Helaine-Mtalenon-Ashul:

"Did you check the transport's manifest?" I whispered to Torfan. Torfan was human again, and had carried an inebriated human female to me, to acquire during our journey, so we were both human at the moment, wearing stolen artificial skins.

I suspected the aristh's pants were inside out, judging from the wide berth the other humans were giving us. We were also the only humans without artificial hooves in sight. "Yes, sir, it will be leaving in thirty minutes, with a destination on the western coast of this continent," Torfan whispered.

"Good, can you get aboard without damaging the locking mechanism?"

"I believe so, sir," Torfan said, showing me a set of keys with a large human bullet also attached, via a chain.

"Where did you find those?" I asked.

"The pilot dropped them when he exited his vehicle, and did not notice. I picked them up," Torfan explained.

I smiled like a human would, "Excellent, now, plant the communicator. I will maintain watch,"

The transport vehicles were parked in designated berths, with longer lines than most of the smaller passenger vehicles. Torfan began fumbling with the lock. The back side of the vehicle was shielded from casual observation, but after five minutes, I still heard the rattle of keys.

((What is the problem, aristh?)) I asked tensely.

((There are twenty-seven keys, sir, and none are labeled)) Torfan replied in frustration.

"—well, if you find them, I'd be much obliged, ma'am," a large human male said, as he left the fuel repository. He began to walk carefully around the asphalt vehicle area, staring intently at the ground, and searching in a grid pattern.

((Hurry. The pilot has returned, and is sweeping the area for his keys)) I reported.

((Found it. Just a moment, sir))

I could hear the rear hatch rise slightly, but the human's hearing was either not as acute, or he was not as attentive. He passed a mated pair of humans, clearly of advanced age, who inquired as to what he was doing. The pilot stopped, and took a minute to explain his actions, and to describe his keys' appearance.

((Finished sir, locking the hatch now)) Torfan said.

He jogged around to me. ((Give the keys to the pilot)) I instructed.

"Excuse me, vehicle-operator?" Torfan called.

The pilot did not respond.

"Large human male?" the cadet tried again, still approaching.

The pilot turned, bemused, "Are you talk'n to me?"

"Yes, are you attempting to locate a set of keys, similar in appearance to these?"

Torfan held out his hand, with the keys cupped in his palm.

"Yes!" the pilot laughed, and took the keys, "Where'd you find the little bastards— uh, beg your pardon," the pilot blushed, and apologized to the elderly couple, who simply laughed at him, and continued their slow, painful journey from their passenger vehicle to the fuel repository.

"I discovered them on the ground, near that vehicle," Torfan answered, pointing to the pilot's transport.

"Musta, fell out of my pocket," the pilot groaned, "thanks, buddy,"

"You are welcome. If the keys do not remain in your pocket, I advise finding a different location to store them," Torfan suggested.

"You talk funny, but that's still a good idea," the pilot chuckled, walking towards his vehicle. By the time he climbed into the cockpit, we had disappeared from sight, and a few minutes later, a pair of owls rose into the darkening sky.

Esplin 1894:

((This plan is foolish)) I complained. Jacob ignored me. He checked the Yeerk scanner, adjusted his direction, and continued trudging through the thigh-high snow.

((Don't exaggerate. It's only knee high)) Jacob corrected absently.

((The level of snow exceeds the height of our knee by two centimeters. It is thigh-high)) I argued sullenly.

((Whatever)) Jacob replied.

((If the Andalites discover our absence…)) I trailed off.

((I'm not hurting anyone)) Jacob said.

((I'm not the one you have to convince, Jacob)) I said softly.

For the rest of the journey through the cold night, I could not draw Jacob out. He replied in monosyllable thoughts, concentrating on what he was doing, so that he could ignore the possible consequences. I had no such luxury. Instead, I figuratively ran in circles, worrying about what might happen.

As the lights of the town came into view, Jacob paused for a moment, on a steep outcropping, ((You know, Esplin, you are a world-class worrier)) Jacob noted.

