The Garatron Chronicles

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Qoheleth
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The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Qoheleth » Mon Apr 06, 2009 8:50 am

Disclaimer: Me Qoheleth. She Applegate. She own Animorphs. Me no own Animorphs.
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Prologos

My name is Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.

To a human, that probably does not sound like a name at all. Humans have many different kinds of names, but none like Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill. I am aware of this, but it is nonetheless my name – because I am not a human.

I am an Andalite. I am the only Andalite on Earth, unless you count War-Prince Alloran-Semitur-Corrass. And it is difficult to count him, because he is no longer his own Andalite, but the host of Visser Three.

Visser Three is a Yeerk. He is not the only Yeerk on Earth, though it would be well for Earth if he was, for the Yeerks do not have Earth’s best interest at heart. They are a vile race of parasitic worms, who exist only to control and enslave other races.

They have conquered the Gedds and the Hork-Bajir. They have persuaded the Taxxons to surrender themselves to them. They have for some time been slowly infiltrating the human race, attempting to corrupt it from within.

And, this morning, it became clear that they have moved against another species.

You see, this morning I and four of the young humans who fight the Yeerks with me moved against Visser Three in his feeding place. Since he infests an Andalite, he must eat as we do, and when he eats, he is vulnerable.

It was supposed to be a simple assassination. But we were prevented by the Visser’s personal guard – and by something else. A small, Andalite-like creature that could move almost faster than thought.

It was a Yeerk. A candidate for the Yeerks’ all-powerful Council of Thirteen, in fact. It described its host body as the newest of the Yeerks’ host species. And it gave it a name.

Garatron.

My human friends did not know what that meant, of course. They noticed that the creature looked very like an Andalite, but they did not worry very much about it. What concerned them was whether we could use the Council candidate to discredit Visser Three in the eyes of the Yeerk Empire – and, if so, whom we should choose to lead that mission, since our usual leader was not with us.

These things concerned me as well, of course. They did not, however, concern me nearly so much as the sight of that Garatron-Controller.

For thousands of years, Andalite parents had been urging their children to study the sciences «because we must be ready when the Garatrons return». Well, now the Garatrons had returned – and they were under the control of the Yeerks.

If the Yeerks could conquer the Garatrons – the Misborn – the bogeymen that had haunted Andalite nightmares for millennia…

Well, suffice it to say that I was disturbed. Disturbed enough, that evening, to forget the words to a ritual that I had performed a thousand times.

<From the rising of the sun to the setting, to its rising again,» I said, «I place what is sweet to… no, I place what is hard to remember with what is… no…>

<We place what is hard to endure with what is sweet to remember,> said a voice. I turned an eyestalk, and saw my friend Tobias alighting on a branch behind me.

<Ah, yes,> I said. <Thank you, Tobias. We place what is hard to endure with what is sweet to remember, and we find peace.>

<Amen,> said Tobias.

The two of us stood for a moment in silence, watching the last rays of Earth’s sun sink below the horizon. Then Tobias spoke.

<So, Ax,> he said, <what’s the deal with these Garatrons?>

I froze. <I beg your pardon?>

<Come on, Ax-man,> said Tobias. <Maybe you can fool the others, but you can’t fool me. When Marco asked if there was a relationship between Garatrons and Andalites, that wasn’t offense I saw on your face; that was terror.>

<Terror?> I said, attempting to laugh. <Why should I be terrified of the Garatrons?>

<I don’t know,> said Tobias. <Why don’t you tell me?>

He stared at me, and I felt myself begin to weaken. Tobias is what we Andalites call a nothlit: one who has spent more than two hours in the form of another species, and can no longer return to his natural form. In his case, the species is a kind of Earthly bird known as a red-tailed hawk – and one of the characteristics of red-tailed hawks is that their eyes are more penetrating than the eyes of nearly any other animal I know of. When a red-tailed hawk stares at you, you must be a much stronger person than I am to preserve your equanimity.

<Very well,> I said after sixteen seconds had elapsed. <I will tell you.>

And I told him everything I knew about the Garatrons. But then something unusual happened: after a while, I began to tell him things about the Garatrons that I did not know – that no Andalite, perhaps, had ever learned before.

How I came by this knowledge, I do not know. But I have set it down here, all the same, in hopes that someday some Andalite, or perhaps some human, will find it and learn from it, and be a little wiser for it in the end.

