The Husk (Complete)

[Myitt]

I also really like some of the ideas that have been tossed around (or should be tossed around) in post-war fanfiction, like...what about recovering former Controllers?  Or were there even any Yeerks left on Earth after the war?  What about the Peace Movement?

Does anyone go out and talk to Aftran!? XD

[LisaCharly]

I'm hoping to touch a little bit on post-war interspecies politics in the last chapter, but it's definitely incredibly fertile ground. you could write a whole book on what happens between nothlit Yeerks, human Controllers, Andalites, Taxxons and Hork-Bajir post-war. And seriously, what about the Peace Movement? You'd think we'd hear all about them in #54, but not even a hint of them.

[Myitt]

Exactly, I'd love a whole book on that stuff!  Yeah I was pretty bummed that no mention was made of the Peace Movement.  At least we got a little bit about rich Andalite tourists, Hork-Bajir in Yellowstone, and um...Taxxon-anacondas committing biological self-genocide by going all nothlit...and people killing Arbron...that's better than nothing, but...it ain't a lot!

[LisaCharly]

VIII: Shucked

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   My rage ran dry and left me behind, barren. It lay somewhere in the future, pushed away by the what-needed-doing of the present. And I was alright with that, for the while. If we were lucky, there’d be time to hate and cry later; at the moment, there were plenty of reasons to welcome detachment.

   Now that I had my body and mobility back, I exercised whenever I wasn’t letting Toby pick my brain or trying to coordinate Hork-Bajir. The feeling of using my own will to move my legs and arms was intoxicating, even three months after being freed. I still had a limp and only partial motility in one of my arms, but it was something and it was tangible. Usually, exercising involved a brief jog around the valley, checking up on the defense trenches and booby traps along the way. It was comforting, having responsibility again, after so long of having no say and by necessity leaving it to someone else. I usually walked the final third, since my body could only take so much, having only recently healed.

It was early morning, with enough dew that sleeping in was uncomfortable, but Peter didn’t mind. I heard the osprey calling before I saw it land in front of me, then demorph. I reminded myself that the twisted mass of feathers and skin would soon become my son, but it didn’t make the morphing process look any more pleasant.

   “You’re up early.”

   Once his beak had been replaced by human lips, he said “fell asleep at Ax’s last night. I would’ve called, but you know, the rates on these imaginary cell phones are crazy.”

   I laughed. I was getting pretty used to him spending the night with Ax and Tobias. I had neither expected nor wanted him to spend every second with me after my rescue.

   “Check it out, we figured out how to morph pants!” he said, motioning to his tattered, beaten pair of jeans. “Which would be awesome if I’d remembered to bring something besides bike shorts with me when we moved into the woods. We need to go clothes shopping.”

   “We’ll get on that once we save the human race.” It probably would be a good idea, once we weren’t wanted refugees of the Yeerk Empire, if that ever happened. The three of us mostly had the clothing Marco had found in various dumpsters behind the mall, and none of that held up all that well to the constant outdoors. The gratitude I felt at freedom would never relent, but that didn’t mean that I thought our accommodations were perfect.

   We walked for a bit and made small talk about the transponder Peter and the Andalite had set up. Marco was telling me about how he was trying to get the Andalite to reconfigure it to listen in to broadcast sports games. I checked the trigger we had for a rabbit-trap, and he suggested enlisting Tobias is aiding our meat consumption. At some point, my mind wandered off to how beautiful the valley was, and a part of me wondered what Edriss would have thought if she knew the free Hork-Bajir colony had survived her attack.

   She would have been shocked and offended at first, at the impudence of someone to dare outsmart her, with thinly-veiled admiration, which would eventually cede to rationalizing away her error. The hypothetical Edriss was so potent I could almost hear her downplaying her mistakes, could almost hear the uncertain tremor in her voice from shaken self-confidence.

   “Mom? You okay?”

   I snapped back to paying attention the trap I was checking and Marco looking at me, concerned. “Hmm?”

   “You looked kind of sad for a second. Is everything okay?” He was very perceptive of my feelings, and very quick to want to console me. It was some perverse reversal, having a child comfort their mother, and while I liked the sentiment it made me feel like a failure.

   But I couldn’t lie to him and say I didn’t have things on my mind, so I took a third option. “It’s nothing to do with you, honey.”

   “Is it Dad?” he asked, looking even more concerned. I had to remind myself that he was still sixteen, and that to him, his parents being happy together was a concern to overshadow all others.