((I'm simply being practical)) I argued.

((In fact, with a few more years of training under your belt, you might even be able to surpass Aunt Gertrude…)) Jacob mused.

((Don't you dare compare me to that… that… insufferable creature)) I yelled.

Aunt Gertrude was all gangly limbs, big teeth, and darting eyes. Anything that might go wrong was catalogued, and communicated to anyone within earshot. No one in the family was overly surprised when she died from a massive heart attack / panic attack. A few were saddened, but not surprised… Jacob had hated her as a child. He had been a rambunctious youth, and the few times he was forced to stay at her house to be baby-sat were remembered with dread. He was not permitted to do anything that might even be considered remotely hazardous.

*Jacob could not use silverware at the table, lest he accidentally poke himself in the eye.

*Jacob was not allowed to use a straw, incase he sucked too hard and swallowed it.

*Jacob was not permitted to run, jump, cartwheel, or roll, in case he hurt himself.

*Jacob was not permitted to take books from the bookshelf, in case it fell on him.

On and on and on. Basically, he just sat in the middle of the room, away from anything that could harm him, and waited to eat, sleep, and eventually, go home.

I didn't have the heart to point out to Jacob that Aunt Gertrude did not develop her trademark paranoia until after Eric had died while she was baby-sitting them, right before her eyes, on the porch. That being said, being compared to such a pathetic creature was infuriating.

We reached the town, and Jacob approached the convenience store, which was five minutes from closing, and walked in. The little bell over the door chimed cheerily, and the cashier looked up nervously. The smell of chewing tobacco and peppermints assaulted our sinuses, even though the little tins were kept behind the counter.

"May I help you?" the girl asked.

"Actually, yes. Do you have shaving cream, and a razor?" Jacob asked pleasantly.

"Uh… let me check—"

Jacob paced through the handful of aisles, window-shopping, as it were. We lingered longest in the junk-food aisle.

((We'll have a stomach ache for several days if you consume that much processed sugar)) I pointed out grimly.

((True…)) Jacob acknowledged, but we both still entertained the possibility.

((Gummy bears?)) I suggested, hopefully.

((Or Lifesavers?)) Jacob mused, conflicted.

((Both)) we said in unison.

Jacob took an overpriced baggie of both candies, and grabbed a sleeve of beef jerky too, on impulse. He brought them up to the counter, at the same time the girl returned.

"I'm sorry, we have shaving cream, but we're out of safety razors," she apologized nervously, becoming more agitated by the second.

A long mirror hung behind the counter, and I studied our reflection out of the corner of Jacob's eye.

((Jacob, look at the mirror)) I suggested. He did, and froze.

Neither of us could remember the last time we had seen our face… after Antios III.

((Damn. I knew there were scars from that Hell-spider… but… damn…)) Jacob breathed. Two long, thick white scars ran from the top left corner of our forehead, across the bridge of our nose, along our cheek, and disappeared into the scruffy growth on Jacob's cheeks. I was horrified, but Jacob didn't seem distressed, quite the opposite.

((They are not sexy)) I growled, sensing his train of thought.

((Scars are always sexy)) Jacob replied blithely.

"Uh… do you have anything else to shave with? Electric razor, maybe? Scissors? Possibly sandpaper?" Jacob joked.

The girl smiled slightly, but didn't turn her back on us as she checked the inventory.

"Uh, there's no electric razors but we do have— actually, never mind," the girl whispered.

"Look, I'm somewhat desperate to part company with this squirrel on my face…" Jacob trailed off.

((Give her the "puppy eyes")) I advised.

((I'd have to fight her off if I did)) Jacob joked.

((You have scarring on your face. This does not make you Harrison Ford)) I pointed out.

((You like Harrison Ford?)) Jacob asked, startled, by a flash of fedoras and bull-whips.

((Focus, Jacob)) I chided.

"What is it that you don't technically have?" Jacob enquired.

Before she could answer, the bell rang behind us… angrily.

