Aximili's Headache
I don't know why I come here,
Knowing as I do,
What you really think of me,
What I really think of you.
From Leonard Cohen's "The Land of Plenty"
Estrid, as one of many, was thrilled to hear about Aximili's return to the Andalite Home World; thrilled at his promotion and the recent victory in the war of Earth.
Also, thrilled at a chance to finally see him again.
She had had nothing to do with the military again since her own homecoming. But she was aware that the military kept a close eye on her; she still knew a few things they would not have minded forgetting; a few things they would not allow to become public knowledge.
At time she wondered why an 'accident' had not been arranged for her. Gondrod, she knew, had been shuffled back into prison with minimal fuss. But for some reason they left her alone. Perhaps it was lucky that she was civilian. Perhaps they did not dare… then again, this was the Fleet.
In this case, knowing a few things they wanted to keep secret worked to her advantage. Through a line of contacts who owed her favours, and by using – to back it up – a hint of blackmail, she was allowed to greet Aximili as soon as his ship landed.
The decision had still surprised her.
She suspected that somewhere up among the War-Princes there must be a sentimental bloke who had decided she could do no harm.
The official welcoming committee of celebrated veteran Princes eyed her suspiciously at first, wondering what she was doing there, who she was and who had allowed her – a young, ignorant civilian – to attend. But even their battle-hardened expressions softened to knowing smiles when they heard her eager cry of Aximili!, and saw her rush forwards to greet him as soon as he came out of the ship, carrying a human rucksack on his shoulders. It looked very odd, but Estrid paid little attention to it.
He had grown. He was older, of course, broader across his chest and shoulders; more muscular. More adult than youngster, now, and very handsome. His face was more angular than she remembered it, and was just beginning to tan. He was a bit taller, and definitely looked wiser. There was also something in his eyes that had not been there before. Something… but she had no time, no urge, to figure out what it was – although all four of her own eyes were focused on him.
Hearing his name, Aximili looked up, startled, and then hurried ahead to meet her, a faint smile passing his eyes. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared.
Estrid… I presume, he said, taking her hands when she came close enough, giving them a light squeeze. His face was back to that look she could not interpret. So you made it back alive, too.
He motioned for her to continue ahead, and did so himself, without waiting to see if she would follow.
Estrid smiled uncertainly, dancing a step to the side and taking a place next to him as they continued towards the old Princes. She was not really certain how to react to that comment – or to that more or less indifferent tone. She had been nervous about how he might react to seeing her again, and had been prepared for almost anything – except nonchalance.
Aren't you glad to see me? she asked, daring to place a gentle finger against his face and trying to catch his gaze.
He stopped and turned towards her, watching her, evaluating, his smile more sheltered than open. Of course I am.
Suddenly she knew that strange look in his eyes: it was distance. It was the distance he put between himself and everyone else.
And she intuitively knew she would not be able to reach him.
Despite that, a hand was raised towards her own face – his fingertips caressed her cheek for a moment, while he was lost in thought – but Estrid barely felt it. His smile, his touch, his voice; they were all there, but they were not aimed at her. For a moment she was dazed, her mind enveloped in a haze, a thick grey fog, but then she shivered and pulled back. He let his hand drop, all too quickly.
You… you still do not like me? she asked in a quavering voice.
Yes – that is, no – or perhaps… never mind. Aximili sighed wearily, and started over, using private thought-speech. I like you very much, Estrid, although not in the way you would like. I am sorry… if things had turned out differently, perhaps, but… no use. They are as they are. It would be in your own best interest not to be associated with me, or my time on Earth. Live long, Estrid-Corill-Darrath. Goodbye.
He turned away, and continued towards the waiting welcoming committee as if she had suddenly stopped existing.
Estrid remained where she was for a moment, too stunned to move – then she ran.
She never saw Aximili again.
Aximili had almost forgotten exactly how long Andalite rituals could last. Each of the Princes had to greet him, and congratulate him – formally. He had to see the commander of the space-port, and several of his associates, a few of his superiors, and more. He had arrived in the morning. By noon, his head was swimming in names and faces he had never seen before; names and faces who would have paid him no more attention than a speck of dust in a forest before his recent elevation to fame.
He had requested that his parents did not attend. To his relief, he found that they were not at the space port. They did not yet know he had returned. He did not want them to know – he would not face them sooner than necessary. And not in those uncomfortable, ritual-based circumstances of a hero-Prince's homecoming.
By the end of the day he was able to take his rucksack – which had caused quite a stir among the Andalites – and leave. He walked away from the space port – probably causing a number of officials to grumble, (it wasn't done, they could have flown him home easily), and spent an hour walking (along the Andalite equivalent of a road, which was distinguished from its surroundings only by being flatter, with rougher grass) to the nearest settlement. Not a settlement of scoops – scoops were placed with plenty of space between them – but a sort of meeting-point in between a number of scoops where the community was centred.
