Ax is in human morph but using thought-speak, unless that's a transcription error by Epicurius
Nope, I make plenty of transcription errors, but this isn't it. It's an error by the writer/editor.
Also, sorry to do this, but the next two chapters are being delayed until tomorrow.
<This bites,> I said. <Why did we get stuck with the Saturday morning shift? I should be asleep right now. Or watching The Powerpuff Girls.>
Cassie and I were in seagull morph, on the top of the compound's east wall. A gust of wind came in from the ocean, forcing me to flap my wings to keep from falling off. It had been three days since we'd started our surveillance of William Roger Tennant. Three days of watching and waiting.
And during those three days I'd had to morph several times. Not once did I have a problem. No mutant morphs. A huge relief. But the fear still lingered. Why had it happened? Would it happen again? And if so, when?
It had turned out that William Roger Tennant owned a huge beachfront mansion. Three stories. Lots of windows. A compound filled with a variety of trees and shrubs. Hedges sculpted into animal shapes. A stone wall covered with ivy surrounded the property.
<You know why you're here,> Cassie replied. <You switched with Jake so you could watch the South Park marathon last night.>
<Yeah, but that was before I knew about The Powerpuff Girls marathon,> I grumbled. <They shouldn't have more than one marathon in a week. It's just wrong. And why are we still doing this stakeout, anyway? We know Tennant's a Controller. Ax and Tobias saw him sneak into the Yeerk pool through The Gap entrance yesterday morning. What we need is to get inside the house,> I added. <We've got a plan. Albeit a suicidal one. Why not just get it over with?>
<You know why,> Cassie said. <Rachel's on little sister duty this afternoon. We're going in tomorrow. Meanwhile, we're learning Tennant's habits.>
<But we know his habits! And in the past three days he hasn't done anything even remotely illegal or scandalous. The guy's a saint.>
<Yeah, I know,> Cassie agreed. <The guy's squeaky clean. He's spent his entire life helping people. He's given millions to charity: Doctors Without Borders, the Humane Society, all kinds of diseases, the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I mean, if I didn't know better, I'd love this guy. And he's got tons of famous friends ->
<Which is probably why the Yeerks wanted him on board,> I said. <He's a perfect recruiter.>
William Roger Tennant emerged from the compound, dressed in a dark blue running outfit. Did
some stretches. Then started his jog along the beach.
<Like clockwork,> Cassie said.
<Let's go.> My spindly seagull legs pushed off the wall. I opened my wings to catch the warm breeze that was blowing off the water.
Every morning William Roger Tennant went for a forty-five-minute jog along the beach. Same path. Same speed. Same distance.
<Maybe he's not really a Controller after all,> I said. <Maybe he's an android. I mean, what kind of human keeps such a strict schedule?>
We kept Tennant's bouncing brown ponytail in our sights as he jogged along at his deliberate pace.
<Uh-huh,> Cassie agreed. <It's the same thing every day. From eight A.M. to eight-forty-five A.M. he goes jogging. Comes home, takes a shower. Sits at his desk and works for a few hours. Writes on the computer. Makes a few phone calls. Eats lunch, at his desk. Feeds the birds. Talks to them. Then at five o'clock he hops in his limo and is driven to the TV studio.>
<You know, I kind of wish Tennant weren't a Controller. I mean, apart from the Yeerk in his head he's such a swell guy. I watch Contact Point and I want to tell him about my own problems.>
<Something bothering you, Marco?> Cassie asked.
<No, absolutely not.>
<Uh-huh. So it doesn't bother you that your dad is dating?>
<What? No way. My dad is seriously gaga over Ms. Robbinette. So what? Not my problem, his problem.>
I'd told the others about my dad dating my math teacher. Back in the beginning. I'd had to tell them that much. We had to make sure Ms. Robbinette wasn't a Controller. For three days we'd followed her. She'd never gone near any known Yeerk pool entrances.
<She seems nice,> Cassie said. <Aren't you happy for your dad?>
<Sure. Why not?> I said.
<Still, you're in a tough position,> Cassie said.
<Actually, I'm sorry I brought it up. I don't want to talk about it. It's boring. I mean, who cares, right?>
<Okay.>
<I mean, the situation's bad enough,> I continued. So maybe I did want to talk about it. Just a little bit. <But does she have to be one of my teachers? Let alone my math teacher? And then there's Euclid.>
<Her toy poodle.>
<Satan with a perm. Simple commands like "sit," "stay," "heel" all mean the same thing to this dog: Bark at Marco. Jump on Marco. Bite Marco's ankle.>
For forty-five minutes we followed William Roger Tennant up the beach and then back to the compound. For forty-five minutes I vented. Cassie may or may not have listened. Every once in a while, she said <"uh-huh"> or <"bummer."> By the time Tennant walked back through the gate of the compound, I felt a little better. I had not mentioned the mutant morph.
<I know it's hard, but try to see the positive side of the situation,> Cassie said as we watched Tennant do his post jog stretches. <Your dad is happy. That's a good thing. Start there and maybe things will be okay.>
<Yeah,> I replied.
We landed on the stone wall encircling the compound. Watched William Roger Tennant cross the courtyard and go inside through the main entrance.
From our perch we could see into Tennant's office. It was hard not to. Two of the walls were made almost entirely of glass. The room had an amazing ocean view. <I mean, it probably doesn't matter anyway. Our chances of surviving tomorrow's mission are slim to none.>
The office door opened. William Roger Tennant, now dressed in his usual faded jeans and rumpled button-down oxford shirt, walked over to his desk and sat down. He raised his left hand close to his face.
Perched on his finger was a gray feathered creature about a foot long. He raised it up to his lips and gave it a dainty little kiss.
William Roger Tennant had a large collection of domestic birds. Finches. Parakeets. And cockatiels.
The plan was for five of us to morph cockatiels and search his house.
Five tiny, helpless birds fluttering around inside the house of a powerful Yeerk.
We'd get caught, I'd get crushed, I wouldn't even have to think about my dad and the math teacher.
Cockatiels.
According to one of Cassie's bird books, a species originally from Australia. About a foot long, from the crescent-shaped plume of feathers sprouting from the top of its head to the tip of its long gray-feathered tail.
Said to be highly intelligent. Even capable of mimicking human speech. We'd morphed parrots once, long ago. Just to mess with some people's heads. This would be different. We'd be going seriously in harm's way, which brought to mind the image of me yelling, "Squuuuaaawwk, don't kill me, squuaaawwk!"
William Roger Tennant owned ten cockatiels. Along with the other birds they seemed to have free reign of the house, although they spent most of their time in an open aviary. All of which made them perfect morphs for spying on Tennant.
Maybe too perfect.
<Remember. This could be a trap,> Jake said. <Tennant knows about the "Andalite bandits." He knows that at some point we'll try to come after him. What better way to kill us than by luring us into his house in vulnerable morphs?>
<What better way to capture us,> I replied, jerking my head left, right, left, back.
<That's why we're spreading out,> Jake said. <We get in and morph the cockatiels. Marco and Rachel, you stick with Tennant. Cassie, Ax and I will search the house. If one group runs into trouble, the other group hides and does battle morphs. Tobias will stay outside and let us know if the Yeerks send in reinforcements.>
He suddenly sat up on his haunches, looked back, left, focused, right, up.
As far as we knew, William Roger Tennant lived alone with his posse of birds. A housekeeping service came in and cleaned the mansion every morning. Had to be every day what with birds crapping everywhere.
Except for Tennant and the birds, the house was empty all afternoon. We hoped.
<We don't know what's in the basement, Jake,> I pointed out as I jerked my head left, left, right, up. <What if Tennant's got a dozen Hork-Bajir down there? You going to be able to get away in time to morph?>
<We call for you and Rachel. Do you have a problem with this plan, Marco?>
<No,> I replied quickly. What was I going to do? Tell everyone I suddenly wasn't sure they should be relying on me? That I wasn't sure I could morph in an emergency? Just as we were about to go into a very, very dangerous mission? No. <Of course not. Just want to be sure we know the risks.>
<If Jake's done explaining and Marco's done whining, maybe we can get down to business,> Rachel said. <This morph does not like to sit still>
<Yes,> Ax added. <This is a very energetic creature.>
The four of us had acquired squirrel morphs. Cassie already had one. Our morphs were like the squirrels scampering around your backyard right now. Gray, brown, and white fur. Long, twitchy bushy tail. Big, twitchy dark brown eyes. More energy than a hyperactive kid after a dozen cups of coffee.
Between the five of us we were jerking our heads, looking in every possible direction, about nine times a second.
<Okay. Let's go,> Jake said. He raced up the telephone pole. I raced up after him. So cool! The squirrel might as well have been running horizontally. Tiny little claws instantly found tiny little handholds.
Then, onto a phone line that led to the house. I looked out along that long, swooping wire and felt the squirrel's utter confidence. Walk on a wire? Sure, why not?
