Utopia - chapter 3
My Freedom For His
Several doctors seemed particularly interested in the claw-like implants, three on each hand between his knuckles. Grinder suspected they were controllers - their manners were formal, and when they handled apparatus it was always with a certain contempt; Yeerks obviously had better technology at the time, and they were always avid to learn more - no wonder they were fascinated by those useful in-built weapons.
Within ten days Grinder's mouth had nicely healed. The doctors and nurses pestered him with his "family name"; but in the end they simply concluded that Grinder was some street kid, which also explained the deplorable state he'd been taken in, and they also seemed to think his language was funny - of course, with a 1000 year's difference languages would of course be deformed. Gaâ, for example, was derived from Gaya, the name given to Earth after the Milky Way treatee.
They also asked his age; but when Grinder replied 45, they laughed and apparently refused to believe him. He remembered that in the 0 years average life span in the richer countries was merely 70. This explained why they treated him much like an adolescent, rather than an adult.
Grinder had been in good health for several days - his body had healed at faster speed. The hospital staff had again started pestering him with his parent's names, or his "legal guardian" - probably for the hospital fees. He couldn't stay in the hospital forever. So one night he got up, opened the window and climbed down. He spent the night wandering around the town - it was full of night-life. How could he possibly find someone who knew about the Yeerks, about Andalites and their technology…
The answer dawned onto him. Simple; if this was the 0 years then he simply had to find the Animorphs. Come to think of it… Yes, that girl, whose parents had found him. They'd called her Cassie, didn't they? She'd written several books about their war against the Yeerks. They often met in her barn, didn't they? Maybe he'd have a look there. He'd seen a calendar at the hospital - so right now… They'd just had the episode with the Nartec, hadn't they? Quite morbid, that one was. Mild moral damage, they'd be getting over that now. He couldn't remember what would be happening to them next (a/n; and neither do I, so this story starts after N.36, regardless of what happens next).
He was cutting through a somewhat shabbier alley when a group of teenagers, that looked his age, approached him.
"Hey dude, you got any money?"
"No," he replied coldly.
"Hey, c'mon, hand it over," continued one of them. At that moment two others seized his shoulders roughly. Something in Grinder's mind flashed.
"Leave me," he ordered, in a calm, glacial manner. For a moment he saw doubt on their faces. Clearly they didn't expect such calmness.
"Hey, dude, you don't fight and we let you go, kay, so-"
"I ordered you to leave me."
"Hey man, who d'ya think you are-" He didn't finish his sentence. Grinder quickly freed his arms and seized the guy on his right, and flipped him over. The second, he grabbed his hair and very violently knocked his head against the wall. Then the third - the third guy was holding a gun at him. Some ancient model.
"Hey, nice karate stuff there, but that isn't gonna work on me."
"Of course it isn't. You have the gun, hence the power; I can't do anything against you now."
The third guy looked a bit surprised at that. Grinder exploited this moment of surprise.
"You can kill me of course. But what use would that be of? My death would profit nothing to you. As I told you, I have no money. You'd say to yourself you had the guts to kill a man; that you could truly defend yourself, if in turn someone else had to kill you. You would consider yourself stronger, but that is just an illusion - and if you don't kill me, then I would be indebted to you greatly. And then you could take advantage of that situation. So you see, all the power is on your side, you can kill me if you wish, but by not killing me you'll have even more power." The words came to him easily, he felt he knew exactly what to say. And it had an effect - the guy lowered the gun and looked at him interestingly. It was not for nothing that Grinder had, in a few years, risen to such a phenomenal power - he was an excellent orator, capable of convincing any individual or crowd.
"You talk like some sorta genius - where d'you come from, anyway?"
"That's quite a long story. I don't live anywhere precise."
"Hey, why don't you go about with us? I mean, we could use with some of that karate stuff."
"Us?"
"The gang. Sort of…"
"Rebels of the current society?"
"Well, yeah, that's pretty much it," guffawed the guy. He woke up the other two men and led him through a maze of somber and complicated alleys.