There he took the Andalite equivalent of a bus.
It was hard to think of it as a transport – which was the term he had always used before – while Issetha was in his head, comparing everything they saw to what was found on Earth – the only planet she had known, and not that well. He found himself constantly thinking "Andalite version of" or "Andalite equivalent of". Once, he even thought "that would be like a city council, right?", when they walked past the settlement's common shelter, where there seemed to be some sort of meeting at the time.
In any case, he hailed the transport and waited patiently as it stopped. As the hatch opened, there was a rush of movement, a voice laughing in open thought-speech, and an Andalite female leapt to the hatch. There she turned, raising a hand in farewell to someone – and stumbled out right at Aximili.
He stepped aside, reflexes saving him from the collision, but caught the Andalite's arm to steady her before she fell. She sent him a glance, both main eyes and stalks turning towards him in embarrassed surprise, and blinked once.
Careful, he told her, slightly reprimanding – civilians, never looked behind them. He was used to people looking in all directions. He'd forgotten that civilians were often as bad at it as humans were.
She didn't reply, stalks drooping. Then she shook herself, broke free with another blinking of embarrassment, and turned to trot away.
Aximili took the small leap into the transport and thought no more of her.
He travelled with the transport towards his own settlement. He asked it to stop when he saw that they were passing his own family's property, and leapt out of the transport with some feeling of relief.
Someone had recognized him, murmuring something about Aximili… from Earth… Elfangor's brother, remember?. After that, the transport's pilot had kept swivelling both stalks and both main eyes back to stare at him, as if he could not believe who his passenger was – the other passengers, on their part, had insisted to attempt constant conversation, but that had not worried Aximili half as much as the pilot. After three years of having been at the mercy of Marco's driving, he had developed a sound respect for all ground-based transportation and how very wrong it could go.
Having his hooves back on the ground was reassuring.
It was evening by the time he reached his first destination – a small river by the edge of his family's premises. First, he made sure no-one was around. Then he morphed half-way to human, and morphed back. Secured under his arm was a small Kandrona disk.
He briefly wondered if the Fleet had ever realised that morphing was an excellent way of smuggling things – and replicating them. And although being able to replicate the small Kandrona disks – and forcing himself to ignore where the extra mass might be coming from (like some unlucky individual who happened to be in a small morph right then?) – was useful, it would not help him much. He could not keep sneaking off every third day.
He had what he needed in his bag; a force field projector to enclose a small area of the river to form a pool. He set up the force field, dropped the Kandrona disk into the water, and lowered his ear for Issetha to crawl out. She dropped into the clear waters with a minimal splash.
He waded out of the water, grazing nearby, but found no peace. He was constantly looking about, constantly expecting someone to show up. At first glance they would not see the make-shift pool or the Yeerk, but on closer examination they would realise that a part of the river was not flowing, and from there it was not hard to grow suspicious…
He soon gave up trying to graze and reverted to pacing, tail swishing behind him, one stalk on Issetha. He waited impatiently for her to surface, to signal being finished, so that they could leave. This feeding business was too risky.
He was glad he had been able to figure out alternatives. He just needed to perfect them.
When the Yeerk finally had finished feeding she came to the surface. He waded back out into the water, scooped her up and held her up to his ear, as usual fighting back a wave of nausea as the side of his head went numb.
You have good water on your planet, Issetha told him softly. Nice and clear.
Not too cold?
Not too cold, she confirmed. It's summer here now, isn't it?
Aximili nodded. He had to dive down below the surface to retrieve the Kandrona disk, and then the force field projector. He placed the second in his rucksack, but the first he weighed in his hand and wondered what to do with.
Hide it, Issetha suggested.
I probably should morph it away again…
No. That was a fresh disk, Aximili, a copy of the stolen ones you morphed back on Earth. Now, it's used. If you morph it away, you'll probably get a used disk the next time you morph a new one. Which would take the entire point away.
Are you sure?
No, I'm guessing. And so are you.
Aximili considered it. Better safe than sorry.
He hid the disk as well as he could before shouldering the rucksack and continuing towards his family's scoop. By then, the setting sun was turning the horizon white and yellow, and the red and gold sky was slowly growing darker.
He trotted ahead towards his family's scoop.
After a while, he had calmed down from the nervous procedure of Issetha's swim. He let his stalks spin lazily around, taking in the familiar scenes.
His Yeerk seemed more eager to see his home than he was himself, carefully digging through his memories of his home and parents for what must have been the thousandth time.
