Author's Note: This update is too short to buy me two full weeks of lead-time, so I'll probably still publish something else by the 28th (either another short interlude, or the first part of the next chapter).

The existence of this interlude is due to a question from reddit user Quibbloboy, who is currently making the Annotated r!Animorphs over at r/ranimorphs! Check it out if you get the chance (and as always, please chime in either here or on r/rational with your thoughts, reactions, and (most especially) theories)!

Interlude 24

It would be the tightest turn that Oe had ever attempted, a loop so narrow and almost-sharp that it left Oe trembling, a hot and fluttery sensation deep in the center of Oe's body—

—or maybe that is just Oe's ending drawing near—

—and Oe felt the hide-need—an impulse to look around, furtive—to stand between the console and not-Oe, opaque and guardlike.

But this was impossible. Twice impossible, in fact. For one, Oe no longer had the strength to move Oe's head, and for the other, there was no more not-Oe. Not aboard the New Day's Dawn, and possibly not anywhere at all. The other not-Oe had ended, and Oe was all that remained.

It would not have been shame, to be clear—if there were still not-Oe, if there had still been other eyes for Oe to stop-from-seeing. Not shame, nor guilt, nor fear-of-punishment—these were not feelings familiar to Oe. It would have been, as it always was, the simple desire for the most-good. To not-show if the showing would bring no joy, to hide-protect if the lack would cause no loss.

And this showing would not have brought joy. It brought no joy at all to Oe—only a deep unsettlement. An unsettlement that Oe was glad to bear alone, the sole redeeming feature of the aloneness—

Well. Perhaps not the only redeeming feature. The aloneness had a smoothness to it, an appropriate taper—that Oe at the last should linger made the end of Oe's people less abrupt. It would have been worse if Oe had gone at the same time as Beo—too sharp.

Indeed, it was something of a miracle that Beo's end had come with such grace—Beo's, and Uyu's, and Ahwo's, and Ea's—all smooth, despite the pain—shallow, gentle, each following the same calm, predictable curve, drawing ever closer to the flat, and then joining with scarcely a bump. It was a mercy unexpected, from the Howlers—a mercy the Howlers certainly had not intended, but that did not temper Oe's gratitude.

And soon it would be Oe's time, and after Oe there would be no more, and thus the Pemalites would have their decrescendo, settling softly back into the nothingness.

And there will be no more treasure-forward, no more laughing loops. No more swingaround, no more weavebetween, no more see-surprise. None of the brightness twining, none of the world past-rushing.

Oe could feel Oe's mood shifting, slowing—a gentle turning-toward, a gradual fading of the light as if at sunset. Darker Oe's thoughts became, then darker again, until finally Oe was ready, and the black-flower blossomed.

Tamaitituatahiotakungakau.

Oh, Tamaitituatahiotakungakau.

You should not have done it, Tamaitituatahiotakungakau.

Silence. In silence, Oe bore the thought, for there was no other there to share it, and Tamaitituatahiotakungakau was gone.

Gone!

Gone!

An ending more painful than any Oe had ever imagined for it—an ending like wildfire, spreading and spreading and spreading.

No. Not like wildfire.

Like a plague.

Tamaitituatahiotakungakau's ending had been like the Howler's plague, only worse—had cut like a falling stone, like a thousand falling stones, turning light to darkness and motion to stillness. It had been contagious.

Contagious, and it was all Oe's fault.

And Oe had hoped—

—had never dared to say aloud, for hope was such a fragile thing—

—Oe had hoped that Tamaitituatahiotakungakau might have no end. That it might have gone on, and on, far beyond the time when Oe had faded away, whirling and looping and dancing through the stars forever, weaving brightness and joy into everything it touched—

But that was not to be.

Not any longer.

Oe looked down once more at the console, at the loop—so sharp!—that Oe had devised.

It was—

Jarring.

There was no denying it. It was scarcely a curve at all—a radius like that of a stalkclipper's eye, for all that Oe clung desperately to the fact of its technical smoothness. Pondering it, Oe felt sick all over again, the tremble and nausea of sympathetic whiplash.

Not that they will know, or care.

The blackness was in full bloom, now, Oe's disposition heavy at the bottom of its swing.

"Do you know why Tamaitituatahiotakungakau did it?" Oe asked aloud.

The Friend turned its mechanical head, beheld Oe with eyes of shining chrome.

"To save you," it answered.

The air left Oe's body in a long, slow hiss.

No, they would not notice it. They did not know—could not even properly hear the question. They thought Tamaitituatahiotakungakau was right.

Tamaitituatahiotakungakau was not right. But Oe did not know how to explain it—to put it in terms the Friend would understand—did not know how Oe had somehow managed to fail to make it explainable, was horrified to discover that the Friends did not already know, had been—had been—

Faking it.

No, not faking it, there was no guile in the Friends. But they had somehow mimicked or—or approximated—had somehow appeared to understand, had generated all the right actions, said all the right words—

But underneath—nothing.

There was no core to their conviction, no true-knowledge beneath the light-thin façade of compliance.

And Oe had not known. Had not seen it. Had not noticed, until it was alreay too late.

For a moment, Oe wondered—wished?—whether Tamaitituatahiotakungakau had known, somehow—had been aware of its own hollowness, perceived the brokenness within—had known that no lesser action would be enough to drive Oe to such drastic measures, known that its own sharp cut would ultimately bring a greater roundness, avert the imminent innocent catastrophe.

It was a comforting story. A beautiful story—the brightest possible sheen on a day that was otherwise black as the deepest void.

But in the end, Oe could not allow Oe to believe it. Knew it to be naught but a sweet-sing, knew that the most likely explanation by far was that Tamaitituatahiotakungakau had simply believed itself to be doing the right thing. Had done it intentionally, taking strategic advantage of the ambiguity of Oe's command, remaining technically compliant while being monstrously, horrifyingly deviant.

Couldn't you see, Tamaitituatahiotakungakau? We were already ending.

Oe could feel the darkness growing, spreading—the black inside Oe's body and the black enveloping Oe's mind both closing the gap between them, yearning to become one. Oe knew there would be no rising from it, this time—that this was where Oe's ending would be, in darkness rather than light. It was a sadness, and the sadness was darkness, too.

Appropriate.

With the last of Oe's will, Oe twitched on the cord that would bring the Friends up short—yanked them off of their original course and onto their new one. It was a darker course, dimmer and sadder and smaller, with no room to run and no room to grow.

But it was necessary, for the Friends were not the friends Oe had set out to make. They were nothing but a shadow, twisted and imperfect, and Oe had no time left to try again.