"Daisy, come on! What is taking your lazy ass so long?" someone growled. I could feel Jacob tremble. That voice… it sounded familiar.

((It's not him, Jacob, his voice isn't quite the same)) I argued desperately. Jacob slowly turned, and looked at the annoyed intruder. He had on a letterman's jacket, clearly a high school senior. He was also bigger than Jacob, which was a little startling… and his face looked just enough like Zack Flanders…

"Well, bitch?" Pseudo-Zack demanded, ignoring us.

"I'm sorry," Jacob apologized, "It must be hard living with your condition."

"What?" brat-boy asked, off-balance.

"Well, you must have a reading impediment of some-kind, because that girl's name tag clearly says DAISY, but somehow, you thought it said BITCH… is it dyslexia? I hear there are therapies for—"

Jacob saw the boy's body language telegraph the incoming sucker punch, but Jacob let it land. He wanted a reason.

((Jacob, no)) I said forcefully, ((He is not Zack Flanders!))

((Close enough)) Jacob thought grimly. We would already be in trouble with the Andalites. Killing a human would not go over well…

Jacob let the punch snap our head to the side, and into the counter. I tasted blood.

"Billy!" Daisy panicked, and came around the counter, and tried to deflect his anger.

The crack of skin on skin was loud, startling, and completely unexpected.

"Shut up, bitch!" Billy-brat snarled.

"Ooh… you big man, smack around girl, make her taste caveman hand," Jacob mocked, his clenched fists trembling. Jacob's mind felt strange… similar to when we were trapped in the memory of Eric's death.

Billy had six inches and fifty pounds on us, most of it muscle.

We had six years of experimental alien genetic modification, and three months of experience in hell…

((Jacob, you're being a bully)) I reasoned. I didn't care about the human, but Jacob would agonize and recriminate himself for months if he killed the boy, and I had to live with him.

((No real man hits his woman. Ever)) Jacob snarled. That was actually one of the few pearls of wisdom his father had gotten right, before abandoning Jacob, and his mother, I remembered.

"You've got a smart mouth. I'll fix that for you," Billy-brat jeered.

"And your face is too pretty, but don't worry, I can fix that for you," Jacob replied quietly.

Billy-brat's sucker punch had made him confident in his physical superiority.

He jumped at us, leading with a very slow, powerful haymaker. I expected Jacob to flow under it, and disable the young-man's knee. If we were fighting a Hork-bajir, it's what we'd do. Instead, Jacob fought force with force, like an idiot, which was not Jacob. This wasn't a dance… and that struck me as fundamentally wrong. This wasn't Jacob.

The fist smacked into our palm, and stopped dead. Jacob raised an eyebrow at Billy-brat, and I saw a flash of fear in those brown eyes. We were too strong… and Jacob loved it.

"Do you know how I got these scars, boy?" Jacob asked conversationally, grabbing Billy by the throat and throwing him. Out of respect for Daisy, Jacob didn't use any of the merchandise to interrupt Billy's trajectory. Instead, Jacob just threw him down the aisle.

Jacob walked down that aisle towards Billy, who was scrambling to his feet.

"Something much scarier than you tried to eat me…" Jacob continued in a cold faux-friendly tone.

Billy was many things, stubborn being one of them, "Bastard!" he shouted, launching himself at Jacob again, a sloppy tackle. Jacob mirrored him, but hit lower, popping the young man onto his back again, to lay gasping for air. Stupidity was another trait Billy possessed.

((You've taught him his lesson. Let him go, Jacob)) I urged.

((Almost)) Jacob answered tightly. He grabbed Billy's head with one hand, and slapped him with the other. I winced. Billy would have a hand shaped bruise for days.

"You don't know what it means to be a man," Jacob spat.

((Neither do you, Jacob)) I said sharply. For some reason, that hit Jacob deeply, and I felt a flash of betrayal from my friend. He looked up, "Daisy, come here!" Jacob barked. Meekly the girl approached, terrified of us, "Is this piece of shit your boyfriend?"

