of her stalks did peek out just a little.

‹Bribery,› Father scolded.

Uncle Aximili grinned as he stood up. ‹So you do not wish for your gift.›

Lithinon gave me an impatient glance. He'd like his gift now, and I understood the feeling, but I wasn't going to beg for it. Having my uncle here was enough … but a gift would be nice. Uncle Aximili might have caught Lithinon's look, because he quickly brought about a small remote ship and a small toy that, when he shook it, made small explosions in the dome. Lithinon quickly grabbed the dome, shaking it and showing everyone the small and noisy display, and I was pleased to get the ship without resorting to other tactics with so many adults around.

‹What do you say to your uncle?› Mother reminded, and both of us dutifully gave our thanks before remembering that we still hadn't shown him our awning.

[~.~.~]

Uncle Aximili was even more fun in person. I had been afraid that as a Captain, he couldn't do fun things, but that was a silly worry. He played games with us and told us stories and took us on runs and focused on us, instead of the babies. It was so very satisfying to have such an uncle, and to have his attention. He even told us bedtime stories, as Mother called gallnaps. Neither Lithinon or I could say he was better than Father or Grandmother, but he was a novel difference.

And then, when he caught us doing things we knew we shouldn't, he didn't yell or tell on us. In fact, he caught us tail-fighting and gave us pointers. And when Father and Mother caught us, he took blame, laughing.

‹I am merely teaching my nephews, like you did for me,› he grinned at Father. My stalk eyes perked up and I was surprised. Father did not tail fight. True, he did not scold as much as Grandmother or Mother when he caught Lithinon and me practicing, but he made it clear he did not approve of us doing it. It was a strange idea to think he would teach anyone, especially Uncle Aximili, who was a great warrior. What could Father teach him that Uncle Aximili wouldn't already know?

‹Father can't tail fight,› Lithinon said. ‹He doesn't know how.›

Mother laughed and so did Uncle Aximili while Father gave everyone a disapproving glance. Even Valadia and Mayadria were giggling, but Mayadria was under Father and he couldn't glare at her. ‹Who told you that?› Mother asked.

Lithinon looked around, unsure, while I was confused. No one had ever said Father couldn't tail fight, but he never did. Did that not mean the same thing? One wouldn't want to embarrass Father, after all.

Uncle Aximili smiled. ‹Did you not know your father was one of the best tail fighters in the military?›

No, we hadn't, and both of us looked at Father in surprise. No, it was impossible. Uncle Aximili was probably just being nice to Father.

‹"Was?"› Father repeated, giving Uncle Aximili a look.

‹You have been retired for many years, Brother,› Uncle Aximili said playfully. ‹You would be a little rusty.›

‹Ax! I can't let you talk that way,› Mother scolded. But she grinned. ‹Even if it is true.›

The look Father gave her was confusing for me to describe, but I felt I should say something nice. ‹It's okay if you aren't very good. You're very old.›

Lithinon agreed.

It did not have the desired effect. Mother laughed again and Uncle Aximili grinned. Father merely looked at the Lithinon and me. ‹Perhaps so. Maybe Uncle Aximili could give me a few pointers, to see how things have changed.›

For a second, Uncle Aximili's face looked frightened, but it was gone, and I must have imagined it. Mother shook her head. ‹How old are you again, Elfangor?›

‹Apparently, very. Shall we, Aximili?›

‹Of course. My Prince.› He smiled at the term.

After Mother called Mayadria to her, she asked all of us. ‹Who shall we root for?›

Divided loyalties raged in me. I should support Father, because he was Father, but Uncle Aximili would be the better. I would rather support a winner, after all. Looking at Lithinon, I saw that I was not alone.

‹You can root for Father, while I will root for Uncle Aximili. Otherwise no one will, and he will be sad,› I said, thinking fast. There, now it seemed like I wanted to support Father, but was being nice to Uncle Aximili. Yes, that was perfect. Maybe Uncle Aximili wouldn't like that I was only supporting him to be nice, but I think he was smart and knew I was lying anyway.

‹Me, too!› Lithinon echoed.

Mother smiled. ‹Well, we don't want Uncle Ax to be sad. I guess we girls will support Daddy, won't we?› she said, tilting her stalks so each was on one of my sisters. I didn't think they knew what was going on, that Father was going to lose, because they preferred so root for Father as well.

Father and Uncle Aximili were speaking quietly, though I heard Father say some maneuvers would not be allowed, because it would ‹be scary for the little ones,› and Uncle Aximili agreed. No doubt they didn't want to scare my sisters. They were very young and might cry or run to Father if they thought he was going to be hurt.

The pair of older brothers, after agreeing on rules, stepped away and prepared to tail fight. Lithinon and I were nervous, eager. While we had seen our friends' older cousins tail fight, they weren't as old as Father and Uncle Aximili, and none of them were in the military.

‹I want a fair game, you two!› Mother called. ‹No cheating!›

They smiled and nodded, and then – what none of the other tail fighters in my experience did – bowed. And then, as one, they attacked.

It was spell-binding, fast and quick and dangerous and beautiful. My eyes were wide, focused on it, and it became clear to me that I might not know Father as well as I thought. Father – who was tail-clumsy in driftball and missed half the tosses – was swift and assured, even managing to make Uncle Aximili go on defense more times than naught. And through it all, they were laughing and teasing each other. Both of them were acting like it was a game. All the other fights were serious, but this … it wasn't.

For a second, I thought maybe Uncle Aximili was letting Father win, but when Father caught him in such an embarrassing hold and chided him for still keeping that side open even after all these years, the hope evaporated.

It went on for ten minutes before Mother said, ‹All right, you two, that's enough.›

‹But Uncle Aximili might still be able to win,› Lithinon said hopefully.

Uncle Aximili laughed. ‹I appreciate your support, little nephew, but your father has been toying with me.›

‹I was doing no such thing,› Father said seriously, but he was smiling as Mayadria and Valadia rushed to him, possibly to make sure he was okay. I could dimly remember Mother telling them they had to stay put. Maybe she had ended it because my sisters had not liked it anymore. ‹I am fine, my little ones.›

‹Yes, you were. You let me get a quarter of those swipes.›

‹I am old and feeble. My reflexes are not what they once were.›

Uncle Aximili snorted. ‹If only they weren't. I have lost face with my little nephews, haven't I?›

I said, ‹No, you were very good!› He had been, but my eyes were staring at Father, who had been better.

‹Yes. Even if you didn't win,› Lithinon added.

The adults laughed and Father said, ‹I will take the girls to eat.›

‹I don't think you have a choice,› Mother said. The twins were tight to his side.

I watched my sisters and Father leave, but looked back at Uncle Aximili when he chuckled. ‹I had forgotten how strenuous my brother's training sessions were. I think I stretched a muscle.›

Mother smiled. ‹Boys.›

‹Did Father really train you, Uncle Aximili?› Lithinon asked.

