Chapter Nineteen

PART ONE OF THREE

Jennor

I spun my Shredder around the slick tabletop on its fulcrum. Waiting, like I always was now. I didn't know what for. I pictured the gun misfiring just as it slowed and pointed directly at my heart. I tried to imagine what vaporizing entrails and evaporating blood would feel like. Shredder deaths were supposed to be painless. Perhaps that was a crueler punishment.

Trainer and I had spent almost seven years in the asteroid field. The Yeerks and Andalites remained in stalemate, and despite my introduction to the conflict as a competent soldier, neither Trainer nor I had made any headway in ranks. Father would not be pleased that I had spent over a decade in the war and had not been promoted to the rank of Warrior. Though that rank was only allowed for people who had reached the age of maturity—three age cycles, or roughly 21 years—I had hoped that my skill and talent would have promoted me sooner. It didn't, and we were stuck.

Trainer liked the asteroid field for its lax regulations and what he felt was an overall jovial atmosphere. I didn't know what he was talking about. No one on that asteroid was particularly happy, and whenever we were in our home scoop, and I was in my normal form, I felt emptiness and longing from all around me. Except for Trainer. He was a blemish of contentment.

I watched him as he entered our sparsely furnished scoop and I stood completely still. He breathed in deeply, arched his back, and stretched his tail, slowly making his way over toward me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and ran it up my neck, across my face. I didn't recoil in disgust or aversion. It didn't feel like anything anymore.

(There doesn't seem to be much action on the war front,) he said with a sigh, rubbing his fingers around my ear as if it belonged to him. (War can be quite boring, no?)

I sighed and shifted my gaze outside the door. He grabbed one of my stalk eyes and forced it to look up at him. I felt my body go stiff. My hair sprang erect. My tail blade twitched. It was pointing at him.

(What are you doing, Jennor?) He asked.

(I am going to refill my Shredder, sir,) I said steadily, tempering my fighting instinct, touching his hand in the way he had trained me and carefully uncoiling his fingers from my stalk eye. He allowed his hand to settle into mine.

(Didn't we just do that?) He huffed. He walked beside me, still holding my hand. With the opposite, he grabbed my Shredder, pointed it at my temple, and pulled the trigger. I felt myself jolt in expectation. Nothing happened.

(Ah, you are correct,) he said, weighing it in his hand and placing it back on the table. I glared up at him. (Don't be so surly, Jennor, I trusted you. Besides, it was only set to stun.) He put his hands on my shoulders and slowly ran his fingers up and down my back. I closed my eyes and pictured Terenia doing it, laughing about how silly Andalites were and how wrong I was to want this.

Maybe she'd been right all along.

Trainer released my shoulders and headed to the other end of the scoop, where he kept vitamins, personal effects, and his daily log. I watched him as carefully as he watched me.

(Did I show you how to refill your Shredder?)

(Yes, sir.)

(And you remember everything?)

(I remembered after the first time, sir.)

(How many times did I show you?)

(Three, sir.)

(Ah. Well, perhaps I should do it once more, just to make sure you understand.)

(I understand, sir.)

I pressed the button to disengage the empty Shredder cartridge. Volatile fuel oozed from the opening.

(Careful, Jennor! It's highly combustible!)

(I am aware, sir.)

I watched him carefully, and there was now a hint of concern in his eyes. (Your Form Alpha is nearly impeccable, Jennor.)

(I've had lots of practice, sir.)

I placed the spent cartridge in the disposal wrapping, neutralizing the danger. With a deep breath, one entire stalk eye engaged with Trainer, I grabbed the stiff new cartridge and carefully pulled up the tape that kept it fresh. Trainer gasped, and I felt a bit of the cool, gel fuel squeeze out onto my hand.

(You clumsy fool!) Trainer said, stomping over and immediately pressing a new sheet of neutralizing wrap onto my hand. I felt it burn my skin and warp and stretch my tendons. I watched steam rise from my gurgling flesh, and made no sound, because the pain was the loveliest thing I had felt all day.

I closed my eyes as Trainer cleaned the wound vigorously and without finesse. I felt his fingers inside my hand, and pictured him pulling the tendons like a puppeteer. The image made me laugh.

(Are you all right, Alina?) He asked. I opened my eyes and watched him inspect me.

(What did you call me?) I asked.

(I said Jennor. I said, "Are you all right, Jennor?")

(Yes, sir.)

(You don't believe me?)

(I am all right, sir.)

(Oh.) He pulled away the neutralizing fabric which was soaked in my blood. (Let me get a dermal regenerator.)

I waited as he dug through his supplies, cradling my injured hand in the undamaged one. Blood pulsed through it, washing away old pain and delivering new. Impulses fired through my forearm and up my shoulder. It quivered in agony. Through the distraction, I noticed a difference. My hand was piping hot.

(Is this what being normal feels like?) I wondered aloud. Trainer walked over and pressed the dermal regenerator to the wound.

(No, Jennor. You know what that feels like.)

(Is this what it costs?)

Trainer's sole stalk eye looked away for a moment. I felt a sudden surge of pride and altruistic happiness associated with being a bearer of good news. For a moment, I allowed myself the glowing hope that he would tell me we were going home, but then I realized it wasn't coming from him.

(Someone's coming,) I said, immediately morphing. Trainer pulled the tool away.

