13 When no-one calls
- - -
When Rachel returned she spent three minutes rummaging about her home – with Jeanne's help – and stuffing what she considered necessary into a rucksack. After that she led the group down to the fighters.
"We're leaving already?" Marco exclaimed, stopping at the sight of the rows after rows of black arrowheads.
Rachel nodded. "Ka'an said the fighters would be ready in the morning. This is, if I'm not totally mistaken, the morning."
"True, but the Touched's attack… I thought kinda that cancelled plans."
"Nah. These are Kelbrid, not humans. They don't let a small raid stop them."
Jake smiled slowly. There was a strong note of approval in Rachel's voice – she had certainly ended up with the right type of aliens. Glancing at Tom, the smile broadened; the kii-raja was the perfect pet for his cousin – as Marco had said.
"'Small raid'?" Marco echoed. "These people are crazier than you are!"
"And if they understood that, they would feel flattered," Rachel added. She rubbed a finger over Tom's head; he had been looking in the wrong direction, at another kii-raja. Now he returned to his duties, looking slightly guilty, his ears flickering back and forth.
Rachel continued purposefully. Some of the Kelbrid called out greeting when she passed, and she answered with a few words in the Kelbrid tongue.
Then, after having walked for a few minutes, they noticed the fighter that was different. The Kelbrid fighters were all shaped like arrowheads; black, small, built to be very manoeuvrable and still very fast. This one was similar to the rest, where they stood on seemingly endless perfect rows, but small details here and there – that individually would have been overlooked – made the thing resemble a hawk. The head and half out-folded wings of a hawk.
Rachel pointed. "There. That's my fighter."
«The Hawk,» Tobias said, a note of pride in his voice. He was sitting on Rachel's shoulder; the thin, draftless air was difficult to fly in, he claimed. (His goose morph would have been perfect, he'd added with some sarcasm.) «I can see why you call it that.»
Rachel nodded. She led them closer, hand resting on Tom's neck, just above where the wicked-looking row of spikes began.
"One moment," Marco said, stopping. "Look. All the fighters have large front windows. With some sort of shaded glass, but if you peer closer you can see through it."
"Nak'nan'jah," Rachel murmured. "Not glass."
"Fine," Marco agreed, not even going to attempt pronouncing the word. "Point is; the Hawk has no window."
Rachel sighed heavily. "Marco. I'm blind. What, exactly, would I do with a window?"
"Was the Hawk built for you after the accident?" Menderash asked lowly. He had been quiet, keeping to himself, (a very un-Andalite thing to do) since his argument with Marco – that no-one had yet figured out the cause for. Especially since the two always had seemed to be friends.
"Yep. I lost my first fighter in the accident; it was just ripped apart. When I got a new one, I… redesigned… a few details."
Menderash's face was a bit dark. Andalite prejudice shone in his eyes, visible for anyone who peered in closer. "You were blind. And yet they allowed you to go to battle? You, a blind… a human… a…"
"You might as well say it, Andalite," Marco growled. "I know what you're planning to call her. A vecol." He almost spat the word.
Rachel's expression did not change as she turned from the Hawk towards them. But her eyes flashed dangerously, and Tobias's glare was even fiercer and more intense than usual.
"Stop it," Jake snapped.
Menderash's face had gone blank and Marco was glowering, watching him, prepared to intervene if he as much as opened his mouth. But then Marco shrugged. Menderash – now under glares from other than just Marco – turned away. Rachel, though, reached out and caught Marco's arm in a steel grip.
"I can talk for myself," she hissed. Tom was at her side, ears flat back and lip curled to reveal his teeth. "What are you doing, defending me? If anyone insults me, I can deal with it myself. Or I can have Tom rip their throats out."
Marco pulled free, but not without certain trouble. He glanced at his arm to see the red marks after Rachel's nails and frowned. "Sure you can deal with it. I'm not saying you can't. But that doesn't mean I'm going to sit down like a nice little human and let some pompous former four-leg treat you like dirt… just because of a handicap. Think of James and his crew, Rachel! Hey, if Ax had heard that, Menderash's head would be rolling across the floor – First Officer or not."
«You're not Ax,» Tobias commented. «And you shouldn't provoke Menderash more than you already have.»