‹He trained many arisths, and I was one of them. Your father is a natural tail fighter.›

‹Who still practices when he thinks no one will see,› Mother sighed, but she was still amused.

‹I thought he must be doing that,› Uncle Aximili agreed. ‹Especially when he was winning.›

I frowned. ‹Why doesn't he teach us?› It wasn't fair! Didn't Father think I could learn?

‹Because Grandmother would disapprove,› Mother said.

‹If we asked Grandmother if he could, could he?›

Uncle Aximili gave a strange, sad smile. ‹Little nephews, you do not want your father to train you. He is very difficult.›

‹I still want to learn,› I said firmly.

‹Me too!›

But Mother spoke, ‹When you are older, maybe. But you will have to accept if your father does not wish to teach you.›

‹Why wouldn't he?› Lithinon asked, while I felt hurt that Father wouldn't want to do such a thing. Didn't he like us? Or did he think we wouldn't be good?

Uncle Aximili looked a little uncomfortable. ‹You must not be hurt by it. Your father does not like to remember his tenure in the War.›

Oh, the War. It was a word no one talked about with Father, I knew that. It had been over years before I had been born, but out of respect for Father's wishes, no one talked about it. Even none of the neighbors spoke about it. All I knew was that both Father and Uncle Aximili had served during it. Father retired after it, while Uncle Aximili – who was many years younger – kept the career because he was such a great warrior. I wasn't very interested in learning about something that wasn't even going on nor had any connection to my life. That was boring history, and who liked history?

Lithinon and I looked at each other with mutual disappointment and anger. ‹But you could teach us, couldn't you, Uncle Aximili?› I asked.

‹Not without your mother's permission,› he smiled.

‹Which you shan't be getting,› Mother said. ‹For I agree with your Grandmother: you both are too young.›

For the next hour, both of us tried to convince her that we weren't, and it only ended when Father returned with the twins. It was, after all, one thing to ask Mother to have permission so Father could do something he might not want to do, and another to ask Father to do something he might not want to do.

[~.~.~]

***~3 years later***

[~.~.~]

‹Zefer, do you need some help?› Mother asked, Quwent peeking out from under her.

‹No,› I lied, casting an eye around for Father or either of my grandparents. Mother was terrible with helping with homework. She never knew how to do anything, and she messed everything up. I wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, so that way there would be nothing to prevent me from joining Father on a trip to the Port.

‹Are you sure?›

‹Yes,› I said, hunching protectively over my work.

‹Okay,› she smiled before going to her console to work on her things. She waved her tail low back and forth so Quwent would be amused jumping over it.

‹You should have let Mother help you,› Lithinon said.

‹Be quiet and do your own work,› I snapped.

‹You think Mother is too stupid to do it, don't you?›

I ignored him, focusing on my problem so hard that I was almost seeing through the data pad.

‹You are so rotten,› Lithinon hissed, getting his own work. ‹Think you're so smart. Mother could help you, she could. She could do this. I'll show you.›

‹No!› I yelled, blocking him with my tail. Stupid Lithinon. Why would he want to embarrass Mother like that, when everyone knows she couldn't solve anything in our learning levels? ‹Leave Mother alone.›

‹Go away. You never think she can do anything, you never give her a chance. You act like you're ashamed of her.›

‹Just don't bother her,› I snapped, not wanting to answer the question because it made an ugly feeling in my hooves. ‹You always bother her with stupid things.›

‹At least I don't ignore her. Let me through!›

‹Hey, you two, you're supposed to be doing your homework,› Mother scolded sharply, rushing up. ‹What's going on?›

‹Zefer wouldn't let me ask you for help,› Lithinon said, glaring at me.

‹Zefer, if your brother needs help, you let him get it,› she said.

I felt so very angry. ‹Then why should he go to you? You can't ever solve any of the problems!› And then I wished I hadn't when Mother's expression turned from angry to hurt, and Lithinon almost attacked me. Even Quwent, so in tune with Mother's emotions, was upset.

And then I really wished I had kept my thoughts to myself, when Father's very deep, angry voice called my name, and I cowered in mute terror at seeing him glaring at me. ‹You will apologize to your mother immediately, and you will come with me.›

Even Lithinon, smirking, shot me a pitying look after I mumbled the apology and went to face Father. If he said I wasn't going to go with him to the Port, I was going to be lucky. But it would be what I deserved, for speaking like I did.

I glanced up fearfully at Father, whose stalk was on me. Even that looked angry.

He wasn't going to forbid me from joining him in going to the Port. He was going to kill me.

[~.~.~]

I looked around eagerly from the hover craft. There were so many Andalites below them! So many. And so many others in hovercrafts around us!

‹Enjoying yourself?› Father asked, smiling.

I beamed, looking up with my stalk eyes, but I couldn't my his main eyes off the other sites. I was very glad Father hadn't remained upset and refused to take me after my terrible behavior. (And I had a feeling I was only allowed to come along because Mother had convinced him. I still felt a terrible shame from what I had said, and even more that Mother would do this for me even after I said that terrible thing. I didn't know what I could do to make it up to her.) ‹There are so many Andalites! And so busy! Are we going to get lost?›

Father laughed. ‹No. I am very familiar with this port. Do you see that domed-building? That is where we must go.›

It was the biggest building in the area. ‹What's there?›

‹Just boring offices and meeting places. It is where the Council meets.›

I gasped. The leaders of their world?! ‹Are we going to see them?›

Father gave a little smile and didn't answer, and I noticed we were landing. Ohh, wait until I told everyone about this at home! And soon I would come here, be a student! In only an Andalite year!

‹Can we see the Academy?›

‹That eager to leave us?› Father smiled. ‹We shall fly over it later. Later in the year we will make a formal visit, sooner to your attendance.›

I could accept the promise, because Father made it, and he didn't lie. ‹Lithinon won't have to come, will he?› It was only because Lithinon would rather go to a friend's party that he had not joined us on this trip. My sisters were too young, and little Quwent could not – or would not – go anywhere without Mother.

‹I believe Lithinon will be spending his academic time at another part of the Port, but yes, he will. But I will take you to the Academy,› he promised.

Even though it wasn't an admission of favoritism – I wasn't going to pretend Father wouldn't also take Lithinon to the science buildings – it made me beam with pride.

The landing was light and without any turbulence – Father seemed to land better than any of the other flyers – and I jumped off without even waiting for Father's permission, eagerly looking around. ‹Do stay close, Zefer. Your mother and grandparents would never forgive me if I return without you. It is bad enough that in a year I will have to.›

I ignored him, eyes darting around and trying to take everything in. True, there were less trees and open space, but the trees were beautifully managed and the awning curved just so. Overhead crafts whizzed by, private transports and ships. And everyone was rushing, busy. There were Andalite estreens entertaining and tail fighters giving exhibitions and music and …

‹Zefer, come along.›

I could barely pay attention to Father, but whenever I trailed beyond what he felt comfortable, there was always the gentle call. And sometimes Father would explain some site or point out something I would have completely missed. It didn't seem like any time until we were at the huge building. There were even more Andalites here, coming and going.

