Let's Read Animorphs! The Whole Series! Ch-ch-ch-chaaanges

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nine-gear crow: Aug 10, 2013

Epicurius posted:

So, I have bad news. The Ellimist is a gamer.

I can't believe the entire genesis of this series' plot is going to be the Ellimist calling Crayak a slur and Crayak responding with the galactic genocide version of the "What the gently caress did you just loving say about me, you little bitch?" rant.

# ? Aug 22, 2022 06:07

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 23, 2024 09:50

Comrade Blyatlov: Aug 4, 2007; should have picked four fingers

I want to play that game.

# ? Aug 22, 2022 06:08

Remalle: Feb 12, 2020

quote:

�Who are you?!� the child raged. �Who are you to play games with us? And why are you called 'The xXe11imi$t_420Xx [RDT]'?"

# ? Aug 22, 2022 08:17

Tree Bucket: Apr 1, 2016; R.I.P.idura leucophrys

"The Pangabans were trolling as always, but also playing at something."

# ? Aug 22, 2022 08:22

rollick: Mar 20, 2009

Pangaban sounds a lot like Pangur B�n, an old Irish poem. Don't see any thematic connection though, so maybe just coincidence.

# ? Aug 22, 2022 08:40

Fuschia tude: Dec 26, 2004; THUNDERDOME LOSER 2019

So this book is Jabberwocky: The Novel, huh?

# ? Aug 22, 2022 09:15

SirSamVimes: Jul 21, 2008; ~* Challenge *~

I love the fact that "Ellimist" is just this nerd's gamertag :allears:

# ? Aug 22, 2022 12:04

Soup du Jour: Sep 8, 2011; I always knew I'd die with a headache.

I�m pretty sure reading about this game was the genesis of my love for grand strategy and other civilization development games

# ? Aug 22, 2022 12:13

OctaviusBeaver: Apr 30, 2009; Say what now?

gunja op pls nerf!

# ? Aug 22, 2022 13:45

Capfalcon: Apr 6, 2012; No Boots on the Ground,
Puny Mortals!

SirSamVimes posted:

I love the fact that "Ellimist" is just this nerd's gamertag

It really changes a lot of the series if you realize that this god is getting called a gamer tag that he chose when he was a child, and not telling anyone else.

If nothing else, it explains why he always seems on the verge of laughing when talking with people.

When I first read this chapter, I honestly thought the whole Animorphs series was gonna be a simulation and got really mad. Needless to say, the next few chapters got me hooked.

OctaviusBeaver posted:

gunja op pls nerf!

lol nub doesn't know how to defend rush strats

# ? Aug 22, 2022 14:50

Malpais Legate: Oct 1, 2014

Just remember guys, when you pick your gamertag you better be prepared for that to be your name for all eternity.

# ? Aug 22, 2022 18:09

Star Man: Jun 1, 2008; There's a star maaaaaan
Over the rainbow

I can at least attest to my parents giving me this nickname before I knew what the Internet was or before I ever made up an account for an online game.

I took an interest in astronomy when I was seven in 1994 and met an astronaut who flew on Challenger in 1985 who's a friend of my mom's family. I didn't play Mega Man 5 until 1996, nor did I know about the David Bowie song until 2008.

# ? Aug 22, 2022 18:18

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

Chapter 2

quote:

I am a Ketran. My planet is called Ket. I mention this fairly self-evident fact only because of the plans to open our uninet to visiting off-worlders. The time is coming when a uninet publication may be read by an Illaman or a Generational, not necessarily by Ketrans alone. I don�t want to seem
chauvinistic.

Off-worlders are usually astounded by the facts of life on my planet. It�s fascinating to speak with them because they can give you such a new perspective on what seems so normal to us. The earliest Generation 9561s who arrived to investigate Ket failed even to notice us at first. Oh, they
noticed the crystals of course, they weren�t blind, but it never occurred to them to look for intelligent life anywhere other than on the planet surface.

The surface of Ket is quite inhospitable to most life-forms, covered as it is by acid seas, lava flows, and strangle-vines. But Generation 9561 (actually they were Generation 9559, then) were gamely wandering around in environmental suits taking samples when one of their airskimmers accidentally ran smack into a mast of the Great Southern Polar Crystal and a first contact was made that surprised everyone.

Life? On a vast crystal floating three hundred miles above the planet surface? Impossible! But then we�d have thought the same if we�d been the first to arrive on their world and found them down amidst the trees and rivers and so on.

The evolution of my people is obscure. (Interesting how it is often easy to understand the evolution of an entirely different species, and yet be confused by one�s own) Our scientists are confident that at one time we did inhabit the surface of our world, or at least its less sulphurous seas, but at some point the symbiosis of Ketran and crystal was formed and we simply grew together. Now of course, and for at least the last two million years, we have maintained our symbiosis with the crystals. The age of my own home crystal - the Equatorial High Crystal has been convincingly established as 1.4 million years. Of course that�s half the age of the Seed Crystal, making the EHC one of the newer fully formed crystals.

The term symbiosis isn�t exactly accurate. We are living and the crystal is not, though it�s hard not to fall into a certain romanticism and imagine that it does have something very much like life.

What is sure is that we cannot survive without the crystal, from which we derive our sustenance. And it is just as sure that though the crystals can grow without our help, they cannot survive intact long enough to become as vast as they are. The estimates are that a crystal above half a mile in average circumference will crash. The atmospheric pressures and internal buouyancies will lose the battle to gravity at that point. Certainly the seventynine mile circumference of the Seed Crystal is a result of Ketran symbiosis. How would the great crystals continue to float if not for the lift supplied by hundreds of thousands of Ketran wings?

There was all sorts of talk on the uninet about using artificial engines to supply the lift needed for our home. These engines would free us from much if not all dock time. Visionaries talk of how we could go from our current one-tenth free-flight time to as much as one-half free flight. In fact, we would no longer need to maintain stations and fly to provide lift at all. We would only need dockage to eat and rest, while the engines would supply all the necessary lift to keep the crystals afloat in the atmosphere.

But I doubt such an idea will take hold. Deep in our memories we still carry the images, passed down through the millennia, of the terrible crash of the North Tropic Low Crystal. Three hundred thousand years are not enough to erase that memory!

The mere thought made me nervous. I opened my eyes and turned to look downward. Yes, we still floated high above the Eenos lava swamp. No, the ground was no closer than it had been when I immersed in the game. My docking talons were still firmly attached to my niche and my wings still beat their steady rhythm.

Azure Level enveloped me, the sharp, jagged structure of protrusions as familiar to me as the lines of my own hands. Through the smoothed and polished masts, spars, and yards I could see the distant frontier of opaque white spars - the new growth area. I was young, I might be chosen to move into the new growth once it had reached its expected violet hue. Then my name would change. That would be strange. And my ups and downs, my neighbors, would all change, too.