I have not, of course, set it down in the order that I told it to Tobias. To him it came out piece by piece, in response to a question he asked, or as an afterthought comment related to something else I had said. Here I have told it in the order that it happened – beginning in the Andalite year -14.7, as an Andalite scientist was performing a revolutionary experiment.
Last edited by Qoheleth on Tue Jun 08, 2010 9:41 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by capnnerefir » Mon Apr 06, 2009 12:42 pm

First: glad you decided to join us. :mrgreen:

Second (and far more importantly): You've captured my interest. Or should I say recaptured it. I read the first bit of this on FFN, but real life caught up with me and I fell out of the habit. I'm glad to have the chance to join in again; and I'm glad someone's telling the story of the Garatrons and why they look so much like Andalites. *assumes listening position*

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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Elfangor » Mon Apr 06, 2009 2:49 pm

Well when i saw this thread i was wondering if i could even be bothered reading it. but I'm glad i did its awesome!!!
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And you never put the safety on
And you all have plans,
To take it



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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Ellimist » Mon Apr 06, 2009 8:56 pm

This is indeed very interesting. Looking forward to the next part. :)
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Qoheleth » Wed Apr 08, 2009 4:33 pm

Prologos Deuteros

<I fail to see what you intend to prove, Scholar Falkrith,> said Nimavar-Povis-Alkati, Head of Science and Technology for the Andalite High Council. <It has repeatedly been mathematically demonstrated that matter cannot be transmitted through Zero-space.>

Falkrith-Ispadagar-Konin rolled all four of his eyes, as though despairing of ever making his fellow Andalites see reason. <Mathematically demonstrated, Master Nimavar?> he said. <How can a scientific fact ever be mathematically demonstrated? Sessagal-Junhyb-Eteri did not develop the theory of gravitation by writing "Gm1m2/r2" on a blackboard; she developed it by dropping weights from high places, and studying the motions of the moons. She did it, in short, by observing the universe – which is the only way to truly make any scientific discovery.>

<In an ideal world, that may well be true, Scholar Falkrith,> said Nimavar patiently, <but it seems somewhat impractical in this case. After all, a four-dimensional being can never directly perceive Zero-space.>

<Of course not,> said Falkrith, <but we can observe its effects on the universe we do know. We can measure the changes in the photons and neutrinos we send through low-level Z-space loops; we can examine the quantum nature of the light coming from QSO-1135; and then we can determine whether the reality affecting them is more like the non-dimensional singularity of a cone or the multi-dimensional "blossom" surrounding a volip particle.>

Nimavar nodded. <Yes, yes, Scholar Falkrith,> he said. <I am familiar with all the arguments you made in your paper. I confess, however, that they have as yet failed to convince me.>

<So I was told, Master Nimavar,> said Falkrith. <I can only hope that, when you see the thing actually occurring, you will find it rather more persuasive.>

Nimavar sighed. <Well, then, proceed,> he said. <Let me warn you, however, that, should your experiment fail, I will personally see to it that you will never have the opportunity to perform another.>

Falkrith cocked his head. <I had not realized that you harbored such a dislike for me, Master Nimavar,> he said.

<Nor did I,> said Nimavar, <until you called me away from my daughter’s wedding ceremony to witness a scientific impossibility.>

<Ah,> said Falkrith with a smile. <Well, perhaps if we hurry, you can present her with the first object to travel through Z-space as a wedding token. Now, then, would you care to examine the apparatus?>

Nimavar glanced at the mechanical monstrosity suspended over the river, and frowned. <That is your apparatus?> he said.

<It is,> said Falkrith.

<May I ask why it is obstructing the flow of a major waterway?>

Falkrith frowned, and seemed uncertain for the first time during the interview. <Yes, I was concerned about that also,> he said, <but the nature of the reactions involved required a fairly rapid cooling system, and the Ilarda was the only nearby river that flowed swiftly enough.>

<I see,> said Nimavar. <And you believe, of course, that the discovery that you are certain you will make is more important than whether several hundred Andalites living alongside the Ilarda have clean water for the next few weeks – to say nothing of the therant and quilfin trees.>

<Yes, Master Nimavar,> said Falkrith, <that is precisely my belief.>

<Has anyone ever told you, Scholar Falkrith,> said Nimavar, <that you are a hubristic fool who should never have been allowed to receive Council funding?>

<Oh, yes,> said Falkrith. <You, my sister, my old physics teacher, approximately one colleague every week…>

Nimavar stamped his right hind hoof in his trademark gesture of impatience. <Enough of this,> he said. <Demonstrate your machine, Scholar Falkrith.>

<Gladly, Master Nimavar,> said Falkrith. <If you will keep your stalk eyes focused on the palladium cube atop the transmitter pyramid, and your main eyes on my hands…>

With practiced speed, he guided his fourteen fingers through an elaborate series of motions on the computer terminal resting on the riverbank. The apparatus began to whir and hum, and a large, crystalline pyramid, on which rested a shining, gray-white cube, began to glow with a piercing white light.