Off we went, single file of course, zipping along without a care in the world aside from the incessant, jerky, twitchy caution. I felt rather than saw Tobias in the air above us. The squirrel was not happy about his shadow.
Along the wire. Off onto a nearby tree branch. Then down onto the top of a stone wall. Then down to the ground in the courtyard.
<We are the ultimate burglars,> Rachel said.
She jumped from the stone wall to a large oak and motored over the courtyard to Tennant's house. <Ax?> Jake said, stopping to stare with squirrel intensity at the alarm junction.
<The creature's digits are quite nimble,> Ax said. <There should be no problem.>
The house was protected by a high-tech burglar alarm system. It took Ax about fifteen seconds to disarm it, working away with his little squirrel hands and chattering in squirrelese the whole time.
It was a bright, sunny day. Plenty of open windows. All had screens. But we'd come up with an insanely brilliant plan to get through the screens. A plan requiring very sophisticated human technology.
<Here goes,> Jake said. He hopped onto a narrow first-floor windowsill, a two-inch-long Swiss Army knife clenched in his teeth.
The window opened into a library a few doors down the hall from Tennant's office. Right next to the aviary. We'd seen Tennant use the library only once, at night.
Cassie had told us we probably didn't want to sneak directly into the aviary. Cockatiels can be kind of nervous. And they can be very loud when upset.
Jake jabbed the blade of the knife into the screen and pushed down on it, making an inch-long incision. Then he stuck his nose in the hole, bit on the screen, and ripped it open another inch.
<Okay, we're in.> Jake tossed the knife back down to the ground. <Tobias? Grab that for me. We don't want to leave any clues.>
Jake slipped through the hole. We followed, one by one, until the five of us were inside. Except for a couple of reading chairs, a floor lamp, and a massive bookcase, the room was bare.
<Okay,> Jake said. <Marco and Rachel. You go first>
<When we're all done acquiring we'll see if we can close off the aviary,> Cassie said. <We don't want Tennant seeing double.>
<Once Tennant sits down at his desk, he's usually there all afternoon,> Jake went on. <We'll just take a buzz around the place and leave without his ever knowing we were here.>
<Did you have to say that?> I groaned. <Now you've jinxed us.>
<Let's do it,> Rachel said, already beginning to demorph.
I did the same, although without quite as much enthusiasm.
It's one thing to be a squirrel in a strange home. You feel innocent, somehow. But to stand there as a normal kid wearing a stupid morphing outfit, that feels pretty criminal. Our footsteps were heavy. Our movements were slow. We were way big to hide. And no one was going to overlook us. "Oh, some kids in the library? I didn't even notice."
We finished demorphing. I felt the need to put my finger to my lips to indicate to Rachel that we had to be quiet. She felt the need to respond with a toxic "Duh!" look.
We slipped out of the library and into the aviary next door.
It was a big, high-ceilinged room, maybe three floors tall altogether. Glass-walled like a greenhouse, which it was, partly, with several large trees and plants everywhere. It was like an exhibit at the zoo. The birdhouse.
The birds mostly sat in the trees. Some flew, but most just hung out. They shifted on their perches when Rachel and I entered. Especially the cockatiels. As if on cue, the plume of feathers on the foreheads of all ten shot straight up in the air.
"Twooooit! Twooooit! Twooooit! Twooooit!"
"Yow. That's loud," I said.
Rachel walked slowly up to one of the low branches, her hands held high in a "you can trust me" position. Like a cop trying to negotiate with a gunman.
"Hi, birdie," she whispered. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."
"Twooit! Twooit!"
I targeted a bird that seemed to be chewing its toes while it stood on one foot. As I got near the bird decided it had eaten enough toe.
"Twooit! Twoooit! Twooooit!"
He shuffled back and forth on his perch. Bobbed his head frantically. I stuck my hand toward him. "You're tame, right?" I whispered.
"Marco, watch out!" Rachel hissed.
Too late.
So there are some dated TV shows, although South Park is still on and Powerpuff Girls is getting a revival, so maybe they aren't so dated. Also, I don't think most people let their birds fly around free in the house like that, do they?
I'd told the others about my dad dating my math teacher. Back in the beginning. I'd had to tell them that much. We had to make sure Ms. Robbinette wasn't a Controller. For three days we'd followed her. She'd never gone near any known Yeerk pool entrances.
<No,> I replied quickly. What was I going to do? Tell everyone I suddenly wasn't sure they should be relying on me? That I wasn't sure I could morph in an emergency? Just as we were about to go into a very, very dangerous mission?
e: birds are the best, but they don't belong in cages or houses.
Owww!" I cried, jerking my hand back.
"Shhhhhh!!!" Rachel hissed.
"He took a chunk out of my finger," I whispered as I bounced around, holding my finger with my other hand.
"Didn't you listen to Cassie?" Rachel whispered back. "She said you have to approach the birds in a nonthreatening way."
"I didn't threaten him! But now I'm going to threaten him."
I glared at my beady-eyed opponent. He turned his head to one side and winked at me triumphantly. Once I touched him, it would be easy enough. The acquiring process puts the animal into a kind of trance.
It was the touching part that made me nervous. That plus the fact that I expected Tennant to show up looking wise and mellow and incinerate me with a wise, mellow Dracon beam.
Rachel had already acquired her bird and begun to morph.
<Hey, guys.> Tobias called from high above. <Tennant just went into his office. And, urn, Marco? Some reason why you're dancing?>
"Very funny," I muttered.
I reached my hand back toward the bird. Slowly.
"That's how you're supposed to nyufgh -" Rachel whispered as her mouth shrank and hardened into a beak.
The cockatiel backed away and cocked his head to strike. I dived! Wrapped my hand around him. Hah! Swallowed the pain as he took another vicious peck at my hand.
"Go nighty-night, you monster."
He went into the trance.
Seconds later, I set him back on his perch. I resisted the impulse to yank out one or two feathers as payback. Took a deep breath and tried to focus.
Just relax, I told myself. Let the morph happen. Be the bird. But my heart was still pounding. And my finger still hurt. The first thing to change was my head. It began to shrink. From normal size to the size of a cantaloupe. To grapefruit. To orange. To just slightly bigger than a cherry tomato.
<Oh, that's a nice look,> Rachel said. She'd finished her morph and was perched on top of a cage. <Now your head finally matches the size of your brain.>
I would have made a witty response, but my mouth was turning hard like a fingernail. Slowly growing out of my face and forming a sharp, hooked beak.
My skin felt ticklish, then began to ripple. Feathers. I looked at my hands. From each of my pointer fingers, one gray feather sprouted. Then a second. Then a third. More feathers sprouted.
Faster and faster. A flood of feathers rolling down my arms like a swollen river raging through a valley. Until I was covered with them head to toe.
The trees and bushes seemed to shoot up into the air as I shrank. Down to a very vulnerable size. A foot long. Weighing only a few ounces.
Then my tiny human feet began to change. My five toes mushed together. Two long toes sprouted from the front of the mush. Two more sprouted out of where my ankle had been.
My legs shrank until they were barely an inch long. Just short stumps growing out of my baseball-sized body. My shoulders slid down my back. My miniature arms stretched outward like branches on a tree, flattening themselves into lushly feathered gray wings.
Suddenly, the bird's incredible sense of hearing kicked in. I could hear every flutter of every feather of every bird in the room. One was grinding his beak. Another was digging through his food, looking for a particular seed. And every cockatiel was talking, laughing, singing!
"Twoooit, twoooit, twoooit," I said excitedly.
<Marco, what are you doing?> Rachel said.
"Twoooit, twoooit, twoooit!" <I'm singing,> I said. "Twoooit! Twoooit!"
The morph had gone okay. Here I was, on a mission. A dangerous mission. And no mixed-morph.
I'd done it! Maybe the osprey/lobster fiasco was just a freak occurrence.
I fluttered around the room. <This morph rocks!>
"Twooi-twooi-twooit!"
<Marco? Rachel?> Jake. Calling from the library.
<Uh, yeah?>
<ls everything all right in there?>
<Yeah,> Rachel said tightly. <Why wouldn't it be?>
<Well, it's been almost ten minutes since you guys went in there ...>
<No way. Ten minutes?> I laughed.
<Guys, remember the mission? William Roger Tennant?>
<Yeah, Jake. No problem.> To me Rachel said, <Get a grip, Marco. Or I'm telling Jake to pull you off this mission right now.>
My own mind began to get the upper hand on the cockatiel's. My own personality pushed through. The bird's joy faded, replaced by another emotion.
Fear.
Not an improvement.
We fluttered out of the aviary. Turned left toward Tennant's office.
The paranoid instincts of the prey animal began to grow. These birds were all tame, but tameness didn't change DNA. Down deep in its DNA this bird was still afraid. It didn't want to be indoors. It didn't like not being able to see in all directions. You never knew when a snake might slither up.
Zoom! We flew through a doorway. Zoom! Around some tall potted plants. Zoom! Down a hallway with very little clearance on either side.