Inside, I looked at the arching walls that separated the area, the ramps and lifts that would take us to other areas, and I wondered how we could know where to go, even with the directions. Would we have to ask?

‹Zefer.›

I looked up at Father, eager.

‹I am going to leave you in the gift shop so you can pick things out for our family.›

At the pronouncement, I drooped my stalks and kicked my hooves. Father smiled.

‹Believe me, there is nothing very interesting beyond there. I will have to speak to several officials about Quwent and fill out forms, and I have to report to several offices. It will be very boring for you. It will be very boring for me.›

I still wasn't pleased with the prospect, but I had to admit that none of what Father said sounded very fun. ‹Will you be long?›

‹It depends. The Gift shop minders will watch you and help you with anything. Would you like me to take you there?›

I shuddered at the thought. I wasn't a little Andalite anymore. ‹I will be fine. I will find the best gifts.›

‹Yes. You will. Go, now.› Father pointed and then watched – as if I was a little baby! – until I was safely at the large maze of awning before he left. Part of walls had holographic views of the country, pretending it really wasn't closed in.

I looked at everything but was surprised when the shop minder spoke to me. ‹Do you know who you were speaking to?› There was awe in his voice.

Blinking, I couldn't think of a response that wasn't rude or stupid-sounding. Yes, that was Father.

A patron quickly answered, ‹You were speaking to War-Prince Elfangor!›

‹… Yes?› There was nothing special about speaking to Father!

The minder snorted. ‹Young today! They don't know anything. Don't you know who War-Prince Elfangor is? I wonder why he is here.›

I had a feeling admitting that had been Father would have made me look very stupid, if they were making such a scene about Father being himself. ‹He … ummm … he came here to tell about Quwent …› They wouldn't know that.

‹Who is Quwent?›

‹His son. He was born a few weeks ago.›

The patron laughed. ‹How many is that for him, four? He certainly is repopulating Andalites.›

I frowned at someone forgetting one of my siblings. ‹Five. He said,› I added quickly, realizing I couldn't be so insolent.

‹You certainly learned a lot about him,› the minder said, giving me a look.

‹He told me where the gift shop was. My father is to report about my little brother.› I hoped this wasn't lying.

They seemed to accept that explanation.

Curiosity brimming, I shifted before hesitatingly asking, ‹Is F – War-Prince Elfangor very important?›

The patron laughed. ‹You will learn all about him when you learn about military history, if you are ever in my class.›

‹Why?›

There was mutual sighing about the education about the young today, but the patron continued, ‹War-Prince Elfangor, aside from being one of the greatest warriors in military history, played a role in ending hostilities between Andalites and Yeerks. Some even say he was responsible for ending the War itself.›

My eyestalks stretched. ‹He never said that!› I knew he was in the War, but he never said he made it end!

The minder tutted. ‹He wouldn't go showing his blade honors to you, little one. A proper Andalite, he is, humble about his actions.›

‹And War-Prince Elfangor is a brilliant tactician and leader. He led humans, human children, after he was stranded on Earth for over a year,› the teacher continued. ‹He was also one of the best fighter pilots. His little brother, the Great Captain Aximili, even cannot come close, though Captain Aximili is a far better diplomat.›

Uncle Aximili? Well, I always knew he was a great military hero – that was why I was joining the Academy, after all, to be like Uncle Aximili – but it was strange to hear Father and Uncle Aximili spoken in such … awe. Our neighbors did not treat them like this! I wanted to hear more. ‹My uncle said … said he had tail-fighting lessons under Prince Elfangor.› It was difficult to call Father that. ‹Said he hurt his tail a lot. But he didn't say he was important.›

Both of them laughed. ‹They say War-Prince Elfangor was tough on his arisths, but he had a higher ratio of them survive to the end of the War,› the patron said. ‹They also say he had the worst temper with them.›

The temper I could agree with. While it took a while, once it was raised – like prior to our leaving – sometimes all I wanted to do was hide under one of the other adults, even if I was older. Father could look so terrifying.

‹What else?› I asked, turning to the teacher.

The patron looked at me, amused. ‹You should actually open a databank! I am very ashamed of your parents for not teaching you about one of our greatest heroes.›

The minder smiled. ‹He has a soft spot for humans and Earth.›

‹He is loyal to Andalites,› the teacher said sharply. ‹He merely favors the ones he led.›

‹Why isn't he still in the military, if he's such a hero?› I asked, realizing the current topic wasn't going to be productive.

‹He served his tenure,› the teacher sniffed, but the minder gave a look.

‹They crucified him and you know it. Everyone does.›

‹Knows what?› I didn't.

‹War-Prince Elfangor left service because the Council didn't like him,› the minder said bluntly. ‹He ruffled too much fur being honest. It was either leave quietly with some honor, or disgrace himself and his family in a long, drawn-out hearing. It is a blessing those Andalites are not on Council anymore.›

‹He did break many laws,› the teacher pointed out, but it was not with much rancor.

‹Some say that his actions are restricted as punishment,› the minder continued. ‹He cannot leave the planet without permission or speak publically. He cannot write his experiences nor give interviews.›

‹Maybe he doesn't want to,› I said uneasily, remembering when Lithinon and I tried to get him to come with us to Zoo on Ala. Everyone else's parents went, but he stayed home with the twins. Did he just not go because of these restrictions, instead of not wanting to spend time at the Zoo with us? If I had known that, I wouldn't have been so angry at him for making Lithinon and me be the only ones who didn't have both parents attend, and now I felt ashamed at the old emotion.

‹Maybe, maybe not.›

I didn't like that, and my mind was reeling with all of this new information. And suddenly I was remembering walking with Father into the City, how so many Andalites had looked at us, pointed at us. It hadn't occurred to me to wonder why, but now … was it because Father was this … War-Prince Elfangor? This hero?

‹I should find gifts before my father comes,› I said awkwardly, and I disappeared into the awnings, but not before hearing the minder wonder if War-Prince Elfangor would come to get a toy for his new little one.

At that question, my stomach sunk into his hooves. They would see who my father was, and they would see I didn't know anything about my own parent! Suddenly I wondered if Mother had a secret life I wasn't aware of too. No. She was Mother!

Desperate for some other distraction, I looked at the toys and gifts. Lithinon was easy. He would like a science thing, preferably chemical, and I found a kit that made short-lived isotopes that eventually would turn into either glowing, shifting crystals or explosions. Our parents wouldn't like it, but Lithinon would adore it.

Mayadria would like a craft kit. She liked making things, but she also liked animals. It took me a while, but I found a set that let her put together a small toy creature that could approximate life-like actions. I didn't like it – it was so very girly and young – but I knew Mayadria would love it.

