May 13, 2020 22:05
I wonder if Tobias will have a normal hawk lifespan while morphed or if he lives as long as a human. I would guess the hawk one which is kind of a bummer.
I wonder if Tobias will have a normal hawk lifespan while morphed or if he lives as long as a human. I would guess the hawk one which is kind of a bummer.
I wonder if Tobias will have a normal hawk lifespan while morphed or if he lives as long as a human. I would guess the hawk one which is kind of a bummer.
An injured body loses its damage on morphing. In one book later in the series they survive a grim night in the Arctic by remorphing every two hours to reset the effects of hypothermia. In a less specific spoiler, there's a book where someone gets amnesia and voluntarily avoids using their battle morph because they're not sure if it will remain injured.
I think this was something they deliberately demonstrated early on in the books while they were establishing the rules about morphing. I remember when this came out in the 90s DNA and genetic engineering were hot topics: Dolly the Sheep was just cloned, GATTACA was just released, etc. So these books really tapped into the "you are your genes, not your body" sentiment.
That being said there are some handwaves which is only appropriate since this is not hard sci fi. The most obvious one is that you can morph with clothes. But on top of that, morphing remembers your hair length and style which isn't something stored in your DNA. (I also think I remember a scene with Cassie growing out her hair when morphing back to her body, just because she can.)
In (I think?) another dozen books or so they tackle the question of "what happens to your extra mass when you morph something small" and I guarantee it's not what you expect.
Except giving the Yeerks the cube is tactically the smartest thing to do because it short circuits the whole reason for the war in the first place. The Yeerks engage in wars of conquest because they need hosts, and with the morphing power that entire motivation is rendered unnecessary.
Cassie's ability to see her enemies not as cartoonish villains (difficult, given Visser Three and all) but as people with understandable if antagonistic goals and objectives lets her end an intergalactic war.
Certainly in the moment it happened though, very bold.
i think morphing tech didn't exist when they first bumped into yeerks - iirc it was new in the hork-bajir chronicles when the war was in full swing - so by the time it was an option the andalites were already in the mindset of "we can't give out our tech to anyone, especially that yeerk scum"
Oh I'm not suggesting the Andalites were wrong not to give morphing tech to the Yeerks, especially once they had shown themselves to be aggressive conquerors, just that Cassie's unique perspective lets her see a way out of the entire situation. Though I think most of the Yeerks are actually required to become nothlits by whatever peace ends the war. Not 100% sure though.
I wasn't tired anymore.
At top speed, I raced back to my friends. I felt sick. I felt like my heart was going to burst. They had missed the deadline! It was too late. Too late, and they would all be trapped. Like me. Forever.
<MORPH!> I screamed as I closed in on them.
Thought-speak is like regular speech. It gets harder to hear the farther away you are.
<Morph back! Now!> Maybe the clock in the truck was off. Maybe five minutes one way or the other wouldn't matter.
There! I saw them. Four wolves moving relentlessly toward the distant city.
<Morph! Now!> I screamed as I shot like a bullet over their heads.
<How much time do we have?!> Marco demanded.
<None.>
That got them going. I landed, exhausted, on a branch.
Cassie was the first to begin the change. Her fur grew short. Her snout flattened into a nose. Long, human legs swelled and burst from the thin dog legs.
Her tail sucked back in and disappeared. She was already more than half human by the time the first changes began to appear on the others.
<Come on, hurry,> I urged them.
<What time is it?> Jake demanded.
<You have about two minutes,> I said. It was a lie. According to the clock, they were already seven minutes too late.
Too late.
And yet Cassie was continuing to emerge from her wolf body. Skin was replacing fur. Her leotard covered her legs.
But the others were not so lucky.
<Ahhhh!> I heard Rachel cry in my mind. Her morph was going all wrong. Her human hands appeared at the end of her wolf legs. But nothing else seemed to be changing.
I looked, horrified, at Marco. His normal head emerged with startling suddenness from his wolf body. But the rest of him had not changed. He looked down at himself and cried out in terror. "Helowl. Yipmeahhh!" It was an awful sound, half human, half wolf.
This was worse than I had feared. I figured they could be trapped as wolves, like I had been trapped as a hawk. But they were emerging as half-human freaks of nature.
They were living nightmares.