I glanced at Azure Level, Seven Spar, Extension Two. Down-Messenger Forty-two, my closest �up.� He was a taciturn person, always had been. I�d tried many times to engage him in the games, but he was a serious scientist, one of those visionaries I mentioned. I thought of him as �Old Forty-two,� though I doubt he was much older than me. His chosen name was Lackofa. He pronounced it �LACKuv-uh.� I think it was supposed to be droll.

�Hey, Lackofa,� I called up, using my spoken voice rather than a uninet memm.

His head jerked, causing his rather long and artfully unkempt quills to quiver. He blinked unadorned eyes. He peered around at the sky, as though unsure where the sound could have come from. Finally, slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his magenta gaze to me. �Toomin. What is it?�

�I lost another game.�

�Ah. Well, I can certainly understand why you would feel the need to inform me personally of a fact that, were I remotely interested, I could learn from the net.�
I
wasn�t put off by his attitude. Neither of us had ever requested reassignment; that was proof of the fact that we got on well enough as neighbors.

I waited, knowing his curiosity would get the better of him. �All right, why did you lose?�

�Redfar tells me I�m too much of an idealist.�

�Mmm. I don�t share the fascination with games,� Lackofa said. �Any game that can be played can be deconstructed. You can always deduce the laws - assuming you pay attention. And once you know the rules that ensure victory, what�s the interest? It�s all software. Software is software is software. Boring.�

I was peeved at this. It seemed to imply that I wasn�t quite bright enough to understand the game. �Alien Civilizations isn�t just �software.� It�s the most sophisticated game ever released. It has more than a million scenarios.�

�All of which reflect the thought patterns of the game�s creators. The scenarios are necessarily limited because the underlying assumptions are limited.� He was right, of course, but I wasn�t in the mood to accept his smug judgment. I was in the mood to change the subject. �Are you coming to the announcement?�

�What announcement?�

�What announcement? What do you mean, �What announcement?� The announcement. Even you

know what announcement. They�re announcing the nonessential crew for Mapping Crystal Quadrant Three. The EmCee.�

�Oh, that. Well, first, I can�t imagine why you would feel the need to fly all the way up to the perch when you can know the results almost as quickly on the net. And anyway, I know I�m going.� It took a few seconds for me to register that last statement, spoken as it was in a carefully offhand way.

�You�re going? You mean � you�re going as essential crew?�

�Third biologist,� he said, trying out a casual, dismissive wave of his mid-hands that didn�t fool me for a second. There was no hiding the pink glow that began at the tips of his quilts and spread toward his head.

I was happy for Lackofa. I really was. Except for the part of me that was screamingly jealous. I had a one in five hundred chance of going aboard the Zero-space ship as a nonessential. He had a guaranteed berth as essential crew. We were almost the same age. But somehow he had managed to accomplish a great deal more than I had.

There�s a wake-up memm, Toomin, I told myself. Can you read the time cue?

I was an idiot. I was wasting my life in game playing, free flying, and face-face. Meanwhile

Lackofa was on his way into deepest space to see firsthand the things I would see only later, and only on some net sim.

I fell silent. Lackofa didn�t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn�t care.

�Well, congratulations, Lackofa, � I said, doing a very weak job of ginning up enthusiasm. �That�s really an honor.�

�Is it? Yes, I guess it is.�

I shut up after that. It was wrong to be bitter, but I was. Bitter at myself. I�d steadfastly refused any intellectual specialization. I�d told myself I didn�t want to limit my mind by picking one particular discipline. Laziness, that�s what it was. I was lazy. I was a daydreamer. I was a juvie at an age when I could easily be taken seriously as an adult. The only thing I cared about was the game, and I wasn�t even good at that.

I resolved then and there to change my life. To turn it around in mid-flight. No more nonsense, I had to bear down, I had to grapple, I had to dock-and-hold. I was going to do it: My shunt was going to burn out from the load of educational memms I would download. I could do it. I had the brains, I just hadn�t decided to get serious.

Okay, well, time�s up, Toomin. Make some choices. Make some commitment. Right now. Do it!

Only it was free-flight time. The others would be expecting me. I�d told Inidar I�d be there.

Wasn�t right to just abandon all my friends just because I�d decided to change. Free flight first, then I�d explain to my friends that they might not be seeing all that much of me anymore.

So to summarize, the surface of the Ketran home planet is uninhabitable, and the Ketrans, who can fly, live in crystals that float in the atmosphere. However, the crystals are themselves unstable, and so the Ketrans use their own flight to help them stay aloft.

Meanwhile, Toomin has decided to grow up and make something of himself.

Chapter 3

quote:

The time-cue memm popped up and I released my docking talons and disconnected. I felt the blessed silence in my head. No memms. No time cues, no updates, no alerts, no �items of interest,� no nagging about jobs not done, no urging to examine this or that or the other uninet publication, no guilt inducing �why don�t you perch with us?� memms from the dam and sire.

Free flight! I drifted down, down and away from the spar that was my home.

Wings folded back and up, I dead-dived through the masts and spars and rough-hewn new growth protrusions, shot past a swirl-quilled female who cast a languid, unimpressed, but wonderfully turquoise glance my way.

Down and out of the matrix, out into the bare air beyond the reaches of the crystal, out into bare air where I could look down and see the surface clearly. Or as clearly as anyone could, given the yellow, slowly twisting swamp gas clouds down there.

I opened my wings, canceled my momentum, equalized buoyancy, straining my dorsal intakes a bit as I sucked air.

From here I could get a fuller picture of my home crystal. It�s terribly clich� to find it beautiful, but beautiful it was. It filled most of the sky, of course, but even from this distance I could see the generally spherical shape, the ball of brilliant, reflective masts, spars, and yards.

The sun was up and shining bright, and as the crystal moved in a slow rotation the sunbeams blazed, reflected, from a million facets. Ice-blue, palest green, yellow, violet, and pink: It was a lovely sight.

The population was just over half a million now, and at any given time ninety percent of that number would be docked, wings weaving the eternal pattern, providing the endless, tireless lift that kept the crystal from settling slowly to the ground below. The remaining ten percent could be in free flight, if they chose, but in reality it was mostly the younger Ketrans who indulged. Older folks only free flew if they had to commute to some specialized work.

Standing off from the crystal itself, looking like a small moon in tight orbit, the ship: Mapping Crystal Quadrant Three. MCQ3. The EmCee.

It was an omen, perhaps, of our own future, for it looked at first glance like a miniaturized version of the Equatorial High Crystal, except that the spars and masts were clearly not grown and trimmed to form a spheroid, but rather to form an elongated oval with a definite top and bottom. At the bottom the MCQ3 had four massive stems, twice the thickness of a late-growth mast or spar. And attached to each of these four stems was an ugly, Thoroughly opaque metal cylinder. These were the Zero-space engines. And they were nothing subversive. The thing that disturbed many people was the much smaller disk located at the junction where the stems met the core crystal. For there, at that strategic point, the MCQ3�s builders had installed an anti-grav generator.