Falkrith leaped from the riverside and handed Nimavar a pair of concave lenses made from blue glass. <Don these optic shields and shut your main eyes, Master Nimavar,> he said. <The transmitter pyramid will soon become too bright to safely view unprotected.>

Nimavar complied, and the landscape took on a subdued lapis tone in his eyes – all save the crystalline pyramid, which retained much the same piercing whiteness it had had before. Whatever muting of its light had been accomplished by the shields was negated by the rapidity with which it was gaining in luminous intensity.

<In approximately 7.3 seconds,> said Falkrith, <the portal will open and transport the cube to the receptacle pyramid. The process will take less than three-thousandths of a second, so do not avert your eyes.>

This was easier said than done. The glowing pyramid was now so bright that it was physically painful to look at it, even with the optic shields. Nonetheless, Nimavar forced his stalk eyes to focus on it; if there was trickery involved in this demonstration, he wanted to see it at work, and if there wasn’t, he scarcely wanted to go down in history as the Andalite who looked away during the first demonstration of Z-space mass transfer.

Then, for the briefest instant, he thought he saw a ripple in the air just above the pyramid – "an archway of nothingness", as he would famously describe it in a letter to Kirath-Monessim-Shapeel some days later. At the same moment, the palladium cube gave off a peculiar shimmer and disappeared – only to reappear, an instant later, on the somewhat smaller pyramid at the other end of the apparatus.

That was all. The glow of the transmitter pyramid faded into nothingness, the rumble of the machinery slowed to a halt, and Nimavar-Povis-Alkati, Head of Science and Technology for the High Andalite Council, ripped the optic shields from his stalk eyes and stared at Falkrith-Ispadagar-Konin as a child stares at a magician. <How did you do that, Scholar Falkrith?> he breathed.

<Through an application of special harmonics on the fifth-inversal sub-space level,> said Falkrith dryly. <Did you not read my paper, Master Nimavar?>

<But, by the Bodiless Powers, man,> said Nimavar, <this means the end of the lunar barrier. This means an Andalite race that can extend itself across the stars. This means…>

<A great deal for every person on this planet,> Falkrith agreed. <You see now, I trust, why I judged it worth your while to call you away from your daughter’s wedding ceremony so that you could see it.>

Nimavar bowed his head. <My apologies, Scholar Falkrith,> he said. <I should not have made such a to-do over your request. It was merely that I am an old man, and that she is my only child.> He sighed. <You, who have never had a daughter, cannot fully understand – but I would almost rather that the Andalite race should never leave this world than that Ethalan should be disappointed today.>

Falkrith, indeed, did not understand this. Though he was capable of heroic passion where his work was concerned, in the area of ordinary affection he was as ignorant as any human sociopath, and the notion that some young female’s marriage festivities were more important than the exploration of the universe (for so he understood Nimavar to be suggesting) seemed to him supremely contemptible. Andalite courtesy, however, prevented him from expressing this idea in thought-speak; he said, instead, <A noble sentiment, Master Nimavar. Indeed, there is little point in preparing a glorious future for the race if the race itself were to have no future – and therefore the reproductive union that your daughter is accomplishing is as important as anything we have done beside this river today.>

<Yes,> said Nimavar slowly, his tone suggesting that that was not quite what he had meant. <And since you value that… ah… reproductive union so highly, perhaps you would do me the honor of accompanying me when I return?>

<I would be honored, Master Nimavar,> said Falkrith.

He trotted over to his mechanism and removed the palladium cube from the receptacle pyramid, and the two of them turned and followed the Ilarda’s current towards the ceremonial space – oblivious to the invisible, matter-contorting residuum that was leeching off the mechanism and mixing itself with the river’s water.
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The wedding of Ethalan-Povis-Tilagren, daughter of the Andalite High Council’s Head of Science and Technology, to the young botanist Hilanal-Sitek-Parshini was, unsurprisingly, a rigidly formal affair. (If any error, or any abbreviation, was made in the ancient ritual, this would have been leaped upon by Nimavar’s rivals as an indication of a slipshod or imprecise temperament – and, while this could have been overlooked in the political or artistic departments of the Council, it would have indelibly marred a Head of Science’s reputation.) Since a formal Andalite wedding is nearly three hours long, and since Andalites do not like to stay still for extended periods of time, this meant that the crowd of idle sensation-hunters had greatly dwindled by the time the ceremony reached its central moment: the mutual dipping of hooves into the water.

