Hooray! MY hard drive finally played ball and released the plot of The World Can Wait back to me. Right before I went on holiday to the deepest darkest back of beyond where no computers thrive... I know this is VERY late, and I am very sorry. Hopefully I'll try and get out a more action-packed chapter soon, but this was an important one because we needed to send Alloran off to his rendezvous with Esplin 9466 at some point...
Chapter 24
The sun was gleaming the day Alloran was due to return to war. Jahar rose early, but didn't take her customary morning run, snatching only seconds to complete the morning ritual. Any remaining seconds with Alloran were precious. He was awaiting a pick up ship, sent from the Dome ship which was orbiting the homeworld. They hadn't even bothered giving him the exact time when he would be leaving. Even though it was ridiculous, Jahar felt like she could sense the oppressive shadow of the ship, waiting above them, ready to tear her mate from her once again. Still, she resolved to make the most of those last sunny hours, and she coaxed Alloran into leading the children into games of chase over the meadows. They had visited Lake Stilena the day before as a family, but could not stray far from the scoop this day. It would be disastrous if the transport ship arrived, found no one at home and left again. Throughout the morning Jahar could sense Alloran growing tenser, though she did not know if it was through fear or anticipation.
It must have been frightening, preparing to face the entire Andalite fleet as a disgraced War Prince. Warriors who had once leapt at Alloran's commands would now treat him with disdain. Arisths would avoid him and his name would be a curse, his presence a darkness on the ship, sweeping disgrace down the corridors in his wake. They would accept him back for his recognised skill as a warrior, and through their desperation for fighters, but they would never forgive him. He would always be a living reminder of Andalite shame, and Jahar felt terror run through her. The Andalite fleet had ways of dealing with warriors who became awkward or embarrassments. She was very afraid Alloran would be sent on dangerous missions from which there would be limited hope of return. She was even afraid that in his miserable state he might volunteer for them himself.
Still, there was very little she could do except beg him to keep in constant communication with her. For the now there were her meadows, and him galloping powerfully beside her, snaking out his tail to trip Farling's back hoof and win the game of catch as Farling stumbled and sprawled. Farling picked himself up laughing, unbruised as he had been cushioned by the grass, and skipped back, promising to count to twenty as the new chaser. Jahar picked up a slow canter from him, and he caught her moderately easily, although tripping her was more of a challenge. In the end he solved the dilemma by running directly underneath her, and in her concern for trampling him she muddled her legs sufficiently to fall over. The ground was soft, from recent rains, and the grass blooms shook pollen into her face as she went down, causing her to sneeze. As she climbed back to her feet Farling shouted for her to look, and pointed a finger at the sky. Craning upwards Jahar saw a small shape hurtling towards them, growing larger as the distance was closed. Her hearts chilled, and she turned to find Alloran. He had already left them, returning hastily to the scoop, no doubt not wishing to be caught playing frivolous games with his family by the pilot of the transport ship.
Tirdellan, Farling, come to me, Jahar called, and they trotted over. Alloran had no doubt communicated with the pilot from inside the scoop, because the small ship didn't land on the inviting field nearest the scoop, which contained a fragile crop of Illsipar roots Jahar had been cultivating for a while, but instead on their second meadow, the engines sending up sprays of pollen as the ship touched down. It was a standard transport ship – large enough for four or five Andalites, with large viewing screens and relatively small engines. It was only ever used for short journeys, between ships in space or ships and planet surfaces, for picking up and disposing of cargo.
In this case the cargo was her husband.
Jahar approached the ship and Alloran left the scoop, followed by a small box hovering at knee level along the ground behind him, containing his personal possessions. Every warrior was allowed to personalise their quarters to a small extent, and Jahar knew Alloran was taking several plants and a hologram of their family, as well as various items which were of interest to him such as dismantled Dracon beams and the Escafil device he had used to give her (and later the children) the illicit morphing power. A door opened in the ship's side and the pilot descended. Jahar could tell from his size that he was most likely an Aristh, sent on the boring task of picking up a disgrace warrior. The Aristh trotted forward to greet Alloran and swept a deferential bow which was clearly not quite low enough for Alloran's liking. Jahar sensed her mate stiffen, a tiny ripple running through his muscular frame, but he said nothing.
War Prince Alloran, I am Aristh Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul. I was ordered to collect you.
Thank you, Aristh Elfangor, Alloran said formally. He turned back to Jahar and gave her the lightest kiss with his fingertips on her cheek. Goodbye my love.
Keep in touch, Jahar whispered. For some reason she irrationally hated the Aristh Elfangor, standing to the side with a bored expression, sent to tear Alloran away from her and not caring in the least. Alloran nodded to her, and turned to Farling and Tirdellan.