The bird had excellent vision. Plenty good enough to keep track of where we were going. And after three days on surveillance I felt like I knew Tennant's house.
Zoom! Around a corner, and we were there. Just outside the office.
<Okay, here we go,> Rachel said and disappeared through the open door.
The room was huge. Two of the walls were glass, gigantic windows overlooking the ocean. The other two walls, including the one with the door, were lined with very large, very full bookshelves. In the middle of the room, a huge oak desk faced the ocean.
The desk itself was impeccably neat and organized. On it sat a laptop computer, a telephone, and a couple of T-shaped bird stands. William Roger Tennant was using the computer. He was so absorbed in his work, he didn't seem to notice our entrance.
<So far, so good.> Rachel flared her wings and landed on one of the bird stands. I landed on the other.
<What's he writing?> I asked. <I can't read the monitor from this perch.>
I shuffled along the horizontal pole, hoping to get a better viewing angle. And appear natural.
<Here, let me try.> Rachel hopped off her perch, fluttered through the air, and landed right on top of Tennant's head. He didn't even bat an eye.
<Ah, the subtle approach.>
<I've seen the other birds do it all the time,> she said. <He's writing a letter. A thank-you letter.>
<Who to?>
<No address yet.>
Tennant maneuvered his mouse and double-clicked.
<He's doing a mail merge,> Rachel said. <Huh. It's a letter to the president of one of the TV networks.>
<Why would Tennant be writing to the head of a network? Didn't like last week's ER?>
Brrrrrrrrrring!
<Aaaaaaahh!!> I cried.
<Geez, that's loud!> Rachel said. <These birds have good hearing.>
Brrrrrrrrrring!
William Roger stared at the phone as if it were a diseased enemy.
Brrrrrrrrrring!
Finally, he picked up the receiver. His hand was shaking just a bit.
"Hello?"
I couldn't make out the voice on the other end. But I knew who it was. And my own fear seemed to infect the cockatiel's body. I could feel its feathers bristling with panic. Its little heart begin to beat like a machine gun's rapid firing.
"Yes, Visser," William Roger Tennant said with all the enthusiasm people usually reserve for hearing a terminal diagnosis from their doctor.
<Visser Three,> Rachel hissed.
Visser Three. Our most feared and hated enemy. The leader of the Yeerk invasion of Earth. The only Yeerk to have infested an Andalite. The only Yeerk with the power to morph.
I stuck my beak beneath one of my wings and plucked out a few feathers. Dropped them on the desk. I stuck my beak under my other wing and plucked out a few more feathers.
"Everything is going just fine," Tennant muttered.
"Twooit!" I blurted out.
"I'm just finishing that letter now, Visser."
"Twooit! Twooit!"
<Marco? What are you doing?> Rachel hissed.
"Twooit! Twooit! Twooit!"
What was wrong with me? I was losing control of the morph! Couldn't keep it from chirping. From plucking out its own feathers. From rocking, back and forth. Back and forth.
"Yes, Visser. The construction of that Kandrona is coming along right on schedule."
"Twooit! Twooit! Twooit! Twooit!"
<Marco! Shut! Up!>
<I can't,> I cried. <I can't help it!>
Such a simple morph. An intelligent but tiny brain. And my human brain couldn't conquer it! I plucked a few more feathers and dropped them on the desk. Tennant gave me a sharp glare.
"Twoooit! Twoooooit! Twoooooooit!"
"Yes, Visser. The president of the network will be at the Solid Citizen Awards banquet this weekend. As you know, I will be receiving an award. I fully expect the human to take the occasion to offer me a prime-time slot for the coming season."
<He's going to prime-time TV? Figures. It's not like UPN needs him or anything,> Rachel said.
"Twoooit! Twoooit! Twoooit!"
<Marco? How about, get a grip?>
"Twooooit! Twooooit! Twooooooooit!"
"Excuse me, Visser." Tennant cupped his hand over the phone and looked at me. And then he screamed. "Shut up, you filthy creature!"
"Twirt," I sputtered lamely.
Tennant continued his phone conversation.
"No, Visser, I don't feel I should kill the bird. I must maintain William Roger Tennant's animalloving image. But yes, these cockatiels are very annoying."
Pause.
Then, "Yes, Visser, the day will come when we exterminate all irrelevant creatures. Looking forward to it."
Suddenly, I had an urge.
<Rachel? I think I'm going to ... never mind. I just did.>
It took hardly any effort. A completely natural thing to do. If it hadn't been so easy, I might have been able to control myself.
<Yeah, that was a good idea, Marco,> Rachel said. <This guy's already popping veins in his head and you crap on his desk.>
"Yes, Visser. Yes, Visser. Yes, Visser." Then, "Oh, I am going to kill you," William Roger Tennant cried as he slammed down the receiver.
This is the typical "As you know" conversation. Visser Three already knows all this information, and Tennant knows that Visser Three knows all this information, but, of course, Marco doesn't and we don't. Obviously, as you know, this type of thing doesn't happen in real life, and personally, I think it's kind of sloppy.
Who? Who's he going to kill - me, or Visser Three?>
The happiness guru picked up a remote control and punched a button. Shades began to lower across all the windows. He was making sure no one saw him.
Uh-oh.
"Why you -" William Roger Tennant growled. <I think it's you, Marco! Bail!> Rachel yelled.
I spread my wings and pushed off the stand. Tennant dove across the desk, arm outstretched. He grabbed for me, but missed.
<Move! Move!> Rachel shouted as she flew into the hallway. <Jake. Guys. We've got a problem!>
I shot toward the door.
"Not so fast, little birdie," Tennant hissed.
My super-keen ears heard it coming. A book. A big, hardcover book.
BONK!
It nailed me. I fell to the carpet. Wind knocked out of me. Stunned. Brain whirling. Images of big snakes coming down a branch for me.
Tennant pounced on me. Snatched me up in his hands and pressed his thumbs into my chest.
Started to squeeze.
"I'll teach you to crap on my desk, you little -"
My ribs! Bending! Collapsing!
My lungs! About to explode! Blood surging to my head!
<Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgghhhhhhhhhh!> I was screaming.
<Marco! Hang on! Hang on!>
My eyes were locked on Tennant's face. He was gritting his teeth. His pale blue eyes bulged, suddenly shot through with red veins. A vein in his temple swelled and throbbed.
He looked like he was going to explode, erupt like a broken cyst. But his hands were no longer tightening.
Then I got it. The Yeerk was struggling. Battling something within the body. Battling William Roger Tennant. The real human named William Roger Tennant.
"Oh, little birdie, little birdie," Tennant whispered. "If only you could hear my host's cries of anguish. His pleas to spare your worthless life. Humans! Such a weak, sentimental species."
Then he loosened his grip and began to stroke my feathers.
"Oh, how I would love to kill you," he crooned. "If for no other reason than to hear the cries of agony from this pathetic host's tortured mind, oh yes, oh yes. But I won't kill you. Not now. No, no, no. I'm looking forward to the day when I can kill all of you horrible little creatures at once! Oh, what joy that will be! Perhaps such carnage will be enough to break this human's spirit, once and for all!"
Still, he kept stroking me. Eyes glittering. Sweat popping out in beads on his forehead.
I tried to relax. Tried to remain calm. He was going to let me go. Wasn't he? He didn't seem to notice that Rachel had returned. Was fluttering overhead, watching, ready to strike.
Like she could inflict serious harm in cockatiel morph.
<The others are coming, Marco,> she said. <Stay calm! They're doing battle morphs.>
"When I was first given this host," William Roger Tennant went on, his voice mellowing, almost as if he were speaking to an audience of rapt TV viewers, "I never thought my greatest challenge would be having to be as patient, as kind, as loving as this maundering, mewling, pathetic human. Who would have thought it would be so difficult to keep up this ridiculous charade?"
Tennant paced over to a tall mirror, took himself in, then headed back to the desk in the middle of the room. "I am a warrior!" he cried, gesturing dramatically with me as a prop. "A warrior trapped in this hideous charade. Can you imagine, little birdie, how it pains me to be nice and kind and polite, morning, noon, and night! How I yearn to lash out! To strike! To kill all the fools that surround me! But I cannot. No! That would not be in character for William Roger Tennant, great advocate of human virtues. Caretaker of all life-forms. Bah!"
<This guy's a psycho,> Rachel said, perched on the top of the open door. <I mean, even for a Yeerk, this guy's a psycho. We're talking, "Where's my medication? Lock me up in a rubber room" psycho.>
<Yeah,> I agreed weakly. <Nice psycho. Good psycho.>
Then, amazingly, Tennant turned his palm up and opened his hand. I struggled to my feet. "There, there, little birdie." He stroked the feathers on my chest. "Good little birdie. Goooood leeetle birdieee."
He held me up right in front of his face. I resisted the temptation to take a chunk out of his nose.
"I have an idea, little birdie. If you can tell me your name, I will give you a treat. What is your name, little birdie?" he said. "Tell William Roger Tennant your name."
