Chapter Three
Death
"I am Death." – Death, The Seventh Seal (1957)
(To your feet, you worthless excuse for a Yeerk!)
The Visser had never been known for his way with people.
That was a joke, by the way. A human joke. I've lived in the mind of my human host so long I've started making jokes. Isn't that pathetic? Part of my host, my body, my slave's personality, had actually rubbed off on me. Me being Demur-six-six-four. A Yeerk. I assume you know what I am.
I was in trouble.
(Demur-six-six-four, am I correct?) the Visser sneered.
I knew better than to lie to a Yeerk of Visser Three's rank. He was the sixteenth most powerful Yeerk in the universe. He had the host body of an Andalite. He was also an asshole.
"Yes, Visser. I am Demur-six-six-four of the Sulp Niar pool."
(I know that, you idiot! Come with me!)
We were in the Yeerk pool located underneath the human city known as . Yeerks were going through the usual process. Their hosts dumped them into the pool, were held by the guards, and put in cages until their re-infestation. It was a beautiful system. Every Yeerk, every Hork-bajir, every Taxxoon and human was a vital cog in the machinery. We were an ant colony. We did as commanded. It was as impossible for a lowly Yeerk to disobey a Visser as it was for an ant to disobey its queen. Yeerks who opposed the system were eliminated. Smarter Yeerks who disliked the system never brought it up. We all fought to survive in our little ant colony. All waiting for an enemy bug to kill whoever had the rank just above them. All wanting to rise higher, gain more power, doing their best to keep the colony running so they could get treats. All of them yearning to get recognized, to be a hero, all without displeasing the Visser. The ant queen. Displeasing the Visser meant death, in most cases. Sometimes, death by starvation. Or torture. I had a lot of choices.
The Visser's Hork-bajir guards escorted me into a quiet room without windows. The roaring, buzzing sound of activity that filled the Yeerk pool, the disgusting clucking sound of the pool itself, the screaming and wailing of the temporarily free hosts, the laughter of the filthy lowlifes that were voluntary hosts, all of it was cut off. All I could hear was silence. It was infinitely more uncomfortable than the alarm from outside the room.
The Visser motioned for me to sit down. There was only one chair in the room. No furniture besides a small, wooden table. Hork-bajir and Andalites are not born to sit down.
The walls, ceiling and floor were gray concrete. This room was built for one purpose: Torture. I felt my human host sweating. My emotions, projecting onto the body I was controlling. My host, Bashki, was not afraid. He wasn't stupid, either. He knew he'd die. And he was happy with it. He had nothing to lose, not anymore.
But I had.
For a long time, no one spoke. The Visser looked straight into my eyes with his piercing, green Andalite eyes. The second pair of eyes, the ones positioned on stalks on top of his head, scanned the room, looking through every brightly-lit corner for what could be an Animorph in disguise. There were still five of them, somewhere. Planning their next scheme. It was ridiculous how much damage these six renegades, these six human kids, had caused us.
Finally, the Visser spoke. Thought-spoke, that is.
(Demur-six-six-four of the Sulp Niar pool.)
He eyes my face, looking for a reaction. Taunting me. He wanted to know if I was afraid. If whatever suspicions he had about me were true. I nodded yes, that's me.
(Do you recognize the name Jake Berenson?)
"Yes."
(Could you tell me a little about him? I'm curious.)
I kept my facial features controlled, focused, casual. Don't reveal anything. Show no emotion. Be a true Yeerk. Play the part.
"Jake Berenson is the only found and infested member of the human guerilla group on earth known as Animorphs. He is one of six humans with the ability to morph. It is believed Elfangor the Beast presented them with this power. Jake Berenson was revealed to be an Animorph by his brother, Tom Berenson. Tom overheard him talking in his sleep about the Animorphs. Tom Berenson's Yeerk called for Yeerk support and you, Visser, led a surprise attack against Jake Berenson's house on the night of July the 17th, 1997. He was infested on July the 18th, 1997, 2:31 in the morning. You wanted to use him to track down the rest of the Animorphs."
I paused. The Visser's face was blank. He wanted to hear more. I continued.
"Jake Berenson suffered from amnesia brought on by severe shock. His Yeerk, Amesh-nine-nine-two, couldn't get any information from him. Jake Berenson suffered from personality changes after his shock."
The Visser's hard stare seemed to press its way through me like a primitive human weapon's bullets. I held a firm grim on my host to make sure my expression was blank and unrevealing.
(Is that all you know about Jake Berenson?)
"Yes, Visser."
The Visser's eyes drifted away, not focusing at anything special. He was thought-speaking to someone outside the room. I nervously tried to keep my right foot from bouncing up and down (an oddity of the humans).
(Demur-six-six-four, there is someone I would like you to meet.)
The door opened, letting in a storm of sounds and smells. A young human girl, shoulder-length blond hair, with a bright blue T-shirt and a short skirt entered. Controller, of course. Her face did not have the lively look of a human teenager. It was the cynical stare of a Yeerk.
The "girl" stood next to the Visser, quietly.
(Demur, this is Yshtra-eight-five-six, also from the Sulp Niar pool. You might recognize each other), the Visser said mockingly. (Yshtra's host is named Shelley. Why don't you tell us what you know about Jake Berenson, Shelley?)
There was a slight twitch, not even as long as a second, but it was there, rippling across the pretty face of the girl. I knew what it meant: Yshtra-eight-five-six had let go of Shelley's body. Judging by Shelley's lack of screaming and hysterics, she was a voluntary controller. A lowlife.
"I dated him, once. He was kinda cute. Then one day, he just disappeared. He was just gone. Never saw him again."
(Were you aware that Jake Berenson has been missing for more than a year, Demur-six-six-four of the Sulp Niar pool), the Visser mocked. (Did it cross your mind for a second? Or were you totally oblivious to the fact that what might have been our most important, most powerful host body, was eliminated by one of our own? That he died in some back alley, pumped full of derithium?)
There was no need to fake it anymore. The Visser knew who had killed Jake Berenson. So did I.
"How was I supposed to know?" I shouted. "Visser, I was not informed of Jake Berenson's appearance! You had specifically given orders to all Yeerks during the latest meeting of The Sharing to eliminate, by use of derithium, any host that was strong enough to take control of its Yeerk. To reduce trouble. To avoid suspicion. How was I supposed to know this was Jake Berenson? How could I know this was the captured Animorph, and not some random kid who caused trouble for its Yeerk?"
(Save your breath, you waste. The penalty for killing off our sole source of information, our only chance of finding the Animorphs, is death.)
"There's no such rule!"
(I just made one up.)
I swallowed. Breathed heavily. My host body out of control. I knew there was no stopping the Visser. The Thirteen would never find out that he'd broken the rules. No Yeerk would have the balls to tell a superior that the Visser had unlawfully murdered one of his own for the sole reason that he was pissed off. Because telling on the Visser meant death.
"How am I to die?" I asked. Whimpering pathetically. Drenched in my human body's sweat. My host laughing at my fear from his tiny corner in our mind.
(You will die by Kandrona starvation. Immediately.)
The panic surging through me was more than I could take. I just wanted out. I headed for the exit, i.e. Mr. Bashki's ear. I let go of all nerve endings. My hearing disappeared. Then I stopped feeling my legs. My arms went out of my control. I lost the ability to talk.
Then, just before I lost my eyesight, I saw something, something that created just a tiny shred of hope in my mind. Something was growing inside the Visser's head. Something that made his skin bulge. And it wasn't a tumor.