"P-please, he didn't mean it, his temper—" Daisy begged.

"Hey, shrimp-dick, look at me," Jacob said, tapping Billy's forehead until the young man's unfocused eyes rested on our face.

"The first rule of a real man is simple. You never hit your girl. Ever," Jacob snarled furiously.

"Got it?"

Billy slurred something that sounded remarkably similar to duck-you. Jacob rapped his knuckles sharply on Billy's forehead.

"Got it?" he repeated.

It took three more raps before the boy slurred something positive sounding.

"Good," Jacob let go, and looked at Daisy, softly, "Just remember, no matter what you might think right now, you're better than this."

She nodded, not really listening, just agreeing with the unpredictable, violent stranger, who had just beaten up her boyfriend.

"Now, I realize I've caused quite a bit of inconvenience, but can I still buy—"

The bell jingled briskly, and Jacob glanced back.

((They have a sheriff?!)) I giggled. The angry looking man in the door had on big cowboy boots, blue jeans, a cowboy hat, six-shooter revolver, and a humongous belt buckle. He was only missing a pair of spurs, and a wad of tobacco.

Oh, and there was a shiny star pinned to his leather jacket, and he had a droopy moustache.

By the way, the revolver was in his hand. Pointed at us.

"What's going on here?" the sheriff asked coldly.

"Well, sir, shrimp-dick here decided he was entitled to slap his girl. I simply educated him in the first rule of manhood," Jacob laughed.

"Oh?"

Jacob shrugged, "No real man slaps his girl. I thought the lesson rather simple, but it took several tries before I could penetrate his thick skull. Must be the Neanderthal genes."

"That boy's my son." The sheriff snarled.

Jacob looked down at Billy-brat.

"My condolences then. You must have tried your best…" Jacob shrugged helplessly.

((Jacob… getting shot hurts, remember?)) I said nervously.

"I want your hands on your head, now, or I'll be shooting you for resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer," the sheriff growled.

The bell rang again, and another man stepped into the store.

"Human, what have you done now?"

"Well, Torfan, it all started with a squirrel…" Jacob trailed off.

"Cliff, do you know this man?" the sheriff demanded, jerking his head towards us.

Torfan shook his head regretfully, "Sadly, yes. He's a mentally unstable friend of the family."

"Well he's—"

Torfan interrupted him by slugging him across the jaw, before the aristh started screaming, and clutching his hand. Jacob dove forward, and jabbed an elbow into the sheriff's temple, dropping the dazed lawman.

"Why'd you punch his face?" Jacob asked, incredulously.

"Human hands have thicker bones, and I saw two dimensional recordings of unarmed humans dueling, suggesting that such attacks were feasible, and effective in subduing an opponent," Torfan complained. No more Captain Kirk for you, Jacob thought.

((The candy!)) I cried.

((Oh, right))

Jacob ran back to the counter, "Hey Daisy, I'll pay you back. It's…"

((6.99)) I calculated, remembering to adjust for sales tax.

"6.99?" Jacob finished.

"Okay…" she said, her voice small, and eyes big. She'd just seen a plains clothes park ranger slug a law officer. The real Cliff was going to need one hell of an alibi, Jacob realized.

"It's not a robbery!" Jacob protested, as we ran out of the store.

((What could you possibly have been doing alone in that store?)) Torfan demanded suspiciously.

"This scruffy stuff on my face was driving me crazy… and I can't exactly ask Jett to give me a shave…"

Torfan continued to watch us suspiciously.

"So, I see you're back, did the trip go well?" Jacob asked.

((We have gummy bears)) I sang in the back of our head.

Torfan launched into an angry tirade, and Jacob listened meekly, before offering Torfan a Lifesaver.

"What is this?" the morphed Andalite asked suspiciously.

"Candy, you suck on it, like this," Jacob popped a second candy into our mouth, and I bathed in the sensation.

Mmmm… lemon…

Reluctantly, Torfan placed the candy into his mouth.