<Our destinies are intertwined, as the leaves of an alaksha,> said Hilanal, pressing his right hand to Ethalan’s left.

<Our blood is to be mingled, as the waters of the Ree and the Sikarfa,> said Ethalan, pressing her right hand to Hilanal’s left in turn.

<Henceforth,> said Hilanal, <our eight hooves shall be as four; they shall tread the same paths, mark the same sethlars, (1) and drink from the same streams, till the both of us have departed from life.>

The two of them touched their forehooves to each other, then turned and dipped their hooves into the swift-flowing river. Ethalan let out a little sigh of pleasure as she felt the waters of the Ilarda flow through her leg, cold and bracing, sealing the bond between herself and her beloved – and, she thought with a slight pang of shame, legitimizing the young Andalite growing inside her.

For there was one respect in which the wedding of Ethalan and Hilanal deviated from custom. Typically, Andalite weddings were held on the first day of the mating season, but the exigencies of Nimavar’s duties had made a three-day delay necessary if he was to attend. Ethalan and Hilanal, who had never been in close contact during mating time, had taken unfortunate advantage of this delay – and, when Ethalan had performed her routine medical scan that morning, she had learned that their union had borne fruit.

She had told no-one, not even Hilanal or her father, and she did not expect that they would ever learn. After all, even the most observant gossip would think nothing of a pregnancy thirteen months and thirty-three days long, rather than the usual fourteen months of an Andalite gestation period.

She had no notion of how her brief drink from the river Ilarda would affect her child.

Nor did she begin to conceive how that child, and a few dozen others like him, would one day change the course of Andalite history forever.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(1)

<Mark the same what?> said Tobias.

<
Sethlars,> said Ax. <At that time in history, an Andalite warrior would signal triumph over a fallen enemy by dipping his hoof in the enemy's blood and leaving a bloody hoofprint, called a sethlar, on his forehead. The implication in the wedding ritual is that the groom's enemies and the bride's have become the same.>

<Ah.>
Last edited by Qoheleth on Sun Apr 18, 2010 10:38 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Elfangor » Wed Apr 08, 2009 10:04 pm

This is awesome i cant wait for the next chapter.
You all have guns
And you never put the safety on
And you all have plans,
To take it



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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Ellimist » Wed Apr 08, 2009 10:55 pm

I'd agree with Elfy; this is totally awesome! Keep it coming.
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Dr Sario » Sun Apr 19, 2009 5:47 am

<3 More, please!
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Qoheleth » Tue Apr 21, 2009 6:55 am

Chapter 1

My name was Garatron-Sitek-Shaveer.

When I was born, my mother screamed.

I cannot blame her. Andalites do not use sonograms, although they have the technology – they believe that the growth of an infant in the womb is among those things that ought to remain hidden – and so she had no way of knowing that she was giving birth to a monster.

Not that I was some sort of huge, six-legged beast, like the prehistoric behemoths that my grandfather used to dig up. Indeed, by the standards of Andalite newborns, I was quite small: only about five and a half pounds, and mostly legs. But my face was squashed outwards, as though it had grown into an illsipar bowl; my eyestalks were fused into a single, immobile growth that stared uselessly out the back of my head; my chest was absurdly inflated, while my legs were half again as long as my body type warranted; and, perhaps most disturbing of all, my tail had no blade. I was a grotesque, dwarfish parody of the true Andalite form.

Nor was I alone. In the months following my birth, over five dozen similar misbirths were reported to the Andalite High Council. All the mothers were females who either lived along the Ilarda River or had visited it early in their gestations. When my grandfather discovered this, he was furious, both with my mother and with Scholar Falkrith-Ispadagar-Konin.

<It must have been his experiment,> he said, pacing up and down my parents’ scoop on the Island beyond the Warm Current. <His accursed Z-space transmitter – why didn’t he check for the possibility of matter-destabilizing byproducts? Any fool could see that that was bound to be a risk in that kind of reaction…>

<You mean Scholar Falkrith’s Z-space demonstration tainted the river?> said my mother.

<Of course,> said my grandfather. <Releasing, I would guess, over three million kass particles into the most frequented waterway in the world. The bloody fool, if he ever asks the Science and Technology Sub-Council for another lirit in funds…>

<But, if the water was contaminated,> said my father, <why were Ethalan and I unaffected? Oughtn’t our bodies to have been misshapen just as Garatron’s was?>

<Hilanal,> my grandfather snapped, <please attempt to think logically about this. When you and Ethalan dipped your hooves into the Ilarda, you couldn’t have absorbed more than a few thousand particles, each scarcely a fermi across. Even granting the reality-warping potency of the kass particle, an amount of that size could hardly have done more than distort a few cells. But, if there happened to be an organism living within one of you that only amounted, at that time, to a few cells… you follow me?>

My father dropped his tail in shame. <Yes, I see,> he said.