The clacks of wood clashing against itself echoed through the hall. Two dozens of teenagers and young adults stood watching, mesmerized. Two people were fighting in the improvised arena - a Japanese girl, silky black hair and alert black eyes, moving with a feline grace, a another young man, with short dark hair, but his movements were experienced, calculating, ruthless. All movements were executed in the fraction of a second, both opponents seemed to be perfectly synchronized as they were doing no effort at all. But ultimately, the young man in a sweeping gesture projected the girl's baton a few yards away, at had her at his mercy. He smiled satisfactorily.
"Brilliant. You're extremely fast, but try to be more precise. Keep your head at all times." He picked up the baton and handed it back to her. For a moment, she looked untrustingly and the set of three metal claws that erupted unnaturally from in between his knuckles, sharp and glistening and deadly.
"Man, Grinder, that was cool, where d'you learn all that stuff?"
"Places," he replied very vaguely. That was Grinder - most of it mystery and evasive answers. But he was a valuable member of the gang, ingenious, clever, ruthless - that guy had it all, though Jon. Like he was forged for the tough life. And he had vocab too - when he spoke something in his tone imposed respect, a sort of grandeur. When he started talking, everyone hushed and listened. He seemed to be skilled in every matter - from politely obtaining money from a bypasser, supposedly for a bus ticket, to violently beating up some rich-looking bloke, seizing all valuable possessions. With all the new income, the gang had a new spurt of life - cigarettes, drugs, various junk could be afforded. It was a semblance of organization.
And Grinder had found an aim, a purpose for the gang - rebels of the current society, he said. Jon felt comfortable at the HQ, in the old fishing hangar. The old tires piled up, empty crates, even the broken windows - all that seemed home. His parents were divorced, the new guy hated kids, and all that - here, there was some comfort, at least, other people in similar situations. There was also freedom. He'd died part of his hair blond - there was admiration at his funkiness. He'd tattooed the picture of a skull and a snake on his back - the girls thought it was sexy. Many people were the "odd ones out". But perhaps Grinder was the most odd - no-one knew where he came from, how he'd gotten those sort of claws…
Targin four-seven-two, of the Marach Qunn pool, was also fascinated by this mysterious Grinder. He'd been disgruntled, at first, to have a host so low in the human society; but sub-visser 43 had been formal, all ranks of the human society must be infiltered. He had reported this Grinder at his last visit to the Yeerk pool as an able speaker, for the Sharing. And there were reasons to think he had knowledge of superior technology, those claw-like implants being wonderfully efficient. Best of all, he had been promised Grinder as a host should he manage to arrange his capture… The sub-visser had given him five Hork-Bajirs, he'd told them to wait in St. Anne's street, nearly always deserted.
His current host, Julia, was naturally against this idea - she felt a sort of respect for Grinder, an admiration. Pathetic human feelings.
"Where did you learn baton-fighting?" asked Julia. She and Grinder were strolling in lamp-lit streets, without precise goal.
Grinder sighed interiorly. Many people had asked him that, he'd only replied extremely vaguely. He'd wanted to think peacefully, how he could possibly get back into his time, but that little pest followed him like a dog. She was remarkably good at baton, but that was no reason to stick to him like glue.
"A friend of my parent's," he lied.
There was an uncomfortable silence. She expected him to add more, but he kept his mouth shut. They turned into St. Anne's street, quite darker… For some reason Julia tensed. He heard a ruffle of footsteps around, heavy breathing. He stopped.
"What was…" A great huge reptilian hand came sweeping down on him. Grinder ducked so that it grazed his hair.