The MCQ3 floated effortlessly, kept station perfectly, defied the planet�s relentless pull, all without the beat of so much as a single set of wings.

It made perfect sense, the ship was destined for planet-fall on unknown worlds. We obviously could not predict atmospheric makeup, pressures, updrafts, and so on, in advance. It was entirely impractical to imagine a wing-supported crystal cruising the atmosphere of some unforeseen alien world. The anti-gray made perfect sense.

But the problem was, it made sense for our own home crystals as well. The anti-gravs were easy enough to build. If they were installed on the home crystals it would free people up for things other than the main task of lifting. Life would be nothing but free flight!

As a gamer I found it fascinating. It was exactly a game scenario: Make a single, vital change in a society, and watch what happens. What would happen if we Ketrans were freed from this cooperative need to keep home afloat in the atmosphere? No one knew.

I gazed up at the MCQ3. There was no avoiding the emotions that accompanied that sight. I�d have sold my sire and dam into surface mining to go aboard. Deep worms, I wanted to go.

Wasn�t happening. �What?� I mocked myself savagely. �No need for a game-playing adolescent aboard the greatest interplanetary expedition ever?�

Let it pass. Let it breeze on by, Toomin. Not on the past but on the future fix your range finder.

�That�s right,� I muttered darkly, �take refuge in platitudes.�

I flapped wing and headed up. Not toward the MCQ3. No, not that way, but vectoring away from it, up toward the violet perches where I was to meet my friends to listen to the announcement. The last place I wanted to be in this frame of mind, but they, poor fools, still held out hope.

We had all applied to be accepted as nonessential crew. Why not? There�s a natural affinity between gamers and planetary explorers. Or so we told ourselves.

I caught a lovely baffle breeze and soared effortlessly upward, up and up past all of Azure Level, up to Violet Level and the scooped-out hollow of the perches.

Redfar/Inidar was there waiting, zooming lazily with Escobat (whose game name was Wormer), and Doffnall, a rare female gamer, who used the game name Aguella.

�Hey, Ellimist,� Aguella called out when she saw me. �I memmed that you managed to exterminate the Pangabans in record time.�

Among ourselves we tended to use our game names. It was a silly affectation, another sign of the immaturity I was now able to see so clearly in all of us.

�I was playing a hunch,� I said a little too gloomily to match her bantering tone. Then, trying to lighten the mood, I added, �I demand a rematch. Next time I�ll manage to exterminate my side in even less time.�

My friends laughed at that. We competed in the game, but there was also a sense that we four competed against the game, as though it was a common enemy we had to learn to subdue.

I recalled what Lackofa had said about the game being necessarily limited; No doubt he was right. No doubt over time the patterns would become all too obvious and the game would thus become boring. But then, by that point, the game makers would have a new and improved game. They always
did.

Wormer started talking about a scenario involving a three-way competition among a parasitic species, a predator species, and a symbiotic species. He was the only one who had played it so we listened closely. We quickly slipped into game speak as we free flew around the perches, checking out others of interest and being checked out in return. The violet perches were a great hangout for free-flying youths.

No one brought up the announcement, not at first anyway. No one wanted to seem unduly interested. We were breezy. Way too breezy to be obsessed over some slim chance at a true life adventure. Anyway, we were gamers. The game was the thing.

And yet I noticed each of us in turn glancing at the pulpit where a Speaker would soon appear to deliver the news.

I wasn�t nervous. I�d given up hope. There�s nothing like a surrender to despair to settle your nerves. But the others were twitchy and it was hard not to catch a little of their turbulence. I said, �You know, the truth is that underneath it all, the game has a set of assumptions. If we could codify these assumptions we could win every game.� I was quoting Lackofa and passing it off as my own insight.

�Of course we could,� Inidar said. �If. Very big �if.� Huge �if.� In fact it�s so ��

He felt silent. He stared hard: Four globes, no clouds, as the old saying goes. Wormer and Aguella rotated and watched without even a pretense of disinterest.

What was I going to do? Pretend to fly away and tease some face-face with some strange female? I had to stay and wait. It was only polite.

I watched, waited along with them, as the Speaker drifted at a fuzzball�s pace to the pulpit. He was an oldster, his long quills more rust-red than clear. Speaker was a job for oldsters. They had the voices for it.

I didn�t want to be nervous. I was. My entire brand-new edifice of indifference was washed away in an updraft of desire. Get it over with! Get it over with, oldster, and let me get on with my newly serious life.

�Here are the announcements,� the Speaker said in a loud, carrying, professional voice.

�Violet and Pink Levels will begin cultivation of new spars. Each new spar will eventually grow eight yards, radial.�

We didn�t care. I didn�t, anyway. Maybe Aguella or Wormer did, they�re both Violets.

The Speaker went on. �There are seven days left before the Dance By of our own beloved home, with the Polar Orbit High Crystal. As most of you know, this is an event that takes place only once in every nineteen years. Free flights will be scheduled in half-intervals to allow the largest number of people to meet and mingle with our brothers and sisters of the Polar Orbit High.�

I shrugged. Well, that was something different, at least. A change of routine. A chance to meet strangers and make cross-connections. I wasn�t ready to propagate fortunately. So at least there�d be none of that pressure. None of us were old enough. Except maybe for Aguella.

I glanced at her, watching to see her reaction to the announcement. Was she blushing? What a strange thought to imagine Aguella becoming a dam. Disturbing somehow. She looked nothing at all like my dam. far younger, for one thing. Prettier.

Aguella had a seriousness that Inidar and Wormer and I lacked. She had more than the game going on in her life. She was very into passive sensor theory.

In fact, one of her designs had been incorporated (in modified form) into the sensor array of the EmCee.
�
Finally,� the Speaker said portentously.
�
Here it comes,� Wormer muttered.
�
I will announce the names of the nonessential crew chosen for the upcoming trip of the Mapping Crystal Quadrant Three. The names will be announced by level. From Pink Level: Pink Level, Seventy Spar, Yard One, Down-Messenger, Nine. Pink Level ��

�We could run a game before he gets to any of us,� Inidar grumbled.

The moment of high drama was rather undercut by the realization that we had a long wait ahead of us. And yet, we did not budge. There was some desultory conversation, but with always an ear cocked.

And then, �Violet Level, Two Spar, Main Branch, Left-Messenger, One hundred twenty-nine.�

Aguella gasped. For a long moment I had no idea why.

�Is that you?� I asked stupidly. I�m sure I�d known her formal name at some point but I�d long since forgotten it.

She nodded. She started to speak, then just nodded some more. She looked troubled more than elated. Almost worried.

I had no more time to be concerned with her strange reaction to good news. The Speaker had at long last reached Azure Level. Wormer sagged. Violet Level was done, and his name had not been called.

There were just seven names from Azure Level. My name was the fifth name spoken.

