Sacred Host

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Qoheleth
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Sacred Host

Post by Qoheleth » Wed May 20, 2009 11:02 am

Disclaimer: While I do not subscribe to the theory, common on this site, that it is ludicrous to suspect an author of writing fanfiction around his or her own works (I can, for instance, imagine Daniel Handler taking advantage of the freedom of ff to write stories about the Baudelaire orphans that wouldn't fit in the rigidly structured Series of Unfortunate Events), the fact remains that I am not K.A. Applegate, and do not own the Animorphs books.

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In a cage in the Yeerk pool, a girl was on her knees.

The girl’s name was Teresa Sickles, and she was kneeling not so much for religious reasons – though that entered into it – as because it was a pleasure to be able to do so. She spent most of her life imprisoned in her own mind, unable to perform the smallest bodily task of her own free will; when her Controller unwillingly granted her forty-five minutes of liberty, therefore, she made a point of using every moment as well as she could.

Big, grand gestures were impossible, of course – her cage was only about six meters square, and she had seen too many hosts struck down for “tedious displays” to try anything so flamboyant as Tarzan yells or jumping jacks – but she could still do the little things: kneeling, humming hymns, making shadow animals on the cage bars, tugging her ear and whispering a Carol Burnett routine.

“When I’m released,” she muttered – either to herself or to God, neither of whom reminded her that this was a fairly remote possibility – “I’ll have to talk Mom into visiting the waterworks again. It’s got to be three months since we’ve been there at all, let alone…”

Her voice trailed off as the sound of a disturbance caught her ears. A virile young Hork-Bajir was protesting mightily against the guards who were dragging him to his cage.

“No! No!” he shouted. “Fhleut mi’kai! Hafrush fyc-ram tisowm! Free, you understand?”

He was putting up a good fight, Teresa had to admit it. Each of his captors bore several blade marks, from which purplish-blue blood was oozing profusely.

A supportive murmur arose from a pair of Hork-Bajir about six cages down from Teresa. “Gelathiir,” they chanted, “gelathiir, gelathiir...” Judging from her limited knowledge of Galard, Teresa guessed that this meant something like “the one who stands for freedom”.

The human hosts, having no better term in English, followed their lead. “Gelathiir, gelathiir,” they chanted, until a subdued but distinct rumble could be heard throughout the pool: “Gelathiir, gelathiir!

Teresa herself remained silent. What was it supposed to prove? That the Hork-Bajir was going to overpower the guards, escape from the pool, and become a beacon of freedom shining forth in the night? She knew better than that. Soon enough, it would all be over.

Yes, there it was. One of the guards had managed to reach his Dracon beam. Swiftly, he set it to one of the medium settings – seven, probably – and fired directly at the Hork-Bajir’s forehead.

The gelathiir fell, unconscious. He was clearly stronger than your run-of-the-mill Hork-Bajir, but one has to be very strong indeed to withstand a setting-seven Dracon beam.

Gelshla ku!” the guard shouted.

A nearby Taxxon-Controller scuttled up to the cage on Teresa’s right and flung it open. The guards dragged the Hork-Bajir over to the cage and dumped him in, as one might dump a tattered beanbag chair into a moving van.

Tika,” one of them said to the Taxxon, tossing him a scrap of meat.

As the Taxxon scrambled for its tip, the guard who had knocked out the Hork-Bajir took out his Dracon beam again. He lowered the setting with a flick of his thumb, strode over to the two Hork-Bajir who had started the chant, and coolly shot both of them in the chest.

The Hork-Bajir screamed in pain. The setting hadn’t been high enough to damage them permanently, but the message was clear: Freedom is not an option for you. Do not behave as if it were.

Teresa sighed. She had been a host for about three years, and had seen many such incidents. Always, they ended the same way.

She had never entirely given up hope, though. Yes, she was a realist, but a realist with just enough leaven of optimism to keep her from despair – and it was this, combined with certain other characteristics, that would soon cause the Yeerk Empire to tremble at the sound of her name.

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Luna May » Thu May 21, 2009 4:45 am

This is really good! I can't wait for he next part. =D
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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Qoheleth » Thu May 21, 2009 8:03 am

Chapter 2: A Word in Season

Several minutes later…

“This is holy ground,” Teresa murmured, fully aware of the irony in the lyrics. “We’re standing on holy ground… for the Lord is present, and where He is, is holy…”

“Well!” came a voice from just outside her cage. “So this is the great Hero of the Republic, is it?”

Teresa glanced sharply up, thinking for an insane moment that the words referred to her. She realized the next minute, however, that the human-Controller in front of her cage was actually addressing the Hork-Bajir on her right.

Gelathiir, gelathiir!” the Controller cried, bowing and waving her arms mockingly. “By all the Kandrona’s wavelengths, you creatures just never learn, do you?”