"Menderash started it," Marco snapped. "The first thing he said to me after we arrived here was a comment about blind people – one that even I am not going to repeat. And that's not even half of it…" His fists clenched.
«Is this why Menderash and you argued?»
"Why else? I'm just surprised you didn't jump in to Rachel's defence, Bird-boy."
"He knows I can look after myself," Rachel spat. She spun around so quickly that Tobias almost fell off her shoulder (which he did not want to dig his talons too deeply into). Then she walked up to the Hawk – sending a fierce glare at where she thought Menderash was on her way.
She placed a hand on the hull, and the door opened – hurriedly, as if it had detected her mood and decided it was not a good time to make her mad. Tom leaped into the fighter, trotted a few steps further in and dropped down on a spot that was most likely 'his'. From there, he could see what was outside the Hawk, and thereby so could Rachel.
"Cer y'yhan!" a Kelbrid called.
Three of them were coming closer at a walk, carrying packs lighter than even Rachel's. It was then that Jake realised he had never seen a Kelbrid actually run. Not even Ka'an, the night before, had been running. Just walking quickly. Jogging, at the most. He wondered how fast they could run, if they ever did. Probably faster than he.
Rachel replied in Kelbrid, and a few sentences were exchanged before the Kelbrid went in their own directions, to fighters nearby. Two of them headed for one fighter, and the third to another.
"Well then," Jake said. "these are the pilots?"
"Yes," Menderash said. He had, of course, understood the conversation.
Jeanne's eyes were narrowed. "The third one… he's not an adult, is he?"
Rachel confirmed that with a nod. "The pilots are Sira'aki – the female; the one without spikes on her tail – and JaLa'an. The kid is KEdi'ir. He's coming along."
Jake looked worried. "We're not exactly going on a pleasure trip. To be honest, it's a war zone. It is not, definitely not, safe. Not for kids, either. How old is he?"
"About the same age we were when we met Elfangor," Rachel supplied, smiling. "Tell me, Jake, was that safe? I remember Visser Three being a lot of things, but 'safe' was never among them."
"Does his mother know?" Jeanne wondered softly, as Jake frowned and ran out of arguments.
"Sira'aki is his mother." Rachel shrugged. "You just don't understand the Kelbrid. They are warlike; the ultimate race of warriors. The only line of occupation is warrior – fighter pilot. The sooner a kid learns to fly and fight, the better. KEdi'ir is in just the right age… he's actually been accompanying Sira'aki on missions for a few years, already.
"Don't worry about it. It's too late to change the Kelbrid now; they've done this for several generations. And now that that's settled, we need to split into groups. I've got myself, and Tom, who takes up some space, and I can carry one more. Jeanne?"
"Sure," Jeanne replied.
"Why not me, Rach?" Marco grinned, eyes sparkling innocently.
"Take Jeanne," Jake said. "But we still need to split Marco and Menderash up, I think." He glanced at the two; Marco shrugged, Menderash ignored it. "So Santorelli and Menderash, you're with me. Tobias, you've got thought-speech so you can talk to the pilot. You're in the other fighter. And you get Marco."
«Pardon me for not cheering.»
But Marco grinned again. "Just you and me, huh, Bird-boy?"
"And the pilot and KEdi'ir," Jake corrected. "You're in Sira'aki's fighter, since KEdi'ir takes some place as well."
"We'll keep communications open between the fighters," Rachel assured the group. "It's a two-day trip to where the Blade ship is – Dina'amm – but we'll land on another planet for the night. Being cooped up in a fighter too long gets dull – quickly. Believe me. So I'll see you there." She disappeared into the Hawk and Jeanne followed, the door closing behind them.
Marco sighed heavily, but held out an arm for Tobias to perch on as he walked over to the first fighter. Jake, Santorelli and Menderash went into the other.
Not long after the three fighters left Cava'ara's surface – one never to return.
- - -
Cassie heard her mobile phone ring. Heard it, and for a moment honestly considered ignoring it.
She was on vacation, after all. Finally. After having worked too hard for too long with too little rest she was finally on her way home for a two-day vacation.
Jake's morpher group had appeared out of nowhere (yes; out of nowhere, they were morphable, after all) and declared that they intended to help her. They had only been there for a few days but Cassie had already seen that, inexperienced or not, they were very, very good. Jake was a good teacher, it seemed.