   “Your dad and I are fine. Better than fine. It’s not that.” I added new bait to the trap. “It’s nothing important. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

   “Try me,” he said defiantly.

   “In court?” I asked, and we exchanged smiles. “Let’s get walking again. It’s complicated.”

   “We should head back that way, if you don’t mind. It’s all rocks this way and I’m barefoot. The healing factor’s cool but we never get calluses.”

   “Sure. That way.” For almost a minute we started walking back to the valley in silence, Marco unusually quiet as he waited for me to open up.

   “You know, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he eventually said sulkily.

   “That’s rich for you to say, Mr. Macho. It’s just…hard to put into words, I guess.”

   “I’m listening.”

   I bit my lip, furrowed my brow a bit, stared at the sun. Maybe it would blind me to the world that always reminded me of how lucky I was to have vision. “It’s an adjustment, having someone living with you in your head for years, and then suddenly you wake up every morning and they’re not there. No matter how you feel about them.”

   He nodded, but looked troubled at that. “You don’t…miss the Yeerk, do you?”

   “No, not at all. It’s just, you know, strange. I’ve spent years with her running commentary. It’s like a sitcom where they cut out the laugh-track. You’ve always hated it but you know something’s missing that’s usually there. It’ll just take me some time.”
I stopped and pulled my hair up into a ponytail, trying to organize my thoughts. I didn’t want to make it seem like too much of a problem, as obviously the idea bothered him, but since Edriss’ death, since the rage had burned itself out, I felt empty. Like a vessel with half the contents spilled out. I suspected – hoped – that more time would ease the feeling. “I hated her, Marco. I was glad to see her die. And I’m glad to be free, and with you and your father. But you don’t spend every waking moment with someone and only hate them.”

   I had been glad to see her die. I’d killed her, hadn’t I? It was proof enough of my hatred. Well, not killed her, really, but screamed for her death. I’d known that I’d never truly be free of her while she lived. And yet, somehow, part of me had thought her death would be as artificial as mine had been. It was difficult to believe that her ghost wasn’t still living in my head.

   “Mmm. Stockholm Syndrome?”

   I laughed again. “No, not like that. Where’d you hear that term, anyway?”

   “Cassie. She looked it up for Tobias after Taylor Time.”

   ‘Taylor Time’. That was the codeword for one of their missions, along with other whimsical names like ‘Helmacron Magic School Bus’ and ‘The Oatmeal Incident’. The longer I stayed, the more synopses of various events I heard. It was simultaneously fascinating and horrifying – fascinating because my child and his friends knew all about races and scientific breakthroughs even the Vissers didn’t know about, and horrifying because they had learned it in person, instead of from the safety of a classroom or a history book.

   ‘Taylor Time’ was a particularly sobering story to hear about. It had involved setting up Tobias to be captured, and then tortured. I understood the reasoning but it killed me that all five children and the Andalite had concocted the plan and gone through with it.

   “Anyway, it’s not like that. It’s just an adjustment. And it’s not like I haven’t had some significant life changes in the last month.”

   “Right,” he said nonchalantly, but I could tell from the way he was tugging his hair that he wasn’t satisfied with the answer. Evidently, he was as eager as I was to change the topic. “Uh, did Dad talk to you about what I talked to him about last night?”

   “Is this a game of telephone?”

   “Not really. I just was wondering if I could take your name.”

   “My name?”

   “Your surname. I’d still keep Dad’s, but it just seems more fair that way. Especially since you kept it when you got married.”

   That surprised and touched me. I’d been absent from his life for the last five years, and he still thought I warranted a public display of affiliation. “What does your dad think of all this?”

   “I told him the three names thing was the hip thing to do and he went for it.”

   “Is it the hip thing to do?”

   He grinned at me, using the usual humor to mask affection. “Definitely.”

   “Well, then, who am I to disagree, Mr. Salazar Laroche?”

   I was about to tell him that we’d need to sign papers over it when Tobias swooped in. Tobias, besides the Andalite, was probably the Animorph I knew the least about. He seemed rather reluctant to interact with me too much, which Marco suspected was because he was now the only Animorph without a mother, and I reminded him of that fact. I didn’t know if that was true or if Tobias was just naturally loathe to spend much time with adults, but he seemed like an intelligent and valuable member, if the most damaged.

   Marco waved up at him. “Did you hear I’m Mr. Salazar now?”

   If birds could roll their eyes, I’m sure Tobias would have. <Well, don’t expect business cards. Actually, I was here to talk to your mom.>

   I was pleasantly surprised. While Toby had been using the intelligence I could provide, as time passed my information was increasingly less reliable. It would be nice to feel useful.