Valadria was more difficult. She wasn't very girly and, despite her age, could tail-fight better than a lot of the boys I knew, or at least with more zeal. She was little and fast and quick, and knew how to use her size to her advantage. And she liked rough sports and taking apart things so she could watch Father or Grandfather put them back together again. Grandmother despaired of her being a proper female. Mother just laughed. It took a while, and I tried to choose between a new tail ball or an electronic robot. She might remove a stalk from her head if I picked the ball, but the robot would probably be taken apart within an hour. I nearly was going to let Father decide before I saw a strange set where one put things together to make a variety of contraptions, and I picked that. Perhaps she could learn to put things together, instead.

Quwent was the easiest. I found a soft toy with long legs, arms, eye stalks, and tail. My littlest brother would like that.

Though I wasn't sure I was supposed to, I looked for gifts for my grandparents. They were easy as well. I found a nice plant for Grandmother and there was a selection of music Grandfather would like.

Choosing something for Mother was going to be difficult. It had to be something very special, something that said I was really sorry and she was a wonderful mother and that I loved her and that I really wanted to thank her for talking Father into letting me still come along. I was looking at the geodes when I heard the minder greet Father. ‹War-Prince Elfangor! Welcome! Can I help you today?›

I ducked down. Now I was going to get caught and they would know I was so very, very stupid. (Lithinon was right.)

Father's voice was patient. ‹Thank you. I'm looking for my son.›

‹Son?›

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out and tried to avoid the minder's stunned gaze. And I was a little surprised to see the teacher still there.

‹This is your son?› the teacher said, stuttering.

Father gave them a strange look. ‹Have you found everything, Zefer?› I moved my stalks and pointed at a small pile, and Father smiled. ‹I see you found things for your grandparents as well.›

‹I haven't found something for Mother yet,› I mumbled.

‹I will find something. Bring them to the minder, please.›

I shrank a little. The adults were giving me a scolding look, but I obeyed, avoiding their gazes. In a few minutes, Father joined us with a small orb. Inside was a small seed, but I didn't know what the gift was. I never would have picked it for Mother.

‹A nice choice, War-Prince Elfangor,› the minder said. ‹Your mate will be pleased by it.›

‹Thank you. I hope she shall.›

‹We were not aware this was your son,› the minder said pointedly, and I shrank.

Father tilted his stalks but didn't respond. ‹Thank you for minding him,› he said, taking the woven bag. ‹May the day be good, for both of you.›

There was a look, and I repeated the bidding, and was beyond grateful when we left.

‹Did something happen while you were inside, Zefer?› Father asked, putting the bag over his shoulder.

‹No. No,› I said quickly, stalks moving and seeing how everyone was looking at us.

‹Zefer,› he said, a bit of concern showing.

‹They just saw me with you before you left.›

‹And they did not assume you were my son?›

I waved his eye stalks and was glad when Father didn't continue questioning me.

[~.~.~]

Everyone loved their gifts – I learned that Father's gift was a seed for an Earth flower called a rose – but once the adults were away, I drew my siblings to me to tell him everything I had learned. Even Quwent, loving his new toy, followed.

The others were just as surprised as I was. (Well, except Quwent, who didn't understand anything except he had a new toy to show everyone – but not to let us actually play with.) But eventually they demanded I tell about the Port. Information about Father didn't seem very important to them, but it made me uncertain.

So uncertain that I went into the database and looked up Father's name. And then blinked in surprise at everything that came up. Randomly, I picked one, and there, there was Father being decorated. Another, and there was the reports of his bravery. I found a section about his career, and I was spell-bound at the length and honors.

‹What are you doing, Zefer-pen?› Grandfather asked, and I was so startled I jumped.

‹Nothing!›

Grandfather gave me an amused look. ‹What are you reading on that pad with such intensity? You can tell me.›

I struggled to find words, but there was a sense of betrayal in me. ‹Why didn't Father ever tell us he was an important war hero? Why didn't anyone?›

My elder raised his stalks in surprise. ‹So you learned about that, did you? What have you found out?›

‹He stopped the Yeerks on Earth! He stopped the War. And he got honors and ….›

Grandfather waved his tail and looked at me. ‹Zefer-pen, come with me. I want to show you something.›

Uncertain, I followed Grandfather to one of the awnings, and then watched as he withdrew a box. ‹Open it.›

I gasped at all of the honors and medals.

‹These are all your father's,› Grandfather said needlessly. ‹That box is for your uncle's,› he said, indicating another.

‹Why …?›

‹Your father left that life behind him,› he said. ‹Do you think these things matter to him? He wished to start a different life, and he did. With your mother and you and your siblings.›

‹But why didn't he tell me? Us?› I corrected quickly.

Grandfather shut the box with his tail and pushed it back inside. ‹To your father, these are not important.›

‹But he was a hero! The best fighter, leader, tail fighter – ›

He laughed. ‹Perhaps he was. I cannot say I am not proud he earned those honors. But there comes a time in an Andalite's life when he wants more. Your father wanted a family.›

‹They said the Council made him retire,› I said, frowning. Was he telling me the baby-version, like I was too young to know bad things?

‹They did.› Grandfather was surprised at my knowledge. ‹I would not deny it. And I cannot say your father wished it. But that isn't to say he liked the life he found himself in. There is more to life, Zefer, than being a hero. Your father knew that, even before he retired. He will not even say he was a hero. He was doing his duty. That is all.›

I couldn't understand any of this. Who didn't want to be a hero?

Grandfather sighed. ‹We do not speak about the War here, and our neighbors and friends respect that. Your father asked that of us. Perhaps because he wanted everyone to see him for himself, not just as a hero to the People.

‹Perhaps you should speak with your father about this,› Grandfather continued. ‹So he may explain himself.›

‹Maybe.› I dug a hoof in. ‹Mother isn't a hero, too, is she?›

‹Yes, she is,› Grandfather said sharply. ‹Your mother is one of the bravest beings I know. She may not have the notoriety of your father, but do not doubt it – she sacrificed much to be here, maybe even more than your father.›

‹I didn't mean …› I faltered and looked down.

Grandfather touched my tail with a light tap. ‹It has been a difficult day for you, Zefer-pen. You have learned a lot you never realized you didn't know. But you must remember – your parents, and grandparents, did not magically appear when you were born. We all have our prides and paid prices.›

‹Yes, Grandfather.›

[~.~.~]

‹Your grandfather said you might have something to ask me,› Father said the next day. I looked up from my datapad. I was still desperately reading about Father's life. There had been nothing on Mother, but Father …

‹Like what?›

‹Zefer,› Father sighed, closing his main eyes and rubbing his forehead. ‹It is about the minder and the other shopper, isn't it? They said something about me.›

‹Yes.›

‹And you have been digging into my history. And do not deny it. The main consoles show your access.›

Oh. I had forgotten about those.