Aximili could not stop a wry mental smile. Issetha stopped digging, as if she had been caught stealing.
After a moment she said; Well, it's not like you mind.
And nothing you haven't seen before, Aximili added. He had stopped protesting when his memories were opened; sometimes his Yeerk would dig up some half-forgotten day or event from his youth, reminding him of it, which was almost pleasant, like looking through the archives of old hologram emitters – the equivalent of human photo albums. Go right ahead.
But now Issetha left his memories alone, settling into her normal place in the back of his head, the back of his mind.
Aximili trotted closer to the scoop. Returning home after so long felt strange; on the ship, he had almost begun to feel homesick for his scoop on Earth, and for the Animorphs.
But no. This was where he belonged.
Or was it? Where did an Andalite-Controller belong?
Far from Andalites.
Firmly pushing such thoughts out of his mind he sent a thought-call towards his parents, who were probably closer to the scoop. He stopped to wait; one did not simply rush towards someone else's scoop. He was not certain about what was the proper thing to do for a long-lost son, but waiting felt like the right thing to do.
His mother, Forlay, appeared first, scanning the edge of the premise and quickly catching sight of him. For a moment she trembled, uncertain, but then she was galloping ahead to meet him. Noorlin, Aximili's father, followed, bewildered at his wife's behaviour until he also saw the visitor. Surprise turned into relief and pride before he composed his face into the stern but familiar expression Aximili remembered from his childhood. The tan-shaded male followed his wife – although with far more dignity.
Noorlin was not one to be caught emotional. He would not gallop to meet anyone – not even if, by some miracle, it had been Elfangor returning.
Forlay, in her turn, was unable to hide her joy, and Aximili put up with her welcoming. It was not difficult. His mother was welcoming home the child she had waved off several years earlier, not completely realising how much Aximili had grown since then, but Aximili found that he did not mind.
Finally, after having pressed her tail-blade against his for possibly the hundred-and-twelfth time, Forlay stepped aside and Aximili came face to face with his father.
He drew himself up to stand almost at attention, and for a moment there was silence as his father scrutinized him.
Aximili-kala, said Noorlin finally. Welcome home.
Thank you, Father, whispered Aximili.
Noorlin sent off one of his rare smiles. He reached his tail forwards to touch his son's, saying; We are very proud of you. You have done well.
Aximili smiled in return, but wished that praise – the praise he had so often yearned for – had not stung so badly.
For, by definition, he had not 'done well'.
Aximili's habit of living in his own world, in his mind, silently conversing with Issetha or simply enjoying her company, did not go unnoticed for long. At one time, when he had closed his eyes, and even – in the safety of his home, on the Home World – relaxed his stalks – he felt a hand touch his shoulder. His eyes opened, and he turned his head to see his mother watching him, concern plastered on her lilac-and-golden face. Female Andalites turned gold in their old age, just as the males turned tan, and it was at that moment Aximili realised how much older his mother actually looked compared to how she had been when he left.
It was not age. It was worry. Sadness.
What are you doing, Aximili? she asked softly. You seem to do little but stand there, lost in thought.
I am… meditating, Aximili told her. It was as close to the truth as he would go. A human habit. It… clears my head.
Why? What do you need to clear your head of?
Nothing, Aximili sighed, feeling Issetha shifting uncomfortably in the back of his head. That had, on second thought, been the wrong choice of words.
If you are troubled, then talk to me, his mother murmured. Or your father. He is not very affectionate, but he cares about you – we both do.
The younger Andalite nodded. Forlay frowned slightly; she understood the gesture, but did not altogether approve. It was another thing that put distance between Aximili and his Andalite surroundings.
You are only home these few days before the Fleet reclaims you, my son, whispered Forlay. I had hoped you would spend that time with your family – but you seem intent on spending it with yourself. I do not understand. You are not selfish, not self-absorbed… you never have been. Still, it is as if you are locked inside yourself and determined to let no-one in, or even close. She searched for his gaze, trying to catch it, but Aximili closed his eyes and Forlay sighed. She reached out to touch his shoulder, and said; Aximili, will you answer if I ask you a question?
Yes, Mother, said Aximili, now Issetha speaking through his thought-speech centres. Well, she muttered, annoyed with the way he frowned mentally at her; What were you going to do? Tell her 'no'? Walk away? She's your mother, Aximili.
My mother. Not yours.
Not mine, agreed the Yeerk silently. I never had a mother; you don't know how lucky you are. Don't waste it.
What do you want me to do? growled her host, frustrated. Tell her the entire story, of how I've betrayed the entire People and brought shame on my family? Tell her about you?
Not if you don't want to, Issetha said. Not if you're smart – there would be trouble, I know. But don't push her away completely… it'll break her heart.
