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trans_92011-09-05 10:34 pm
hadabrother.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-09-05 10:34 pm
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As much as he hated to really admit it, Jake was settling in aboard the ship. There was a strange sense of normalcy that followed him around - he was at war, he was trying to avoid getting people killed, he was thinking about strategies, thinking about the future - and that all seemed perfectly normal to him. He had slipped back into the patterns and the habits he'd formed over the War very easily and that bothered him, in some little corner of his mind. But the rest of him? The rest of him was happy he had something to do that he was good at.
He was wary, paranoid again, watching everyone who said they were a friend with a trained suspicion. And sometimes at night, it made him sick to realize that he accepted that as a normal part of everyday life. It was 'late'. Late being relative when there was no way to really gauge what time it was or how much time had passed, so he went wandering to settle his mind. He found his way to a large hall, filled with strange and surreal sculptures and images. It was like a twisted sort of art gallery.
That was exactly what it was, he realized as he slowly drifted through the various pieces of art, staring at pieces that caught his attention. He finally paused to stare at a strange, shifting piece that stood underneath a sculpture of a head. It didn't really look like anything, though. Just inky blackness that seemed to shimmer strangely in the dim lighting.
He was about to turn away, when it finally coalesced into something he recognized. A scene he remembered very well. Probably too well. The bridge of the Pool Ship on that last, horrible day of the war. He was staring at the viewscreen, free hork-bajir and the other Animorphs standing around him. A defeated and weary-looking Visser Three. And on the view-screen, Tom.
That moment when he had condemned his brother and his cousin to death.
But that had all changed here. They were both alive, his brother was free - but that didn't stop the memories. Or the guilt. Or the second-guessing. What if he'd been a bit faster? Or a bit more careful? Or tried a different way?
The scene changed. Now it was the Animorphs locked in combat with Hork-Bajir. And then a Howler. It changed again - the auxiliaries being shot down one after the other by the Pool Ship's dracon beams. Sharks, swimming in an alien sea. Rachel's funeral. The smoking remains of the Yeerk Pool after they'd blown it to smithereens-
He tore himself away.
He shouldn't dwell. He had the present to think about. He flexed his hands and for a moment, he stared down at them. Was this all he was going to be good at for the rest of his life? Planning for war? Fighting war?
Jake shook himself off and turned to walk deeper into the strange gallery. He didn't want to spend anymore time next to this particular piece of artwork.
He was wary, paranoid again, watching everyone who said they were a friend with a trained suspicion. And sometimes at night, it made him sick to realize that he accepted that as a normal part of everyday life. It was 'late'. Late being relative when there was no way to really gauge what time it was or how much time had passed, so he went wandering to settle his mind. He found his way to a large hall, filled with strange and surreal sculptures and images. It was like a twisted sort of art gallery.
That was exactly what it was, he realized as he slowly drifted through the various pieces of art, staring at pieces that caught his attention. He finally paused to stare at a strange, shifting piece that stood underneath a sculpture of a head. It didn't really look like anything, though. Just inky blackness that seemed to shimmer strangely in the dim lighting.
He was about to turn away, when it finally coalesced into something he recognized. A scene he remembered very well. Probably too well. The bridge of the Pool Ship on that last, horrible day of the war. He was staring at the viewscreen, free hork-bajir and the other Animorphs standing around him. A defeated and weary-looking Visser Three. And on the view-screen, Tom.
That moment when he had condemned his brother and his cousin to death.
But that had all changed here. They were both alive, his brother was free - but that didn't stop the memories. Or the guilt. Or the second-guessing. What if he'd been a bit faster? Or a bit more careful? Or tried a different way?
The scene changed. Now it was the Animorphs locked in combat with Hork-Bajir. And then a Howler. It changed again - the auxiliaries being shot down one after the other by the Pool Ship's dracon beams. Sharks, swimming in an alien sea. Rachel's funeral. The smoking remains of the Yeerk Pool after they'd blown it to smithereens-
He tore himself away.
He shouldn't dwell. He had the present to think about. He flexed his hands and for a moment, he stared down at them. Was this all he was going to be good at for the rest of his life? Planning for war? Fighting war?
Jake shook himself off and turned to walk deeper into the strange gallery. He didn't want to spend anymore time next to this particular piece of artwork.