For a frozen moment of time my brain stopped synapsing. I stopped breathing. My wings faltered and I did a droop. �Did he say my name?� I whispered. �Forty-one, right? Not Thirty-one?�

Wormer did his best to be nice about it. He tried to breeze it. Maybe. Inidar did his best, too, but his best wasn�t great. He looked like a crasher, and I knew that anything I said to try and take away the hurt would just hurt him worse. Pity is never very comforting to the pitied.

But at some level their reactions were already irrelevant. I knew it, and so did they, sadly.

The four of us were now two and two. Wormer and Inidar would stay behind. Aguella and I would go.

Turns out Toomin didn't have to make something of himself after all. He's been picked for the mission.

Also, not many female gamers among the Ketrans. Fortunately, unlike among the Ketrans, there's no misogyny in gaming on earth.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 02:33

Comrade Blyatlov: Aug 4, 2007; should have picked four fingers

I've been happy to read along, but my excitement is peaking so I'm reading ahead. God, this book rules.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 02:41

Zore: Sep 21, 2010; willfully illiterate, aggressively miserable sourpuss whose sole raison d�etre is to put other people down for liking the wrong things

The Ketrans permanently plugged themselves into the crystal internet which feels like its a special circle of hell. Especially when you consider the only time they get to not be constantly spammed by various alerts and messages is a small break for free flying that most adults don't even bother with.

Feels a hell of a lot more relevant and prescient now than it did when the book was published

# ? Aug 23, 2022 02:52

Star Man: Jun 1, 2008; There's a star maaaaaan
Over the rainbow

If there's one thing I miss about the Internet from 2000, it was so much easier to just stay obscure and you could move on from things.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 03:12

Tree Bucket: Apr 1, 2016; R.I.P.idura leucophrys

I never got my hands on this book as a kid, but I suspect 11-year-old me would have worshipped it

e: also 19-year-old me with my supremely crappy retail job would've resented the image of individuals frantically flapping to keep society aloft in an ultimately wasteful and futile effort to etc etc

Tree Bucket fucked around with this message at 09:06 on Aug 23, 2022

# ? Aug 23, 2022 05:57

freebooter: Jul 7, 2009

quote:

There�s a natural affinity between gamers and planetary explorers.

In many ways, Toomin, gamers are really perfect for all professions

# ? Aug 23, 2022 08:54

Pwnstar: Dec 9, 2007; Who wants some waffles?

Lackofa: Hmm, instead of playing chess I would simply calculate all possible orientations of all pieces.
Toomin: This guy is a genius!

# ? Aug 23, 2022 12:41

Cythereal: Nov 8, 2009; I love the potoo,
and the potoo loves you.

I've never read this book, so I'm finding it very interesting. Most interesting world-building detail to me so far is that the official full names for these people are their addresses. That's one hell of a statement about Ketran society even before you learn about their floating crystal homes.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 14:40

rollick: Mar 20, 2009

I was wondering how long this book would be compared to the others, and found this chart on reddit:

A little longer than average, but basically the same as the other megamorphs/chronicles (those periodic spikes -- the longest mainline book is the first one)

The entire series is 1.5 million words long

rollick fucked around with this message at 15:30 on Aug 23, 2022

# ? Aug 23, 2022 15:26

disaster pastor: May 1, 2007

rollick posted:

I was wondering how long this book would be compared to the others, and found this chart on reddit:

A little longer than average, but basically the same as the other megamorphs/chronicles (those periodic spikes -- the longest mainline book is the first one)

The entire series is 1.5 million words long

Interesting. I had it in my head for some reason that this was the longest book after Andalite Chronicles, but no.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 15:34

rollick: Mar 20, 2009

This analysis was also linked in the reddit thread:

How many times "thermal" is said in the series

# ? Aug 23, 2022 15:48

Malpais Legate: Oct 1, 2014

I remember the copies of the other Megamorphs/Chronicles in my elementary school library being big hardbacks, and then the Ellimist Chronicles being a dinky little paperback the same size as the normal books. It made this one feel more approachable than the others.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 15:50

theCalamity: Oct 23, 2010; Cry Havoc and let slip the Hogs of War

I really liked the Ellimist Chronicles when I was younger. I read through it a couple of times initially and then whenever I wanted to read something but didn�t know what, I would go back to the Ellimist.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 17:22

feetnotes: Jan 29, 2008

rollick posted:

This analysis was also linked in the reddit thread:

How many times "thermal" is said in the series

This guy claims he checked all the chronicles and none of them mention thermals. I argue that this is totally in the spirit:

Toomin posted:

I caught a lovely baffle breeze and soared effortlessly upward, up and up past all of Azure Level, up to Violet Level and the scooped-out hollow of the perches.

It checks all the animorphs boxes: teenager with a destiny, cool aliens, soaring upward on thermals.

I read and reread this and Andalite Chronicles so many times, still love it.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 21:57

cptn_dr: Sep 7, 2011; Seven for beauty that blossoms and dies

Ellimist Chronicles and Visser were the only bonus books I didn't read as a kid, and when I came back to the series later on I was incredibly disappointed for Kid Me, he would have adored them.

# ? Aug 23, 2022 22:36

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

Chapter 4

quote:

I returned to my dock, barely making it in time. I clamped on and yelled up to Lackofa.

�Hey! Hey! Lackofa!�

He opened his eyes and favored me with his usual disapproving scowl. �What now?�

�I made it. I�m nonessential!�

�As nonessential as it is possible to be,� he said dryly.

�Very funny, Lackofa, but you don�t even have a faint chance of annoying me. Not today. I�m on the EmCee! We�ll be crew together. I�m going!�

�Oh that. Yes, I know.�

�How do you know? It can�t be on the uninet yet. There�s a mandated quarter-hour lag time for official announcements.�

The uninet was a relatively recent development, barely a hundred years old, and no one wanted to obsolete the Speakers and their traditions.

Lackofa closed his eyes. I accessed the uninet. No, the announcement wasn�t on yet. Wait, here it was, just coming up. I punched in and read my own name, my lovely, lovely name. I highlighted it in crimson letters and read it again.

A very fine name that looked very, very fine placed neatly near the bottom of the list. The sight of it filled me with profound satisfaction.

Then, I realized. �Hey, Lackofa. How did you know, if it�s just now coming on the net?�

No answer.

�You did it,� I accused. �You sponsored me.�

�Why would I do that?� he growled.

�Why would you do that?� I echoed with a different emphasis. �You don�t even like me. I�m a gamer. A losing gamer. I�m a hundred and seventy-ninth in the rankings, out of nine hundred and nine registered gamers in my set. Why me?�

Lackofa didn�t answer at first, but I guess he realized I wasn�t going to let him off the hook. He sighed again, grumbled inaudibly to himself for a moment, then, sounding like a person who is being forced to confess to a crime, said, �I have developed a morbid curiosity about your failures, Toomin. I�m a biologist so I have access to your DNA map. You are in fact one hundred and ninety-fourth in the rankings - your loss earlier has bumped you fifteen slots.�

�Ouch.�

�But in terms of pure analytical intelligence you are very near the peak.�

�I am?�

�Yes, and don�t play coy with me. You know you�re smarter than gamers who beat you regularly. You lose games you should win, not deliberately, but stubbornly. You�re playing the game at a different level. Not trying to win, trying to win with kindness. Altruism.�

I was embarrassed. Amazed that Lackofa had been paying attention to me at a level that I never suspected.

