I arrived on the flight deck miraculously unmolested.

  And immediately spotted Captain Plummer.

  He was on the ground. An enormous hole had been blown in his gut.

  It was clear he would not live to see the end of this battle.

  “Help! You,” he cried, signaling to a Hork-Bajir and a human-Controller standing nearby.

  I made sure I was unseen.

  The human was one of the supposed naval men who had come on board with Admiral Carrington.

  The Yeerks looked at the fallen captain. The human’s face showed great annoyance.

  “Please, help. Take me belowdecks. I’m one of you!”

  “You’re nobody,” the Controller shouted. “Your human host has served his purpose. He’s dying. Save yourself if you can.”

  The Controller and the Hork-Bajir walked away.

  I approached.

  His eyes were beginning to glass over. Still, they showed fear.

  I said.

  Then I saw the Yeerk struggling out of the man’s ear.

  I let it happen.

  It would not get far.

  Awkwardly, I knelt by Captain Plummer’s side.

  “What have I done,” he gasped. “I tried to fight it … I tried!”

  I assured him.

  He looked down in fascination at what had been his stomach.

  “I’m dying.”

 

  He reached for one of my hands.

  I stayed with him until he was gone.

  Tragedy upon tragedy.

  The Yeerks trained Dracon cannon on the other ships in the battle group.

  One by one …

  Horrible explosions!

  Towers of smoke and flame, rising what seemed like miles into the air!

  The destruction was nearly unbelievable.

  BUOOOSH!

  I jumped out of the path of some sort of incendiary advice, some sort of fireball …

  Out of the path of the man in flames, stumbling toward me.

  No order to this battle!

  No plan. No battle lines.

  No strategy. No rules of engagement.

  Just mad desperation.

  Kill or be killed.

  Or run away.

  Jump into the ocean, be caught in a raging surface fire, be fried to a crisp.

  Voices, raised in panic.

  Cries for help.

  Supplications to personal gods.

  Calls for mothers and wives.

  Help, help, help …

  Too many voices!

  Ax. Ax. Ax!

  I lifted my tail.

  “Hey, easy, Ax, it’s me. Tobias.”

  Indeed, it was my friend.

  In the body of a navy sailor. Wearing a yellow float coat and jersey.

  “The guy’s a catapult-and-arresting-gear officer,” Tobias explained. “Didn’t want to have to do it without his permission. But he passed out when a bird started talking to him so … I stashed him out of harm’s way. I hope.”

  I said woodenly.

  “Yeah. It’s letting me look for the visser in places a hawk just can’t go. Besides, any flying object around here is getting popped out of the air.”

  An odd sound through the din of battle.

  I swiveled my stalk eyes.

  “Some of the carrier’s personnel are bailing,” Tobias explained. “They’re dropping boats into the water like crazy. Don’t know how far they’re going to get with a sky full of Bug fighters. Maybe if they can make it to one of the other ships …”

  BOOM! BABOOM!

  Tobias and I raced toward the sound of the explosion.

  A large, navy-issued life raft, off the port side.

  Destroyed. With it, perhaps twenty or thirty humans.

  People.

  I said.

  This navy aircraft carrier, once in devoted service to the people of the United States, had become a floating island of death.

  Its captain enslaved and then left to die.

  Its crew almost decimated.

  I turned away from the scene of wreckage.

  Only to witness yet another horror.

  A few yards off.

  Marco.

  Kneeling awkwardly, trying to help a sailor with severe wounds. I could see that from where I was standing. The sailor was dying.

  The sailor who had saluted him!

  This had to stop.

  I had to stop it.

 

  Cassie.

  Through the smoke she limped toward Tobias and me.

  Jake and Rachel were with her. Fatigued, wounded, panting.

  I called to Marco.

 

  “We can take him hostage …” Tobias began.

  Marco said bitterly.

  Rachel said, wiping a small stream of blood from her forehead.

  The visser had refused to “play ball” before.