‹I'm not upset you're doing it,› Father continued. ‹Though I am hurt you would not come to me.›

‹You did not tell us!› I retorted, hotly. ‹They were saying you were a great hero and I did not even know it! About my own father!›

‹And does knowing my history change how you think about me?›

‹No. Yes. No.› I was confused, because it did, but it didn't.

Father smiled. ‹I have been retired for many years. That part of my life is behind me.›

‹But you were a great hero. Greater than Uncle Aximili.›

‹Doubtful. I was merely doing my duty and got lucky.› He sighed. ‹Zefer, you've been reading about the war, but you do not realize what the time was like, and I hope you never have to. We Andalites lost almost a quarter of our population. It started before I was born and did not end until I was your Uncle Aximili's age. It wasn't like stories of grand battles and honor. It was dark and dangerous. I lost many good friends. I was not a hero. I was only someone who survived, who was in the right place at the right time.›

I wanted to argue, but I felt the sadness and despair from Father and I couldn't. ‹I don't understand. You were a hero,› I mumbled, looking down.

‹You'll understand when you're older, if you're terribly unlucky,› Father said. ‹But I will explain my life, what I can. Come, let's run, and you can ask your questions. If I can answer, perhaps you will understand then.›

[~.~.~]

Like Lithinon and I had done at Uncle Aximili's first visit, we were waiting for the ship to come into site, except this time there were far more of us trying to play driftball. It was males versus females, which was fair because we had Quwent and Mayadria and Valadria were very competitive and fast, faster than Lithinon and me, which was not fair because they were younger and girls. Father never really put much effort into the game – I knew he was only pretending to be really bad – and usually stayed near Quwent to prevent my littlest brother from getting hurt. Mother was a good player too, and, unless she had pretended to be bad as well when we were younger, had greatly improved her aim.

Father had slowed a ball to Quwent, who protectively covered it with his hands. (Illegal, but he was little, and we wouldn't have tried to steal it from him.) ‹Mine!›

‹Kick it to me,› Lithinon chanted, trying to get around Mayadria.

‹Right here, Quwent,› I suggested.

‹No, give it to me,› Valadria said.

‹Me!›

‹Come on, sweetie, kick the ball,› Mother coaxed. ‹You can do it.›

Quwent giggled and looked between us, trying to decide over our yells. He wouldn't be able to kick it far, so whomever he kicked it to, it would be an easy steal. However, instead of kicking it, he picked it up and rushed to Mother, and all of us were laughing when he held it up awkwardly and cheered. ‹Ball for you!›

‹Thank you, sweetheart!› she said, taking the ball in her own hands.

‹You're on our team!› Lithinon scolded.

‹We have a double agent,› Father smiled.

‹That's right, he's our little spy,› Mother said, tossing the ball up to hit it with her tail into an open area, making all of us run after it, even Quwent.

No one was very surprised that Quwent switched sides again, usually only giving the ball to one of our parents, but he eventually went to lay down and nap in the suns.

We males were two points in the lead when Uncle Aximili's vehicle came into view, and I was secretly glad he arrived when he did. I was exhausted and Lithinon almost collapsed, while the twins were circling the ship. Father noticed our state and winked at us.

‹Timing is everything, isn't it? Girls, please allow your uncle to land without crushing you.›

‹We'd hate to have you damage his ship,› Mother added, waking Quwent.

Uncle Aximili landed and disembarked, greeting Valadria and Mayadria with as much enthusiasm, and Lithinon and I joined them with our own greetings. When Mother arrived with Quwent, my little brother just stared up at him in awe, hugging Mother's leg.

‹So you are stuck with us for these months?› Father sighed. ‹This scoop gets smaller each day.›

‹You did not miss me?› Uncle Aximili asked.

‹We did!› all of us children said.

‹Enforced shore leave, poor Ax. Now you have to answer to your mother,› Mother teased, ‹instead of bossing everyone else around.›

‹My brother would never let me order him around, the stubborn old goat.›

My eyes widened at the term while my sisters giggled. ‹Father is not a goat,› Lithinon said.

‹Thank you, Lithinon. At least someone comes to my defense.›

‹Ax was right for two of out three, dear,› Mother smiled. ‹Come on, Ax, your parents are waiting.›

‹They didn't want to play driftball,› Valadria said.

‹Do you play driftball, Uncle Aximili?› Mayadria said.

‹I would love the chance to play again. I haven't in many years.›

[~.~.~]

All of the adults knew a secret, I could tell. We all could tell, all of us children could. Adults weren't nearly as secretive as they thought they were. Uncle Aximili was very eager about something, and so was Mother. Grandfather and Grandmother were excited but unsure. Father was the only one who seemed less than eager with everything, and that only made Mother and Uncle Aximili tease him.

Uncle Aximili and Father had to go into the Ports several times on business. What, they wouldn't say, except that it dealt with Uncle Aximili's ship. I wondered if Father was going to become active in the military again, maybe serve on Uncle Aximili's ship. At first, the thought made me giddy, before I realized that it meant Father would not be here at all. Several of my friends had one or both parents who were constantly away on their jobs, and they had to be under the care of their grandparents. While I love my grandparents, it was not more than my parents. I did not want to lose Father, to only see him on the video screen, not after having him always be around all my life.

But if that was what was going to happen … that was what was going to happen. I had to be strong for my siblings, because they looked to me. But part of me felt the bitter sting that maybe Father wouldn't be able to give me a tour of the Academy, and he promised to ….

I didn't ask, but the others did, to no effect. The two adults disappeared and reappeared after varying lengths, and all of us, even Quwent, took to watching for their arrival. One time, after Father and Uncle Aximili had been away almost a month, Father let himself get dragged into the fields by Valadria and Mayadria, and Lithinon and I followed. Quwent followed all of us.

‹Why do you keep leaving with Uncle Aximili?› Mayadria asked.

‹There is business we must deal with. It is very important.›

‹What?›

‹It is a surprise. You shall find out soon.› He let his hands get grabbed by Quwent and managed to lift my little brother up several inches. Father must have been one of the strongest Andalites in the world, because Andalite arms have hardly any strength, and even if he was little, Quwent was very heavy. Quwent laughed at the treatment.

‹Don't you miss us at all?› Valadria asked, pouting.

‹Of course I do, I miss all of you,› he smiled. ‹But you are always with me. You are part of me. For instance, I think little Quwent is my hands. Up up.›

‹And what am I?› Valadria asked over Quwent's cheers and pleas for more.

‹You and your sister are my eyes. A pair and yet separate.›

‹Me?› Lithinon asked eagerly.

‹My legs. Always standing for what's right and solid. And Zefer,› he looked at me, ‹my tail. Without each of you, I wouldn't be whole.›

Even though Father was just being silly, I felt very proud to be the tail.

‹What is Uncle Aximili?› Mayadria asked.

Father appeared to think about that. ‹My fur.›

‹Your fur?› Valadria laughed.

‹I do keep losing him, but he keeps coming back,› Father said.

‹Grandmother and Grandfather!› Lithinon challenged.

