The first Chronicles fic of the Post-Animorphs series. A surprising history and many truths are revealed about the Yeerks before, during and after the Yeerk War...
A/N: I'M BA-ACK! Sorry for the months-long wait, but Visser Real Life has a tendency to interfere like that. (I also wanted to write some more of this before posting this first part of this fic, but I felt that my readers had been waiting for long enough.)
Well, here it is, my first-ever "Chronicles" fic in my Post-Animorphs series! (However, just don't expect it to be as long as the canon "Chronicles" books.)
/The Yeerk Chronicles/
/Dedicated to Anifan1 and Myitt for their stories on peaceful Yeerks, which were something of an inspiration for this, as well as to the latter for allowing me to use her OC Myitt 195 in this./
"History never looks like history when you are living through it." -John W. Gardner
It can always be difficult to speak before a crowd, even regardless of whatever kinds of species can be in the crowd you're speaking to.
It can be even more difficult when the majority of the species you are speaking to hates the majority of your own species.
At this point, I was doing neither, and yet I felt so nervous that I was sure that this was one of the most nerve-wracking moments in my life.
I was in a human government building on Earth, moving about in my robot body.
Armed with my personal notes and records compiled into something which humans would consider to be something like a manuscript, I walked in my "rovessel" down hallways, past human workers, most of whom eyed be with varying degrees of suspicion, and yet a few of them with varying degrees of curiosity.
Ironically, I took heed with the human advice of "rolling with the punches."
I made my way to the secretary's desk, where a sharply-dressed middle-aged human female was bent over her work.
She noticed me come and looked up to look me square in the face (well, so to speak).
"How may I help you?" she asked formally.
"My name is Arklan Two-Five-Six, and I hold the rank of Paxxor One in the Yeerk Republic," I said. "I have an appointment with the manager of the recording studio in this building."
I noticed a few gasps and stares at the mention of the word "Yeerk." I paid them no heed.
Checking her book, the secretary confirmed my statement.
"Yes, of course, Paxxor Arklan. Room 96, near the far end of the hall to your right. Have a nice day."
"Thank you, you too."
I walked down the hall with my two bodyguards, our rovessel gaits looking like those of an Earth creature known as a spider. I even heard someone say how we moved like "those Spider Walkers from /Episode II: Attack of the Clones/"... whatever that was.
I ignored the hostile looks and glares the same way a ship's shield deflects incoming enemy fire. Of course, to be fair, I could hardly expect them to be so understanding of my species when an entire empire of my species was marauding throughout this arm of the galaxy, with the human race being the latest of their targets.
Besides, if that weren't the case, I wouldn't have a job to do right now. (Granted, I just might have some other job to do instead, but that wasn't really the point here.)
I could hardly blame the portion of the human race which hated my entire race. I was sure that deep down, among their reasons for the distrust were to avoid a repeat of the invasion launched by the Yeerk Empire. As it's been basically said many times by different people, human or otherwise, that those who don't learn from the lessons of history are doomed to repeat them.
But then again... one of the things which I've come to learn is that people who are stuck in said history get nowhere.
I entered the room, which was spare and simple. A table, a few chairs, some human recording equipment...
With a subtle gesture to my bodyguards, they took their places: One stayed with me in the room, and the other stayed outside of it.
Taking a moment to collect myself, I organized my electronic notes stored on my information tablets. I am here at this place to tell the other side of the Yeerk race during the brutal times of the Yeerk Empire, but at the same time, I know I will have to censor myself here, because some things are just better left unsaid and kept private.
I checked my internal chronometer, under the function telling me the local time here, and saw that I had arrived quite early. Good. I needed some time to myself, anyway.
Some aspects may just be as hard for me to talk about as they may be hard for others to listen to, but for different reasons. While plenty of others may not want to hear what I have to say because it contradicts their long-held beliefs about Yeerks, I may not want to say things because they deal with topics, secrets and even emotions which I've deliberately left buried for so long.
As I look over my notes, I can almost feel myself be transported back to when it all began...
TO BE CONTINUED...
A/N: How is this for starters?
Regarding my OC's name: I remember back in /The Hork-Bajir Chronicles/, there was a Gedd-Controller referred to as "Arklan," who injured himself by trying to use a shredder in such a dense atmosphere. (If you have a copy of it, look on page 91.) I think that Arklan will be a pool-mate of my OC Arklan...
Note regarding the room number: Just a bit of rather pointless trivia here... the Animorphs series started in 1996, so I felt this was something of a nod to that. (Shrugs.)
Note about the thing about being stuck in history and getting nowhere: Sometime back, I was chatting with my friend and beta-reader, Alara Moonrunner, when she told me "Those who are stuck in said history get nowhere", as a sort of rebuttal to my quoting the thing about those who don't learn from history's lessons. So, I would like to thank her here for her uncanny wisdom and insight, as well as letting me use it in this fic.
The next part is the official first chapter, where we see pre-war life on the Yeerk home world even before the infamous Andalite prince known as Seerow ever arrived at it... -Quillian