(Honestly, Jennor, you're better than a high-capacity scanner,) he said, walking to the entrance of the scoop, shaking off the air of his desire and replacing it with his jovial, welcoming façade. I wondered what would happen if, just once, I didn't herald someone's arrival, but that thought was short-lived.

War-Prince Porrolack walked in.

(War-Prince, what a pleasure and honor it is to see you,) Trainer said, saluting him suavely and indicating that I do the same.

(Prince Tuxebi, a pleasure as well. I haven't spoken to you in a few days, how have you been?)

(Absolutely supreme,) he said with a genuine smile.

(And with conviction,) the War-Prince said with a laugh. (We should promote you to head of morale.)

Trainer bowed in deference, though it was clear even in my current form that it was the last thing he wanted. Porrolack's eyes turned to me.

(I am here about a promotion, but it is not for you.)

He was looking at me when he said it, and I felt a moment of confusion, but Porrolack walked over, stately and proud, and placed a powerful hand upon my shoulder.

(The other Princes and I have discussed your aristh, Tuxebi. We think the job he's done is extraordinary enough to merit a long overdue promotion.)

I looked at Trainer, whose eyes had gone blank and tail slack. I took pleasure from this.

(My aristh has not yet reached the age of maturity. I wouldn't want to be responsible for affronting Andalite law.)

One of the War Prince's hard stalk eyes turned toward Trainer. (As it was my decision, I would bear full responsibility should anyone take issue with it,) he said, smiling at me with his main eyes. (But your aristh has shown a level of talent and aptitude that is being sorely wasted as a foot soldier. We'd like to bring him to our command ship across the belt and begin training him for an officer's position. You may even fly your own Dome Ship someday,) he said, squeezing my shoulder.

I was in shock. My eyes were glazed, my mind reeling and tangled. I think I managed a (Thank you, sir,) but I don't know what language I used.

Trainer's rage was so great that I could feel it burn even in my shallow, limited form, and shot him a warning glance to calm down. For a few moments, far too long for me to stay silent, he thought, and suddenly his rage was gone, replaced with smug confidence.

(You bestow such honor upon my aristh,) he said. (It is quite a shame that he will be unable to accept.)

(What?) Porrolack and I said simultaneously.

(My aristh has recently decided to seek new opportunities in other systems,) Trainer explained. I felt anger and powerlessness boil within me, and my tail kept twitching. (I have already promoted him to the rank of warrior, as it is my right to do, and have allowed him to find new leadership with more experience. Where is it you're headed again, Cristex? Rakkam Garoo?

(Thirty seconds of "yes, sir," Jennor, and then you can scream and cry all you want.) He assuaged me privately.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to cease his complete control over me and stab him through the chest, feel his warm blood wash over me and cleanse his sins away. I wanted to tell the truth, but it is against the law for an aristh to contradict their Prince unless someone's life is in danger.

Was my life in danger? No. And the only supreme system I answered to was Andalite Law.

(Yes, sir. Rakkam Garoo.)

Trainer's smile was complete. (See? Rakkam Garoo. You'll be doing officer's training there already, no?)

(Yes, sir.)

(It is a shame you did not inform me earlier, War-Prince.) Trainer gesticulated.

(A small hiccup we can easily remedy. I know some people in that system, and if your aristh is so inclined, I would like to keep him around.)

(Ah, well that is the unfortunate part. I have already accepted a new aristh.)

(Oh?) Porrolack asked. (And who is he?)

(Well sir, that is the part I believe you will appreciate the most. I know you are a progressive, unconventional leader, and would like to see the responsibility of this war spread to as many participants as possible, no?)

(Where are you headed with this, Tuxebi?)

Trainer watched me for a moment, black eyes as inscrutable as ever.

(My new aristh is female,) he said.

I felt the tension in my shoulders melt away as I realized what he was doing. Even if I could think about this more, find some way to accept the promotion without Trainer's blessing, I could not do it as myself. I would be forever condemned to a masculine form, unable to visit Father or Terenia or live as I was meant to. Jennor-Elacable-Barees would die.

And Trainer was giving her back to me.

(I see,) Porrolack said, rubbing his jaw.

(Are you displeased, sir?)

(I am uncertain how I feel about this.)

(I assure you her skill is unmatched. Even Cristex here cannot fight as beautifully as she can. She is well-versed in all forms of tail-fighting, astute with a Shredder, with wits more greatly developed than even many of the leaders in this war.)

I thought he had gone too far, but Porrolack seemed too distracted to notice the insult.

(And how old is she?)

(Two cycles and fifteen months, sir.)

Porrolack continued to rub his face.

(That means she just barely qualifies to be an aristh,) he said. (I feel like there's something you're not telling me.)

(Perhaps you should meet her and decide for yourself. She will shuttle in tomorrow.)

Porrolack watched Trainer carefully for a long time, continuing to rub his face. Then, for a moment, he looked at me.

(You're better at this than you look, Tuxebi,) Porrolack said with a sigh. (I am sorry to lose you, aristh, but I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. I will be here at 1300 tomorrow.)

The War-Prince left, shaking his head slowly and mumbling to himself.

I demorphed as soon as he left the scoop. Trainer watched me with a victorious smile in his eye.

(You'll never again have to hide who you are, Jennor,) he said, grabbing one of my hands and pulling me close. I closed my eyes as he buried me in his chest, and I concentrated on the truth in what he said.

Jennor-Elacable-Barees would live.