The Hork-Bajir said nothing.

The human-Controller laughed, a dry, nasty snigger. “I’d just like to see you escape from here, you know that?” she said. “You couldn’t possibly hide on this planet for very long – if we can’t get some foolish human to find you and call the tabloids, we’d just follow the bark-stripped trees. And even if you could steal a starship, you’d still be too dumb to drive the thing. Maybe you expect one of the great and mighty Ellimists to come down and waft you away, hmm?” And with another nasty laugh, she walked away.

Suddenly, the Hork-Bajir snapped. “Getul-kato-resker-dapsin!” he screamed. “Filth! Gef Makkil hates Yeerks! Estud’mok!

The Controller paid no attention, and Gef was about to let fly some more choice phrases when Teresa murmured softly, “You shouldn’t, you know.”

Gef turned to stare at her. “What?” he said.

Teresa started. She hadn’t meant him to hear her – but there was no turning back now.

“You shouldn’t hate Yeerks,” she said. “Hate what they do, sure… hate their arrogance… their cruelty… their filthy, disgusting government… but don’t hate the Yeerks themselves.”

Gef seemed amazed. “You are a host of the Yeerks,” he said, “and you do not hate them?”

Teresa sighed. “I try not to,” she said.

“Why?” said Gef.

Teresa, being only human, would have preferred to give any answer other than the true one, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a good natural-law reason why hosts shouldn’t hate Controllers – so she took a deep breath and made the reply that would change the Galaxy.

“Because Jesus wouldn’t want me to,” she said.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Jesus?” Gef repeated, trying out the word as if it were a new toy (which, given the Hork-Bajir attitude toward language, it may well have been). “What is Jesus?”

“He’s the Being who created the universe,” said Teresa. “You, me, your planet, my planet – Jesus made them all with a single word.”

Gef considered this. “Jesus make Yeerks, too?” he asked.

Teresa nodded.

“Not good to make Yeerks,” said Gef darkly. “Why Jesus do it?”

“I don’t know,” Teresa said. (Truth to tell, she had often wondered about that point herself.) “But I suppose they were good at one time, just like we were. Maybe before they sinned, Yeerks didn’t have to infest people.”

“Sinned?” Gef queried.

“Did wrong,” said Teresa. “You know how you’ll do something, knowing that you shouldn’t, but you do it anyway?”

She was taking a risk here. The tendency of the twentieth-century human mind was to suppose that the Hork-Bajir, having no conception of deliberate cruelty, could therefore have no conception of sin. Teresa herself wasn’t sure what sort of sin would convict a Hork-Bajir conscience; she simply took it on faith that, since no-one could say that the Arn were unfallen, the curse had to affect their tree-tending offspring.

And it seemed that she was right. Gef lowered his head, gazed pointedly at the ground, and murmured in a low voice, “Yes, I know.”

“Of course you do,” said Teresa. “We all do. It’s a sickness in us, something that needs to be gotten out. Only, the only people who can get it out are us, and we’re not strong enough to. Jesus would be strong enough to, but he’s not us, so he can’t. You see?”

If Gef had tried to follow this little speech, he would in all probability have quickly become restless and brain-weary, and the conversion of the Sulp Niar pool would have ended before it had begun. It is therefore pleasant to record that he did not, in fact, hear a word that Teresa said.

“Gef Makkil does wrong, yes,” he murmured. “He does not want to, but he does. Gef Makkil is a miserable thing.”

Teresa swallowed. “Yes, okay,” she said, “but Jesus loves you anyway. He made you, and he loves you the way a father loves his child. Hork-Bajir have fathers, right?” she added, as an afterthought.

Gef nodded.

“Okay, then,” said Teresa. “That’s what Jesus is like. And to free you from your sin, he took the nature of a human and died on a cross, and if you repent and believe in him, you can be a new creation.”

This was, perhaps, a rather hasty précis of Christian soteriology, but there was a good reason for its brevity: While Gef had been bemoaning his wretchedness, Teresa had noticed two Hork-Bajir-Controllers coming to take her from her cage, realized that she had perhaps thirty seconds more to talk to her fellow-slave, and resolved to run through the most important points as quickly as she could. Even as it was, she had had to shout the words “new creation” as the two guards dragged her away toward the pool.

It may be that this caused the phrase to have a greater impact on Gef’s mind than it would otherwise have done. At any rate, he raised his head and called, “Daklit?

Teresa, recognizing this as a Galard word meaning “young female”, craned her head to look back at him.

“I would like to be a new creation,” said Gef.

Teresa wished she could respond to this statement properly, but there simply wasn’t time, so she had to content with a warm smile and a nod.