�Anyway,� Lackofa said. �We have any number of brilliant scientists, brilliant analysts, brilliant communicators, brilliant theoreticians, brilliant physicists, brilliant techs, and brilliant astronomers on board the MCQ3. I asked myself what we didn�t have, and the answer came to me. We had no brilliant losers. So, yes, I sponsored you. Now please shut up, I have work to do.�

He closed his eyes and shut me out, this time for real.

Brilliant loser? Was it possible to be simultaneously flattered and insulted?

Evidently.

A memm popped up, an invitation to a game from a gamer named Dryhad. I refused. This was not the time for a game. I had deep thoughts to think; plans to make; arrangements to arrange.

Didn�t I? Yes, absolutely. It was definitely not time for a game. First and foremost, I had to learn everything there was to learn about, MCQ3, about Zero-space engines, about Quadrant Three and its major star systems.

I accessed the data on MCQ3. The summary alone would take me a year to digest. No time for all that. Besides, I didn�t need the technical stuff, I just needed � well, for now I just needed the pictures.

Yes, yes, there she was. A true deep-space ship. My deep-space ship. My own personal MCQ3, I loved her already.

Brilliant loser?

At least I wouldn�t go aboard her unprepared, looking like some lost fool who couldn�t tell inner from outer. I was going to memorize every square inch of her.

So little time. Nineteen days. So much to do and no time at all. Practically no time at all.

Nineteen days!

Deep worms, it was going to seem like forever.

Here's to all the brilliant losers out there! About time we get represented.

Chapter 5

quote:

My mind was focused sharply, even obsessively, on the MCQ3 and its launch, but everyone else was more interested in the Dance By of Polar Orbit High. The Polars were Ketran, of course, just like us, but with a possibly different society. I say possibly because we only encountered them every nineteen years.

Naturally we had secondhand reports from the other crystals who�d encountered them and gone on to do a Dance By with us. Just last year we�d done the Dance with the Equatorial High Crystal Two, our sister crystal, and they�d had an encounter with Polar just three years before that.

Still, getting secondhand reports from three years before is not the way to understand a civilization. And in any case, some of what the Two�s had told us about the Polars was a bit strange.

For one thing the Polars supposedly were very involved in quill coloring. Not of itself a bad thing, I guess, but weird. I mean, you have the quills you�re born with, why would you want them to be green or whatever?

But more profound, the Polars were said to be making great strides in atmospheric communications. This, of course, would be a breakthrough of world-shattering proportions. If anyone could figure out how to punch a wave signal through the background radiation they�d be able to communicate crystal to crystal. We would no longer be a planet of thirty-two independent crystals; we�d have all thirty-two hooked up to a planetary uninet. I�d be able to play against gamers from entirely different crystals!

I�d be able to lose to people I might never actually see.

But maybe it was all just rumors. It�s one thing firing electrons through a crystal, it�s a very much harder thing to do it through the air.

The Dance By of the Polar Orbit High Crystal would not last long, only a few hours. Neither of us was willing to undergo the terrific exertions necessary to slow our momentum and then restart. So we�d have at best three hours where we could free fly across the divide. And individually we�d have
far less.

I was scheduled early when the distance was greatest. I was young. You wouldn�t expect the oldsters to want to free fly for half an hour only to have a ten-minute encounter.

The whole of society was excited. Me? Not so much. I had other things on my mind.

I was docked, gliding through a uninet sim of the MCQ3 for the twentieth time, when I heard a voice calling me from very close by. I opened my eyes and there was Aguella. She had come right to my spar.

�Ellimist. What are you doing?�

I blinked. �What?�

�It�s time. What, are you ignoring time cues? It�s time! The Dance By.�

�Oh. Right.� released my docking talons and peered southward. Polar had been in sight for most of a day now, but it had grown quite a bit larger in the last few hours. In fact my first thought was that we were going to intersect.

Aguella was grinning expectantly, waiting for something. Waiting for me to notice something. I frowned and returned my attention to Polar. Then I yelled.

�Hey!�

Aguella nodded. �Yeah.�

��They�ve gone asymmetrical. Look at that new growth.� The sphere, or what should have been a sphere, had a definite lump. The lump was only a tenth of the diameter, but way too large to be simply new growth awaiting a trim.

�Not asymmetrical,� Aguella said.�Or at least that�s not the end goal, I think. I may be wrong, but I suspect a pattern. You can�t see it from here, but I think they�re trying to flatten the sphere in all directions. I think this lump has a matching lump opposite.�

�Why would they ��

�Airfoil,� she said triumphantly. �The Polars are making an airfoil.�

For the first time in seven days I completely for got about MCQ3. An airfoil! It was something out of fiction. It was no surprise that a sphere was harder to keep lifted than an airfoil. The airfoil could fly into the prevailing breeze and actually derive lift.

It was the utopian�s answer to engines. Attaching engines to a crystal might destroy social cohesion, but an airfoil design would still require the people to lift. They would just have to lift a lot less. I once read that an efficient airfoil design would allow for half the people to be in free flight at
any given time.

�That would be so breezy if they did it,� Aguella said jealously. �I wonder if we�ll ever try.�

�Maybe,� I said doubtfully. I recalled to mind images of the Wise Ones in council. Half of them were so old they were more drag than lift. I was willing to bet some of them had dropped dead on the spot when they saw the Polar�s airfoil.

�Come on, let�s get going,� she urged.

We Four-Effed: flew free, fast, and furious. Not a moment to be lost. Aguella, being female, was faster than me, of course, but she restrained her impatience to allow me to keep up. I rode her wind, staying just behind her. This had the advantage of offering me a view that included both the amazing soon-to-be airfoil and Aguella herself. She had lovely pods.

Not the point, Toomin, I thought. Not really what you need to be thinking about right now.

Mones! She was spreading the mones for me!

For me? No, surely not Aguella could have any male she wanted. She was beautiful, well formed, sturdy, intelligent, funny, beautiful, very beautiful.

That was several too many �beautifuls,� I said to myself. It was true then: Aguella was spreading mones. And I was helpless in her slipstream.

I cut left, clear of her backwash. It slowed me down a bit but that was good. Anything to bring me clear air.

I sucked fresh air but it was almost too late. My quills were ticklish for sure. How could she do this? She was a fellow gamer! It was an outrage, and with the trip coming up, and the Dance By and� it was a low trick, that was for sure.

She had to have noticed my sudden, graceless exit. She had to know why I�d done it. Great, now she�d be angry at me, and I was so completely not in the frame of mind to be diplomatic and polite and play it breezy. My brain had crashed.

