Title: The Post-Animorphs Saga (I'm not apologizing for the title! I have become quite attached to it, actually.)

Author: weetzybat

Disclaimer: alright, I don't own Animorphs or Catch-22 or Cowboy Bebop. Just covering all bases...

Description: By this time, you should know the basic premise, right?

*A/N*: Okay, this took waaay too long to write, mainly because the chapter I wrote sounded so bad that I resolved to rewrite it, and that combined with tests, homework, etc extended it to two weeks. Yarg! But enough of my excuses.

DH-Yossarian's dark past will come back to bite her in the ass one of these days...oh yes...and Alistair will come back...but can't tell you when...

Liaranne-Your questions shall be answered...not necessarily in this chapter...

Drode/L.Emmist-Yeah, didn't like the taxxon line looking back on it...hrm. Wonder why it's there?

Igloo-I live for character quirks! And don't worry bout the paragraph thing...write as long as you want!

Lady Ryuki-yeah, I forgot they had a mission too...

Myst4-nooooo, not Trentil! Evil captain dude! Not Trentil! *can't stress it enough* Revenge on Captain! Waaah!

*Summary of Previous Chapter*: Our crew makes it to the ship, barely, and manages to shut the Oberon up enough so they can get off the ground. Erek contacts them, saying they are not allowed to take a prisoner off the planet. Isacor thinks he is talking about them, but it is Yossarian he is referring to. She refuses to tell them why she is a convict, and leaves in a huff, only to return a minute later asking what their destination will be. Isacor has been musing on this very issue, and decides to go ahead and finish the mission they were sent on, ordering the Oberon to take them to the Yeerk homeworld.

*I don't know if you need this on this particular story DH, but I figure since it's prolly been a while since others have read the chapter, I would do it anyway.*

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*~*~* Chapter 21...as close to relaxation as this crew can get...

It all felt odd. We had maps, we had an engineer, and there were no serious problems with the Oberon. In fact, our ship seemed to have gotten some intelligence since she was rebooted. I wondered if Yossarian had been tampering with her programming again. Other than the alarm that had been sounded at the invasion of several unidentified passengers, she had done nothing out of sync. It was almost like a normal mission. Almost.

Since when did we have a mission? Trentil and I were in the dome, now newly renovated with Earthen grass and trees, and a working stream that cut a winding path among them. He was facing me; tail arced menacingly over his head, which was a good half-foot above my own. I did the same, but with less enthusiasm. Even though it was practice, having him looming over me like that was unnerving, especially with the look he was giving me right now.

The captain should have briefed you. Ah, yes, the captain. The killer. No, the murderer, because as Trentil said, we are all killers in this war. Anyone who could order a whole squadron to their deaths and not blink an eye for their loss did not deserve anyone's trust; and yet I had believed him when he said my crew was fully briefed.

Perhaps the question meant nothing. It was entirely plausible that he was simply trying to catch me off my guard. All my eyes focused on him: main on his face, stalk on his tail. Any move he made would give him away.

His attack was smooth and swift; a perfect attack, but the angle so wide that I easily blocked it. He was testing me, trying to find a weakness while it was still early. Quickly, I whipped back my tail and struck out again, while his tail was still down, but he just barely blocked it. He remained smug even in his surprise at my aggressive attack.

At least I won't be fighting a complete female. I narrowed my eyes, but he only laughed and lunged again. It soon became a pattern: strike, block, strike, block. I was doing most of the blocking, because I couldn't match Trentil's speed or height advantage. And yet, between each attack, we managed a conversation.

I had no briefing for this mission.

Would you even remember if you had? Did I say that out loud?

I always remember, he emphasized, glaring at me. What is the mission? So that was what all the talking in circles had been. All he wanted to know was the mission. He should have said so.

The Yeerks are doing something to their old warships, the ones that were not to, under any circumstances be removed from their positions, and we have to find out what. He appeared thoughtful for a moment, which I should have used as an opening, but I wanted to hear what he had to say.

They are probably selling them to the Skrit Na, I almost felt relief until he continued speaking. or conducting an undercover operation that will revive the empire and bring war to the galaxies once more.

"Tough call, that." Yossarian's voice came out of nowhere, and involuntarily my stalk eyes swung around to where she was standing behind me. Trentil took the opportunity to shove my tail aside and end the practice; my life too, had it been a real battle. I stared at the tip of his blade positioned directly at the main artery running through my neck.

But...I was distracted! That does not count!

There are many distractions in battle, Prince Isacor. You must learn to ignore them, or... he made a swift slicing motion across my throat, and smirked in satisfaction when I flinched at the breeze that ruffled my fur.

"Well, when you big strong men are finished with your inane ritual--"

Training. Trentil growled. She snorted.

"Yeah, cuz you Andalites get so close to the enemy that you can actually use those tails."

Of course not. I told her helpfully. That would be impractical.

That was sarcasm, Prince Isacor.

What?

She was emphasizing the fact that we would not be that close to the enemy.

Then why did she--?

Let it go, Prince Isacor! And again I was excluded from this mysterious language of humans.

"Don't worry about it," Yossarian reassured me. "A lot of humans don't get it, either." I felt the involuntary twinge at being compared to one of them, the result of inherent Andalite arrogance, I suppose. I managed to shake it off; if I was going to have a human on my crew, such narrow-mindedness would have to go.

What was it you wanted, Yossarian? I asked, steering the conversation away from my blunder. My engineer frowned, put her hand to her forehead. Suddenly, a violent tremor wracked her body, and both her hands flew to the front of her face to muffle the sound. Trentil and I both jumped.

What was that?

"Huh? Oh, that was a sneeze. I think I'm coming down with something." I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but she barely paused before continuing. "I thought you should know that all of the Oberon's programming has been activated. You said she was a prototype, right?"

That is correct.

"I should warn you then. In these types of ships, experimental ones, there are generally some latent programs that were failures, but people are too lazy to remove completely. It is possible that I could have activated some of these, but until they assert themselves, it won't be obvious what they are. And on this kind of ship, I shudder to think what the Andalite scientists have come up with."

So much for a normal mission.