Hearts, Aximili corrected in a half-snarling voice.
Forlay touched her son's face with gentle fingers. What happened on Earth, Aximili?
We won, replied the Andalite-Controller simply, opening his eyes.
But his mother would not accept that. Was it… the human? The one who died?
It took Aximili a few moments to realise that his mother was speaking of Rachel. Rachel! He seldom thought of her, and at once felt guilty about it. Ever since her death he had thought about little else than trying to keep himself and Issetha safe; with Andalites all around him, and others who he could not completely trust, he had lived in constant dread that someone would figure out his secret and shame would come to his family. Shame, to them; humiliation, death, or worse, to him. For himself he feared little – death he had faced to often to be truly afraid of it – but he needed to keep Issetha safe.
He would.
And again his thoughts had been distracted from Rachel. Rachel, who – just as the other Animorphs – had saved his life times beyond count. Rachel, brave to the border of insanity. Rachel, unchanged by war because it was so much a part of her, running in her blood, never completely controlled.
He closed his main eyes again and said a silent prayer for her soul.
Aximili, said Forlay, the sadness on his face mirrored on her own. I know you miss the… the Animorphs, and I can understand your sorrow. But do not waste your life mourning. It was war. People die.
Aximili was silent; let his mother believe he missed his friends and mourned Rachel, if she wanted to. Actually, it was probably for the best if she thought so.
Do not worry, he told her, forcing a brave smile. I will not.
He tried to spend more time with his parents, speaking to them, and filled in the gaps of the official tale the Fleet had given them about his time on Earth. His father was often grim and silent, but pride shone in his eyes, and at such times Aximili was unable to meet his gaze – until Issetha tired of it, told him he had nothing to be ashamed of, and made him look his father in the eye.
You might not dare look at him, but I do, she declared. And added, softer; Besides, I'm sick of seeing and feeling how you put yourself down all the time. Straighten up. You've made your choices. Live with them.
Aximili knew the logic of that, and slowly grew to accept it.
But by then, the Fleet had called for him and there was nothing to do but report for duty. He said goodbye to his parents, wondering silently if he would ever return, wondering if they would have been as happy to have him home if they had known about him being infested –
No. He did not want to think about that.
An unexpected visitor arrived to the ShadeTree, travelling in a small transport-fighter with only two simple warriors to escort him. The ShadeTree's captain, Dethril-Alsum-Sengor, heard of his coming, grew curious at the reasons for his coming, and agreed to see him the same day he arrived.
You are most welcome, Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, he greeted the visitor, who stood at that laid-back, near-attention stance of a high-ranking officer greeting someone of the same or higher rank. An old habit, obviously; Alloran had been eased out of the Fleet's service – if he had resigned, or had been fired, no-one knew. But he was no longer a War Prince, or even a warrior.
Not so, Captain, said Alloran with slow dignity, and we both know it. You find my presence uncomfortable… most people do.
Dethril did not respond, finding that assertion uncomfortable, if nothing else. He simply waited for Alloran to name his business – as was proper.
The former War Prince saw his reaction and smiled in some private irony. I am here to steal your tactical officer.
Whatever for?
On special instruction from Apex Level. Would you mind calling for him?
Dethril did not like the civilian's tone – former War Prince or not – but he found no reason to argue. Especially not if this was one of Apex Level's ideas. It was always good not to trouble Apex Level. He sent a thought-call for his tactical officer, the young Aximili – who arrived a moment or two later. As usual, he was limping ever so slightly on his left front hoof; a sort of linger in the pace of his steps that he had had almost since he had arrived, four weeks earlier.
Catching sight of Alloran, the tactical officer grew wary – but only for a moment. Then he bowed at Dethril and greeted them both in low, calm thought-speech.
Nice to see you again, tactical officer Aximili, said Alloran with a note of amusement in his voice. I trust everything is well with you?
Certainly, replied Aximili simply, actually smiling. How is your retirement? Your family?
My retirement is well-needed. My family are well. In fact, my wife has sent me with word. She thanks you for the favour you granted me… three Earth-years ago, was it?
Four, I think.
Four, agreed Alloran.
Dethril blinked, a bit annoyed at not knowing what the two were talking about. He was not used to being unaware of things.
Why are you here, then? Aximili asked.
Alloran's tone grew flat, duty-bound, even grim. They need us both on Earth. It is time for Esplin 9466 to stand trial. It is his turn… to tell his story.
Still understanding little, Dethril noted wariness, tinged with fear, flash back into his young tactical officer's eyes.
Fear?
How he despised not knowing something.
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Author's Note;
Nope, no note this time. Next chapter will be up soon. Or not soon.
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