�Almost there,� she said. �Look!�

�What? Look at what?� I yelped.

�There are the first Polars, just ahead. They look to be about our age.�

�Yeah, well, we�re not exactly the same age, you know, Aguella.�

She laughed. It was a disturbing laugh. �We�re almost the same age, Toomin - physically. Now, psychologically �� She laughed again, a mocking, condescending, yet frighteningly intimate laugh.

I gulped and tried not to read anything into the fact that she had used my chosen name, not my game name. She always called me Ellimist. Never Toomin.

Oh, this was great. Oh, this was just great.

I ignored her joke, her laughter, and, as well as I could, the lingering mones. I focused on the Polars.

There were two or three hundred of them in the air, spread around in an irregular two-mile space. Much as we Equatorials were. Like two sparkling clouds of veiner pests.

I looked back and saw my own home crystal. It looked very old-fashioned now, dull, compared with the radical Polar design that was now undeniably visible as an eventual airfoil. It made me a little defensive, I guess. Our home was larger, older, and I thought, more beautifully colored. But the Polar was the future, and that crunched.

I searched the Polars themselves, looking for the artificially colored quills I�d heard about, but they seemed no different than us. They each had �2 plus 4 equals 4 plus 2 and no one the better,� as my pre-sire used to say: two pods, four wings, four eyes, and two arms.

Aguella and I picked out a pair of Polars who seemed willing to encounter us. They were about our age, both male. One had nice but natural yellow quills and ochre eyes. The other was more notable for his awkwardly large wings. We and they flew to intersection and floated at a polite distance.

�This is my friend Doffnall,� I said, introducing Aguella by her chosen name. �I am Toomin.�

�This is my friend Oxagast, and I am Menno,� said the large-winged one.

�Well encountered,� we all said simultaneously.

�You have a deep-space probe ready to launch!� Menno blurted.

He spoke at the very instant that I said, �You�re configuring an airfoil!�

We all four laughed and I at least felt more comfortable. Their curiosity matched ours, and we had something to boast of after all.

�Yes, it�s the Mapping Crystal Quadrant Three,� I said, then, without even a pretense of modesty added, �Doffnal and I are crew.�

�Essential crew?� Oxagast demanded.

Aguella laughed. �No, sorry, neither of us is a scientist. We�re just a couple of gamers who got lucky.� We chatted about gaming and about the possibility of developing a crystal-to-crystal uninet.

Menno seemed about to say something, had his mouth open, then closed it and forced a smile.

Oxagast�s open gaze went opaque.

�That would be great,� Oxagast said blandly.

Then Aguella brought up the airfoil design.

�Didn�t your Wise Ones resist the idea?� Aguella asked.

The two Polars exchanged a glance. �They did. So we took a vote.�

�A what?�

�We voted. Each of us was allowed to decide our position, yes or no, then we added up the totals. The airfoil design was approved by sixty-one per-cent of the votes cast.�

Aguella and I must have looked fairly shocked.

Menno smirked, nodding knowingly at our disturbed expressions. �We�ve made some changes in our society.�

�Some changes? Why?�

Menno waved his hand toward his home. �Because it was necessary. We can�t let the Wise Ones stop progress. Change is coming. Big changes. The people decide now. We�re just two years away from completing the airfoil. Our lives will never be the same.�

�No, I guess they won�t be,� I said. Was I upset or jealous or both? I was definitely disturbed. That much I knew.

Oxagast seemed less enthusiastic than his friend Menno. �The idea is that people will have so much more free time once the airfoil is operational, we�ll make huge leaps forward. That�s the idea, anyway.�

�Of course we will,� Menno said. �That MCQ3 of yours? No offense, but it will be a toy compared to what we will build. Polar Orbit High will lead the way, and others will follow. By the time you return from Three Quadrant, things will be very different.�

�Different isn�t always better,� I muttered. I was thinking of the Pangabans.

But Menno shot back. �You�re a gamer and you�re afraid of change? What games do you Equatorials play? Any game worth playing is about control. With voting and with the other changes that are coming we stop being the playing pieces, moved here and there by the Wise Ones. We all become the Wise Ones. We become the players instead of the played.�

�In any game scenario there�s a balance between change and stability,� I argued. �The game - at least the way we play it - is to make the slightest, most unobtrusive change - and achieve the desired result.�

�Much the same with us,� Oxagast agreed. �Only lately some gamers,� he inclined his head toward Menno, �some gamers are looking to change the rules.�

�We call ourselves Intruders,� Menno said with a self-conscious laugh. �We�re getting a little more radical. Why minimalism? Why marginal changes? Why not get inside the game, stick ourselves right into the action, and take over? See what I mean? Why should the gamer be invisible in the game? Intrude!�

I got a time cue. Time to head back. Too little time, and yet I was relieved.

�Well encountered,� I said a little too hastily.

Aguella and Oxagast echoed the farewell. But Menno rudely met my gaze and said, �Don�t be afraid of change, Equatorial. It�s coming, whether you like it or not.� Then, to my utter amazement, he clasped his hands together tightly and yelled the single word, �Intrude!� It wasn�t a greeting or a farewell, it was a statement of belief. It was a challenge.

Aguella had said very little during the encounter, but on the way back she would scarcely shut up.

�He�s right,� she said. �Look what they�ve done! Airfoil. Why? They changed the rules, didn�t they? Same thing in the game, they changed the rules.�
�Yeah, well, he didn�t exactly mention whether he won a lot of games,� I pointed out.

�Maybe someday we�ll be able to play against them,� Aguella said.

�Maybe sooner than you think,� I said, remembering the Polars� strange, constrained looks when I mentioned crystal-to-crystal communication.

Had the Polars solved that problem? That would be a true revolution, far more profound even than replacing the government of the Wise Ones.

Of course their transmission would be pretty pointless until other crystals had receivers. Otherwise they�d be a voice crying in the wind, unheard.

So I thought, and comforted myself with that illusion.

So the Polars are radicals.

# ? Aug 24, 2022 02:27

Fuschia tude: Dec 26, 2004; THUNDERDOME LOSER 2019

Epicurius posted:

Chapter 4

Here's to all the brilliant losers out there! About time we get represented.

Chapter 5

So the Polars are radicals.

I gotta say this book's horny alien rate is way higher than I was expecting

# ? Aug 24, 2022 07:37

cptn_dr: Sep 7, 2011; Seven for beauty that blossoms and dies

Epicurius posted:

Chapter 4

Here's to all the brilliant losers out there! About time we get represented.

Very disturbed to learn Space God is a goon

# ? Aug 24, 2022 07:58

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

Sorry, everybody. Space flight is going to wait until tomorrow.

Would you all want to play one of Toomin's games? Sort of a minimalist Spore?