What is your name, birdie?" he repeated.
<Uh, do I have to answer this question?> I said to Rachel.
<Bail,> she replied. <Let's just get out of here.>
Tennant continued to stare straight into my eyes, that weird, "I'm about two Cokes short of a sixpack" smile still plastered to his face.
<I don't think he's going to let me go without an answer,> I said.
Noise in the hall! The thundering of padded feet. Hooves. Could Tennant hear them? He wasn't reacting.
<Guys! What's going on? Should we come in?> Jake said.
<No. Stay in the hallway,> Rachel said. <We're about to make a quick exit. You can take down Tennant when he follows.>
"Don't you know your name, little birdie?" Tennant hissed, eyes narrowing. "All my precious little birdies know their names."
<Make your move, Marco!> Rachel said. I bent my legs, ready to spring.
Sudden suspicion darkened his face. "Unless you aren't one of my precious birdies at all."
I jumped backward, out of his hand. Flapped frantically, trying to get out of his reach.
"Unless you're one of the Andalite bandits in morph! Computer! Alert Status One! Andalite intruders!"
Tennant took a wild swipe at me. Missed. I shot toward the ceiling. Turned to follow Rachel to the doorway. Only ten feet away!
WHAM!!
<Aaaargh!> I hit the carpet beak first.
<Marco!> Rachel screamed.
One of my wings was broken, bent completely backward. I could feel one of the long wing bones popping through the skin.
"Fool of an Andalite," Tennant gloated. He kicked the huge dictionary aside and scooped me up in his sweaty palms. "Taking on such a weak morph! I admire your courage, but I'm afraid I will have to kill you just the same!"
<Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!>
Rachel dove for Tennant's head. Feetfirst, she dug her claws into his hair.
"What the ...?" Tennant growled.
<What the ...?> Rachel shot upward, away from Tennant's swinging hand.
Still holding his hair.
William Roger Tennant dropped me.
I hit the floor. The pain! My body was crushed. Every breath was pure agony. Vaguely I was aware of Rachel fluttering just over Tennant's head, his ponytailed toupee in her talons.
"Give me that!" Tennant screamed.
<Marco!> Jake shouted. <Are you okay?>
<I'm roadkill in here.>
<Rachel, lead Tennant into the hall!> Jake shouted. <Marco, demorph! Do you hear me? Demorph!>
Rachel flew into the hallway with Tennant's toupee. He chased after her.
<Hork-Bajir!>
<I count six,> Ax yelled.
<Ax, you and me on the Hork-Bajir,> Jake snapped. <Cassie, try to cover Marco. Rachel, get out of sight, demorph, remorph, and kick some butt. Tobias, we need you down here!>
I heard the sounds of battle in the long hallway. Tearing. Growling. Slashing.
I tried to concentrate. All I had to do was morph out, and my injuries would disappear. But I was fading fast. I barely had the strength to think, let alone will myself to demorph.
<Watch out! Tennant's got a gun!>
<Spread out!>
"I'll kill all of you!"
BLAM!
A gunshot!
I felt the changes begin. My broken wings began to grow. Feathers turned to flesh. My body mass became larger, heavier. My injuries slowly disappeared. My arms stretched out in front of me, miraculously healed. My ribs and torso returned to their normal size and shape. My lungs, able to breathe again!
TSEEEWWW!
Dracon beam!
I was nearly finished. The pain was gone. I could see straight. Think straight. Now what? Remorph?
Firepower. My gorilla morph would do just fine.
I rolled under the huge desk and focused. My arms started to grow. Thick. Strong. Powerful enough to flip a car without breaking a sweat.
There was some heavy action going on in the hallway. The floor was pounding. The walls shaking.
"Kill them!" William Roger Tennant screamed. "Kill the Andalite bandits!"
Another shot!
I saw a Hork-Bajir stagger into the room. He slammed into the window, grabbed, slipped, and fell, wrapped up in translucent off-white window blinds.
The morph continued. Hurry! My friends needed me! Come on, Marco! Morph! Morph!
Wait! Something was wrong! My arms kept growing, but the rest of my body was shrinking! Getting smaller, smaller. I was barely a foot long! A foot-long torso with three-foot arms!
My skin began to feel dry, flaky. Scales? My head started sinking into my shoulders, flattening itself out into an arrowhead shape. An eye on each side of my face. My bottom lip extruded outward like I was trapped in kissing mode. Then my shoulders receded into the rest of my body until I was just a long, flat body with insanely huge arms.
I felt two slits opening, one on either side of my face. And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. Gills! I'd grown gills!
I was half-gorilla, half-trout!
<Noooooooo!>
Tom resist his Yeerk to save his daughter,
I wonder if they've bothered to do this for their own family members?
Wasn't that how they found out about Tom in book 1?
Tennant paced over to a tall mirror, took himself in, then headed back to the desk in the middle of the room. "I am a warrior!" he cried, gesturing dramatically with me as a prop. "A warrior trapped in this hideous charade. Can you imagine, little birdie, how it pains me to be nice and kind and polite, morning, noon, and night! How I yearn to lash out! To strike! To kill all the fools that surround me! But I cannot. No! That would not be in character for William Roger Tennant, great advocate of human virtues. Caretaker of all life-forms. Bah!"
This is how I imagine Chapman's Yeerk feels but keeps a tighter lid on it. I love the idea that because Visser Three is a shock-and-awe type general who's ill-suited to the stealthy invasion of Earth, he's assigned the Yeerk equivalent of SEAL Team Six to all his high-profile human hosts, and meanwhile there's a bunch of intelligence agents and desk jockeys who'd be way better at it getting their poor little Hork Bajir hands cut off in battle all the time instead.
That's kinda amazing.
I have to say, Yeerks using involuntary Controllers in fights just seems like a really bad idea in general. If you're in a dogfight, a slight twitch could send you spiraling to your death. Even if it's only 0.1% of controllers who can do it, it seems like it would be a pretty bad disadvantage in normal military operations.
<Aaaaaaghhh!>
The fish brain went berserk. I flopped around wildly on the floor.
<Marco. What exactly are you doing?>
Tobias?
I focused my distorted fish eye on the nearest window.
<I don't know, dude!> I yelled, feeling fairly well terrified.
<Well, demorph!> Tobias cried. <Get out of that morph! That's not right.>
Panic! I couldn't breathe! And my tiny body didn't store much oxygen. I was dizzy ...
<Come on, Marco, you can do it. Focus!>
I whimpered. But the changes had begun. My body started to grow. My arms to shrink. The slits in my cheeks disappeared. I gasped for air. Sweet, beautiful air.
<Cassie, behind you!> Jake yelled from the hallway.
William Roger Tennant screamed, "Kill them! Destroy them. I don't care if you burn this house down doing it!"
TSEEEWWW!
More Dracon beams!
<Rachel! Tobias! We need some help in here!>
TSEEEWWW!
<There's too many of them. Back up into the office!> Jake cried. <MOVE!>
TSEEEWWW!
<Marco,> Tobias shouted. <They're coming back this way, crank it up.>
I'd almost finished demorphing. I was human. With normal, functional arms and legs and lungs. This wasn't necessarily a good thing. If Tennant saw me, identified me as Marco the kid - not the Andalite bandit - my life was over. My dad's life, too, for that matter.
In fact, all of my friends - everyone I knew - would be killed or taken prisoner by the Yeerks.
But if I didn't act now my friends might be dead anyway. I had to think of something!
The door to the hallway swung into the office. I hid behind it. It was a big door. Solid oak, about two inches thick.
TSEEEWWW!
<Keep moving!> Jake ordered.
I heard the panting of large mammals. The stomping of Hork-Bajir warriors.
Through the open door! Jake, Rachel, Cassie, Ax!
"Get them!" William Roger Tennant screamed. "They'll be trapped in the office! They'll be -"
WHAM!
I slammed the door. It hit something. Judging from the unrepeatable words Tennant shouted, it was his face.
<Marco! What are you doing out of morph?> Jake shouted.
"No time!" I said, locking the door. "We need to bail."
And we'd have to go through the window.
"Fools!" Tennant screamed from behind the door. "Break this door down! Disintegrate it!"
I looked around the room. What to use?
Webster's College Edition? The New York Public Library Desk Reference? The Collected Works of Leo Tolstoy? The chair?
No. William Roger Tennant's laptop. I snatched it with both hands and yanked it off the desk, pulling out the cord in the process.
"Here's hoping he didn't back up his hard drive," I said, turning my back to the window. I spun the laptop around like I was doing the hammer toss. At the top of my arc, I let go.
The computer sailed through the air.
CRASH!
The massive window shattered into thousands of pieces of glass.
<Let's move!>
Tiger! Grizzly! Wolf! Andalite! All soared through the broken window. Scrambled to their feet. Ran off, over the wall of the compound. Safe.
BOOM! BOOM!
A battering ram! The office door buckled.
<Jump, Marco!> Cassie shouted back.
