It was in the year 12327.9, on the first day of the Leaf Month. Shisken and Berel were out in the northern brizanec groves, gathering fronds to weave into iloner for the upcoming Utalen Meca festivities, and Limilt and I were walking along the Nithra's western tributary, debating the merits of a new technological innovation – something called a "book".
«I'm telling you, Garatron, it's the beginning of a revolution,» said Limilt. «The whole concept of information retrieval will have to be modified once it catches on.»
I smiled deprecatingly. «That seems a rather ambitious claim to make for a collection of plant-matter sheets with writing on them.»
«If you could look beyond your provincial prejudices in favor of mineral technology,» said Limilt austerely, «perhaps you would be able to see the justice in it. Work it out for yourself: if you want to retrieve some particular datum via computer, how long, on average, does it take you?»
I considered. «About five minutes, I would say.»
«Exactly,» said Limilt. «Whereas, if you have a book, all you have to do is turn to the appropriate page, and there it is. Instantaneous retrieval, Garatron: how can you say that isn't going to change the world?»
«Wait a moment,» I said. «How do you know which specific page to turn to? You said that an average book generally contains at least three hundred.»
Limilt waved a dismissive hand. «Of course, you have to be familiar with the plan of the book,» he said. «The same way you have to learn how to use a computer. The issue is, once you know the ins and outs of both devices, the superior efficiency of the book is simply overwhelming.»
«Maybe,» I said. «But what about capacity? You can't tell me that you can fit all the information on my grandfather's computer onto three hundred sheets of… of whatever you call that substance.»
«Paper, Garatron,» said Limilt. «It's called paper. And, no, of course you can't use a single book to substitute for a computer – but who said anything about restricting yourself to one book? The whole point is to have a collection of books: maybe fifty or sixty of them, all gleaming on the wall of your family scoop.»
I snorted. «Sounds like a racket to me,» I said. «And how are the manufacturers going to get permission to cut down all the trees that you'd need to make that much paper? I'm just guessing here, but I suspect that the Andalite people value their forests a little more than efficiency in information retrieval.»
«They don't need to cut down any trees,» said Limilt. «Do you know how many trees get blown down in the great forests during the winter storms? You could make a thousand books from the felled wood in the Shimarut alone.»
«Of course that's how it would start,» I said, «but how can you guarantee that it would stay that way? Once people developed an appetite for books, they would start demanding more than the winter storms could supply – and, once that happened, the sanctity of the forests wouldn't last much longer.»
A sad laugh sounded in our minds. «Yes,» said a gentle voice with a curiously alien quality about it. «Ancient reverence rarely stands a chance against modern innovation.»
We turned around, and saw a small female standing behind us, her hands folded in front of her as though she were attending a lecture. Considered as a Misborn, there was nothing especially striking about her: rounded face, fused eyestalks, missing tail-blade, the usual things. All the same, Limilt and I were both a little startled when we saw her; neither of us had expected to meet a Green Andalite in the Selicar Refuge.
The Green Andalites are a sort of sub-species of the Andalite race, found mostly on a large, isolated island in the Southern Ocean. Besides their color, there are a number of things that distinguish them from ordinary Andalites: their fur is shaggier, for instance, and their eyes are yellow instead of green, and their bodies tend to be more thickly built. (Their tail-blades are also straighter, but in this female's case that was scarcely an issue.) What really distinguishes them, though, is not precisely anything about their bodies, but something in their manner. They are, they say, the oldest of Andalite peoples – older even than the Voiceless People who lived when the ice-fields covered the Selicar Refuge – and they also say that, because of this, they have special privileges and responsibilities that ordinary Andalites do not share. Whether this is true or not, I do not know; certainly my grandfather did not think so. I had heard him assert numerous times that the Green Andalites themselves did not really believe their traditions of ancient favor – that it was merely a convenient excuse to avoid acknowledging the High Council's full authority over them. But now, looking at this young female, I wondered.
It was not that she was particularly beautiful. At the time, I don't think any of us Selicarites considered any of the others to be really beautiful (we were still too much under the influence of traditional Andalite standards), and, in any case, her Green-Andalite features were unlikely to have any great appeal for me. Nor was it exactly that she carried herself like the daughter of an ancient bloodline: she did not seem regal at all, but, on the contrary, distressed, uncertain, and a little afraid. Even in her fear, though, there was something strangely pure and noble, as though her soul was a gemstone and her fear only a discoloration within it. It was rather intimidating, and for a moment I stood motionless, uncertain of what to do next.
It was Limilt, of course, who rescued me. «Well, Garatron, what are you waiting for?» he whispered, giving me a gentle kick with his right hind hoof. «Go ahead and give her your little Welcome-to-the-Selicar-Refuge speech.»
Realizing the sense of this, I stepped forward and straightened my upper body, trying to project an air of venerable authority. «Hello,» I said. «I am Garatron-Sitek-Shaveer, son of Hilanal-Sitek-Parshini and Ethalan-Povis-Tilagren; this is Limilt-Zalaran-Hegeti, son of Korid-Ikumal-Allidor and Mitubal-Zalaran-Ositak. On behalf of this community of separated ones, we welcome you to the Selicar Refuge.»
«Thank you,» said the Green female.
I waited for a moment or two, but she said nothing more. At length I had to prompt her. «May I know your name?»
«I am Kirinar,» she said, and fell silent again.