Cassie ran from one to the next. "Come on, Jake, concentrate! Focus! Rachel, bear down, girl. Picture yourself human. See yourself like you're looking in the mirror. Fight the fear, Marco!" I saw Marco roll his human eyes up and stare at me. His gaze locked on me. It was like he hated me. Or feared me.
Both, maybe.
I didn't move. If Marco needed me to concentrate, that was fine.
But it sent a shiver of disgust through me. I suddenly saw myself as they all must see me: as something frightening. A freak. An accident. A sickening, pitiable creature.
Slowly, slowly, Marco began to emerge. Slowly, slowly, the human body appeared. Rachel, too, and Jake. They were winning their battle.
"That's it, Jake," Cassie urged. She held his hand tight between both of hers. "Come back to me, Jake. Come all the way back."
I watched Rachel. She still had a small, shrinking tail. Her mouth still protruded. Her blond hair was still more like gray fur. But she was going to make it.
The clock must have been fast. A matter of five minutes one way or the other had determined their fates.
I was glad they had made it. They were all human again.
"We did it," Jake gasped weakly. He lay on his back on the pine needles. "We made it."
"That was close," Rachel said. "That was way too close. It was so hard. It was like trying to climb up out of a pool of molasses."
"I'm human again," Marco muttered. "Human! Toes. Hands. Arms and shoulders." He checked himself all over.
"Ha ha! That was close!" Cassie exulted. She gave Jake a hug. Then I guess she felt selfconscious, because she ran over and hugged Rachel and Marco.
They were all laughing, all giggling with relief.
"We're okay," Jake sighed.
I was happy for them. Really I was. But suddenly I didn't want to be there.
Suddenly I desperately didn't want to be there. I felt an awful, gaping black hole open up all around me. I was sick. Sick with the feeling of being trapped.
Trapped.
Forever!
I looked at my talons. They would never be feet again.
I looked at my wing. It would never be an arm. It would never again end in a hand. I would never touch. I would never touch anything . . . anyone . . . again.
I dropped from the branch and opened my wings.
"Tobias!" Jake shouted after me.
But I couldn't stay. I flapped like a demon, no longer caring that I was tired. I had to fly. I had to get away.
"Tobias, no! Come back!" Rachel cried.
I caught a blessed breeze and soared up and away, my own silent, voiceless scream echoing in my head.
There's a reason I always told my friends "the first two books are surprisingly dark, and then... it takes a hard left turn into a darker place."
And then book 4 is a breather, and then book 5 turns even darker and harder, and then 6, and then 7...
I remember the lobster morph being a particularly bad one, description-wise so I'm looking forward to seeing how gross the morphs get. Pity that the flea morph was offscreen, do they ever use that one again? Seems like it would be somewhat helpful for low-stakes infiltration, especially if you enlist someone else in morph as a watcher to keep an eye on whoever the flea is on.
...incidentally, what does the thread title refer to?
Petition to change the thread title to match the cover of the current book.
Gladly. Is this something I can do myself, or do we need a mod?
PM Hieronymous Alloy, he can do it for you. He can also change the thread tag so it's no longer the Shitpost one too. Given the content of the series and this book in particular the Falconry one is the obvious choice.
Kind of makes sense that the limit wouldn't be exactly two hours. Whatever units the Andalites use probably wouldn't be evenly divisible by earth hours so maybe the real number is 2:04:37 or something and Elfangor just said "2 hours" so they can remember it.
We need a book where the aliens give a unit of time that their universal translator has given them but is actually wildly off from the real time.
What did happen to the morphing cube they used to get powers anyway, did the yeerks accidentally incinerate it with the andalites ship?
What did happen to the morphing cube they used to get powers anyway, did the yeerks accidentally incinerate it with the andalites ship?
PM Hieronymous Alloy, he can do it for you. He can also change the thread tag so it's no longer the Shitpost one too. Given the content of the series and this book in particular the Falconry one is the obvious choice.
For future reference, you can also ask me to do this - I'll usually see it if you post in the thread, anyway.
"2 of your earth hours"
"They're everyone's hours."
It was late when I returned to what was now my home.
After I was first trapped in my hawk body, Jake had removed an outside panel that led into the attic of his house. I flew in through the opening. It was a typical attic. There were some dusty old cardboard boxes full of Jake and Tom's old baby clothes. There were open boxes of Christmas lights and decorations. There was a chest of drawers with a top that had been scarred by something or other.
Jake had opened one of the drawers in the chest and packed it with an old blanket.