I dashed across the room. The office was on the first floor of the mansion. But the land sloped severely down toward the ocean.
There was at least a twenty-foot drop to the ground.
The tree. Its branches extended to within a few feet of the window. Below, a solid cement patio.
But what were my choices? Broken ankle - or life as a Controller.
I gritted my teeth, stepped up on the sill, and threw myself out the window. Kicked, flailed, snagged a branch with one hand.
Dropped out of the tree. Sprinted for a row of bushes that lined the wall surrounding the grounds.
Dove behind it and curled myself up into the tiniest ball I could make.
Had William Roger Tennant seen me?
Why didn't you tell us about this problem?" Jake asked. We were gathered in Cassie's barn. This time I couldn't fake it. Couldn't pretend the morphing disaster hadn't happened. Tobias had seen the whole thing from outside the window.
"I don't know," I said. "I didn't think it was a big deal."
"No, you're right. You end up half-trout, half-gorilla while we're all playing pin the tail on the Hork-Bajir, why would that be a problem?" Rachel said.
"Everything turned out okay, didn't it?!" I snapped. "Besides, Rachel. You weren't exactly up front with us when you had that allergy to the crocodile morph. In fact, if I remember correctly, you lied to us about it. Said you were all better when you weren't."
Rachel winced, cocked her head, and said, "Maybe I'll just let someone else yell at you."
Jake turned to Ax. "Any idea why this is happening?"
<I am not sure, Prince Jake,> Ax replied. <We know that the morphing process requires focus and concentration. I have heard of cases in which emotional distress has negatively affected morphing ability.>
"Maybe the problem you're having with your dad is bothering you more than you think," Cassie suggested.
I gave Cassie a dirty look.
"I'm sorry, Marco," she said. "But if it's affecting your ability to fight, it's everyone's business."
"What problem with your dad?" Jake demanded.
"He's dating, all right?"
"That's it? We already know that. So is that the reason you're morphing into surf and turf?"
"Urn, Jake," Cassie intervened. "His mom, may not be exactly dead? His dad, may not be exactly a widower?"
"Oh." Jake looked chagrined. "Sorry. It didn't click right away. Why didn't you say something before, Marco? I'm your best friend."
I shrugged. "Because it's no big thing." I laughed. A fake laugh. "I figure Ms. Rottenette will go away, eventually. How long can she possibly stand me?"
<I am confused,> Ax said. <Are you saying that your father is considering taking this woman as a new mate?>
"You could put it that way," Cassie said.
"But I'd rather you didn't," I added. "He's just -"
<Ah. Perhaps your father is Young and Restless. Those who are Young and Restless frequently change mates.>
"Okay, first thing, we smash Ax's TV," I said.
"Look, the problem here is Marco's ability to morph." Jake turned to me. "We can't have you going on missions in this state. For your sake and for ours."
"Really, it's not a problem," I protested. "I've just had a lousy couple of weeks, that's all. I'll get over it. Trust me on this."
"Maybe you need to talk to somebody," Cassie suggested. "Like a professional."
"Yeah, Cassie. 'Uh, Doctor Freud? My dad's thinking about remarrying. See, he thinks my mom is dead, but she's not. She's actually a slave to an alien race trying to conquer the planet. And did I mention the fact that I'm fighting this alien invasion myself? That I do it by turning into animals? Say what? What size strait-jacket do I wear?'"
"Well, okay," Cassie replied gently. "But what about us? We are your friends, Marco. You can talk to us. Keeping stuff all locked inside is what makes you get so stressed."
"Cassie, everyone here has problems. Ax is the only member of his species within a trillion miles who's not a Controller; you're a pacifist who spends half her time battling aliens; Jake is just a dumb jock trying to play General Eisenhower; Rachel is about three millimeters away from morphing permanently into the Terminator; and, oh, by the way, Tobias is a bird who lives in a tree and eats mice for breakfast. We all have problems. We are not exactly the poster children for Mental Health week."
"Dumb jock? Excuse me?"
"The point is we're all hanging on by our fingernails. What right do I have to go nuts?"
Cassie shrugged. "As much right as anyone."
"Yeah, well, that's not much, okay? We have things to do. I just need to get a grip is all."
Jake sighed. "Okay, let's focus here. Not to belittle Marco's problem, but we do have a mission. Taking down William Roger Tennant."
"Fat chance," Rachel muttered. "His public persona is solid gold. Except for the fact that he's a complete Looney Tune, his only flaw seems to be wearing a toupee."
Jake waved his hand in front of his face as if he were erasing a blackboard. "All right. It's obvious we're not going to figure out a solution tonight. We might as well go home and catch up on our homework. And Marco?"
"Yeah," I muttered. "I know. No morphing."
“Fat chance,” Rachel muttered. “His public persona is solid gold. Except for the fact that he’s a complete Looney Tune, his only flaw seems to be wearing a toupee.”
There's your solution
Cassie, everyone here has problems. Ax is the only member of his species within a trillion miles who’s not a Controller; you’re a pacifist who spends half her time battling aliens; Jake is just a dumb jock trying to play General Eisenhower; Rachel is about three millimeters away from morphing permanently into the Terminator; and, oh, by the way, Tobias is a bird who lives in a tree and eats
mice for breakfast.
This is devastatingly accurate. Goddamn, dude.
The long walk home gave me a lot of time to think.
It took me only about two blocks to come to a conclusion.
I hated my life.
I'm not much for self-pity. It never does you any good. But there are times when it's pointless to deny that life sucks.
For a long time I had held on to the hope that my mother might come home again. Safe and sound.
That my mom and dad and I might eat dinner together every night and go on vacation to the Grand Canyon and play Monopoly on rainy Sunday afternoons.
It was a long shot, my mom's coming home. I knew that. A very, very long shot. It was a long shot even believing she might be alive. But still I'd had hope.
Then Ms. Rottenette had come along. Destroying the last of that hope. Decimating it. I was going insane. Hard to believe that after all the craziness I'd been through since this war started, a simple, everyday, domestic problem would be the thing to push me over the edge. Oh, yeah. And then there was the fact that we had no clue how to stop William Roger Tennant
from recruiting for The Sharing on prime-time network TV.
And even if we did, I probably wouldn't be allowed to fight with the others. Because of my PROBLEM.
Bad day? Sure. But it was still early. Something could still screw up even worse. If I was really, really lucky.
What was I going to do for the rest of the night?
Homework? Not after a near-death experience. No, a near-death experience called for a couple of hours of vegging with my PlayStation.
My street. My house. I turned to walk up the driveway.
And stopped. Something was wrong. I looked quickly up and down the street. Nobody.
Looked back to my house. No lights. But the garage was open and my dad's car was parked inside. And whose car was parked in the driveway?
I took a few steps. Slowly. This would be a perfect end to my day, I thought. A Yeerk ambush. Visser Three waiting for me in my own living room.
Had the Yeerks seen me at William Roger Tennant's house? Had they already identified me?
I crept around the back of the house. No lights on there, either. Slowly I walked back around front. Peeked through the large bay window into the living room. Too dark. I couldn't see a thing.
What should I do? Try a morph? I wasn't sure I could pull one off. And even if I could, one gorilla wouldn't be enough to stop Visser Three and a force of Hork-Bajir.
For a second I thought that maybe I was being paranoid. That my dad was already asleep. That he'd just forgotten to close the garage door. But that didn't explain the other car.
I thought about running off to find Jake and the others. Realized that by the time I got back with reinforcements, my dad could be dead. Or worse.
No choice. I reached for the doorknob. Turned it.
Slowly I opened the door.
" RrrrrrrRrrrrrrrRrrrrrRrrrrrrrrrrRRRRrrrrrr."
Two clawed feet slammed into my stomach.
"Aaaaah!" I screamed.
"What the -?" a voice cried.
I swung my arms wildly, pushing the beast away.
"Arrarrarrarrarrarrarr!"
It attacked again. Shielding myself from its paws, I flipped the wall switch. The lights popped on.
"Get away from me!" I yelled.
"Arrarrarrarrarrarrarr!"
"Marco?"
It was my dad. He was sitting on the couch. Ms. Robbinette was sitting on the couch, too. They were sitting very close. In fact, Ms. Robbinette was more sitting on my dad than on the couch.
My dad jumped to his feet. His face was almost as red as the lipstick smeared across it.
"Euclid!" Ms. Robbinette shouted. "Stop! Sit! Be quiet!"
The idiot dog kept barking. And jumping on me. Only a foot and a half long, but it could jump three feet in the air. It would have been so easy to punt him across the room. Right through the kitchen window at the back of the house.
"What are you doing home?" my dad asked sheepishly.
"Uh, I live here?" I answered, pushing the dog away.
"Euclid! Stop!" Ms. Robbinette shouted again. "Honestly, I don't understand what's wrong with him."
I was tempted to give my opinion. Instead, I caught the mutt in midair. He tried to squirm away, but I squeezed him to my body the way a running back carries a football. I began to acquire him and he went limp.
