Author's Note: I didn't plan on doing Cassie's chapter yet, but if I went straight to the next one there would have been a minor plot hole that I felt could be avoided, which you'll notice when chapter six is posted.

Chapter Five: Cassie's POV

The phone rang as I came in the kitchen door. I looked at it helplessly, wondering who could be calling. The Caller-ID read 'Private Number'. Since my parents were out—they were at fundraiser for a local Humane Society—I had to take the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi. May I speak to Cassie?"

"MARCO?" I shrieked into the phone. "Why are YOU calling?"

"Because Jake said to call you and Rachel and tell you that we're meeting in your barn in half an hour. Is that long enough for you to get your dad out of there?"

"Mom and Dad are at a Humane Society fundraiser all day," I told him. "What's wrong?"

"Oh," said Marco—I could almost see him smirking— "nothing's WRONG." He hung up before I could say or ask anything else.

After twenty minutes, I saw Rachel walking to my house.

"Hi, Cassie," she said when she saw me. "Want to hang out?"

"Love to," I said, not sure why she was being so casual. Did she suspect SPIES to be hanging around at MY HOUSE? "Would you like to see the new birds in the barn?"

"Sure." Once we were in the barn, she dropped the overly casual attitude. "Did Marco tell you what this is all about?" she asked me anxiously.

"No," I said truthfully. "All he said was there was a meeting in my barn and nothing was wrong."

"He told me basically the same thing. Then he laughed." She suddenly looked suspicious. "You don't think that maybe..." She trailed off.

"Maybe what?" I prodded.

"Maybe the Yeerks got him somehow, and this is all a trap."

I stared at her. "I thought Marco was the paranoid one."

We spent the remaining eight minutes trying whether or not it was a trap. When Jake and Marco did show up (exactly on time, for once) I decided that Rachel was right, and it was a trap.

They were with two other guys. There was one that I didn't recognize—and one that I did. He looked like an older Jake.

"What's Tom doing here?" Rachel demanded, but she didn't wait for an answer. She began morphing to grizzly bear. Tom yelped in alarm and pulled out a Dracon beam.

"Rachel, demorph. Tom, put that away," said Jake sternly.

"How about I just give you the Dracon beam?" Tom offered Jake.

"I doubt that Rachel would trust anyone but herself with one of those," said the other guy, looking amused. I studied him—he looked vaguely familiar.

"True," said Tom. He turned the Dracon beam around and handed it to Rachel. "I hope you won't mind NOT shooting anyone with this. The settings have been malfunctioning lately, so there's no way to tell which setting it's really on. Well, now you now better than to try changing it's programming, DON'T YOU? Shut up. Make me! Okay." Tom fell silent and sat down on the nearest bale of hay. The other guy shook his head and rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"I am amazed that you two haven't driven each other crazy yet," he said. Tom smirked.

"The key word there is 'yet'. We're extremely close to it."

"We?" I repeated. "Who is 'we'?" The other guy sighed again.

"Well, since I for one don't particularly want to explain this THREE times, can we wait for Tobias?"

"Sure," said Rachel. She was keeping the Dracon beam aimed at Tom, and I doubted that she had even heard the question.

The guy suddenly jumped, looking alarmed. "I need to demorph," he muttered. He transformed so quickly I couldn't even see it. When he was done, I wondered if I was seeing him properly.

Where there had been a vaguely familiar guy, there was now a very familiar Andalite. It had been dark the only other time I had seen him, and he was now uninjured, but I recognized him just the same. I backed away slowly, my jaw hanging open.

Then Tobias showed up.

Author's Note: I know I stole the last line from Animorphs #4: The Message, but it fits so well! I'm sorry it's a cliffie. It wasn't supposed to be. But if it wasn't, I couldn't fit it almost seamlessly with the next chapter.

(Mob begins gathering.) NO MORE CLIFFIES! NO MORE CLIFFIES!

Me: I'M SORRY! REALLY! I BEG FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!

Mob: NO MORE CLIFFIES! NO MORE CLIFFIES! NO MORE CLIFFIES!

Me: (Runs away, trying desperately to avoid making the next chapter a cliffie.)