She took her thoughts off Jake quickly. She did not want to think about him. Or any of the other Animorphs. It made her feel lonely.
The group had convinced her to take a well-deserved holiday. And while they were at the territory to guard the Hork-Bajir from the poachers that still sneaked around in the shadows, (and now had taken to kidnapping live Hork-Bajir as well) she felt safer.
A holiday was just what she needed, she thought, when the stupid mobile rang again.
She was on vacation!
Wait. It might be her parents. Officially, she was still working, and no-one except the crew at the valley knew she had left at all.
She gave up and swooped down on osprey wings to land. The mobile was carried in her talons, and now she threw it down on the ground, pushed the button with her beak, and said; «Cassie. Speak.»
Her mobile could deal with thought-speech. A technology actually granted by the Andalites, since they more and more often (although the numbers had decreased over the last month) came on vacation to Earth and needed to use phones.
But no-one spoke.
«Who's there?» Cassie demanded. Her sensitive raptor hearing could hear the slow breaths in the other end. But not one word was said, and then the call ended.
«Strange,» she said to herself. She stared at the display for a few moments; there was no caller number registered.
While she was already on the ground, she decided to demorph and remorph. Maybe a goose morph would have been better for the long flight home, but she felt more at home as osprey and the goose had had some difficulties carrying the phone – her only luggage. She only had it in case something happened and the morphers needed to reach her quickly.
She was about to take to the skies again when the mobile rang a second time. She clicked it on.
«Cassie again. Who is this?!»
Silence. Then a slightly timid voice said; "I speak for the Earth Council. My name is Jackie Cooper. I am the secretary of…"
«I know who,» Cassie said. «Did you call earlier? And say nothing?»
"No. I'm too busy for prank calls."
Cassie sighed inwardly and realised that she was right. The Earth Council had a lot to deal with. As did the team working around them. Especially, the secretary of America's representative, who – Cassie thought – made much too many attempts to run the Council. Although he was not the only one. (The problem caused a good number of 'diplomatic' debates. She just hoped it would not lead to war. She had had more than enough of war.)
«Why did you call?» she asked in a softer voice.
"As you know, we are building up an intergalactic fleet. Well, with Andalite help, the first three ships are done, and the Earth Council wants the Animorphs to take a look at them and share an opinion or two with the public."
«And I'm the only Animorph,» Cassie finished, having long since realised that the term "Animorphs" now meant exclusively her.
"As far as we know, yes," replied Jackie.
Cassie sighed. «When?»
"The day after tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan. They'll send a private jet to pick you up if you need that."
Which meant it would interrupt her precious vacation. Her two longed-for days of peace, quiet and rest.
Not a chance, Cassie thought.
And, moreover, she tried to keep out of the public as much as possible.
«I'm sorry, I don't have the time. Tell the Council I'm honoured, but… no.»
"I understand," Jackie said. "When would be a good time for you? They were very insistent, you see. I have the authority to postpone it. A week or more."
Cassie thought for a few minutes. The Earth Council had made a name of being very pushy. If they wanted something, they expected to find it served on a silver plate. She did not really care if they got angry at her, but… maybe it was not worth the trouble. She would be happy enough with her two days of vacation. If she asked them to move it two days further… then she would have her vacation, spend a day at the valley to see how things were going, and fit in her public appearance by the ships after that.
She suggested that to Jackie.
"Fine," Jackie agreed at once. "I'll tell them. A car will be waiting for you at Yellowstone Sunday morning at nine. It'll drive you to the jet, and… well, you get the picture."
«Anything else?»
"No."
«Good.»
Cassie clicked the button again, grabbed the phone in her talons and lifted off the ground by a single, powerful flap of her wings.
She flew for almost two hours until her morphing time was up. She did a quick demorph and remorph and continued flying, and continued in that fashion until nightfall, when she remorphed to owl.
Only by midnight did she reach her home. Her window stood open, as always, and she swooped in on silent wings to land on the floor, where she demorphed.
She rummaged through her closet until she found an old t-shirt to sleep in. Having changed out of her old morphing suit into that t-shirt, she quietly – careful not to wake her parents – made her way to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. Then she sneaked back to her bedroom and closed the window.