"Ohh," Ms. Robbinette said, charmed by the sight of Euclid half-asleep in my arms. "See? He likes you, Marco."
I suppose you could call Ms. Robbinette pretty. She has dark hair and very smooth fair skin. I didn't care.
"We didn't expect you home so soon," my dad muttered while he tried to figure out what to do with his hands.
"Sorry."
"Usually you're out so late. You know. With Jake."
Euclid woke from his trance. He started to squirm and I dropped him. Immediately he clamped his jaws on the ankle of my jeans and started to pull.
"Euclid!" Ms. Robbinette yelled. "You know, Marco, Euclid does sense stress. Are you feeling stressed?"
I looked at my dad.
"Uh, aren't we all?" he said with an awkward laugh.
"I think I'll just go up to my room now," I said. I grabbed my PlayStation from under the coffee table.
"Nice seeing you, Marco," Ms. Robbinette said politely.
"Uh-huh," I grunted. My dad gave me a pained look.
I clumped up the stairs, Euclid attached to my ankle.
When I reached my bedroom door, I gently unhooked Euclid's jaws from my jeans, pushed him away, and slammed my door shut.
"Arrarrarrarrarrarrarrarrarr!"
I don't know how long he stayed out there barking. I hooked up my headphones to the TV and turned the volume up enough to drown him out.
Normally I would complain. Normally I would point out that the very idea of this mission was insane. A ten on the Ten Point Insanity Scale.
But I couldn't. Couldn't say a word, because Jake had let me come along on the mission to infiltrate the Solid Citizen Awards and destroy William Roger Tennant's image.
We'd had to wait until Saturday evening for this mission. I'd spent a good part of the week practicing morphing in my bathroom. Gorilla. Osprey. Seagull. Wolf. Even creepy morphs like fly and cockroach.
Nothing. No problems. Every morph under control. Every morph whole and complete.
I seemed to have my morphing under control. I demonstrated a few morphs to everyone to prove this.
Finally, Jake decided to give me a chance. Besides, he needed me.
Big favor.
Our mission was simple. We'd seen for ourselves that Tennant's Yeerk was not a shining example of mental stability. I mean, in the dictionary next to "wacko" they could have used his picture. What we needed was to show that to the world. If we could get him to go off, in public, well, bye-bye guru.
The banquet was taking place at a big hotel near the beach, not far from William Roger Tennant's mansion. We'd been on a mission there before, when we tried to stop the Yeerks from infesting several of the world's most powerful leaders.
Security wasn't anywhere near as tight as it had been when presidents and prime ministers were guests. In fact, it was pretty easy getting in.
We morphed seagulls. Flew to the hotel. Found an empty room with a balcony. Landed on the balcony, demorphed, and walked inside. You'd be surprised how many people leave their balcony doors unlocked. I guess they don't think anyone is going to climb twelve floors up.
Then we took a service staircase downstairs, found a bathroom near the restaurant kitchen, and morphed cockroach. Fortunately, we knew this place pretty well. Knew our way around. Which was a good thing since what a cockroach can see isn't worth seeing.
<There's too much foot traffic for us to crawl on the floors. We'd get squashed,> Cassie said.
<What's the alternative?> Tobias asked.
<The ceiling.>
<Say what?>
And that's when the mission became really interesting. Way too interesting.
<Okay,> Jake said, <this is easy: The big rectangle of light is the door of the bathroom. We'll see it, more or less, whenever someone opens the door. We head for that. Then across the hall, left, pass two doors, take the third door, and we're in the kitchen.>
<On the ceiling.>
<Yep. On the ceiling.>
<I see. And this is what you call "easy.">
<I remind everyone that we have been in morph for thirty of your minutes,> Ax said. <Dinner is scheduled to be served in twenty-five more of your minutes.>
<Ax?>
<Yes, Marco.>
<They're everyone's minutes, Ax. They're not our minutes. They're just minutes. Just minutes. Okay? We're on Earth, you're on Earth, they are everyone's minutes.>
<Now we have been in morph for thirty-one of your minutes.>
<Okay, let's get this over with,> Rachel said. She was not showing her usual enthusiasm.
Nothing scares me more than Rachel being scared.
We ran to the wall. Then we ran up the wall.
Here's what it's like being a roach. Imagine a car. Imagine one of those cool Jaguar convertibles. I mean, it's free in your imagination, right? Might as well have a cool car.
Imagine a red Jaguar convertible. Imagine yourself strapped to the underside, facedown, your nose about a millimeter from the road, and the idiot driving is going a hundred miles an hour.
A roach running across your floor looks pretty fast. But from down there, from the perspective of the roach, it's like someone strapped a thousand bottle rockets to your butt and fired them all at once.
I blazed across that dirty tile floor. And then screeched to a halt as my clever little roach antennae informed me that the world was going vertical. I crawled my two front feet up onto the wall, then my middle two, then my hind two feet, and up I went. Straight up. Straight up like someone had suspended the law of gravity.
Zooom!
Up the wall, tiny little claws snagging tiny little bumps in the paint. Up and up, wandering a little left, scaring myself by running into Ax, then straight back up.
I was a little brown robot. Up. Up. And then, a wall. Only it wasn't a wall, it was the ceiling.
<Are we sure we can do this?> Jake asked.
<Let me try,> some moron said. Wait, it was me! I had to. I was the weak link. I was the dubious morpher. I had to be cool.
I did as I'd done in going from floor to wall. Front two legs. Middle legs. Back legs.
<I'm on the ceiling,> I reported.
<Any problem?>
<Nope. No - aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!>
Falling!
Falling!
Falling forever and ever, twisting and turning and ...
Tunk!
I hit the floor. I'd fallen a hundred times my own standing height. Like a human falling off the Empire State Building. I'd landed on my back.
I was fine.
I motored back to the wall, back up the wall, and rejoined the others.
<I'm thinking we hug the angle between the wall and the ceiling,> I said.
<I was sure roaches could do ceilings,> Cassie said. <Sorry. Are you hurt?>
<Hurt? No. Interested in trying that again? No.>
<Let's go,> Jake said. <We have some food to infest.>
<Jake, have I mentioned how grateful I am to you for letting me come along on this little picnic?>
<Okay, let's get to the kitchen, find Tennant's food, and see if we can't get Mr. Mellow to freak out,> Jake said.
Around the bathroom. To the doorway. Down, onto the top of the door, then up to the hallway ceiling. Along the angle to the end of the hallway, then back to find the kitchen door.
At last we were there. We were in the kitchen. Mission almost accomplished.
And then Cassie said, <Jake? Something just occurred to me. This is a banquet, right? Hundreds of people. So how do we find which salad or whatever is Tennant's?>
There followed a long period of silence.
And then, still being an idiot, I said, <I have an idea.>
My name is Marco. I can't tell you my last name, because then the Yeerks would find me. My math teacher, Ms. Robinette though? She's fair game. Did you know she's Joe Biden's cousin?
My name is Marco. I can't tell you my last name, because then the Yeerks would find me. My math teacher, Ms. Robinette though? She's fair game. Did you know she's Joe Biden's cousin?
Joe who?
It's 1999, no one knows the names of any senators (except maybe Dole).
We'd had to wait until Saturday evening for this mission. I'd spent a good part of the week practicing morphing in my bathroom. Gorilla. Osprey. Seagull. Wolf. Even creepy morphs like fly and cockroach.
Nothing. No problems. Every morph under control. Every morph whole and complete.
I seemed to have my morphing under control. I demonstrated a few morphs to everyone to prove this.
I was not the ideal choice for the task, what with my recent morphing problem. But only Cassie, Ax, and I had the morph needed, and Ax couldn't be trusted in a kitchen in human morph. Far too much tempting salt and grease. And we needed Cassie with Jake and Rachel. So I got the job.
While the rest of the group stayed hidden under a large, unidentified appliance, I scurried to the employee locker room that adjoined the kitchen.
And how did I find the employee locker room, you ask? Smell, of course. There are no aromas quite so distinctive as human sweat and urine.
I found an empty toilet stall and demorphed.
"Another superhero adventure," I muttered to myself. "Does Batman go from bathroom to bathroom? No. Does the Silver Surfer surf the toilet stalls? No, he does not."
The locker room was empty. I dug through the lockers until I found a shirt and a pair of pants that didn't dwarf me. A bow tie that hooked together.
"Does Daredevil wear other people's dirty clothes? No. Spawn, maybe. Next time there's a superhero sign-up sheet I -"
I fell silent. A youngish man stepped into the room, ignored me completely, and quickly lit up a cigarette. I stepped past him, eyes down.
Noise. Lots of noise. Yelling, banging pots, roaring automatic dishwashers, knives chop-chopchopping.
The kitchen was a swirling mass of activity. Half of the gymnasium-sized area consisted of several huge stoves, ovens, and slicing tables. Dozens of cooks were trimming steaks, slicing onions, mixing sauces.