<Yes,> said my grandfather. <And now you also see, I trust, why I have every right to invite you outside and challenge you to a tail-fight to the death. If I had known, fourteen months ago, that I was giving my daughter to the sort of Andalite who takes advantage of young females before being lawfully wedded…>

<Oh, father, don’t be harsh with Hilanal,> my mother pleaded. <We were both at fault, and I probably more than he. If you must have blood for this act, take mine.>

She knelt and exposed her throat to my grandfather’s tail-blade, and my grandfather’s eyes softened. <Get up, child,> he said brusquely. <Do you wish me to become a filicide? Your shame shall go unavenged, if you wish it so. However, the shame of my grandson, and of the others like him, is another matter.>

My mother closed all four of her eyes. <Yes, I know,> she said. <Forgive me, father. I never intended that my misdeed should cause Garatron to be born a vecol. I believe I would have thrown myself upon my own tail-blade that night, if I had known that I was condemning my son to a lifetime of isolation.>

My grandfather smiled softly. <But are you sure that it did, Ethalan-kala?> he said. <For it must be admitted that this is a highly unusual situation. There has never, to my knowledge, been another case where several dozen vecols, of exactly the same type, were born within a month of each other. I wonder whether the usual custom, in such a case, might not be susceptible to modification.>

My mother frowned. <You mean that Garatron might not require a sanctuary?>

<Not precisely,> said my grandfather. <His dignity would still depend on his being isolated from healthy Andalites – but what of the other mutated vecols? Might he not be able to live together with them without psychic injury?>

My father considered. <Possibly,> he said. <And that would provide him with something that most birth-vecols never know: the sense of community, the herd-life that the psychologists say is so vital to the development of a healthy mind.>

<I think it is an excellent idea,> said my mother.

<Yes,> said my grandfather. <Unfortunately, there is a difficulty. In order for the place of isolation to hold some two dozen Andalite youths, it will have to be enormous. At least five hundred square miles, I would say – and there are very few areas of grassland left in the world that are both that large and sufficiently isolated.>

My father coughed. <If you will pardon me, Father Nimavar,> he said, <I may be able to provide a solution for that difficulty. In the year 12239.7, the High Council acquired an extensive area of savannah on the Northern Continent. It was expected that this would be allotted to provide living areas for some half-dozen or so families, until one of the speculators discovered a peculiar variety of kathsil growing on it…>

My grandfather’s eyes widened. <Ah, yes,> he said. <The Selicar Refuge.>

<Precisely, sir,> said my father. <Over a thousand square miles of unpopulated grassland, which happens to be owned by your own Science and Technology Sub-Council. And I also believe that you have been under some pressure from the Sub-Council for Commerce to open it up for settlement, on the belief that Selicar kathsil has been sufficiently studied over the past seventy years; perhaps you could propose this as a compromise measure?>

The advantages of this course of action presented themselves to my grandfather like a succession of shooting stars. It would satisfy the Commerce Sub-Council; it would benefit his poor, mutated grandson; and it would restore the prestige that the Science and Technology Sub-Council would certainly lose when it became public that Falkrith’s Z-space mass-transfer experiment had caused the mutations, as well as the prestige that he himself would lose when the Andalite public realized that his daughter had mated illicitly with her betrothed. If it was not a perfect plan, it was something very close to it.

<Well, we shall see,> he said. <One can never be certain, with my colleagues on the Council, how they will react to a new idea. But I think, my children,> he added, with a sly smile in his eyes, <that there is a good chance that the morrimils of Selicar may soon find their dens disturbed by the patter of little hooves.>

He touched tails with my father, and stroked my mother’s face. Then he turned to where I was sleeping, knelt down, and hesitantly stroked my misshapen face as well. <Sleep well, Garatron-Sitek-Shaveer,> he whispered. <May your childhood be one of happiness and tranquility; may your mind grow as strong as your body shall be frail; and may you bear your destiny with courage.>

Then he rose, took his leave of my parents’ scoop, and set out for the Council Plains, little dreaming that the scheme he would there propose would determine the future of two races.
Last edited by Qoheleth on Mon Nov 01, 2010 8:26 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Elfangor » Tue Apr 21, 2009 5:07 pm

This is getting better and better. I can't wait for next installment.
You all have guns
And you never put the safety on
And you all have plans,
To take it



Don't Take It