It was some time before she knew just how proper a response that had been.
Last edited by Qoheleth on Mon May 07, 2012 4:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by capnnerefir » Thu May 21, 2009 8:29 am

Very good work as usual, Qoheleth. b :mrgreen: d

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Luna May » Thu May 21, 2009 12:17 pm

I may not be Christian, but I must say that this is just fabulous.

Do you have an FFN account? I'd like to fave your story. =D
Forget it. I found it. *huggles it*
You're an amazing writer. I love you work! (turns out I'd favourited some of it a while ago without even knowing it was yours x3). Kudos! :D

By the way, the one about Ehud Barack was really funny. xD
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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Spencer » Thu May 21, 2009 1:11 pm

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I actually never thought how Christianity or any other faith for that matter would fit into the animorphs universe. Its also interesting to see how the Yeerks would react to such a movement.

I can't wait for the next part.

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Qoheleth » Fri May 22, 2009 8:08 am

Chapter 3 - Introducing Two Yeerks

*Malcar Seven-Four-Five to the infestation pier! Repeat, Malcar Seven-Four-Five to the infestation pier!*

At the sound of the high-pitched clicks that made up this announcement, Malcar Seven-Four-Five of the Sulp Niar pool turned and glided swiftly through the mass of her fellow Yeerks to the shallow area of the pool where her host was unwillingly waiting. With a practiced motion, she attached her palps to the rim of her host’s ear, flattened out her small, wormlike body, and slid into the ear canal to make contact with the brain.

<Well, hello, dear,> she telepathed to her host. <Did you miss me?>

Teresa Sickles did not reply, but Malcar felt her entire consciousness tense up suddenly, and she heard her whispering, <Carry it two miles, carry it two miles…>

Malcar smiled to herself. She had been Teresa’s Controller for the better part of three years, and had learned innumerable ways to get under her skin (besides the literal way that was her birthright). This had gotten her in trouble with her immediate superior, Sub-Visser One Hundred and Sixty-Three, who believed that hosts should be assuaged whenever possible lest they become difficult to handle, but she carried on regardless. The truth of the matter was that nothing Malcar did could so irritate Teresa as Teresa’s tendency, when left alone, to surrender uncomplainingly and “offer it up” irritated Malcar.

<So what have you been up to lately?> she murmured, and plugged into her host’s recent memories, expecting to find nothing more exciting than forty-five minutes spent playing tic-tac-toe in the dust of her cage floor. Instead, of course, she found the series of events recorded in the previous two chapters.

Her surprise was so pronounced that a faint perception of it leaked unbidden into Teresa’s consciousness. She had always thought of her host as a timid, diffident sort of creature, not someone in the least likely to start impromptu theological discussions with wild Hork-Bajir. Such newfound assertiveness was, to the Yeerk, almost alarming.

Nor was this the only cause Malcar found for alarm. For some time, she had felt that the Yeerk High Command on Earth had not been paying nearly enough attention to Earthly religion as a possible source of host resistance. The neglect was, perhaps, understandable; the only significant religion on the Yeerk homeworld was a rather laissez-faire sun-worship, and their only contact with sectarianism on Earth was the semi-cultic elements that the current Visser One had incorporated so successfully into the early Sharing, so it was naturally difficult for a Yeerk to grasp that organized supernaturalism could ever be a formidable enemy. Malcar, however, was not so sure; she had found data in Teresa’s mind that suggested that her religion, at least, was fully capable of toppling empires if it objected to their behavior – and surely it would consider the conquest and enslavement of entire races objectionable. For a moment, therefore, the discovery that Teresa had attempted, however hesitantly, to propagate her faith among her fellow hosts caused Malcar something like terror.

It was, however, only for a moment. Another blink of the eye, and Malcar was herself again. <Well,> she said. <Been doing a spot of missionary work, have you?>

<Maybe,> said Teresa.

<Well, good for you,> said Malcar. <Maybe he’ll be a little more docile after this. “Slaves, be submissive to your masters”, and all that.>

Teresa did not reply, but her thoughts were plain for her Controller to perceive.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Toloth Two-Nine-Four to the infestation pier! Repeat, Toloth Two-Nine-Four to the infestation pier!*

With a gesture that, had he been a human, would likely have been a sigh, Toloth detached himself from the sweetly nourishing waves of Kandrona flowing into his body, swam over to the pier, and slithered into his host’s ear canal. He was one of the few Yeerks in the Sulp Niar pool who did not look forward to reinfestation; in the first place, he had never quite seen the allure of vertebrate senses that so intoxicated many of his pool-mates, and in the second place, he considered asserting dominance over his current host to be rather more trouble than it was worth.

He was aware, of course, that this was a flaw in himself. Had he been a different sort of Yeerk – someone, for instance, like Malcar Seven-Four-Five – he might have taken a positive pleasure in his host’s futile struggles to resist his control. But, as things were, he didn’t.