But as soon as she had done that she thought the better of it. She opened the window again.
There was a chance, however small, that one of her friends would return. In that case she did not want to shut her window and close them out.
She dropped down on her bed, drew her blankets over her, all the way up to her chin – the open window let in the cold night air – and closed her eyes to fall asleep, tired after a day's flight. She thought briefly about Ronnie, now alone in their tent in the valley, but as sleep began to make her drowsy the picture was replaced by the slow, comforting smile she had not seen for a long time; a smile found exclusively on Jake's familiar face.
- - -
Aralgo was proud to be trusted with messages to the Captain. This time, one of the Princes had sent him. The Captain was not on the bridge, for once, but in his own quarters.
That had worried Aralgo at first; only the Captain himself had access to his quarters. But the Prince had assured him that the Captain left the door open; just in case someone needed to reach him.
And yes, the door was open. Aralgo stopped at the doorway, peering inside, indecisive.
«Captain Kandion?» he called, lowly, not for anything in the world wanting to disturb the Captain more than absolutely necessary. Disturbing other arisths was one thing; disturbing the Captain came close to military blasphemy.
No reply. He called a few more times before he dared step in through the door, and began looking around for the Captain. But even as he began he knew it would take time if the Captain did not come forth; the Captain's quarters were huge.
He walked around, on hooves almost silent against the steel floor after lots of practice, glancing into rooms before continuing, not calling any longer – although he did not know why. Possibly he was awed by the majestic rooms.
When the thought-speech voice reached him he stopped dead. It came so sudden.
«I do not like it,» it said lowly.
Aralgo, curious as always, sneaked closed. He glanced into the next room with only one stalk, and saw the Captain standing by a table. A hologram – a very advanced, moving, three-dimensional hologram that looked real until you realised you could see straight through it – of another Andalite was standing on the other side of the table, his tanned face deep in wrinkles.
Aralgo pulled back his stalk with a jerk. Lirem-Arrepoth-Terrouss. Lirem, Head of Council. This was probably an important discussion. And he probably had no business listening to it. Although he convinced himself of that, convincing himself to walk back out of thought-speech range was another matter.
Besides, he did not dare move, should he – tense as he suddenly was – stumble and fall.
«Neither do I,» Kandion admitted. «But what we think is irrelevant, Lirem.»
Lirem! He addressed the Head of Council by first name!
«The Kelbrid force us to fight their way; in the shadows. And we cannot beat them there, in the dark. We need an open war. We need to pull back and thereby force them to follow. And when they come out, we can crush them.»
«You are probably right,» Lirem's voice said – without a trace of the famous harshness. The voice must originate from some communication connected to the hologram; very lifelike, highly advanced. «As always, you are right. But how do I explain to the Council, how do I justify a "tactical retreat" when our planet must not, at any cost, be threatened? The battle cannot be allowed to move a stalk-length closer than it now is. My own words were –»
«Foolish pride!» Kandion thundered. Aralgo peered around the corner again; he just had to see that. You did not 'thunder' at the Head of Council. You just did not.
Lirem – the hologram – had flinched back. Kandion had stabbed a finger at him, accusingly, and the other hand was clenched into a fist and he had slammed it down on the table. For a moment nothing and no-one moved; the unnatural silence made the skin on Aralgo's arms prickle.
Then Kandion sighed, lowering his hand. «Pride may lose us this war, Lirem, old friend,» he whispered.
«Rather to lose without pride than to win without.» But Lirem's voice conveyed more Andalite stubbornness than actual conviction.
And a dry laugh came from the Captain. «That sentence just confirmed my point. Think my words over, Head of Council.» The title sounded like a joke. A mockery, although a kindly such. «Think them over well.» With that he became quiet, looking away.
«What would you have me do?» Lirem asked finally, no longer being able to cope with Kandion's bitter silence.
«Arranging human assistance is the best thing you have done so far,» Kandion said. «Backup is needed; that was step one. Step two would be to bring the Kelbrid up from their hole and out where we can see them.»
«I have seen one of them,» Lirem spat.
Aralgo sharpened his ears – or mental ears, the ones that picked up thought-speech. Kandion simply looked interested. «When?»
«The High Quarteer. He leads the Kelbrid under the guidance of someone they call the "One", or the "Whole".»