Along one of the walls was the dishwashing area. On each side of it was a set of swinging double doors. These led to the banquet room.
The wall that separated the locker rooms from the kitchen was lined with several computer registers, an industrial-size coffeemaker, an espresso machine, and several large refrigerators. Jake and the others were most likely underneath one of the refrigerators.
Separating the cooks' area from the rest of the kitchen was a long row of stainless-steel shelves, stacked with plates. A bunch of guys were standing behind these shelves, mixing lettuce in huge bowls. Waiters and waitresses scurried around. Stopped at the computers to punch in orders. Carried trays of drinks through the swinging doors, out to the banquet room.
Nobody noticed when I dropped to my knees in front of the refrigerator closest to the door.
"Guys?" I whispered.
<Marco? Is that you?> Jake said.
"It ain't Spider-Man." I laid my hand out on the floor. Five tiny cockroaches tickled their way onto my fingers, up my hand, and underneath my shirtsleeve.
I knew they weren't actual roaches. I knew they were my friends. I knew I'd been a cockroach myself. Didn't matter. They still gave me the creeps.
<Did you find the salads?> Jake asked.
"Uh-huh. I'm about to have a special one set aside for Tennant." I approached the salad station.
"Hey, dude, are you the salad guy?"
"The what?" he replied.
"The salad guy," I said. "The guy who makes salads?"
"You mean the garde-manger?" he hissed.
"Yes, that's exactly what I meant," I said. "Look, William Roger Tennant said he doesn't like tomatoes on his salad."
"Who's William Roger Tennant?" he sneered.
"Duh," I replied. He wanted snooty, he'd get snooty. "He's only the guest of honor at this banquet. He's the man. Well, him and Hanson. They're here, too."
"What is a Hanson?"
"Some blond kids who look like girls, who, for some reason, girls think are cuter than me," I said.
<Hey, Bob Dylan is cuter than you,> Rachel said from inside my sleeve. <Beethoven is cuter than you and he's been dead for a couple centuries.>
"How about if I crush you between my fingers?" I said.
"What?!" the cook snapped.
"Not you. Some bug. A bug with no taste, but that's not what matters. Tennant doesn't like tomatoes. Could you set aside a salad without tomatoes for him?"
"Whatever."
I watched as the guy reluctantly removed one of the salads from the shelves and picked the slices of tomato out of it.
"Here," I said, grabbing the bowl from him. "I'll take it." Holding it in my right hand, I lowered it out of his sight.
<Troops deploying,> Jake said.
When everybody was aboard, I turned to the salad guy again.
"I'm going to leave this salad on the top shelf here, okay? That way it won't get mixed up with the others. Don't forget to tell the waiter this special salad is for William Roger Tennant, okay?"
"Go away, little person. I am busy."
I set the bowl on the top shelf.
Now I had to join the party. No problemo. Morph to wolf spider, run out to a spot directly above the salad, drop into said salad, bide my time and scare the pee out of Tennant. Roaches and a spider? No one can see all that in his salad and not become slightly disturbed.
<Twenty of your minutes until we are served,> Ax said.
I hustled back to the locker room. After returning the clothes I'd borrowed, I found a dark corner in which to morph.
As soon as I'd finished, I came scurrying back out. I was feeling strange, like maybe I was still not done morphing, but that was only jitters. I ran for the wall and started to climb.
With my furry black paws.
My what?
"Oh my God!" someone screamed. "What is that thing?"
No! Not again!
"It's like ... oh, oh! It's like a miniature eight-legged skunk!" someone screamed.
"It's a mutant freak!"
"Kill it!"
"You kill it! I'm not going anywhere near that thing!"
I bolted underneath one of the refrigerators, my eight tiny paws scrabbling on the tile floor. Two sets of gigantic feet rushed toward me. I backed up against the wall.
Half-spider, half-skunk. Eight legs, all of them tiny skunk legs, with skunk paws and skunk claws. A third the size of a regular skunk, maybe four or five inches long. The wolf spider's pincerlike mouth. The skunk's long, white-striped tail.
And I still wasn't done changing. Eyes were popping in and out on my face. Open, closed, open, closed. Then, finally, I was looking at the world through a grand total of ten eyes: the spider's already bizarre combo of compound and simple eyes, plus two fully functional skunk eyes.
A lot of eyes. A lot of very twisted views of my environment.
<Marco. How's it going?> Jake said.
<Fine. Fine, everything fine,> I cried. A third pair of feet arrived.
And the person attached to them had a broom. <Did something go wrong with your morph?>
<No. Noooooo. No problem. Nope. But you know what? This is really not a good time to talk.>
The third guy dropped to his knees and shoved the broom at me. It whacked me right in the face, crushing the spider's tiny mouthparts.
<Aaaaaahh!>
I bolted to my left. The broom followed.
"I got him!" Mr. Broom said. "He's coming out."
I ran out from under the refrigerator - right into a pair of waiting feet.
"Man, what the heck is that thing?"
"Oh, save us, it's the apocalypse upon us! The end of the world!"
"Don't let it get away!"
One of the feet swept across the floor and kicked me. I sailed against the wall. Being so small and light, the impact didn't hurt. Much.
Mr. Broom moved in. He flipped me away from the wall, toward the center of the room. I turned and scurried back into the locker room, six giant feet right behind me.
"Squash it! Squash it!"
A massive foot shot straight down at me! I dodged to the left. Another foot! I dodged to the right.
<Marco?> Cassie this time. <Are you okay?>
<Look, some people saw me, okay, I'm running, okay, I'm fine,> I lied, continuing my wild, zigzag pattern.
<Do you need help?> Jake demanded.
<Nope. All better now.>
I shot past a row of lockers. The showers were just ahead. A dead end. There was no way to escape.
Wait! I was half-skunk, wasn't I? I could try spraying. But could I do it before my pursuers crushed me?
I pulled a U-turn and sprinted for the toilet stalls. Again with the bathroom!
"Now we've got him!" Mr. Broom opened the stall door.
I raised my tail. Spray! Spray! Spray! I commanded the skunk. Nothing happened! Nothing! They surrounded me, cutting off any chance of escape.
"It doesn't stink like a skunk," the first pursuer said.
"Well, it ain't a skunk, you moron," Mr. Broom said. "It's too small. And look at all those legs."
"It's an omen, I tell you. It's a sign!"
"Yeah, but it's got a tail like a skunk."
"Whatever it is, squash it!"
Mr. Broom raised his bristled weapon. I cowered helplessly.
"Kinda feel sorry for it," the first guy said.
"What? I've never seen anything so ugly in my life!"
<Have you tried looking in the mirror?> I growled. I used private thought-speak. Jake and the others wouldn't hear.
The three of them froze. "Who said that?" Mr. Broom demanded.
<I did. Down here. Me. The creature you're trying to kill.>
"No way. I didn't know you were a ventriloquist, Charlie."
"I'm not."
"Maybe it is a sign."
<That's right, he's not a ventriloquist,> I said. <I am a talking half-skunk, half-spider. A skider. Or possibly a spunk.>
"Okay, this is too weird," the first guy said.
<Not as weird as it's going to get if you don't just drop the broom, turn around, and walk away.>
"What?"
<You heard me. Do it. Now.>
Charlie the Broom Guy was not impressed. "Or what?" he challenged.
<Or I'm going to turn into a ten-foot monster and pop your heads off like dandelions.>
"Oh, yeah. Right."
<AII right, gentlemen. But don't say I didn't warn you.>
It was risky. Stupid even. But what else could I do?
I began to demorph. And grew. Fast. From six inches long to a foot to two feet to four -
"Aaaaaaaaaaaa!" Broom screamed.
His friends agreed.
"Let's get out of here!"
They ran out of the locker room.
Yes! I finished demorphing and snuck up to the doorway of the kitchen to see what was going on.
"I'm telling you, Marcel," Broom whined. "There's a monster in there! We all saw it!"
"It talked to us in our heads!"
"We live in the final days! Fire and brimstone will rain down upon us!"
A booming voice cut them off. "Idiots! Ah hev a room full of guests out zere! Do yew sink I am heving time for your stupide games?"
"But -"
"Look," Marcel continued, "I dun't care what yew are doing wis your free tem, but when yew are here, I expect yew to be working! Comprenez? Now get beck to work!"
<Marco?> Jake. <Can you hear me?>
I couldn't answer, of course. Instead, I put on the old busboy clothes again. No more morphing for Marco today.
<The salads are supposed to be served in ten of our minutes,> Jake went on. <I mean, ten minutes. Are you in place?>
I finished dressing and went back into the kitchen. I walked up to the salad station.
"I'm gonna make sure you guys reach your destination," I mumbled. Tennant's special salad was now surrounded by at least two dozen other salads. It would be easy for a careless waiter to give Tennant the wrong one.
"What?" My pal the garde-manger had heard me.
"Nothing."
He made a brushing-away gesture with his hands. "Shoo."
"YEW! What are yew doing standing around?" Marcel. I recognized the voice. "Get to work!"