  But Marco was also wrong.

  There was one thing that might indeed change the visser’s mind.

  One thing that might force him to call off the nuclear submarine scheduled to launch an attack on Chinese cities.

  Scheduled to kill billions of innocent people.

  One thing.

  My blood ran cold.

  We do what we must.

  I said, privately.

  Jake sent the others to keep watch on Admiral Carrington and his Yeerk.

  Now or never …

 

  Jake held his shattered front paw off the ground. Blood pooled between us.

  I said.

  A pause.

 

  I waited. And I felt shame warring with the desire — the need — to win against the Yeerks.

  To thwart the conquest of one of my peoples.

  The words of the Andalite morning ritual came to me.

  The destruction of my enemies, my most solemn vow.

  Finally, Jake spoke.

 

  I said.

  He had to see. Had to be made to see it was the only way.

  I continued,

 

  And at that moment, hearing the shock and horror in my prince’s voice, I knew I had made a dreadful mistake.

  I never, ever should have laid such a burden on my friend. My ally.

  Never, ever should have asked a human of such superior quality to make a decision that would undoubtedly risk the lives of everyone he had ever known.

  That would undoubtedly destroy his home, his neighborhood, his city.

  That would utterly decimate his every precious bond to sanity.

  I was an Andalite.

  A member of the species some unkindly but perhaps rightly have called the meddlers of the galaxy.

  I was an alien.

  I would carry the burden.

  I murmured. And then I hit him alongside his head with the flat of my tail blade.

 

 

  A wolf leaped from its observation post behind an overturned wrecking crane.

  Trusting me.

  Never doubting I had Jake’s best interests at heart.

  Never assuming I could be, technically speaking, a traitor.

  I waded further through the burning wreckage and across the deck littered with fallen men and women.

  Wounded and dead.

  Controllers and free humans.

  The awful sound of the dying bruised my hearts.

  The scream of Dracon fire and pistols, failing engines and crashing waves pierced my ears.

  I spotted my three remaining comrades, not far from where Cassie had been watching.

  Crouched in and around a shattered forklift and the burned skeleton of a tractor.

  Within view, in the area I later discovered was called the “Hummer Hole,” was Visser Two.

  He was standing next to the remains of an E-2C Hawkeye. Gesturing wildly to his Yeerk companions. His face a mask of crazed triumph.

 

 

  I focused all four eyes on my fellow Animorphs.

 

  Rachel laughed.

  I continued,

  I turned to the adult male catapult-and-arresting-gear officer Tobias had morphed.

 

  “Ax, are you out of your mind?”

  Tseeew!

  “Aaaahh!”

  A naval officer dropped and rolled. Got to his knees and returned the Hork-Bajir’s fire.

  In the distance someone was firing the Mk.15 Phalanx’s Gatling gun.

  If anything, the fighting had intensified.

  Marco shouted.

  I was prepared for Marco’s suspicions.

 

  Rachel yelled.

  “Yeah,” Tobias cried. “It’s a crazy plan, but there’s no time, man!”

 

  Neither Tobias nor Rachel answered.

  Marco turned and stared hard at me.

 

 

  That was perhaps the one and only time I have ever seen Rachel stunned, shocked.

  Tobias said neutrally. As if reinforcing the fact for himself.

  I knew Tobias well enough to know he would act on his own conscience.

  I also knew there was no time for subtle argument or soul-searching.

  I needed their help.

  Now.

 

  Marco laughed harshly.

 

  His remark stung.

  But I had expected as much.

  I said.

  Marco hissed a word I have been told should not be uttered in polite company. Or the presence of parents and teachers.

  Tobias put a hand on my arm.

 

  They had to be made to listen. To understand.

  Time was running out.

  It was now or never.

  I would accept the consequences of my actions.

  I would accept full responsibility.

  I was the alien.

  I pressed.

  She looked to Marco as if for guidance.

  Tobias looked away.

  Marco looked back to me.