«How did he look?» Kandion wondered.
Lirem's tail twitched. «I only saw the face. And the horns; long, movable horns that looked like weapons. At least tail-fast. But I am not sure; they were whipping almost casually, like we flick our tails. I know this, though; they reach further than tails.»
«Anything else?»
Lirem shook his head violently; a human habit Aralgo recognized only after some thought. «What I know I will tell you, my friend,» he said. «Information might save your life, when it is in danger – as it surely will be.» He smiled waveringly. «But you insisted to go.»
«I do little good at home,» the Captain said lowly.
«You will do even less good dead,» the Head of Council muttered. «Another thing I do not like. The only person in this Fleet, in the universe, I can turn to for help and you have to run off into danger.»
Kandion responded with a wry expression. «With your permission, Head of Council, remember that. And you would do the same if our roles were reversed.»
«Yes. I would.»
«But it is not so.»
«No, it is not. As long as you return home alive all will be well.» His eyes twinkled with sudden cheerfulness. «Otherwise your wife will be after my head.»
Kandion grinned back at him. «But Lirem! Sayah is perfectly reasonable.»
«Yes, she is. About as 'perfectly reasonable' as the Council of Thirteen.»
To that, Kandion flicked his tail in solemn agreement. «Then I better keep out of trouble; to save your tail as well as mine.»
«Do so.» Lirem sighed, the glimmer of a smile in his eyes already fading. «But I have urgent matters to deal with, Kandion. I will remember your words. Although now you must excuse me.»
«Of course.»
Their hands reached out over the table and their fingers locked in each other. A sign of deep friendship – with a touch of good-natured competitiveness, as their fingers strained to pull, to see who would first let go. Aralgo's four eyes went wide with disbelief. Kandion did not give the appearance of the type of Andalite who had friends. And Head of Council Lirem…
He did not realise the hologram – and force field – shaped into Lirem had been switched off and Kandion had left the room until he found himself staring up at his Captain's face… and seeing that it demanded an explanation. And a good one, at that. At least if he wanted to keep his hide.
«I… was… I… just….» Aralgo stuttered.
«Enough, aristh,» Kandion said. His voice was almost more amused than angry. To Aralgo's surprise – and relief. «Did you hear our conversation?»
«Yes, Captain,» Aralgo confessed. «But I did not intend to! I –»
«I said enough. Do you know who it was I was speaking to?»
«The Head of Council, Captain,» Aralgo said.
Kandion looked at him, as if measuring how trustworthy he was. How smart he was; how much he had understood of what he had heard and seen.
«I will mention this to no-one, Captain,» Aralgo promised.
Kandion laughed. «I do not expect you to. But it does not matter, aristh. There is no need to tell anyone, but there is no need for secrecy, either. Most likely the crew of this ship will be dead before the "great secret" gets out. Now then. What brought you to my quarters?»
Aralgo gave him the message – something about a dead-in-space Dome ship showing on scanners – and followed him out of the Captain's quarters. But there was something troubling him.
«Captain, may I ask a question?»
«You may. But if you will get an answer is another matter.»
«The Head of Council…» Aralgo began, and hesitated. «Was he… was he afraid?»
Kandion turned back towards him, a note of curiosity in his eyes that danced back and forth while he thought over his reply.
«It takes a keen eye to detect old Lirem's fear,» he said softly, in private thought-speech. «I have known him for a very long time, since long before you were born and perhaps even since before your parents were born. And sometimes I hardly see it. But yes, aristh Aralgo; Lirem is afraid. If he is afraid of the Kelbrid, or for his own pride, he does not even know himself, but he is afraid. But he hides it well.»
With that Kandion made it clear that the discussion was over and Aralgo went back to his ordinary duties. But the talk between the old War-Prince and the notorious Head of Council stayed on his mind. And especially Kandion's last words.
If Head of Council Lirem-Arrepoth-Terrouss was afraid, the universe was in obvious trouble.
He had barely finished that thought and reached the corridor where the tactical simulation room – where his and the other arisths' next lesson was – when the entire ship lurched violently. Before he even knew what was happening, he had been thrown off his hooves, had skidded to the side and slammed his head violently into a wall.
There was a nasty cracking sound and then things went black.