Marco made some grumbling comment about chopped liver.

   <Ms. Salazar, do you speak Galard? Ax got some new transmissions on the transponder and he can’t quite figure out what they’re talking about.>

   “I don’t, but I can probably parse together more phrases than anyone here.”

   “See, I knew we should have tuned into the Padres game instead. Now we’re going to find out about some new mission that’ll leave us wetting our pants and cheating death,” Marco said darkly, reminding me suddenly of how high the stakes were. I felt a sliver of guilt for being excited to participate, knowing it could put my son on the line.

   Tobias stared at me with that serious hawk glare. <Ms. Salazar, it’s understandable if you don’t want else anything to do with the war. But we could use your help here.>

   “Please,” I said, acting more casual than I felt as the worry started to twist my guts up, “if anyone here has a chip on their shoulder against these slugs, it’s me.”

   I followed as Tobias led me several miles through the woods to Ax’s scoop. All the while, my imagination conjured up horrible hypothetical situations for the Animorphs to be involved in, until the mental images started to fill up the blissful, terrifying hollowness of my mind.

[Myitt]

Very nice!  And a little melancholy...I guess it is tough to lose someone who is a constant presence, even if you didn't like them or even wanted them dead.  Sort of like the evil villian-superhero thing.  They were two halves of a whole for so long, Edriss and Eva, that it's only natural for Eva to feel a bit of sentimentality or at least hollowness without her.

[LisaCharly]

Thank you, Myitt! That's very much what I was going for - how easy it is to define yourself by your antithesis, and the malaise you're left in when that enemy is removed.

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IX: The Intersection of Winning and Losing

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It was five a.m., the tail end of a sunrise, and because I liked being awake and in-control of a body that tossed and turned in the night, I'd taken to going to bed late and getting up early. We were staying at a donated summer home from some wealthy philanthropist, well-furnished with an ocean view. It wasn't home – the home I'd remembered had been left behind even before the Pool Ship destroyed our neighborhood – but it was comfortable enough. People had been so eager to reward the kids for saving the world that the places to stay and free food and clothing and cars were pouring in, as if that could ever make the whole thing worthwhile.

I had my mug in my hand, my eyes half-closed and trained on the line between ocean and sky. If I could soak in the sunlight and white leather couch and fluffy white nightgown and cream-filled coffee, perhaps I could purify myself and erase the flat, empty spaces in head. Maybe I could unload all that guilt I'd been carrying around for actions that weren't even my own. Maybe I could just exist in the moment, instead of trapped in a memory of seven years that seemed to just cycle itself into so much longer.

"Can't sleep?"

I turned and saw my son wincing at the sunlight. He was back with us, finally, after three whirlwind weeks of interviews and funerals and meetings with alien ambassadors. I'd assumed he'd sleep for the entire weekend after that type of schedule. Pinching two fingers to the bridge of his nose, he turned away from the window.

"Didn't want to. What, you've never seen a sunrise before?"

"Not willingly, no."

"I like having time to myself. It's a luxury I haven't gotten much of in the last few years." I took a sip of coffee, not letting the company spoil my insistence on enjoying just being. "Hangover wouldn't let you sleep?"

He looked sheepish. I smirked to let him know it was alright. "The easiest way to tell if someone's drunk is if they're trying their best not to look drunk. I don't care and I won't tell your father, don't worry. Just be safe about it."

"Who would've thought they served champagne on American Airlines?"

"There's coffee. It takes the edge off. Come, sit here and relax a bit. It's not as interesting as Letterman but you might like it anyway."

As he rummaged through unfamiliar shelves for a coffee mug and spoon, he called over his shoulder, "they asked me to come back and do Letterman again next month, by the way. Apparently a whole twenty-minute segment of Marco the Magnificent wasn't enough."

"Please don't tell me you introduced yourself like that."

"What, you didn't watch?"

I laughed. "You're not the only one with things to do, squirt. I'm trying to untie all our financials right now. I swear our accountant's suffering a fate worse than death."

He grimaced before finally locating a spoon and sugar. "I'll stick to swapping jokes with Letterman, thanks."

For a moment we just stared at each other, me looking over my shoulder at him standing in the middle of the kitchen, as if we'd just noticed the other person was there. I felt my breath catch in my lungs; I'd nearly lost him so many times, not been there so many times, and the death of the Berenson girl had only made it strike home so much more how lucky I was to have him half-asleep in this borrowed kitchen. Even older, even damaged, I had him. Of all the things we'd both lost, by some blessed chance, unlikely as it was, we were both alive and together and nearly whole.