 

  That would be Rachel, tossing aside a Hork-Bajir soldier guarding the F-14D Tomcat with the ease of a cat playing with a mouse.

  Then, another.

  Fwap!

  I eliminated the final guard.

  And under cover of the body of the jet, I morphed the pilot.

  Stepped into my pressure suit and other necessary gear.

  Then I climbed inside the plane using its retractable boarding ladder. Made note of my surroundings.

  A large canopy. Three rearview mirrors.

  Good. Three hundred and sixty degree visibility, or close to it.

  Somewhat old-fashioned control panels, with traditional dial gauges. Primitive by Andalite standards.

  Control stick and throttles, all covered with buttons.

  I surmised this design feature allowed the pilot to keep his eyes on the sky and still perform his other duties.

  And behind me, the radar intercept officer’s seat. No flight controls. Good.

 

  Marco, wearing a new gash across his massive chest. Carrying a struggling Visser Two under his left arm.

  Marco said,

  “Andalite scum! Put me down this instant!”

  Rachel replied.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do to me! I willingly sacrifice my life for the goal of Yeerk domination!”

  Marco muttered.

 

  Together, Rachel and Marco stuffed the visser into the second pressure suit and helmet. Then they heaved the raging Yeerk into the RIO’s seat behind me.

  With my dexterous human fingers, I tied his hands behind his back, bound his ankles together. Then I strapped him in.

  A dead Yeerk was of no use to me.

  Neither was one who would attempt a murder in flight.

  I needed him to talk.

  I asked as I strapped myself in.

  I watched Visser Two settle into angry silence. His eyes glittered with what I recognized as rage. And possibly dementia.

  I called in private thought-speak.

  I imagined my good friend in his stolen yellow jacket and jersey. At the catapult control pod beneath the flight deck.

  Under ordinary circumstances, a civilian would never have been able to infiltrate such a place.

  Would never have been able to impersonate such an important person as the “shooter.”

  These circumstances were very far from ordinary.

 

  I knew that what I was about to do was insane.

  And that, more immediately, given our inexperience with the catapult launching system, the launch itself would be extremely dangerous.

  It was quite possible the plane would be thrown into the ocean. Or worse.

  Marco acted as plane handler. Directed me forward on the catapult. Checked that the “holdback” was in place.

  Then he looked up at me, doubt in his gorilla eyes.

  Or perhaps the expression can be more accurately described as disbelief.

  Then he gave me “the thumbs-up.”

  Then he turned away.

  Rachel laughed but I did not imagine the fear in her voice.

 

  Prince Jake. Running toward the jet. Cassie bounding at his side.

  My human eyes began to tear. I widened them, then blinked rapidly to clear my vision.

  Ignored the now muttering Yeerk.

 

 

  I selected the engine setting: afterburner.

 

  And then …

  The holdback snapped and the aircraft was thrown down the catapult track!

  Unbelievable!

  We were hit with several times the force of gravity!

  I struggled to breathe.

  I felt the very skin of my borrowed human face stretch toward the back of my head.

  My cheeks seemed to spread like putty. My eyes to burrow deep within my skull.

  I thought I would die.

  At the very least, be unable to take control of the plane.

  The roar was deafening …

  And then the towbar popped out of the shuttle and the plane, having reached flying speed, was on its own.

  I was on my own.

  I took the jet back toward the coastline.

  Luck was with me. We were not pursued by Bug fighters. Clearly, it was thought the pilot of the aircraft was on an official, Yeerk-authorized mission.

  “What are you doing, Andalite?”

  I kept my eyes focused on the instrument panel, on the radar screens. I was glad I could not see my passenger’s face.

  “This plane carries a nuclear device, Yeerk,” I said. “As you well know. Primitive by Andalite standards, perhaps even by Yeerk. But effective nonetheless. The bomb is set to explode on impact.”

  I paused. Relished the tension my hesitation was creating in the visser. Loathed myself for playing this sort of shameful game.

 

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