# ? Aug 25, 2022 03:21

Zore: Sep 21, 2010; willfully illiterate, aggressively miserable sourpuss whose sole raison d�etre is to put other people down for liking the wrong things

Yeah, I think the games are a really cool and evocative idea. I'd definitely be down for it but I can't imagine it ever being popular.

# ? Aug 25, 2022 03:30

Comrade Blyatlov: Aug 4, 2007; should have picked four fingers

Zore posted:

Yeah, I think the games are a really cool and evocative idea. I'd definitely be down for it but I can't imagine it ever being popular.

Fite me

# ? Aug 25, 2022 03:34

Tree Bucket: Apr 1, 2016; R.I.P.idura leucophrys

Comrade Blyatlov posted:

Fite me

Ok. Let me just decrease Mercury's rotation rate by 10%, and.... haHA!!

# ? Aug 25, 2022 03:37

Comrade Blyatlov: Aug 4, 2007; should have picked four fingers

Tree Bucket posted:

Ok. Let me just decrease Mercury's rotation rate by 10%, and.... haHA!!

Pffff amateur hour

I'm increasing Jupiter's gravity by 50%, enjoy frying in your new binary system

# ? Aug 25, 2022 03:43

Tree Bucket: Apr 1, 2016; R.I.P.idura leucophrys

Comrade Blyatlov posted:

Pffff amateur hour

I'm increasing Jupiter's gravity by 50%, enjoy frying in your new binary system

Fool. All you've done is made the survivors genetically resistant to radiation.
In three billion years, those anaerobic bacteria are gonna metabolise the HECK out of any sulfur you've got laying around.

# ? Aug 25, 2022 03:47

Zore: Sep 21, 2010; willfully illiterate, aggressively miserable sourpuss whose sole raison d�etre is to put other people down for liking the wrong things

Look all I'm saying is that we'd have our versions of Menno immediately get the game changed to that to chase popularity

# ? Aug 25, 2022 04:08

WrightOfWay: Jul 24, 2010

Yeah, the games aren't exactly super interactive. It seems like you just do one thing at the beginning and fast forward millions or billions of years to see how it turns out. I can't see it getting a big competitive audience, but it's probably fun to mess around with for a while.

# ? Aug 25, 2022 05:02

Strategic Tea: Sep 1, 2012

Man Spore was so disappointing :smith:

# ? Aug 25, 2022 12:26

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 23, 2024 09:50

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

Chapter 6

quote:

The next day, with the Polar Orbit High long gone from sight, I went aboard the MCQ3 for the first time.

There are sims and then there is reality. And let me say that no sim, no matter how good, matches reality. The problem with a sim is that you know it�s a sim. Reality on the other hand, well, it�s real.
L
ackofa, as my sponsor, was my tour guide. Aguella had been chosen by the usual process, so she was sponsorless, and thus had both a disadvantage and an advantage.

The disadvantage was that she had no one to go to for answers. So she stayed hung with me, which was nice. The advantage she had was that she didn�t have to worry about embarrassing her sponsor.

Lackofa�s welcoming words to me were, �Just try not to be a complete idiot, okay? That�s all I ask.�

The MCQ3 was built along fairly standard lines. She was a single-hue cultivated crystal, ovoid rather than spherical. There was dockage for one hundred and four crew - essential and supernumerary. But of course no one provided lift. We could lift if that familiar motion made us feel more comfortable, but lift was irrelevant, unnecessary. A small taste, I suppose, of what an airfoil world would be like.

The MCQ3 existed within a force field that contained an atmosphere and would, we hoped, deflect most space debris. Should the force field ever fail we would lose our atmosphere. The backup system was a maze of pipes buried within the spars and masts that delivered breathable air to each dock.

�You simply pull the tube extension from the collar, thus,� Lackofa demonstrated. �And you place it into your airhole, thus. Then breathe normally until the force field comes back up, or until you freeze to death, whichever comes first�

�What if we�re not docked?� Aguella asked. �What if we�re in one of the perches?�

�There are emergency accesses there,� Lackofa said. �Good question. You�re thinking ahead.�

That made me open my eyes a bit. Was Lackofa looking for some face-face with Aguella? She wasn�t moning again, was she? No, I would notice that.

I shook the sense memory out of my intakes and ruffled my wings to put it behind me. Didn�t work. Other guys will warn you about being moned; what they don�t talk about is how long the effect lasts.

�What if we�re flying through Zero-space when the force field fails?� I asked.

Lackofa favored me with a withering glare. �We would drop instantly out of Z-space and appear back in normal space, where you would once again breathe through the tube or freeze to death. Oh, and by the way? It�s hard to fly in a vacuum. So if we lose atmosphere you�ll want to be docked.�

I had a flash of myself beating my wings helplessly, futilely in space while the MCQ3 zoomed away toward some distant star.

Well, no one ever said space travel was safe. Generation 9561 claimed to have lost nearly ten percent of Generation 9547, the first Generationals to attempt space, travel, and six percent of Generation 9548. Even as recently as 9558 they were losing substantial numbers in space related accidents.

Then again, individual Generationals die pretty easily. It�s kind of what they do. Corporate lifeforms just don�t put up much of a fight over every interchangeable member.

�Follow me, stay close, don�t touch anything,� Lackofa instructed. He flew upward and we fell in place behind him. Up and up through byzantine, unfamiliar spars, past dockages, some that were still being installed and polished.

He led us to a perch like nothing I�d ever seen before - not even in the sim. It was a tipped bowl
perhaps fifty feet across, all filled with blinking lights, readouts, and video displays. All of it constructed of metals and carbon filament and flat-crys. It was faintly claustrophobic, all that opaqueness wrapped around you.

�What is this?� I wondered. �It�s not in the sim!�

�No,� Lackofa said. �This is the backup command center. In case of catastrophic damage to the core crystal, these machines can be used to continue flying the vessel.�

�How?�

�This unit is self-contained. You can�t see it but it has its own engines, generates its own force field. In the case of catastrophic damage to the crystal itself, this pod can detach, break free, and keep flying.�

�Without � without most of the crew,� I said, unwilling to believe anything so monstrous. �And it�s not in the sims.�

Lackofa�s eyes were hard. �No, it�s not in the sims. And it won�t be on the uninet at all. You need to understand something: This isn�t your old life. This trip is a little more than an innocent scientific excursion. And it�s definitely not a game.�

His tone sent a shiver through me. Aguella and I exchanged significant looks. We were keeping station outside the hard-edged, darkened perch. Floating far above our home crystal, well within home air. But all of a sudden I knew we had crossed over a boundary.

�What�s out there?� I asked Lackofa.

He shook his head slowly. �We don�t know for sure. But two years ago a vessel of unknown origin. popped out of Z-space just a million miles from us and lit up our orbital sensors. The droppods are released only once every six months as you know, to prolong the life of the sensors. But by good luck we discovered the ship just two months after it emerged. We sent a drone out to intercept and survey. The drone never returned. Two months later we got the answer from another sensor�s drop-pod. The alien vessel had fired on our drone and destroyed it using some sort of high-energy beam weapon. There were no life signs aboard the ship. It had been programmed to defend itself, I suppose. We modified a drone with a defensive force field and faster engine and sent it back to intercept the alien vessel again.