‹My lungs and hearts, which give me life. And you mother, she is my … katra.› He grinned at the foreign term, amused at some hidden meaning.

‹What does that mean?› I asked. Mother and Father had a lot of secret jokes between them, said things I never understood. It was like a secret language only they knew, because I caught both my grandparents also looking confused, so it wasn't just an adult thing. Some things I knew were human terms and customs, but there were few I never understood, and they never explained.

Father smiled and stroked Quwent's ears. ‹I think, when it comes down to it, you all are what makes me an Andalite. But your mother, she allows me to have and be everything. Oh, all right, once more, ready, up up, and then we are going to eat. Yes, we are.›

[~.~.~]

We'd had to take the two hover crafts to the ports, because all ten of us were not going to fit in one. Now we were all trying to get to Uncle Aximili's ship through the crowds of Andalites. We were all paired up. I had to watch Grandfather; Father, Quwent; Lithinon, Mother; Valadria, Uncle Aximili; and Mayadria, Grandmother. That way no one lost each other. There was some very big surprise for us, and I wondered if it was that Uncle Aximili maybe got a new ship and there was going to be a big ceremony and party.

Or Father was going away.

The Port was, if possible, even more crowded than when I had visited last time. Andalites were rushing around, and then stopping to stare and whisper at Father and Uncle Aximili. My siblings were scared, and I made sure to make it look like this was nothing dangerous. Quwent wasn't assuaged, and Father ended up carrying him. He must have expected it, since he had a sling to help hold Quwent's weight, because as strong as Father was, there was no way he could hold my brother for long.

They finally came in front of the great Dome ship. There was even a larger crowd, and I thought there must have been reporters. There were even humans there, talking with other Andalites and taking pictures. It was remarkable. Remarkably scary.

Even Grandfather, Grandmother, and Mother looked a bit nervous. Uncle Aximili and Father ignored everything, staring straight ahead, behind, and witha slow sweep to the side. How did they do that?

Once in front of front the ship, a group of Andalites – was that someone from the Council?! They were talking to us! Well, not to me or my siblings, but to us. They were talking about a ceremony, some big thing, but there were so many others speaking I couldn't understand the conversation. What was going on?

Mother and my grandparents made us stand to the side with them, but Quwent refused to come out from under Father or let go of his leg and Father finally said to let him be. I met Lithinon's, Valadria's, and Mayadria's gazes, and we all huddled between the adults, wondering when we'd find out what was going on.

The Council members finally called for silence, and it was rippled down the crowd all the way out, further than I could see. Everyone was staring at us, transmissions recording to other citizens, other worlds. Everyone was watching this. They could see me!

I straightened myself up and tried to look poised, held my tail just a little higher, just like Father and Uncle Aximili.

However, my gaze snapped forward and all my poise was shot when I heard the Council member talk about the ceremony.

‹We're going to Earth?!› Valadria screeched, but just to us.

I could only stare at Father. They were letting him off the planet?

At first, the reason might have mattered, but I was only glad Father finally got that right back. Maybe we could go to the zoo someday now.

[~.~.~]

They had sent our things ahead early. Even though parents couldn't keep a secret really secret, they apparently could be very sneaky. I tried to be proper on the Dome Ship, to not embarrass Uncle Aximili or my family, but it was so difficult with four younger siblings. They kept dragging me into playing games, and I almost ran it the Head of Council! I had to go hide in our rooms until the shame went away. There were so many important Andalites on the ship, and there were humans. The humans always tried to talk, but Father told us not to, but we could get our pictures taken if we wanted. Mother even talked us into getting a family portrait with everyone in it.

We didn't see much of Uncle Aximili, since he had to Captain his ship. Father usually stayed into the quarters, annoyed at the crowds and not wanting to make a scene when his temper finally gave way.

‹Don't you want to be able to go to Earth?› I asked him while he read one of his favorite Earth novels, in the native language. Father was one of the best translators of the human language, I knew. While I could read the language easily -- it wasn't that complicated -- Father knew the customs and funny language quirks and pointed out things I had missed in my ignorance. It was always a lot. Sometimes Mother and Father got into debates about certain things in the books, and Mother would say she was right because she had better qualifications, and Father would counter and say her the requirements for those qualifications did not mean she was correct.

‹Not like this, Zefer. Not with ceremonies and speeches.› He looked up with his main eyes. ‹It will be twenty-five Earth years since the War ended. The humans enjoy anniversaries with numbers that end in zero and five, and the bigger the more important. They wanted a ceremony, and they wanted everyone alive to be present. They did want it five years ago, but couldn't manage the plan. But they got it this time, and I got my freedom so I could look like a fool pretending to be a hero.› He shook his stalks and went back to his reading.

I leaned on my hooves, unsure. ‹Fools can be heroes too. Grandfather says Veyoup is a hero.› Veyoup was Grandfather's favorite character, because he was so foolish and did great things without ever realizing it. Father always was amused when Grandfather talked about that character, and Grandfather always such a huge smile his eyes glowed. It was some private joke that I didn't understand, but it always made Father happy.

It worked, and I smiled when Father smiled. ‹And as you know, Veyoup is a very big fool.›

[~.~.~]

There were so many humans, I was glad when I saw Tobias and his family, humans I recognized. I let Megan hug me and then pretended to be interested when other humans were introduced. There was a very loud and talkative human named Marco, who called all of us "soooooooo cute," a dark female named Cassie who asked a lot of strange questions to my siblings, and a quiet dark-haired man who, if I had to, I would have would felt most comfortable standing next to because he didn't talk too much. However, I could talk with Megan, and that was what I'd rather do. She told me everything that was going on.

"There's going to be a big party after all this," she said. "All week it's been really, really busy. Dad's been going every way."

‹Is he angry?›

Megan shrugged. "He doesn't want to do all this, it's silly, he says. But Marco says it is important, so we did. And then everyone wanted you to come too! You should have seen the TV. Dad sometimes turned it off, but your dad had a special on him!"

I wasn't sure if Father would like that, or that I'd get a chance to watch it without Father knowing or approving. ‹What is going to happen here?› I asked, looking around the human place. There were hardly any trees around. How could humans live in areas like this? Even with an Andalite-blue sky – which was very, very strange – and only green grass, this world was so very … inorganic.

"This is just a welcome thing, with just us. The big ceremony is not for a few days, and that's when everyone will be there. It will be in Elfangor Park." She giggled at my shock. "There's a huge statue of your dad in the middle. Dad said the park is where your dad landed."

‹Really?› Even if I knew Father wouldn't like it, I wanted to see this park. I wondered how big the statue was, what material it was, how high off the ground it was, what kind of plants were around it, how the sun fell on it.

"You're going to stay at our house. We have a big yard. And you can see my room and stuff. It'll be lots of fun!"

