That night I sat looking out of the window of my one room apartment. I lived on the top floor, so I sometimes enjoyed going up to the rooftop to scan the sky for stars. I never had much luck – one of the misfortunes of living in the city. Tonight, looked no different from the other nights, I could see that from my window, so I didn’t bother taking the trip.
Besides, it was cold out.
I sighed, lounging back in my chair, and switched on the television screen. I figured I would get some time to rest my head before the mission. My host was being unusually quiet, although the trip to the pool two hours ago would have been enough to demoralize him. To tell the truth, I admired his fighting spirit – but hearing somebody constantly screaming insults at you and being unable to block them out, well, that would drive anybody crazy.
“Oh!” I had forgotten about the special.
“His name was Jake Berenson.” The female narrator on the television spoke his name with awe and aspiration. “He was the leader of the resistance, the only hope for mankind on this earth. He was a soldier, a rebel, a captain and a hero. And he was only sixteen. But how much do we really know about this young freedom fighter? What made this teen so different from the rest that he could bear the harsh burden of fighting an almost impossible war for three years and eventually arise as the savior of our planet Earth? In the 2 years before his departure we sought Jake Berenson out to ask him this question…”
I watched a video of a tall, broad-shouldered young man walking quickly as a crowd of reporters worse than Britney Spear’s paparazzi chased behind him, hailing a multitude of questions:
“Where have you been all this time Mr.Berneson?”
“Is it true that you that have reestablished your relationship with Cassie Roundtree?”
“When will you be ready to do a public interview?”
“Can I get your autograph!?”
“Can you tell us your story?”
Mr. Berenson turned around swiftly, his brown hair whipping in the wind. He stared at the crowd with dark, emotionless eyes.
“My story? The only stories I have to tell, I already told. There are certain things I can never speak of. You want more? Go find Marco.”
He turned away leaving the crowd to pursue him once again.
I cracked up open a Coke and sipped. “Is that all Jake?” I said out loud to myself. “We’ll see.”
<You certainly will.>
I jumped, spilling soda all over my jeans. A creature similar to a centaur with blue fur, four eyes and a bladed tail stood in the middle of my kitchen. An Andalite.
“Jesus.” I sighed. “You’re early.”
< Really? I must have lost track of the time.>
“How long have you been spying on me?” I asked casually, as I walked over and grabbed the paper towels off the counter.
<Excuse me?> His stalk eyes swiveled into an angry arch.
I smirked. “Andalites have a annoyingly accurate time frame. It’s speculated that’s how the Animorphs were able to track their time in morph during missions. Soda?” I offered him the can.
His stalk eyes drooped slightly. <You’ve done some research human. But my love of human sweets won’t tempt me into abandoning my present form, lest I leave myself defenseless. And yes, I find it necessary to examine my clients before transactions. Trust is an issue among all beings, Andalite and human.>
Yeerk as well, I thought. But if you knew my true identity your tail would have slit my throat by now.
“So?” I said cheerfully. “Am I still worthy of the deal?”
<I don’t deem anybody truly worthy of what I’m about to give you. But your leader has convinced me that the cause is for the greater good.>
“Oh?” I laughed, sipping my Coke again. “Here I thought you were just in it for the money.”
The Andalite smiled in that strange way that they do with their eyes.
<Money, like trust, speaks a universal language.>
