Based on an AU idea from derinthemadscientist on Tumblr. Possibly the jumping-off point to a much bigger series, but no promises-I'll post what I can. This story has 9 chapters and will update Wednesdays.

My name is Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.

It is not an Earth name. I am not from this planet, the one called Earth amid water. I am an Andalite. I come from a homeworld rich with ancient trees, below red and golden skies, abounding in nourishing grass. I had friends there, classmates, fellows. Even family.

There are no free Andalites here. If I have seen anyone who resembles me, most of the time—four legs to balance on, stalk eyes to see in every direction, tail blades to do battle—it is only a Controller, a tool of the Yeerks. The enemy.

In their natural form, the Yeerks are unassuming slugs. Blind and deaf, they subside in pools of sludge. But once they have entered the brain of another living being, that creature becomes helpless to move or speak or act of their own accord. The Yeerks control them entirely. It is a life of imprisonment and being made to serve the will of a vast empire—a fate worse than death.

We Andalites fight the Yeerks. In part because our military and technological advancements are the finest in the galaxy, and we always stand ready to defend justice. In part because we bear the responsibility of what the Yeerks have done, in breaking free of their planet to tyrannize worlds across the galaxy. And when one prince has fallen, victim of his own foolhardiness, the burden of vengeance falls to all of us. His cousins.

As I said, I am far from the rest of my species. Isolated on a backwards planet, absent the tools to restore contact with the fleet. Abandoned. Forgotten.

But not alone.

We came in the GalaxyTree, a great Dome Ship. We emerged into the darkness of real space, and I first glimpsed the planet Earth from a distance. I had learned about it in school, seen holograms, but to me it was just one speck among many.

I could hear distant thought-speech, the casual discussions of warriors unconcerned who heard their chatter. A couple of fighter pilots were bantering about the academy standards. Had the caliber of recruits risen since the days of my father, when joining the military wasn't immediately followed by preparation for war? Or were there more arbitrary restrictions in our day, that wouldn't have mattered in the past?

I didn't know. I didn't particularly care.

Until the moment when an announcement flashed through the ship's computer. ‹Bug fighters launched on an intercept course. Prepare to launch fighters and enter gravitational range.›

All about me, the ship crackled to life—and perhaps, impending death. Warriors rushed to their stations, officers moved to the bridge. I followed the crowd. As a mere aristh—a cadet—I had no battle rank on the GalaxyTree. I was there to obey orders, if anyone had known me well enough to give them.

Instead, all I heard was dissent. ‹You'll be useless in the fray!›

‹These battles are fought in-atmosphere! And besides, the device predates—›

‹—at least a dozen—›

‹—should be held in reserve, for—›

‹Where do I go?› I asked. I'd never been this close to so many Yeerk troops. Simulations, transport work, even fending off Skrit Na—but nothing like this.

People ignored me.

So I continued up the dropshaft. ‹I can fly a fighter,› I volunteered, ‹as well as any warrior.›

A couple fighter pilots turned their stalk eyes to me. I had not intended to be immodest, but it was true—the computers could handle most of the navigation, via thought-speak commands. At least, they had so far. When I was learning.

But they seemed intent on ignoring me and going back to whatever they'd been arguing about before. ‹—with that attitude, we'd have been overrun by—›

‹—nothing's ancient enough to be traditional in this context, don't be absurd—›

‹—it's not bigotry when it's—›

Evidently, the officers were just as tired by all the back-and-forth as I was. ‹So be it, aristh Aximili,› said Captain Nerefir gravely. ‹Do your duty.›

‹At your service,› I bowed slightly, and rushed into the nearest fighter. There was some bric-a-brac strewn about the dashboard; I ignored it, focusing on launching.

Several warriors, more experienced than me, had already taken off, in pursuit of the Bug Fighters. I followed them, adjusting to control of the ship's utilitarian navigation system. Easy enough to control. Then, up ahead, a fighter in range! I shot, but the enemy craft easily spiralled out of distance. I turned to follow it, but it was blasted away by another burst of Andalite fire.

I continued my pursuit of another craft, this one gaining speed as it accelerated towards the planet. I shot, and this time, struck! The Yeerk ship's engine was hit, and it began to idle. I took another shot, but that one was unnecessary; once again, a fellow Andalite fighter had vaporized the stranded Yeerk vessel.

And so on. I cannot say I ever destroyed a Bug fighter myself, but I handled my little vessel respectably and got off a few shots that at least debilitated the Yeerk forces slightly. The battle could only have lasted minutes, but I was so electrified, running on nervous energy, that it felt like we'd been time-dilating at maximum burn.

And then—I don't mean to put stock in the old superstitions—but whether I was subconsciously responding to signals from the onboard computer or spooked by the supernatural, I felt dread seep through my hearts. From beyond us, coming into range of the GalaxyTree, was the grim shadow of a Visser's Blade Ship.

Far above the blue planet, streaks of light arced back and forth—shots from the "tail" of our Dome ship, the great ship I would never see again, and the battle-ax. I struggled to keep my focus on the tasks at hand and hoof, gyrating out of range of another Bug fighter, while straining to get word from the computer.

Finally, the message came to take up defensive formations and begin targeting the Blade ship. The planet and its strangers could wait. My Andalite cousins came first, and defending the trees and grasses within the dome, the only fragment of our homeworld for light-years, would be paramount.

So I turned the fighter back into position, and was ready to take aim at whichever Visser dared threaten the GalaxyTree. The fighter wasn't mine, nothing about it particularly distinctive, but for that moment, it was enough.

That was when it got shot.

By the Blade ship or just another fighter, it didn't matter. All I knew was that the engines were disabled, and then, a moment later, the exterior rattled again. I was falling, and unbidden, the words of ceremony rushed through my mind. I served my people and the prince—but they were gone and growing even more distant. Perhaps, in the end, only honor would remain.

I certainly couldn't muster the control to steer the ship with my own hands. Maybe some basic thought-speak commands helped it stabilize as best it could. Maybe it was the ship's auto-pilot, or maybe it was the hand of fate. Either way, when I hit the ground, I went sprawling across the floor. My torso was wounded, and my tail in weaker shape still.

But I was alive.