I smiled, though I wasn't sure exactly how much fun I could have at a human's house. The pictures I had seen didn't make a very hospitable impression. Looking around at the chatting humans and the proper Andalites kept me from having to lie. Aside from a few small groups, there was a very firm divide between the two. Father and Uncle Aximili were next to three humans, and they seemed a pleasant bunch. Mother was talking with Georgie, with my grandparents awkwardly near but speaking with some of the Council members. Mina, a dark-skinned girl that could have been Cassie's daughter, and a few other human children were playing with my siblings.

‹Where did your father go?› I asked, noticing the lack of familiar face.

"Dad has to run everything, Mom says. Oh, oh, there he is! That's Mrs. Baltimore, she's like a reporter. She's really nice. Dad says she's a surprise."

Knowing what a reporter was and that Father was forbidden to speak to them, I watched with anger and worry as the pair approached Father. How could this turn out even slightly pleasant? Human reporters were infamous even on my world as being terribly impolite, prone to making scenes, and making up things that were never said.

Tobias brought her up, grinning, right to Father, and the other humans stopped speaking, just as confused as Father and Uncle Aximili.

"When I met Mrs. Baltimore, I realized instantly she was an old friend of ours," I heard Tobias say, and without conscious thought, I was getting closer. Megan followed.

Father was giving Tobias a look before giving his full attention to the human female, frowning in concentration. The other humans and Uncle Aximili were the same.

"You probably don't remember me," she smiled, holding a clipboard.

"I'd remember you," Marco pronounced, all white teeth, "I'm sure."

"You're married," Jake muttered. Did humans often forget that? "Remember Stella."

Father was still staring at the human, and I wondered if he was going to remember. Twenty-five years was a long time. But then Father smiled. ‹Lynn, wasn't it?›

"You remembered!" the woman, Lynn, said, clearly surprised.

"Who?" Marco asked.

"I'm not surprised you don't remember me," Lynn said.

"Lynn, Lynn," Cassie said, hoping to jog a memory.

‹The wedding,› Uncle Aximili exclaimed.

Marco made a strange face, while Jake and Cassie laughed. Lynn smiled. "I made that bad of an impression, then?" she asked Father.

‹I was in contact with very few humans, even fewer I don't remember when others do,› Father said, with a notable glance at Tobias. ‹But yes, you were an impression, a very pleasant one. I should be more honored that you remember me.›

Lynn laughed, turning red. "I was convinced I was going to marry you – or at least Alan Fangor – until I was ten, which was when I finally accepted you weren't human. But Bradley, my husband, still feels threatened."

‹You may let him know I am pleased in my circumstances, to no offense to you.›

The group continued on to the conversation, and I listened, curious at the glimpse of Father's past and the crush the human admitted having on him. Tobias' wife soon joined them, but Mother first approached me.

‹What do you think of my competition?› she said.

‹Father does not want her. He said so,› I quickly assuaged.

Mother laughed. ‹Yes, I know, but sometimes the contestants don't care what the prize thinks. She was only a little younger that Valadria and Mayadria, but I don't doubt she thought your father was a fairy tale prince. He danced with her in a very important dance, and you know he was a Prince at that time. It was very adorable.›

‹You saw it?› I asked, confused.

‹Yes. If you ask Tobias later, I'm sure he still has the picture. You can see your father in his human morph, dancing with the little girl.›

Megan, next to me, nodded. "I know that picture, I think! There's a big one in the attic. She's wearing a pink dress. Is that really Elfangor as a human?"

‹If it's the picture I think, then yes. He was quite handsome, wasn't he?›

My eyes focused on Mother and her statement as Megan giggled. I couldn't image Father has a human, and I didn't know if I wanted to, but I nodded dumbly when Megan promised to show me the picture. Earth seemed to have a lot of secrets about Father, and maybe Mother, or at least things I didn't know. I knew I didn't know everything about my parents' lives before I was born – I was very, very aware of that – but here, for this ceremony, I wondered if I wanted to really know. Father as a human, even in morph, was such a foreign concept that I wanted to deny it, to denounce it as unnatural. To know humans, even a little girl, had had romantic feelings, was even creepier. Maybe I had a false image of Father, but it was comfortable and, until I knew the truth, it was the Truth. But false or not, it was my image.

I was afraid that, even if I didn't look for answers, they'd find me, and everything would get stripped away.

[~.~.~]

Because it was raining, there were very few humans out from under the shelters in the main part of the park. I had slipped away, to get out of the crowds as well as to examine the central statue without an audience. It was getting darker, and there was a very large single white moon coming in the sky when the clouds let it appear. Humans had never properly named their sun and moon, which just showed how very different our two species were. Most of the humans were complaining that it was raining! Didn't they understand the very important part rain played in everything?

The human park – Elfangor park – was not the best by Andalite standards, but by humans, it may have been. Father said years ago it had been a construction site, but that this was a much better improvement. It was very large and had play things were human children. Megan pointed out swings, slides, jungle gyms, teeter-totters, and something that made humans throw up if they stayed on the rotating disk too long. Megan said that was the best one, and I think that meant I was very much in error about the pleasures of human vomiting. There were many paths and several flower beds arranged in colorful display.

In the center was the statue, and I approached it timidly, keeping an eye back to make sure no one noticed I was missing. I stopped about ten feet away and just stared, and a bird called a pigeon that had been sitting on his left stalk flew away.

It did look like Father, albeit a bit younger, elevated on a high step and surrounded by a fountain with human metal monies in the water. Quwent had instantly pointed at it and demanded explanation, and later had to be pulled down when he attempted to examine it closer. The statue was made out of a dark metal, and Father was not standing dramatically at all. He was just … standing, tail high and ready to turn whichever direction he needed to, much like he usually did. It wasn't a large statue, perhaps only a little bigger than Father.

Looking at it, I couldn't decide if I was disappointed in it or still impressed. Yes, Father had a memorial statue of his honors, but it was not very … memorable. I had seen other statues of famous Andalites, and they were always so much more heroic. Was it because humans had made this, and to them, this was dramatic?

I walked slowly around the statue, examining it from all angles, looking for flaws or something. Behind the statue of Father, slightly to the left, was another statue, this time of a human male. He was sitting steps, elbows on his knees, hands low and fingers interlocked, the feet almost in the water, and smiling vaguely. After being told, I knew it was supposed to be Father in his human morph. Because of the medium, it was difficult to tell if it did look like the pictures Tobias had shown me. All I could decide was the, if this had been Father as a human, he appeared kind and approachable, but only because I thought he looked vaguely like Tobias. I knew that was bad, because it meant I wasn't telling humans apart, but it was so difficult! Humans really do all look a like.

Still, the idea of Father being human didn't settle in me kindly, and I wondered why they even had to include his human morph in the statue. Father was an Andalite; the human was just a morph, it wasn't real.

Moving again to come to the front of the statue, I very nearly stumbled in surprise to see Father present, and he gave me a strange sort of smile. ‹Do you find it an appropriate likeness, Zefer?› he asked, looking at the statue with his main eyes.