And then, snapping out of it, I gave him a sly smile. "So how does it feel to have lived out your tombstone by sixteen?"

"Maybe if I'm famous enough and audition for enough bad movies, I'll get remembered as a crappy actor more than anything else. If not, eh, figure I'll kill some Kurt Cobain-type and everyone will forget all about saving the world."

He said it with the usual jokes about death and violence that had come to dominate even our casual conversation, but his jaw set a bit. It was a strange feeling, knowing now that the rest of our lives would always pale in importance to the last few years. We both knew that the invasion had defined us, both to the world and to ourselves, but that didn't mean we liked it. If anything, having no goal made recovering all the more difficult. Having no idea who we were outside the war made putting it behind us quietly impossible.

"Acting, huh?" I said, turning back to the window, trying not to let the listlessness hit.

He shrugged as he sat down on the far end of the couch next to me. "Why not? I'm not going back to high school. I had to fake my death to get out of it."

"No, I suppose you're not." I sighed and took a deep drink of lukewarm coffee. "Your father thinks we should get therapy."

I expected him to look surprised at that, but if he was, no emotion crossed his face. "Do you think we need it?"

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. I didn't know my own mind enough to know if it was repairable, or even in need of mending. Perhaps Edriss would have been able to tell me.

Marco mimicked my motions perfectly, as confused as I was, so undeniably my son. For several minutes we didn't say anything, just staring out to sea and letting sunspots float lazily over our eyes.

"I'm going to meet those kids today," I finally said.

"So you can say 'hey, sorry your mom was an evil slave-master, here's five bucks for a soda'?" he snorted.

"No," I shot back, but I didn't have a good explanation for what I was going to do or why. I only knew it was something I had to do, or it would eat at me until my dying day. "If you're worried about staying an only child, don't be."

"That's not what I meant," he said bitterly. I understood. I knew fully well that he was most comfortable with me feeling nothing but hatred for Edriss. Anything that could possibly be construed as sympathy would bring up complicated questions. He didn't know what to do with the idea that I had to do right by her children.

Just another two eleven year-olds in a world of six billion people, and I felt some pull to them. "I need to tie up loose ends."

He lowered his eyes from the sky to his coffee. "They're not your loose ends. They're hers."

I wouldn't tell him that her loose ends would be inexorably mine for the rest of my life. "I wasn't asking for your permission or approval. You may be the savior of Earth, but I'm still your mother."

"You are," he said with a level gaze and tone, to remind me that that was all I was allowed to be in his world. Just Eva, his mother and his father's wife, not some strange hybrid of human and alien echoes running off chasing someone else's children.

We switched gears to talk more about talk shows, the house Peter and I were looking at, and Marco's grand machinations to stretch his fifteen minutes of fame into a lifetime, until we ran out of coffee and he went up to bed. It left me a solid hour to myself before I drove into town to meet the kids, which I spent reading the newspaper and sorting through the piles of screened mail an appointed security guard delivered.

Three weeks since the end of the war. Three weeks since the complete lack of responsibility had sent me into a tailspin of furious effort at anything, anything I could possibly do to fill the time. Two weeks of phone calls to foster care agents and social workers who'd done a remarkably good job tracking down two children with unknown surnames. Two weeks of wondering if they were dead, and if I was to be the last testament to Edriss' decent side.

And then a week before, a few more phone calls, information that the twins had been reunited after Darwin had re-entered the system, talking to foster parents and arranging to catch coffee with children who had no say in whether or not they wanted to meet me.

I left early and drove around the block an extra time, finding myself strangely nervous. On the radio, Frank Sinatra sang about flying to the moon, about seeing spring on Jupiter and Mars, and I chuckled at the very idea of space holding anything worth seeing. Rainbows slid across my peripheral vision, a gift of the sunglasses and tinted windshield. Traffic was just beginning to pick up again, people returning to their jobs and doing their best to ignore the two-mile hole where downtown once was.

I was loathe to leave the safety of the car, but I wouldn't spend my life hiding from the public. After enough former Controllers saw through my paltry disguise, I took off my sunglasses and blinked in the daylight, willing my eyes to fix a defiant stare on whomever dared glance sideways at me next. I could hear the muttering, was powerless to stop it, but I tried to put it out of my mind. I didn't want to dwell on the fact that I was the face of so many people's nightmares.

