3 - trusting

(thoughtspeech signs exchanged to #)

The two of them trooped side by side from the living room and out of the house. Cassie was wary, senses prickling. She tasted the wind for the smells that teased beyond any human's nose, longing for her wolf's nose. Marco had advanced from wary: he was spooked, frightened – he kept reaching for the tiara, before jerking his fingers away again.

Cassie took his hand to stop him and gave him a calming look.

They stood in the open to watch the Iguarnee ship finally touch the ground, a few hundred paces into the field behind their home.

It was a tense moment. Cassie released a breath she had not known she had been holding when the first person out of the ship was a human. A well-known human: Dr Robert Glas.

Marco scowled beside her. He despised surprises. And the psychologist arriving in a ship he associated with the Elŷrrics was definitely the worst kind of surprise.

"There had better be a good explanation for this," Marco muttered.

Dr Glas – when not surprise-visited before his first cup of black morning coffee – was a rather energetic man, albeit one usually enfolded in the smoothest of calms. His energy was however vividly clear in his strides as he came towards them, and he both grinned and waved.

"I trust you can explain this," Marco said to him, gesturing to the ship, which – judging from the fading lighting – was in the process of shutting down.

Dr Glas slowed down. "I'm not surprised to see that you're as welcoming as ever, Marco. But… Cassie told me what happened. And it makes me glad to see you on your feet."

"I'm surprised to see you… here… so early."

"Yes, I suppose you are," Dr Glas admitted, his grin returning. It was the grin of a child on Christmas morning. "But I had the fortunate assistance of – of – well, see for yourselves."

From the ship emerged an Andalite, coming after Dr Glas on dainty hooves.

"This is my friend, and colleague of sorts, Mertil-Calear-Iro. He's an Andalite therapist – we share fields of study: morphers and aliens. We've been in correspondence for years, and now he's come to visit for the first time. I trust you don't mind. I told him what I know of this… this tiara of yours. I believe he can help."

Marco hardly reacted. His manner was still guarded. Cassie met the psychologist's look of askance, and with a sigh assured him: "We don't mind."

The Andalite called Mertil approached, finally stopping beside Dr Glas. Mertil was nothing like the well-muscled warriors which commonly represented his kind away from the Home World. There was a very real physical difference: Mertil was to an Andalite warrior what a twelve-year-old computer addict who frequently forgot to eat was to a drill sergeant. To Cassie's untrained eyes, his slender legs and arms, his snakelike, thin tail, reminded her first of Ax, as he had been when he had first arrived: a gangly teenager. Closer inspection, though, revealed tan hairs of age on Mertil's face and hands, and his thinness was not accompanied by teenage awkwardness – more by an adult's accustomed ease.

But it was apparent that no-one had kept Mertil in rigid training since childhood's end, as arisths and warriors were. Cassie had seen Andalite civilians before, of course; but Andalites as a race were keen on showing no weakness, and most Andalites rich enough to travel to Earth were retired military hotshots. Their children were dainty, of course, and their wives were always petite, but that was to be expected. A physically weak Andalite male in his prime was something new.

His thought-speech voice was oily and smooth, touching something in Cassie's head which no Andalite warrior would have presumed to reach for: an uncertainty. Andalite warriors were always very too-the-point, denying the very existence of uncertainties. But Mertil seemed to feast on them. His mental voice wound around and between them, stroking and soothing them as he passed. His tone laughed at them, as if at some personal joke.

#The Animorph Cassie.# The honorific and name flowed like ripples on water. He performed a jerky Andalite bow – something he was unused to, or perhaps had little time for. #An honour, truly. I was so pleased to learn that my friend would allow me to accompany him here. I do hope we can help you. I have spent the journey here questioning my friend, but I fear he does not know much.#

"Welcome to Earth," Cassie said in simple reply.

#And… Marco,# the Andalite went on. #The other Animorph. I was sad to understand that your ranks had been so decimated.#

"Well, I was sad to experience it," Marco muttered. "Where did you get that ship?"

Mertil's four eyes blinked, taken aback. #My ship?#

"It's an Iguarnee ship. And I know I'm not off my mark. Where did you get it?"

#The ship is not mine,# explained Mertil smoothly. #A friend has lent it to me. I know nothing of it. But enough of that. Might we have a look at this… tiara?# Mertil's four eyes were fixated on Marco, shining with curiosity.

"Let's not pressure Marco now, Iro," Dr Glas cautioned.

But Marco had already reached into his pocket and the silver tiara lay glittering, presented on the palm of his hand. It was, beyond a doubt, a beautiful object, elegant and flawlessly made; the tight spiral at each end was set with small blue stones. As it felt Marco's touch, it swelled slightly in his hand, adapting to fit his forehead comfortably. The swirling markings along its metal body, supposedly Elŷrrian writing, were…

Cassie looked again, startled. The markings were glowing, very softly, like something fluorescent not yet brought into a dark room for better viewing.