It was nice of him. Jake has always been a decent guy. In the old days he used to protect me from the punks at school who liked to beat me up.
The old days. When I still went to school. How long ago had it been? A few weeks? A month? Not even.
There was a Rubbermaid dish in a corner where no one was likely to see it. I was hungry. I clutched the dish with my left talon and pried the lid off with my hooked beak.
Meat and potatoes and green beans. The meat was hamburger. I don't know how he arranged to get the food. His mom probably thought he was sneaking scraps to his dog, Homer.
I hadn't told him yet, but I couldn't eat the vegetables or the potatoes. My system couldn't deal with much except meat. I . . . the hawk . . . was a predator. In the wild, hawks live on rat and squirrel and rabbit.
I ate some of the hamburger. It was cold. It was dead. It made me feel bad to be eating it, but it filled me up.
But it wasn't dead meat that I wanted. I wanted live meat. I wanted living, breathing, scurrying prey. I wanted to swoop down on it and grab it with my razor talons and tear into it.
That's what I wanted. What the hawk wanted. And when it came to food, it was hard to deny the hawk brain in my head. The hunger I felt was the hunger of the hawk.
I flopped and hopped up into my drawer. But it was soft. And what my hawk body wanted was not the warmth and comfort of the blanket.
Hawks make nests of sticks. Hawks spend their nights on a friendly branch, feeling the breeze, hearing the nervous chittering of prey, watching the owls hunt.
I hopped up out of the drawer. I couldn't stay there. I was so tired I was past being able to rest. I was restless.
I flew back out into the night. Hawks are not usually nocturnal. The night belongs to other hunters. But I wasn't ready to rest.
I flew aimlessly for a while, but I knew in my heart where I was going.
Rachel's bedroom light was still on. I fluttered down and landed on a birdhouse she had deliberately nailed out there for me to land on when I came over.
I rustled my wing softly against the glass. I scratched with one talon. <Rachel?>
A moment later the window slid up. She was there, wearing a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. "Hi," she said. "I was worried about you!"
<Why?> I asked. But I knew the answer.
"We weren't very sensitive this afternoon," she said. She spoke in a whisper. We couldn't let her mother or one of her little sisters overhear her having a one-sided conversation with no one.
<Don't be silly,> I said. <You guys barely escaped being . . . you know.>
"Come inside. I have my bedroom door locked."
I hopped in through the window and fluttered over to her dresser.
Suddenly I realized something was behind me. I turned my head around. It was a mirror. I was looking at myself.
I had a reddish tail of long straight feathers. The rest of my back was mottled dark brown. I had big shoulders that looked kind of hunched, like I was a football lineman ready for the snap. My head was streamlined. My brown eyes were fierce as I stared over the deadly weapon of my beak.
I turned my head forward, looking away from my reflection. <I don't know what's happening to me, Rachel.>
"What do you mean, Tobias?"
I wish I could have smiled. She looked so worried. I wish I could have smiled, just a little, to make her feel better.
<Rachel. I think I'm losing myself.>
"Wh - What . . . How do you mean?" she asked. She bit her lip and tried not to let me see. But of course, hawk eyes miss nothing.
<Today the hawk we freed . . . she was there. At the lake. I wanted to go with her. I felt like I belonged with her.>
"You belong with us," Rachel said firmly. "You are a human being, Tobias."
<How can you be so sure?> I asked her.
"Because what counts is what is in your head and in your heart," she said with sudden passion. "A person isn't his body. A person isn't what's on the outside."
<Rachel . . . I don't even remember what I looked like.>
I could see that she wanted to cry. But Rachel is a person with strength that runs all the way through her. Maybe that's why I came to see her. I needed someone to be sure. I wanted someone to let me borrow a little of their strength.
She went over to her nightstand and opened the drawer. She rummaged for a minute, then came back to me. She was holding a small photograph. She turned it so I could see. It was me. The me I used to be.
<I didn't know you had a picture of me,> I said.
She nodded. "It's not a great picture. In real life you look better."
<In real life,> I echoed.
"Tobias, someday the Andalites will return. If they don't, we're all lost, all the human race. If they do come back, I know they'll have some way to return you to your own body."
<I wish I was sure,> I said.
"I am sure," she said. She put every ounce of faith into those three words. She wanted me to believe. But I could see the tears that were threatening to well up in her eyes as she lied.
Like I said, hawks don't miss much.