The woman behind the register had obviously been a Controller; she flexed the muscles in her hands and ran her tongue over her teeth and performed all those tiny actions newly-freed people did to remind themselves of their autonomy. I waited for a few moments to see if another employee would take her place, but impatient as always, I surrendered myself to an awkward situation.

"You keep your mouth open like that you'll catch flies, and God knows there's enough of them winging around in here," I told her when she predictably just stared at me. Perhaps she was remembering some horrible thing Edriss had done to her. Perhaps she was just shocked to see my body alive and doing normal human things. I didn't care. When she failed to apologize, I snapped "I guess having a life after Yeerks is a luxury only some of us get to have, isn't it? Now are you going to take my order or not?"

Abashed, the woman averted her eyes and only nodded her head politely when I gave her my order, her voice a mild squeak when she asked for my name and two dollars. I didn't tip.

Coffee. Coffee and a notebook and pens, to give me a way to pass the time, lists of trivial things that needed doing. In the half-hour before the twins and their foster parents arrived, I filled two pages with reminders of papers I needed to sign and people I needed to call.

I recognized the twins instantly, despite having only seen Darwin once and Madra never. Edriss had projected the younger versions of them into my mind at times, after the first trial. They were eleven years old now, Darwin a little taller than Madra, both glancing around warily though their foster parents were at their sides. With a nod and a hot chocolate each from their parents, they crossed the half-empty café to meet me.

I considered standing, but thought it better to stay at their eye level. "Hello, Darwin, Madra."

"Hello," Madra said, a soft smile slipping over her face. Darwin glanced up at me, but didn't smile or meet my eyes. From what I could piece together, Madra had never been infested. Darwin, of course, had been. The last time he'd seen me, Edriss had been pointing a gun at his chest with my arms.

I found myself searching their faces for something I couldn't name. Maybe I was hoping to find kindred spirits in two children touched by the same evil creature I'd been ruined by. Maybe I was just curious to see if I could see any of Edriss in them, as silly as that was, because Edriss was nothing but a slug, her mannerisms nothing but mimicries of human body language. But I looked at the twins, eleven years old, and saw more of Marco than anyone else. He'd been that old when I'd disappeared. In some way, even though he was an adult to me now, he'd stay preserved at eleven in some part of my mind.

But there was no Edriss in these children, and that both relieved and saddened me, somehow.

I decided to be frank with them. "You can call me Eva, if you want. I just felt I should meet you both. You're going to be hearing a lot of things about your mother in the next few months-"

"You mean the Yeerk?" Madra asked. Darwin rolled and unrolled the edge of his napkin.

"Yes. I mean the Yeerk. She…" I drummed my fingers on the table, trying to think of what I was trying to say and how to say it. "She was your mother too, in a way."

"She almost killed me," Darwin said softly.

"She didn't," I said, surprised to find myself advocating for her. "She almost did, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Good thing, right?"

For some reason, I couldn't bring up that Edriss probably would have, if the Animorphs hadn't intervened. I wanted to convince him, or maybe myself, that the Yeerk who called herself his mother was capable of love. It would justify the things I felt for her that weren't hatred.

Darwin didn't say anything to that, and Madra just looked at me expectantly, so I went on. "Anyway. You're going to be hearing a lot about her over the next few months, and probably a lot about me, and I just wanted to let you know that yes, all those things are true, but she also – she also loved you. As much as a thing like her could know how to love."

"She also killed our real mom," Darwin said coldly. "My Yeerk got told the whole thing."

"We just think of her as the Yeerk. That's all," Madra added. "We try to ignore her when she's in the news."

I bit the inside of my lip. "I just thought you should know. There's no one alive who knew her better than I did, and she did consider herself your parent. She wanted you both back with her. So if you ever change your mind about wanting to know, I'll leave contact information with…those are your foster parents?"

Madra nodded. "Connie and Martin. They're okay."

"She would have been happy to see that you're taken care of. It was one of her last concerns, before she died."

Madra smiled a bit sadly. Darwin pressed his lips together and looked skeptical.

"Anyway," I said, "at some point the media might find you. I won't tell anyone, but there are other former hosts who know about your existence. I've talked to your foster parents and I have a few resources to keep you hidden if they think it's necessary, but hopefully the whole thing blows over."

"We can take care of ourselves, Miss Eva," Madra said, shifting her chair a bit closer to her brother protectively.

"I'm just putting it out there." I sighed and leaned back against the hard metal back of the café chair. "Well, I guess this meeting has been a bit more unsuccessful than we expected it to be."

"Than you expected it to be," Darwin corrected.