�This time we got lucky. The alien craft fired at the drone but before it could adjust to the defensive system, the drone had glue-docked to the alien vessel and was draining its computer of data.

�Just one problem: As the drone detached for reentry, the vessel fired again and damaged the drone. We recovered it but were only able to save a part of the data.�

�How much do we know?� Aguella demanded.

Lackofa hesitated. Then, �You two understand this clearly, I hope: None of this ever becomes known to the people at large. I mean that on penalty of closure.� He repeated it slowly, deliberately. �On penalty of closure.�

That rocked me. Closure? For revealing a secret? They would undock me? Cut me off to free fly till I died of starvation and loneliness and finally augered into the lava fields below?
�
Every alien race we�ve encountered has been benign,� Lackofa said. �But this race, the race that built this ghost ship, was not. The evidence is that they respond with extreme violence to even the slightest provocation. Extreme violence. They call themselves Capasins. Since the ship emerged from the direction of Quadrant Three, we assume the Capasin planet is there. The mission of the MCQ3 is to contact this race and attempt to reach terms of peace.�

�What if these Capasins are not interested in peace?� Aguella asked.

Lackofa smirked. �Then we�ll hope to get home with enough information to allow us to meet the challenge. One thing we know: The Capasins don�t know we exist. If we meet them we will keep our location strictly secret. Sometimes,� he added thoughtfully, �the things that seem to be problems are actually blessings in disguise.�

�What are you talking about?�

�Generation 9561�s home planet has such low background radiation that they communicate regularly through transmission and reception of radio waves. Those waves propagate, you know.� He waved his hand vaguely skyward. �Generational waves spreading endlessly through space. Who knows who will receive and perhaps comprehend those transmissions? Who knows what attention the Generationals may already have attracted. We, on the other hand, remain invisible to the galaxy. Maybe not such a bad thing.�

So, that's the ship, and the mission. Much more dangerous that everyone was led to believe. You think it's a coincidence that the violent aliens are called Capasins, given that capsaicin is the substance in chilis that make them spicy?

Chapter 7

quote:

Within three weeks I knew the actual MCQ3 as well as I knew the sim. I knew every mast, every spar, every perch, every backup system. I even knew the engines, as well as anyone can know a Zspace engine.

I had met many more crew members, essential and non. I�d even been introduced to one of the three Wise Ones who would be commanding. He was a grim oldster who managed to grunt indifferently at me before going back to his work.

I spent every free flight on the vessel. And my free-flight time had been tripled. (We were days away from launch and I�d already been discounted as a lift factor.)

I had very little time for gaming and I�m afraid that Inidar resented that. Our old relationship was strained now. Not just because I couldn�t play, but because of why I couldn�t play.

We kept exchanging memms, talking about scheduling games, but they never happened.

Instead, I saw a lot of Aguella. I kept waiting for her to mone me again, but to my great relief it never happened. Very relieved. Although I kind of wondered why she didn�t. Had I done something wrong? Was it the way I�d reacted? Basically like a panicky juvie?

Didn�t matter. There was no place for that kind of thing on a vital and dangerous deep-space mission.

Just would have liked to know why, that�s all. And I got a hint as the two of us were assisting in the installation of the last few docks.

It was the two of us, and a female with the chosen name of Jicklet. Jicklet was essential crew - fifth technician. She knew what she was doing but unlike lots of people who are experts, she wasn�t impatient with our relative stupidity.

�It�s the whole point of nonessential crew,� she explained, tightening a collar down till the adhesive oozed. �You�re here to learn a little of everything. That way we�ll always have backup. Okay, now you, Toomik, use the scrape-saw to slice off the excess glue.�

�It�s Toomin.�

�Yeah, whatever you say, Toomid. Careful. Leave a bead.�

I sliced the already half-dry adhesive, carefully leaving an eighth-inch bead. I was less successful at cupping the curling excess into the slop pit.

�You have to be careful not to drop any,� Jicklet said. �We�re right above the engines. You don�t want to be down there in an en-suit burning it off the pods. There you go. Good work. Now polish it down and give me a yell when you�re ready for me to look it over.�

She beat wing and elevated to the other pair of amateurs she was supervising. Aguella and I shared a sigh of relief that she was gone.

And then Equatorial High Crystal blew apart.

A hammer blow on my head. Wings snapped back by the concussion. Spinning. Fire, fire everywhere!

One second I was working and grinning at Aguella, and in the next instant my ears were bleeding, my eyes swimming. My mind was a mess of shattered bits and pieces.

What was happening?

I was cut in a dozen places by flying shards. A six-inch spike of crystal was lodged in my left pod. I pulled it out, yelling and crying and falling through the air as l did so.

What was happening?

Aguella - where was she? Nothing I saw made sense. Debris still flying all around me, falling away now, but twirling and glittering as it fell.

The MCQ3 still held station. Where was Aguella?

�Aguella! Aguella!�

I heard a moan, barely audible past the ringing in my ears. I looked up and saw her. She was using her talons to cling to an unpolished bit of spar.

And then it happened again. And this time I saw it. I looked up at my friend, at the streams of dull, burnt-orange blood coming from her face. But past her, above the MCQ3, up through the masts and sparse saw the raked cylinders, the arched neck, the dagger points of an alien ship. It cruised slowly through the atmosphere, taking its time. Nothing like a Generational or Illaman ship. Nothing like anything I�d seen or imagined.

It seemed to circle slowly around my home crystal, watching, waiting, and then it fired again. A beam of energy, pale red. The beam lanced down into the core of my home crystal, my poor damaged home. This time I expected the concussion as overheated crystal exploded, blew apart.

My world dropped, fell away. It was in two pieces now. A fragment equal to a third of the whole spun, spiraled down. Wings beat frantically but the balance was lost. And too many wings would never beat again.

The remnant of Equatorial High Crystal was scarred and burned. Ends broken off. Jagged and rough. But it still maintained lift. I could see thousands of my brothers and sisters, all straining, all lifting together. Free flyers were rushing to dock anywhere they could, anywhere to provide lift.

But the alien ship wasn�t done with its work. This time no beam weapon. This time it sprayed a cloud of flechettes. Small, so small they could barely be seen with the naked eye, millions of tiny shredding metal hooks. The sound was like a volcano blowing. The flechettes sprayed for five seconds, no more, but at the end of that time every unshielded Ketran was torn apart. The entire crystal might have been dipped in blood.

The bodies began to fall away. The crystal itself began to fall. Straight down, down, and gathering speed, with no one left to hold it up any longer. It would take a long time to fall three hundred miles.

Want to bet these are the Capasins?

# ? Aug 26, 2022 02:20

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > Let's Read Animorphs! The Whole Series! Ch-ch-ch-chaaanges

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