"Nothing is—" Torfan stopped speaking, and walking. He just stared.

((Is it a coma?)) I wondered. We leaned closer, and Jacob waved his hand in front of Torfan's face. Unfortunately, it was the one holding the life savers… and then we were fighting off a slightly maddened human male, with a faintly homicidal gleam to his eyes.

In the end, we made the smart call. We abandoned the life savers, and saved ourselves.

We continued our hike, Jacob thinking dark, violent things, glaring at Torfan's back.

((We still have the gummy bears)) I said, subdued by the display of Andalite palate insanity… and wondered if his coming stomachache would disappear when he reverted to Andalite form.

((Do not wave the gummy bears where Torfan may notice them)) I said forcefully.

((Better yet, hide them, beneath our jacket. Do it now!))

((()))

((Jacob… I believe I have found something useful)) Sonili said, as we passed her cabin.

"What sort of useful?" Jacob asked, curious.

((Weaponry)) Sonili said tersely, pulling up several shipping manifests.

((That is a continental United States address)) I pointed out. The manifest was a list of weapons and ammunition, most of it meaningless to us, since Jacob was not an expert in firearms. Most of the names were a jumble of letters and numbers. AK-47, M16, H&K MP-50… etc… but we agreed, that it was a lot of human hardware, designed for violent uses.

"Where is all of this, exactly?" Jacob asked. He was drooling.

((Am not)) Jacob replied, still distracted by the manifest.

((A private sea-based transportation company forwarded this inventory to several privately owned internet addresses. It was embedded in a different inventory, detailing different types of sea-based foods. I doubt a human program would have detected the hidden data without prior knowledge of its existence)) Sonili said.

"Smugglers… or black market weapon dealers…" Jacob said, torn between desire and trepidation.

((I found a second supply of weaponry as well. A law organization posted this inventory, apparently, these items are evidence, in a trial concerning incorrect transportation practices between countries)) Sonili said, showing us a much longer list, although it was simply because of a greater variety in firearms… but there were actually fewer weapons than the other list.

"This stuff's impounded?" Jacob asked.

"The server's fire-wall wasn't sophisticated enough to prevent my trawling programs from accessing this inventory)) Sonili said with a touch of pride.

"Most of that would probably fit in a couple of moving vans…" Jacob said thoughtfully.

((What good are weapons without warriors to wield them?)) I pointed out.

((We'll find people to use them…)) Jacob said, ignoring my concern.

((And how will we transfer all of this? By ourselves? Torfan might be willing to help, but Jett cannot come with us…)) I trailed off.

"We'll figure it out, trucks, or something, breaking in might be difficult," Jacob mumbled, unwilling to let reality infringe upon his firearm laden daydream.

((There is no need. I am inside the law organization's mainframe. I can forge transfer documents, to relocate the appropriated items to a more accessible location)) Sonili offered.

((A police station is a police station. Seizing the weapons will be difficult no matter where they are)) I pointed out.

"Unless we are the ones operating the delivery trucks…" Jacob said, his thoughts racing ahead of me, giving flashes, jumps of thought process connected only by the barest of threads. It was amusing, to observe the "flights of fancy."

((Now you just sound creepy)) Jacob sighed, ((Are you going to help me plan this or not?)) he asked.

((I am not being creepy)) I muttered.

"Esplin, please…" Jacob cajoled shamelessly.

He wanted human guns. Badly. It was… disturbing. He showed no favoritism towards Dracon beam weapons, or knives in his pursuit of the violent dance… but for some reason, firearms, or at least, the idea of human firearms held his attention.

This was important to him.

((Fine… but first, we will hide the gummy bears. Now)) I demanded.

"Of course," Jacob agreed, smiling.

((And you will not let Torfan see, smell, hear, or even sense their presence)) I continued sharply.

"Right away," Jacob said, hurrying towards the nearest maintenance access. Torfan hated tight spaces. Part of his species genetic claustrophobia, most likely.