Hork-Bajir! Yeerks! His mind screamed. Several tall figures appeared from the gloom. Four, five! Two of them dived on him. He was knocked to the ground, but deeply dug his claws into their lower stomach. One of them rolled off, moaning in agony, but another seized him tightly around the shoulders. The others closed in too! Grinder fought like a devil but he was no match against four Hork-Bajir. Julia? Did she escape? No, she was standing a few feet away. Looking very calm… Far too calm…
"Yeerk!" he spat in disgust. This had all been an ambush! How could he have trusted her, any of those vile rats…
When she stuck her ear against his, he knew what was going to happen. And this wasn't even a simple Yeert, a Yeerk, that controlled your every move… He felt with horror the slimy end of the slug slithering into his ear… His whole mind and body leagued itself against this parasite invading him. No! No! No! No!
Targin was surprised when he entered Grinder's head - first of all, his brain was a slightly different configuration than other humans - somehow more compact. Then he noticed how much more difficult it was to slide through the ear canal, he had to flatten himself so much more. And when he connected himself to the first few neurones and nerves…
It was like a different branch of species. There was so much more alertness, perception… And this brain seemed far more intelligent. It could evaluate a situation in many different ways, it was more calculating, ruthless, mature.
Then came the memories.
First of all, Targin had expected an intelligent mind, but young and maybe inexperienced - Grinder looked merely eighteen or nineteen. But instead there were far more memories, like those of an already aged human.
But the most shocking of all were the memories in themselves.
Targin saw Earth 1000 years into the future. He saw the hovers, the medical technologies. He saw the perfect symbiose between human and Yeerk, or rather Yeert. And he paged through every memory of Grinder's life; the rise to power, his ruling of the whole of Earth. He saw the secret of the supposed Andalite resistance - a mere batchful of human children, and an Andalite cadet. Meanwhile, the real Grinder, now locked up in a minute corner of his own mind, was still yelling, attempting to break free of Targin's control.
"It's all right, I've got it." He announced. The Hork-Bajir let him go.
"What do we do with the girl?" asked the Hork-Bajir holding Julia. There were silent tears streaming down her face.
"Take her back to the pool for reinfestation. I'll be keeping this host."
Julia barely tried to resist as the Hork-Bajir marched her down the stairs to the Yeerk Pool - already the screams reached her ears. Why do the Yeerks have to ruin everything in this world? She asked herself. Grinder had been such a mysterious, amazing person, now he was a mere body ordered around by an alien slug. She would have gladly kept her slavery to prevent his.
She hated those Yeerks. Those vile slugs. They ruined everything she admired, she loved; they'd killed her mother and her loved pet cat, infested her brother; and now they had Grinder.
She hated them. But she couldn't do anything about it.
Grinder could do nothing as well. He was screaming, attempting to regain control of his body, yelling at the Yeerk with fury. But the blasted slug had neatly clamped down in his mind, and was freely going through all of his memories, quite fascinated. He could barely find the words - there were flashes of blood red and black that told enough. It was several hours until he tired and had to calm down.
Blimey, taunted the Yeerk, You're one devil of a fighter aren't you?
GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU BLOODY SLUG!!!
Wouldn't dream of it. My, you've had a fascinating life, haven't you? Ruler of the world… All that rubbish about peace and harmony… Well, that's the stuff they wanted to hear, and you used that cleverly. Really, I'm impressed.
GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT…
Calm down will you? You're getting in a state for nothing. You know you can't fight me.
Grinder kept silent.
Now that's better-
"Get out you mother fuxsss sseee…"
Fucking Yeerk! finished Grinder mentally. That sudden burst of will was like a mental slap to Targin - he reassured his control over the body more vigilantly.
Insult me all you like, it won't have any effect.
Why, then I still will. You're a slimy piece of Taxxon vomit, rotten Hork-Bajir pus, like a piece of Andalite intestines, a sick-looking mass of flesh fished from the sewers, some putrid being rolled in dog saliva-
Targin sighed and tuned off. He was waiting in a room next to the Yeerk pool. Sub-visser 43, his superior, would be wanting a report soon. Targin would of course tell him all about the Animorphs, the Yeerk resistance. He would tell him this host was in fact from the future, that by his mere ability to charm entire crowds he had come to rule the world. Yet he wouldn't tell anyone about the symbiose, not just yet - that needed thinking over.