Once more I had to prompt her. «Just "Kirinar"?»
She sighed. «The Mainlander governor assigned me the cognomens of "Olmit" and "Zapalresh",» she said. «You may address me by them if it makes you more comfortable.»
I winced. I had forgotten that tradition. The Green Andalites, from time immemorial, have used only single names; many of them believe that the "Mainland" Andalite government, by assigning them triple names for record purposes, subtly undermines their status as an Autonomous Culture. Whether Kirinar was one of these, I could not tell from her tone (not that I have ever been especially good at telling anything from anyone's tone), but I could certainly see that I had made a rather serious faux pas.
Nor did Limilt's distinct lack of sympathy help to mend matters. «Bravo, Garatron,» he said. «I knew I could rely on you to put the wrong hoof forward.»
Before I could reply, he had stepped forward and dipped his tail toward the new Selicarite. «Please excuse my companion, Kirinar,» he said. «He has little expertise in the art of social intercourse, but his hearts are in the right place.»
«I have no doubt of that,» said Kirinar. She glanced at me with a smile in her eyes, and I felt a sudden, uncomfortable tingling in my hooves.
«Tell me,» Limilt continued, «how does a daughter of Saprec come to be among the Misborn of Selicar? I was under the impression that our little club was only open to those whose parents lived along the Ilarda River.»
«At the time I was conceived, I was such,» said Kirinar. «My father is one of the elders overseeing our section of the Island, and, in the Topaz Year of the 30,977th Duodecade, he and my mother stayed for a time as the guests of Governor Bulennen-Atomal-Okari, who had been a great friend of the People during his term in office.»
Limilt cocked his head. «Governor Bulennen?» he said. «You mean Shisken's father?»
Kirinar's eyes lit up. «You know Shisken-Atomal-Breecai?» she said eagerly.
Limilt rolled his eyes. «Oh, yes,» he said. «Garatron and I have spent the past five years trying to keep her from killing herself on the Eastern Ridge.» (3)
«Wait a moment,» I said. «This Topaz Year of the 30,977th Duodecade – what would it be in our calendar?»
Kirinar hesitated, and I could see her ishimir – the triangular jewel that is bonded to every Green-Andalite female's left hand on her sixth day of life – flashing in the sunlight as she worked out the calculations on her fingers. «It would be 12316.4,» she said after a moment.
«Then you were among the earliest of the Misborn to be conceived?» I said.
«I was,» said Kirinar.
«Then how does it happen,» I said, «that you have only now come to the Selicar Refuge? If your father is an elder of your people, surely he could have arranged for you to have sanctuary here much sooner.»
I was unprepared for the reaction with which my question met. Kirinar's eyes narrowed sharply, and her face was darkened with something like rage (though not, I thought, at me). «I would prefer not to discuss that,» she said curtly, and the alien quality that I had noticed in her thought-speak seemed to have been distinctly heightened.
I took an involuntary step backwards. «Um… all right, then.»
«Thank you,» said Kirinar, and her expression softened again.
«Tell me,» she said, returning her attention to Limilt, «is Shisken still dwelling here? My parents returned to the Island before she was born, and I never had the chance to meet her. It would be pleasant to make her acquaintance.»
«She is here,» said Limilt. «About a half-hour's canter north-northeast of this spot, gathering brizanec fronds with a rather dreamy-eyed male. I can take you to the place, if you wish…»
Kirinar waved a hand. «Thank you for the offer, Limilt-Zalaran-Hegeti,» she said, «but I feel sure that I can find it on my own.»
«Naturally,» said Limilt, dipping his tail again. «Well, then, urhen shamiku ne'tal.»
Kirinar smiled at his use of the ancient Green-Andalite farewell blessing. «The same to you, Limilt-Zalaran-Hegeti,» she said; then, turning to me, «And to you, Garatron-Sitek-Shaveer.»
I muttered something awkwardly, and she turned and headed toward the brizanec grove. She was a good canterer; in a few minutes she had reached the top of the nearby rise, and soon she had crossed over to the other side of it and vanished from our sight.
Limilt glanced at me, an impish smile in his eyes. «Well, Garatron?» he said. «What do you think of our new comrade from the Southernmost Island?»
I shrugged. «She seemed nice enough,» I said. «Though I wonder why she should have reacted so strongly to my question about her lateness in arriving here. It was almost as though I had poked my hoof into an open sore on her flank.»
«Oh, I wouldn't worry about that,» said Limilt. «If she didn't have inexplicable moods, she wouldn't be a female. Nature designed them that way on purpose, so that we would have a healthy amount of mystery in our lives.»
I had become familiar enough with Limilt's conversational style to know humor when I heard it, and I made the appropriate response. Despite what he said, though, there still seemed to me to be a mystery about Kirinar-Olmit-Zapalresh – and I determined to unravel it at the earliest possible opportunity.
(3)
«That's not our years, is it?» said Tobias, with a twinkle in his eye.
«No,» said Ax. «Five Andalite years. That would be, let me see... about 6.3 human years.»
«Gotcha,» said Tobias. «So Garatron and his friends are older than you've been making it sound?»
«Distinctly,» said Ax. «And bear in mind that Andalites mature rather faster than humans in the first place. The eldest Garatrons, by this point, are very close to legal adulthood.»
«Okay, thanks,» said Tobias. «That explains a lot.»