‹Yes. It's a … nice statue,› I said awkwardly.

‹It is a ridiculous one, you mean, unnecessary. A statue of the children would have been more appropriate, but my opinion wasn't asked.›

I frowned at him for deflecting his great part in stopping the War, saving Earth. Maybe the humans had helped but I was sure Father did most of the work. ‹Maybe they should have made both,› I offered.

‹The problem with that, is that humans don't want statues of human children as saviors, and the children don't want them either. So they pick me. Not to say that the children do not have statues somewhere, but they are not here.›

‹Why did they put your human morph on?› I asked. ‹It's not you.›

He blinked, startled at my logical question. ‹I could not say, not exactly,› he said slowly. ‹It may make it more approachable, if humans see my human form. And I am not ashamed to have it included. I was not ashamed of being human. I did not want to be human,› he added before I could protest, ‹but that does not negate that I did find enjoyment in it.›

It was almost a shameful admission. How could Father have liked being a human, even if it was pretend and only for a few hours?

‹Did you really land here?›

Father smiled and looked around. ‹Each time I come to Earth, I seem to start here. And each time it changes. It used to be a forest. And then it was a construction site. And now it is … this.›

‹You came a really long time ago, too?›

‹One of my very first missions dealt with humans. They have plagued me, some more than others.› He was looking at the group we had left, and I thought he was looking at Tobias speaking with Mother. ‹The interesting thing … the statue is not exactly where I landed when I met the children, but it is significant.›

‹How so?›

‹That is my secret,› he said lightly, and I tried not to pout. Father caught it. ‹I suppose, Zefer, it is here that I always remember that, just because some stories may be fairy tales, it does not mean they cannot be true. Perhaps it is appropriate the humans placed this monstrosity here, then.›

‹Do you really not like the statue?›

‹I could be pleased without its existence, but, on the whole, I have learned to let things be as they are when I cannot change them. At least it is not in some silly grand pose,› he chuckled, wiping away some extra rain water from his face.

I blushed, remembering my own thoughts on the pose, and instead pointed to the plaque. ‹Did you really say that?› It said, While it is true that if we want peace, we must prepare for war, it is also true that if we want war, we will most assuredly get it. If I must continue to prepare for war, I prefer it to be for peace and that the war may never come, not for a war that will never end.

Father laughed. ‹Yes. Thankfully, they picked that one, not Animorphs 3:16. Though it is rather verbose. If they had asked me, I would not have picked that to be on the memorial.›

‹What would you have put on?› I asked.

‹If it had to be something I said often, it might have been, Don't get yourselves killed.›

I tried not to laugh and scolded, ‹Father, seriously.›

‹I am not sure. Something shorter. Something someone else said, since I'm not very imaginative. Love conquers all; never give up, never surrender; love the warrior, hate the war; statements like that.›

‹You have to have some idea,› I pressed, disappointed.

Father shook his stalks at me, amused, and waved a hand at the statue. ‹I do not even desire a statue in my honor, Zefer. And you ask for a statement to put on it! What would you put on a statue of yourself?›

The tail turned, I tried to think. ‹Ummm … I don't know.› What would I suggest, making everyone who would read it associate it with me?

‹See, it is not as easy as you think,› Father said, tapping my tail. ‹Though your mother also agrees that I should have something thought out, but she only does it to tease me.›

‹Does Mother have a suggestion?›

‹When does she not? She thought perhaps, I got lucky.›

This time I did laugh.

‹Yes, it is very amusing. And true.› He looked back at the statue. ‹It is strange, to remember that time, with the distance time brings. In the middle of a war, there is precious little time to think, to plan. There is always the risk of death, of yourself and your fellow warriors. Always the battles, the search for anything information that could help. Time crawls and flies. It is surreal.›

There was a long moment of quiet, and I looked down at the ground, unable to look at Father just then, with his quiet, contemplative voice. The rain sprinkled around us.

‹All we had was hope. Hope for the Fleet, for each other, for ourselves. Hope is one of the worst things in the universe, Zefer. It can crush a being, destroy them, with the constant disappointments. You can't survive on it.

‹And yet … I would never allow myself to live without it. It is one of the strongest forces in the universe. Hope can see you to the end, whatever it is. You have to be strong enough to survive hope, but hope will help you survive. And live.›

I looked at Father, still standing in study at his double. But then he smiled when he looked at me. ‹Come now, we have to return to the ceremony. We are the guests of honor.›

It took me a moment, but then I said cheekily back, ‹Well, you are.›

‹If I must suffer, so must everyone else, especially my son.› He started back towards the shelter, and after a last look at the statue, I followed at a run, getting a snack and wishing I hadn't.

Earth grass, I decided, was an acquired taste. Poor Father and Uncle Aximili being forced to survive on this. No wonder they hoped to win, if only to get better food. Why did Andalites even want to visit this planet? The nature might be pretty, perhaps exotic, but there was nothing good to eat. Later, when we got to Tobias and Megan's home, when we were feeding, I'd let Father know I felt sorry he had to go through this trial for so long, with nothing tasty to eat.

Slipping back into the ceremony, I realized I had to make sure none of the humans overheard me, especially since I was a guest. It wasn't their fault there was nothing a sane Andalite wanted to eat on their planet. Despite how many times Tobias asked Uncle Aximili, I knew there was no way he'd eat one of those Cinnabun things. Uncle Aximili was only joking when he threatened to harm Tobias for the human treat, especially since all the humans and Mother were laughing.

Who'd want to eat one of those sticky things anyway? I never would, I knew it, and I laughed with everyone else as Uncle Aximili made his teasing threats.

"Don't worry," Tobias said, taking a huge bite of the food, "I have a huge box at home. Andalite-sized."

‹You had better.›

At least, while everyone laughed, I hoped he was only teasing. There was a strange sort of look in his eyes.

No, I was being silly. Uncle Aximili was joking. Andalites do not eat Cinnabuns.

At least I hoped not, because the way Megan was shifting awkwardly meant she knew something her father didn't. I very much didn't want her in trouble, almost as much as I wanted to not be proven wrong. The Universe was not allowed to change such a truth, that Andalites did not eat Cinnabuns. I knew we didn't! If we could, they'd have been transported to my world! How could that go up a hoof properly? It was impossible.

Yet, as I thought it, I remembered Father saying nothing was impossible, the only constant in the Universe was change, which is why we Andalites had to invent the morphing technology.

‹How else, Zefer, does the impossible become possible, if we cannot change ourselves? And sometimes the greatest change makes the most impossible, possible.› And then he taught me how to do a very difficult homework problem, one I had proclaimed impossible.

Was it possible to ingest a Cinnabun through a hoof? If it was, Uncle Aximili must have been very desperate for something other than yucky Earth grasses to eat to make that possible.

…. Maybe … someday … I would try a Cinnabun, too. If it was possible. I'll ask Father later.

[~.~.~]

Fin!