This should not be taken to mean, however, that Toloth was a conspicuously gentle soul. On the contrary, he was in nearly all respects a highly competent warrior – so competent, in fact, that he had attained a position on Sub-Visser One Hundred and Sixty-Three’s personal guard without having recourse to the bribery that was usually standard in such appointments. He was, in fact, rather like certain human soldiers who feel no qualms about shooting perfect strangers in the heat of battle, but who would have difficulty smacking their own dogs with rolled-up newspapers.

It was with some trepidation, therefore, that he made contact with Gef Makkil’s mind, bracing himself for the onslaught of abuse and defiance that the young Hork-Bajir would certainly begin to hurl at him as soon as he felt him commandeer his faculties – and it was with a sense of startled relief that he realized that Gef was doing nothing of the kind. Gef’s mind, in fact, seemed to be preoccupied with something else entirely, something with which Yeerk tyranny and Hork-Bajir pride had little, if anything, to do.

A more inquisitive Yeerk – someone, again, like Malcar Seven-Four-Five – would have instantly turned to Gef’s memory centers and scrutinized them meticulously to determine the cause of this sudden change of attitude. Toloth, however, had long since fallen out of the habit of checking his host’s recent memories, on the not unreasonable grounds that a Hork-Bajir’s thoughts are rarely worth perusing, and so it did not occur to him to do so now; he simply thanked the Kandrona for small favors and applied himself to the task of regaining control over Gef’s limbs.

He had already staggered to his feet, and was getting ready to walk away from the pier, when Gef’s voice whispered inside his head, <Toloth Two-Nine-Four?>

Toloth was startled. Not only was the softness of Gef’s tone totally unwonted, but this was the first time he had ever heard his host use his given name. Generally, when Gef addressed him, it was as “Yeerk”, “Yeerk filth”, “tuscad-ierig”, or some even less socially acceptable variant on the theme.

<Yes?> he responded cautiously.

<Yeerks know about Jesus?>

Toloth was silent for a moment. This was just getting stranger and stranger.

<Perhaps some Yeerks do,> he said finally, <but I don’t. What is it?>

<Being who makes worlds with words,> said Gef. <Yeerks, too. Loves like a father, and dies to make new creation.>

There was a pause as Toloth digested this enigmatic response.

<Really?> he said. <And where did you hear about this?>

Gef did not respond. He had retreated back into his own thoughts, and Toloth was loath to follow, lest he provoke his host out of his current and quite desirable placidity.

It occurred to Toloth that there might, after all, be some value in analyzing Gef’s recent memories; possibly they would shed a light on what he had just said, or at least cast it into complete sentences. Accordingly, he plugged himself into Gef’s mnemonic cortex, and there discovered, as near as a Hork-Bajir brain could retain it, the complete substance of his recent conversation with Teresa Sickles.

It would be too much to say that Toloth was intrigued. Yeerk soldiers are not conditioned to be intrigued by anything a host life-form says. He was, however, interested. Like most Hork-Bajir-Controllers, he aspired someday to be promoted to a human host body, and it seemed to him that his chances were that much greater if he could demonstrate some real knowledge of humans – of their passions, their fears, their thought processes, and, presumably, their beliefs. If he could meet with this young human, and prevail upon her to elaborate further – which seemed unlikely to be difficult, since this knowledge appeared to be something that it was incumbent upon her to share – then, the next time a prominent human was captured and Sub-Visser One Hundred and Sixty-Three glanced around his echelon for an appropriate Controller, Toloth Two-Nine-Four would have an indisputable advantage over his fellows – an advantage that just might prove insuperable.

Yes – he nodded to himself, pleased with his reasoning. Clearly, knowledge of this Jesus was the key to worldly advancement. All that remained was to acquire such knowledge – and so he determined, at the next possible opportunity, to have a nice long talk with Miss Teresa Sickles.
Last edited by Qoheleth on Mon Dec 10, 2012 12:32 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Spencer » Fri May 22, 2009 2:10 pm

Clearly, knowledge of this Jesus was the key to worldly advancement
Oh the delicious irony!

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Elfangor » Fri May 22, 2009 8:02 pm

That was AWESOME! Me, being a Christian enjoyed it very much. Can wait for next chapter.
You all have guns
And you never put the safety on
And you all have plans,
To take it



Don't Take It

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Re: Sacred Host

Post by Luna May » Mon May 25, 2009 4:01 am

Don't wait! Read it through FFN.
Here's the link to the whole story.
If you read this, make sure you also read Morph Force. It's fantastic.

~Qoheleth: If you feel uncomfortable with any part of my post, just say so and I'll remove it. :)
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