Be good for your mother, he told them. They promised, and touched tails with him each.
When will you be back? Tirdellan asked.
One day, not far away, Alloran said softly. Farling laughed.
Destroy the Yeerks, father!
I intend to, Alloran replied. Believe me, my son, I intend to. He straightened up, executed a bow to Jahar and turned to Elfangor. Shall we, Aristh? The smaller Andalite paused, and for a second Jahar weighed him up. He was big for an Aristh, with a large tail blade and fur in an even blue. She decided he looked clumsy for his age, and wondered if he had had a growth spurt recently. He caught her looking at him, and returned a gaze that was slightly curious, regarding her with his large green eyes. She dropped the eye contact, embarrassed by her lack of subtlety.
I was told to inform you that you may bring your own private ship, as is the privilege of any War Prince, should you wish to, Aristh Elfangor said. Alloran hesitated, clearly caught by surprise.
I am extended that honour still? he asked, his thought speak rendering him painfully vulnerable in its wondering tone.
The Captain was specific in his instructions for me to tell you that, Elfangor confirmed. A slight flush of purple crept over his face, and Jahar wondered how excited he must have been to be directly addressed by the captain, to be charged with such a duty as a lowly Aristh. War is still a game to him, she thought, and for a second he reminded her of the excitement her own Alloran had displayed for battle so many times. She remembered him showing her proudly around the Lightwingin its hanger, boasting of its power. A sudden wave of compassion swept over her, for this poor blinded child taking her husband back to the conflict, and she hoped that war did not destroy Elfangor as it had her husband.
I will take The Jahar, Alloran said, decisively. He turned to his wife. That way I will have a part of you with me in space, love. Jahar smiled a little and touched her fingertips to his cheek.
If we return in your ship then I can leave this transport ship with your family until your return, if you wish, Elfangor said politely. A small wave of relief flicked through Jahar. She'd wondered if Alloran had realised how stranded she and the children would be without a ship to travel the planet with.
Thank you, Aristh, Alloran replied gravely. He led Elfangor across two fields to where The Jahar sat, and though Jahar herself wanted to follow, to trail after him like a lovesick child, she stayed back by the transport ship with the children, allowing Alloran dignity in his farewell. He turned in the doorway the morning sunlight haloing off his soft fur, his distant expression unreadable. She raised her hand in farewell and Alloran mirrored the gesture, his many fingers curling open to her. Then he turned into the ship and was gone, swallowed by the metal.
They watched silently as the ship powered up and lifted off. Jahar felt as if Alloran was being physically torn from her, with the wind blowing pollen between them in the widening gap, but she smiled and bathed her children in a calm sense of acceptance she did not share. The children bored of watching even before the ship was out of sight, and skipped away, playing in the waving grass.
Mother, can we play Conquest? Tirdellan asked. Jahar forced a smile, denying the sadness of Jahar the lover and projecting the serenity of Jahar the mother.
Why not, Tirdellan? A three player game would be perfect now, and for the many, many days to come.
Inside the scoop Tirdellan powered up the Conquest holograms, and she and Farling flicked their fingers swiftly over the landscapes sprawling beneath them, placing their warriors and defences. I see I'm third player again, Jahar sighed playfully. Conquest was a three player game, but they were not equal. The first and the second were powerful forces, with great armies, but the third player was always far weaker. Farling and Tirdellan as children always chose to be the powerful primary players, but the weaker player was secretly Jahar's favourite position. Although the third player could be easily destroyed by either of the primary players, without its help then they would struggle to defeat each other, as both were too powerful. The third player was there to be courted, to be enticed to a side, to be bribed whilst the two main players battled. Often one primary player would destroy the other with the third player's help, only to find that during the game the third player had built himself into a formidable adversary to defeat in his own right. The balancing of the players was one area where Tirdellan far outstripped Farling, and invariably he would resort to picking on the third player if the tide turned against him, or focusing too closely on the primary opponent if the game went his way.
Jahar splayed her fingertips, spreading her players over a narrow valley of woodland and well watered meadows. It was astonishingly like real life, Conquest. The strong preyed on each other, and sometimes the weak emerged quietly triumphant, but too often they were crushed in the clash of the titans, the breath squeezed from their lungs. She wondered idly if the mystical beings of Andalite myth ever played Conquest, if Crayak and the Ellimist ever sat down to a game of warring civilisations. That was the idea behind the game, wasn't it, that all-powerful beings could direct the lives of the players and there was nothing they could do, nothing Alloran could have done, to resist elevation or prevent disaster.
Of course, to truly play Conquest, the Ellimist and Crayak would need a third player.
"Shall we resume play?"