She had not seen – or at least not looked at – the tiara for several days, but she was certain that she had never before seen the lettering glow.

"Marco?" she whispered, touching his arm lightly. She did not like the look which had swept into his expression: a hungry and despairing look, longing and loathing and terrified all at once. She tried again. "Marco."

He made no move.

The Andalite Mertil studied him, and the tiara, and him and the tiara again. #How fascinating,# murmured his flowing voice. #How absolutely fascinating.#

Then he reached for the tiara with his long-fingered hand.

And Marco recoiled as if something had exploded in his face. He staggered back, fell as much as sat heavily onto the ground, holding the tiara tightly to his chest with both hands. "No," came the haggard rasp: "Mine!"

Mertil stood very, very still, frozen in shock at the sudden reaction.

"Did I forget to warn you?" asked Dr Glas, frowning. "I was quite certain that I warned you. I should have warned you. You're lucky he didn't attack."

Cassie sat herself down next to Marco and caught his wrists – his trembling hands were bringing the tiara to his forehead. "No, Marco," she said firmly.

He sat as if dazed – he did not resist her grip. He looked like someone caught between one thought and the next – interrupted and thrown aside from wherever his mind had been taking him.

"Just talk to him, Cassie," encouraged Dr Glas softly.

"Marco, look at me."

Marco's gaze finally flickered into life again. He studied Cassie, for a long moment, before looking about. As his eyes passed Mertil, he climbed to his feet hurriedly, still clutching the tiara in both hands.

The Andalite remained very, very still.

"Put the tiara in your pocket," Cassie suggested.

Marco frowned down at his hands, and did exactly that, Cassie still helping to guide his wrists. Then Marco turned to Mertil with a look of revulsion. "You, I accept," he said to Dr Glas. "But I will never be any Andalite's lab rat."

Dr Glas descended into his calm like someone taking a deep breath and lowering themselves below a surface. "Iro meant no harm, Marco. And he can help."

"How?"

"Minds, I understand – or, seek to understand. But there is technology involved here. That is where Iro will be needed."

"I don't need any Andalite," growled Marco. "They never show up when you need them. Only when they want something – have something to gain. So what do you have to gain here, Andalite? What's your hidden agenda this time? Does Apex Level know you're here?"

Mertil's stance was the least threatening and arrogant Cassie had ever seen from an Andalite – aside from Ax at rare, soft moments. He did not look soft in any way, though. He looked controlled, confident, perfectly serene. He had lowered his tail like a human might show his empty hands in front of him to ease a tense adversary and avoid accidents. He remained motionless, but his eyes were alert, his keen mind surely working behind them.

#Apex Level has nothing to do with me, Animorph,# he began. His words fell upon Cassie's mind like drops of caramel colour in water, landing, rippling the surface for the merest moment, and then slowly spreading the bright hues throughout the water. #I am here to learn. That is my secret agenda: I seek to learn something. So, yes, I intend to profit from your misfortune. But I do intend to… do what I can.#

"Marco, be reasonable now," Dr Glas murmured.

Marco glared at Mertil, his eyes no more than narrow slits of suspicious black.

Cassie shifted his grip to hold his arm. "Marco will be reasonable," she said. "I wish I could say he's not being himself, but… well. Unfortunately he is."

"Iro understands, I'm sure," said Dr Glas.

"Why do you call him Iro?" snapped Marco. "I thought his name was Mertil."

"It feels more proper to address a new colleague by his last name than his first."

Marco scowled. "Andalites don't really have last and first names like that."

"No. But humans, such as myself, do. And it does no harm, since the good Andalite doesn't care either way, while it makes me feel better."

#You may all call me Mertil, or Iro, as you wish,# Mertil chuckled.

Cassie sighed. "How about we all return to the house? Mertil – do you mind houses?"

#I do not,# Mertil assured her, with another little bow.

"Good. Then come with me."

Cassie steered Marco around and proceeded towards the house, Mertil and Dr Glas following behind her.

"Marco, behave now," Cassie requested softly – Marco's reply was a tiny huff. Cassie bit her lower lip, glancing up at him – she recognized the signs. The tiara was singing again. Marco was somewhere else. "Why did it do that?" she asked him. "It… glowed. Has it done that before?"

"Yes," breathed Marco at once, nearly hissing. His hand reached for the tiara's pocket – he swallowed once, and then straightened his back with a determination that did not quite reach his eyes.

"When?"

Marco considered it. He frowned, and thought about it. Then he looked down at her in honest confusion. "I… don't know."