"Yes. Than I expected it to be." I covered my disappointment with a sip of coffee. "But I wanted to leave the option open to you. If at any point in the future, you're curious or confused or anything like that, you can reach me. Even if it's in a few years. Like it or not, it's part of your history. I'm just keeping it safe in case you ever want to know about it."

Madra looked sideways at her brother, and then back up at me. "It's not really history we're interested in, Miss Eva."

"Please, just Eva. And I understand. Really. No one understands wanting to forget about the whole thing more than I do."

"Yeah. So we should probably not talk about it, right?"

I nodded in sad understanding. "It's been nice meeting you kids."

Madra looked kindly back at me and nodded. "We'll keep your number just in case." Darwin shot her a look that suggested they had no such plans. I wasn't stupid enough to believe they had any intention of ever revisiting this part of their heritage. The two of them stood and whisked away back to Connie and Martin, leaving a crumpled napkin and their hot chocolates in front of me nearly untouched.

I stayed seated in the café for nearly an hour after that, trying to will myself into getting up and leaving, but trapped within the endless lists to write in my notebook. I wasn't ready to go to the house yet, much as I tried to convince myself otherwise.

There may as well have been a collective sigh of relief from everyone in the café when I did finally leave. I held my anger in check; how could I really blame them for wanting to forget? How could I blame them for not wanting to lay eyes on the former face of their villain? I didn't return to my sunglasses, but was more than a little grateful for the tinted windows. I drove back to the house in silence at first, and then to whatever CD Peter had bought and left in the deck – some rendition of Schubert's "Ave Maria", ironically enough.

It wasn't until I was parked at the edge of the long driveway that I surrendered my body a final time. I let my mind lay back and let physical human reactions take control, and let out choking, gagging sobs and sandpapery tears. I cried for Edriss' orphan children, and for the incalculable wreckage of my life, and of my son's life, and everyone else touched by this hellish invasion. For my new identity I'd had no say in, for my son's nightmares and my husband's grieving, for Nora wherever she was, and for the two-mile hole in the middle of the city.

And to my surprise and horror, I found myself crying for Edriss, the repulsive, wretched little creature that she was, because she was unmourned and complicated. Because for every landslide of greed and cruelty and jealousy, there'd been a kernel of decency in her, and no one was going to stand testament to it besides me. And I neither wanted to nor knew how.

For a long time I sat in the car, parked in the driveway, damning her with every labored breath. Eventually, either Peter saw the car or he was heading out for a walk anyway, and I saw him approach. He probably couldn't see me crying behind the dark windows, but I could see the concerned smile on his face.

Before I wiped my eyes and stepped out of the car, I took one last deep breath, swallowed hard, and fully aware of how much I was deluding myself, willed myself to move on and forget.

[yunyun]

i really like it! please write more, i look forward to it!

[Myitt]

Oh, I always wanted some perspective on how Darwin and Madra felt about their past!  Poor Eva...and poor Edriss.  How can I feel any sympathy for such a cruel and malicious character?  I guess I did before, a little, because of her attachment to humanity and her cunning and the lack of what we would call normalcy within the Yeerk Empire.  Your writing really pins it down, though, and it's so well done.  Have you thought about writing as a career?

[LisaCharly]

Thank you so much for the kind words, both of you! I don't think I'll go into writing as a career, ever (I'm more inclined to law or education, and I'm studying economics so...I have no idea). I'm glad that you think I've captured Edriss' complexity - she's one of my favorite villains in all of literature.

[Myitt]

Oh, well, you definitely have talent if law or education ever gets boring!

[LisaCharly]

Completed. I just need to figure out how to edit the thread title. Thanks so much for the feedback, people. This has been immesely rewarding.

X: Eva Salazar

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Once the secretary's ushered out the preceding interviewee, she motions for me to enter the reporter's chambers. The interviewer, a young lady who's probably some rising star here at Time, looks up from her desk and motions for me to sit. "Good morning, Ms. Laroche."

"You know, I kept my maiden name." I try not to sound snippy at her, but I'm more than a little peeved at her for not doing her research before the interview. It's unprofessional of her, and I assume that she just read Marco's book and took all her information from there.

He'd tell me that I shouldn't even be doing this interview, naturally, because he's more than a little protective of me still. It's all fine for him to go in front of cameras and talk about books and movies for gossip rags, but heaven forbid I go talk about political affairs to a well-respected publication. They might ask me something upsetting, something that triggers memories. It'd be sweet if it weren't so hypocritical.

