The Garatron Chronicles

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Arthur
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Arthur » Fri May 27, 2011 1:03 pm

I liked it. Post more!
Formerly War-Prince Arleal-Breeyar-Fangor (Username was too long)

I Loves Programming!

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Sassy_Cat
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Sassy_Cat » Fri May 27, 2011 8:34 pm

Wait another few months, then it'll come up.
"Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can't try to do things. You simply must do things."
- Ray Bradbury

My amazing blog- http://yasreadyas.blogspot.com/

Rodrico
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Rodrico » Fri Jun 03, 2011 5:13 pm

Amazing so far...im actually enthralled

Tim Bruening
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Tim Bruening » Mon Feb 13, 2012 3:29 pm

So Andalites invented computers well before they invented books. What did they use to store information BEFORE they invented computers?

Tim Bruening
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Tim Bruening » Wed Feb 15, 2012 1:59 am

When is the next Garatron installment?

Qoheleth
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Qoheleth » Wed Feb 15, 2012 7:10 am

Their heads, probably. Like medieval bards, memorizing all the history of the world in lyric form. Anyway, I'm not going to argue with Ax on this point; it's his own race's history, after all.

And the next installment is whenever I finish writing it. I've been rather focusing on other things, I'm afraid: Sacred Host, The Parallel, a Harry Potter-DC Comics fusion story, a semi-allegorical novel, a radical re-examination of the foundations of biology - you know, this and that. But I will get back to this story eventually. Scout's honor.

Qoheleth
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Re: The Garatron Chronicles

Post by Qoheleth » Mon Aug 27, 2012 7:42 am

Chapter 10

I do not think – he will forgive me if I am wrong – that Limilt himself fully believed in his scheme for overcoming the Andalites. His was a temperament that was quite ready to conceive fanciful notions, and even to attempt to realize them, for the mere pleasure of seeing an elegant dream take shape. A rebellion against a mighty empire, a band of crippled exiles achieving power and glory, devices that could cause death to fly through the air – no son of a master poetess could be expected not to pursue such visions. But he had no love of war in itself, and he never underestimated the resistance of reality to being made into a romantic poem. (Indeed, if anything, he overestimated it; when history did become a romance at our hands, I believe he was more surprised than anyone.)

Perhaps Shisken and Berel believed in the scheme more fully; perhaps even Kirinar thought it not unlikely that it would succeed. (I, of course, had no faith in it at all, at that stage.) But this, in the end, made little difference; soon, all five of us were forced to act as though we were assured, one and all, of victory.

It is strange how we had almost forgotten the other Misborn. Perhaps they were too modest to remind us often of themselves; perhaps it had to do with the vastness of the Refuge; perhaps it was merely unconscious arrogance on our part. In any case, we (or, at least, I) had dropped into a habit of treating our quintet as the whole population of the Selicar. But, once rumors of our plans began to circulate about the hills, such thoughtlessness ceased to be possible – for even the humblest multitude may have an opinion about its leaders' actions, and multitudes have a way of making their opinions felt.
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It started with the gasturbat feathers. One morning, a few days after Limilt proposed his scheme, I was feeding on a hill not far from the ridge when one of the younger Misborn ran suddenly out of nowhere and darted for a spot directly in front of my right hoof. Hastily, I reared back to keep myself from trampling the little maniac, but, having never been particularly coordinated, I found myself unable, on such short notice, to arrange my hind legs so that they would support my weight. The result was predictable; the mercy was that there was no morrimil hole nearby, so I didn't twist an ankle as I tumbled to the ground.

The junior Selicarite looked up with a small gasp, and I recognized it as Haruthi-Kannama-Jiskul, the female with the sickly twin of whom Berel had spoken, that night on the hilltop. <Elder Garatron, I apologize!> she squeaked. <I didn't see… I would never have…>

I waved a hand, disentangling my legs and rising from the ground with little struggle. <It is nothing, Haruthi,> I said. <But what was in the neighborhood of my hooves that fascinated you so?>

<Oh, that,> said Haruthi, twitching her head shyly. <A small thing, really. But I wanted to gather them before you passed by, lest you absorb them without seeing.> And she held out her hand, so that I could see the three red-gray shapes nestled in her palm.

I stared. <Gasturbat feathers?>

Haruthi nodded. <As I say, it was of no great importance,> she said. <There are so many others, it would have been no great loss had you absorbed these. It is merely that I hate to see a thing wasted.>

<Of course,> I said. (In truth, this was an impulse that I shared with Haruthi.) <But of what value are gasturbat feathers, in any case?>

Haruthi cocked her head in puzzlement. <Do you not know, then?> she said. <I had assumed that Elder Limilt had acted in your name – or, at least, with your consent.>

<Acted?> I repeated, with a distinct feeling of trepidation. <What has Limilt done?>

<Well, I only received the story at third or fourth hand,> said Haruthi, <but I understand that he wishes us to gather as many gasturbat feathers as possible, and to bring them to your dwelling-area.> She gestured in the direction of the ridge. <Apparently, they are an important tool in your plan to avenge us on the Andalites.>

A chill went down my spine. To avenge us, had she said? Yes – and she had said "the Andalites" in the tone in which one says "the Na" or "the Anati". She had spoken of them as of an alien race – and she had done it quite easily and naturally. Berel, speaking with the intensity of a passionate theorist, was one thing; that this modest, simple female should echo his thought in such a fashion – that was another thing entirely, and it was, if anything, the more frightening of the two.

It took me some time to form a sensible reply. <I see,> I said, endeavoring to sound casual and sympathetic. <And you think that plan a good thing, so naturally you are helping him.>

<All of us are helping him,> said Haruthi. <This is the Selicar Refuge; we are the people of Garatron.> (Perhaps it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that she dipped her tail to me slightly as she spoke these words.) <If we cannot trust you and your friends to know and to do what is good, there is nothing for us anywhere.>

I have reflected on those words many times since. My friends and I had become figures of authority in the Selicar, not by any merit of ours, but by an accident of the timing of our arrivals. But this made no difference, it seemed, to Haruthi. However we had come by our authority, we had it, and Haruthi respected it as solemnly and unquestioningly as if we had been chosen out of all the world for our wisdom. Let those who would make light of the favors of Fortune reflect on this.

<And besides,> Haruthi added – and her voice, though it remained soft, was suddenly trembling with passion – <is it not good to make the Andalites feel what they have done to us? Had it not been for their conventions, Rithinal would have long since been taken to the Elophris mineral springs to regain her strength. But a vecol must not be brought among such crowds, and so…> The tufts of the gasturbat feathers trembled in her hands, and she lowered her head, blinking furiously.

<Yes,> I said softly. <Yes, I see.> And I did. I saw more, indeed, than I cared to see – just as, once before, another young female's sorrow had shown me another unpleasant vista of reality.

<They must be shown,> Haruthi whispered. <It cannot be that they are permitted to do this, and then simply to die.>

And she looked up at me, waiting, I believe, for either my concurrence or my rebuke. But I found myself unable to give either, and all that I said, after a long and aching silence, was, <Give me the feathers. I will see that Limilt gets them.>

This time I was certain that Haruthi dipped her tail. She pressed the soft objects into my palm, waited for the space of a few heartbeats, and then turned and ran off towards the makeshift scoop where she and her sister dwelt.

I, in my turn, headed toward the knoll. I was anxious to speak to Limilt, and to the others as well; it seemed to me that they had a great deal to explain.