"But -"
"No buts! Yew need somesing to do? Empty ze peeg bucket!"
"Ze what?"
"Yew are mucking me? Go! Take care of it! Immédiatement!" The guy marched off.
"What's a pig bucket?" I said.
The garde-manger grinned. "It's that thing by the dishwasher."
That thing was a huge plastic garbage can - overflowing with uneaten food.
"Shovel's out back," the garde-manger said. "Go. Or I'll call Marcel back."
I haven't decided what I'm going to do when or if I survive this war and actually become an adult. But one thing I know for sure. It won't involve working in a restaurant.
As an Animorph, I've done lots of disgusting things. Heck, I've been lots of disgusting things. But I can tell you, nothing I've done before quite compared to emptying that pig bucket. It only took a few minutes. But they were the grossest few minutes of my life. Shovels full of chicken bones, half-eaten hamburgers, slime-covered macaroni. All mushed together to make a cold stew more aromatic than a fly's wildest imaginings.
Oh yes. The life of a superhero is a glamorous one.
When I was finished, I raced back into the kitchen from the garbage alley. Waiters and waitresses surrounded the salad station. I squeezed through the throng, looking for the roach-infested, tomato-less salad.
Gone! It was gone!
"Hey," I cried to the salad guy. "What happened to William Roger Tennant's salad?"
He shrugged. "Gone."
"Did you tell the waiter the salad was for Tennant?"
"He can take the tomatoes off if he doesn't like them."
"Aaahhh!"
<Marco?> Jake called out from far away. <ls that you carrying us now?>
I squirmed through the crowd and bolted for the banquet room. Burst through the swinging door. Searched the banquet room for William Roger Tennant.
About twenty round tables covered with white cloths were arranged around the room. And at those tables sat people in tuxedos and fancy dresses and an unusually large number of overdressed girls my own age or younger.
Those would be the Hanson fans.
Against the wall, to the left of the swinging kitchen doors, was a long rectangular table, raised a few feet off the floor and covered with a long white tablecloth. The dais. Where the guests of honor sat. In the middle of the dais was the podium, from where William Roger Tennant would make his acceptance speech.
<Okay, Marco,> Jake said. <We're being set down now. We'll just have to hope we're where we need to be.>
I sprinted up the few steps of the raised platform. Three guests sat on each side of the podium. William Roger Tennant was seated to the immediate left of the podium. The podium blocked my view of his salad.
The three Hanson kids were to the right of the podium. I sidled up behind them, grinning and trying to look like I was supposed to be there.
<Marco,> Jake called out. <We're moving out.>
I reached Tennant just in time to see him lean over to the person on his left and say, "These tomatoes look delicious!"
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!"
The scream came from behind me.
<Uh, that doesn't sound like Tennant,> Tobias said.
<It sounds like Zac!> Cassie cried.
I spun around. Zac Hanson had fallen backward in his chair. His two brothers leaped to his aid.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" Zac screamed, frantically brushing at the cockroaches in his lap.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" a girl in the audience screamed back.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" Zac yelled.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" cried a woman in a long red dress.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" Within seconds, the room was filled with the sounds of women screaming, chairs overturning, and men yelling "Sssshhhh!"
<Run! Outta here!> Jake yelled. Five cockroaches sprang from Zac Hanson's pants and fluttered toward the ground.
<Watch out for the feet!> Cassie cried.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" women and girls screamed,
<That horrible noise!> Ax cried. <Even with this insect's poor hearing I feel as if my head is going to explode!>
<It sounds just like a Hanson concert,> Tobias said.
A cockroach scurried by my foot. I snatched it.
<I have been captured!> Ax cried.
"It's me, man. I've got you," I whispered.
Four roaches shot out of sight beneath the long tablecloth.
<Who's here?> Jake asked. Rachel, Tobias, and Cassie all answered.
<Marco has me,> Ax said, crawling up my wrist.
<Ooookay,> Jake replied. <That could have gone better. Guess it's time for Plan B.>
<Someday when this is all over people will ask us about the war against the Yeerks,> Tobias said. <Let's leave this part out>
Plan B made Plan A look brilliant by comparison.
Ax morphed to human and dressed in a second dirty uniform. Once I convinced him an apron was not a cape we did okay. I needed Ax. I had a feeling no one was going to let me get near the dais.
I was associated with the regrettable roach incident.
I remained human, in my own busboy outfit. No problem. Ax and I could work together. As long
as I was there to keep an eye on him. See, Andalites don't have mouths. No sense of taste. And when Ax morphs to human, and suddenly has a mouth full of taste buds, he can be dangerous.
We emerged into the banquet room.
Hanson was nowhere to be found.
William Roger Tennant was still sitting at his end of the dais, chatting with the man to his left.
And that's when Marcel appeared behind me. "Yew are needed in ze beck. Ze peeg bucket, she is full again."
The guy was grinding my final nerve. But if I started complaining it might occur to Marcel that I was not one of his many anonymous busboys after all.
"Ah weel dew ze peeg bucket," I said. I could just dump it in the alley and rush right back. Still no problem. I ran for it.
<Marco? Ax?> It was Jake. <Are you guys in place?>
<I am here, Prince Jake,> Ax replied.
<Where is Marco?>
<He ees cleaning up ze peeg bucket.>
Long pause. I heard all this in my head as I dragged the stupid trash can of glop into the alley.
<Okay, whatever. We've found a way to demorph and remorph as fleas,> Jake said. <We're at the far end of the table, left of the podium. Who's going to deliver us to the target?>
<Whoever it is, hurry. I'm surrounded by bare ankles, here, and I'm hungry,> Rachel said.
<Marco is not here.>
<Okay, I guess it has to be you, Ax,> Jake said.
"No!" I yelled in frustration at a skanky alley cat.
<I am quite capable of this simple maneuver,> Ax said snippily. <Marco was merely concerned that I would go postal. But I have no mail.>
<ls anyone else getting that sinking feeling?> Tobias muttered.
I slammed the trash can against the wall and turned to run back inside. Yanked the handle. It didn't move. I was locked in the alley!
<Okay, Ax,> Jake said. <We're clinging to the underside of the tablecloth. Lift up the edge, farthest corner, and you'll see us. At least I think that's where we are. Aiming a flea anywhere is about as accurate as firing a Nerf gun blind.>
BamBamBam! "Hey! Open the door! I'm trapped out here!"
<Yes, Prince Jake. I am moving toward you. I smell delicious grease.>
"Uh-oh. LET ME IN!"
Nothing! Had to get back inside. Around the front. No other way. I ran down the alley.
<I see you, Prince Jake. My hand is quite near to you.>
<Okay, everyone, smell the blood and jump.>
Down the alley. Jump over the cat. Slip. Up, run!
<You are safely on my hand now,> Ax reported.
<Okay, now you just have to get us to the target: Tennant's head.>
<I believe I can do so by performing as the other workers are performing.>
<Performing?> Cassie asked.
<They are removing the plates from the seated humans.>
Around the corner. Front door of the hotel just ahead. I was panting.
<Okay, that's good,> Jake said. <Just clean off the plates, Ax.>
"No, you idiot, don't tell him that! Don't say 'clean off!" I cried at the uniformed doorman.
Past the baffled doorman. Through the red-carpeted lobby.
<The humans are refusing to cooperate,> Ax reported. <I am merely attempting to clean off their plates, and yet they are behaving in a hostile, aggressive manner.>
<What?!> Jake snapped.
Wham! Through the banquet room doors, lungs gasping for breath. I leaped on an empty chair, trying to see over everyone's head.
There, on the dais, about three people down from Tennant, was Ax. His face was covered in smeared, orange Thousand Island dressing. Pieces of lettuce clung to his chin and decorated the front of his busboy jacket.
As I watched in helpless horror he reached for another plate.
I ran. Like what's his name in The Bodyguard. Like Glint Eastwood in that movie about the Secret Service. I ran, pushed, shoved.
Ax yanked the plate from a woman's hands. It came away suddenly.
Leftover salad flew. Flew straight into William Roger Tennant.
Tennant yelped.
Ax licked the plate, his tongue extended to full maximum. Then he moved methodically on. He reached for Tennant's plate.
<Soon it will be time to jump on the target,> Ax reported blandly, as if everything was otherwise perfectly normal.
<We're ready.>
Tennant was standing up, menacing, upset, but controlling it. I was just a few feet away, bounding along the dais.
Ax grabbed Tennant's plate. Tennant held on.
"I'm not quite done yet, young man," he said.
"You must give me the plate." Ax yanked the plate and at the same time reached up with his flealoaded hand and shoved Tennant down into his seat.
<Jump!> Ax said.
<Everyone go!> Jake ordered.
I was close enough to hear Tennant growl, "I am gonna kick your -"
I grabbed Ax with both arms. Held him back and yelled, "Sir, we're not really busboys, we're just really big fans, could we have an autograph?"
They should have let Ax empty the pig bucket.....