"Oh, that's right, Ms. Salazar, I'm so sorry. I made a note of that on my pad but I guess I just missed it," she titters, then moves from her desk to the chair across from me. "Before we started, I just wanted to ask you about how we're titling this piece. We're not decided yet between 'Visser One's Former Host Speaks Out About Yeerk Integration' or 'Visser One's Former Slave Speaks Out About Yeerk Integration'. Of course, we could also go with the celebrity angle and identify you as Marco Salazar Laroche's mother."

"I suppose being identified as an independent individual is out of the question?"

Blank stare.

"Former host is fine."

Her cow-like stare switches instantly back to a peppy smile. "Glad to hear it. It's only going to be about a page of interview material, with maybe another page of your biography and some pictures – Chuck's going to set you up with the photographer for that. Anyway, this should only take about half an hour. Now, let me get my tape running…alright."

She rattles off some identifying article numbers, her name - Louise Gerald - and the date into her recorder before asking, "Ms. Salazar, how has your life changed since the invasion ended?"

"You mean, besides freedom and a son who can buy me a beachfront house? It's a lot of paperwork to come back from the dead."

She looks at me expectantly, as if expecting me to continue. I sigh.

"I don't think, besides those things, that my life has changed too much more than the average person's. We've all seen a huge change from the way things were in 1998. Obviously we'd be smart to expect an economic boom from all the shared technology, even if it's being bottled-necked by exclusivity contracts right now. But mostly, the open conversation between different sentient species is going to bring forth a variety of expanding industries, including intergalactic relations, extraterrestrial housing placement and education, and intergalactic law. The way we teach science will change entirely. And that's not to mention the personal questions brought up by the whole thing, especially regarding former Controllers and religion."

"Do you think the discovery of alien races stands in opposition to religion?"

"Well, I can only speak from the Christian perspective. But I don't think it dismantles religion in any way, but it definitely…it definitely requires some extra examination, to stay devout and informed. We know that the Arn genetically engineered an entire sentient race, which throws a wrench into things. And really, God and aliens were never exactly contradictory, but it brings a lot of questions up about what humankind's place is in the universe, if we're not there to rule dominion over everyone." I pause for a second, realizing I'm straying away from the talking points I wanted to hit. "Actually, the dominion thing is a bit of a Yeerkish sentiment."

Writing notes furiously, she asks, "what are your opinions about the movements to integrate?"

"Integration's the key to all this. But it has to be done carefully. It's no secret that people in general aren't too keen on foreigners, especially foreign invaders. At the same time, the Yeerks have their own culture and laws. The nothlits will have to abide by human laws, which is going to be a pretty big shift for them, especially the ones who never had hosts before. We'll need to exercise patience and restraint while they adjust, and mutual respect. The last thing we need is apartheid, or genocide, between the two races, which is a very likely possibility. I mean, there's already violence against former Controllers, even the involuntary ones, which is a step removed from the Yeerks themselves."

"Have you witnessed any of this violence personally?"

"I was assaulted once by a former Controller who recognized me as Visser One's host, yes. Thankfully no one suffered any serious injury."

"So can I take it that you support the Berkin Bill that would protect Yeerk nothlits from violent crime under hate crime statutes?"

"Only if it's temporary. Hate crime legislation is a band-aid solution, and it's inherently unfair, but if it discourages violence long enough for the two species to reach an uneasy peace, then it's useful as a short-term tool. What we really need to focus on is education and monitoring of our police forces and judicial systems that protect nothlit communities. We need to hold our enforcement services to their jobs and to our laws, which do protect nothlits."

Louise taps her pen against her notepad, then looks thoughtfully at me. "You know, Ms. Salazar, it's surprising that you're so sympathetic to the Yeerks after your experiences with them."

"I'm no sympathizer; I'm just expedient. A peaceful solution is much better than continuing war. And more than that, Yeerks are individuals. We don't, or at least we shouldn't, hate Cubans because we don't like what Castro does. The same thing applies here. Yeerk culture is different than ours, but, ah, not all Yeerks are the egomaniacal invaders and war criminals that made our first impressions."

"And yet, your Yeerk was the leader and instigator of the war on Earth. It's just surprising that you've managed to be so forgiving. How did Visser One affect your view of Yeerks?"

I bite my lip, thinking of the right words. I don't want to talk about Edriss. I've spent the last three years dragging my battered life away from what Edriss did to it. Filling that paper-thin hole in my head with work and prayer and selective memory. Pressing against the barriers of everyone's expectations of the tormented survivor, against the circumstances that tried to craft the rest of my years. And all everyone ever wants to talk about is Edriss, who's dead when I'm alive.

"Ms. Salazar?"

"I didn't hate Edriss because she was a Yeerk. I hated her because, as an individual, she didn't even have the most basic concept of morality, and she personally hurt my family. But she isn't representative of all Yeerks, and more that that, you don't spend seven years with someone in your head without learning a bit about where they came from." I absentmindedly unbutton my jacket.

Louise just looks at me expectantly, so I go on.

"Um, I don't really want to call it a 'relationship', because that makes it sound like we liked each other, but I understood her. She was a politician, that's all. A really ruthless, amoral, self-interested politician. And since I was in her head and immersed in Yeerk military culture, I saw how a lot of her personality was just harmful traits built on a really innocuous base. I mean, pride, ambition, hard work, cunning, they're all things we value. It's only really a problem when you add an immoral personality and, and a military system that encourages it. And their military system is repulsive. There's nothing from there that should be allowed to continue. But not all Yeerks are soldiers."

Louise almost looks disappointed. I wonder if she wanted to write a scathing article about the trauma of Yeerk control, but there are thousands of former Controllers out there willing to spew useless hatred. I don't want to add to the problem, even if I don't associate with former Yeerks myself, and the world doesn't need to see another bleating victim in the limelight. "That's very diplomatic of you," she says.

"Bachelor's in communications and master's in political science. Diplomacy is my bread and butter. Off the record, though? I dislike Andalites more than I dislike Yeerks."

"One last question, and this has to do with the Animorphs – how do you respond to the criticism that the surviving Animorphs should put more effort into doing good, like Cassandra Valentine has done?"

It's not a question I want to answer. I can feel my jaw clenching. "I think people who say those things don't have a clue what they're talking about. Miss Valentine is a wonderful person and I'm proud of her, but the Animorphs don't owe the world a debt because they're famous now. They sacrificed their childhoods and emotional wellbeing to protect everyone here. If anything, the world owes them, and if Mr. Harper wants to hide in a tree or my son wants to spend his time making people laugh for money, then I defy someone to think of a good reason why they shouldn't. And then they can show me their tax returns, and they better've donated every red cent to Oxfam."

Louise smiles. "Thank you for the interview, Ms. Salazar. It's been a pleasure and an honor. I hope I didn't keep you too late."

"Not at all. I have a date, though, so I have to run. Could you have Chuck call my office?"

"Sure. A date?" Her eyes light up, hopeful for another scandalous twist to add to the piece. "I thought you and Mr. Laroche were still happily married?"

"We are. I'm meeting him and my son at some upscale French restaurant. I promised Marco I'd go with him if he didn't give me any mouth about doing interviews." I don't add that we'll be spending the rest of the day sailing, and probably be making all sorts of macabre jokes about drowning. Personally, I've come to relish spitting in trauma's face.

"Ah," Louise deflates a bit. As a campaign manager I used to deal with reporters all the time, but they'd always be asking about my client; as a war survivor and advisor to the US Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs, they're always asking about me, me and Edriss, and I like that a lot less. "Well, have a nice day."

"You too, Ms. Gerald." And re-buttoning my blazer, I leave.

[Myitt]

Ohh, it's over?  Sad mode.  I was hoping to hear a bit more about Yeerk nothlits, or maybe what happens after Marco goes off with the others to find Ax...

But still, great work Lisa!  Really felt like I was reading a small, post-series Chronicles book, in a way.  Bravo!

[LisaCharly]

I purposefully ended it here because I felt like it all came full circle at this point, before Marco runs off with Tobias and Jake. Eva started a politico in my fic and is ending one. There's enough distance between her and the war that she can look at it more objectively. I wanted to end on the positive message that even though our circumstances may define our options, they don't decide which option we take, and that recovery is slow but possible.

I'm going to start work on another series of some other characters post-war, so I'm going to try to cover some of that other material there. I also am working on a drabble series that has a little bit of Peter and Eva after Marco runs off on his suicide mission, because that is great territory to mine, I just felt like it didn't belong in this one.

Thank you so much for the reading and support. It means a lot to me.

[Myitt]

No problem!

Bump, because this fic is fantastic!

Hey and - VOTE FOR BEST FIC OF THE YEAR

[wildweathel]

Woah.

I have a hard time putting in words how awesome this is.  Excellent focus, unity, brilliance of composition, something like that.  Novella length is a lot shorter than what I usually read, and so I'm surprised that I'm done before 11--usually a good story keeps me up until 2 or 3.

But, that's because you saw a story, got in, told it, got out.  Story ninja.  Thank you.  Well done.