Author's Note: I'm really, really sorry for the overlong wait. I don't really have an excuse, other than that my computer time has been seriously limited lately. Still, I'm writing the final chapters as we speak, and I'm sure you'd all rather have a short wait than a long author's note, so I'll sign off here and get back to the story. Sorry again.

The Mistake

Chapter 9

We were standing right at the end of the steel pier, over the churning brown Yeerk pool. Uric knelt us down, positioned my head low over the water, and then –

I felt a strange sensation, tickling at first, then escalating into outright pain. I whimpered. Then I could feel something cold and slimy in my ear, and hear a tiny plop right below it.

I realised I was shaking.

"Well?" said a voice. It was a bored-looking human-Controller, leaning down next to me, ready to help me up. "What are you waiting for? Victory Day?"

I realised I'd been waiting for Uric to make a move. But Uric was no longer there.

Shaking, I stood up.

"There you go," the man said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Now shoo."

"Um… where?" I asked. It felt strange to be speaking aloud again.

"Oh, first time, right?" The guy grinned and pointed. "Over there and on the left. Can't miss it. Now move it, you're holding up the line."

I walked dazedly back up the pier to higher ground, and in the direction the man had indicated. Now I could see an area separate from the cages, cheerily lit and scattered with comfortable chairs. Humans and Hork-Bajir lounged in these, talking and laughing, some watching TV. Huge yellow Taxxons scuttled about underfoot.

Voluntaries.

I stopped walking for a moment and just stared, then forced myself to go on, keeping my head down. It was either this or the cages. I took a chair right at the edge of the group, sitting awkwardly with my hands clasped in my lap.

"Hey, beautiful! Want a game?"

It was a guy about my age, maybe a year older, who had (for reasons best known to himself) spiked his hair and dyed it an electric blue. He was grinning at me, holding two pool cues.

I stared for a moment. Not to sound rude, I responded with a surprised: "Er… okay, yeah."

He led me to the back of the area, to a battered-looking pool table. "You know how to play?"

"Sure, I have a vague idea."

He grinned and brandished a triangle, starting to set the balls into place. "My name's Mickey. No mouse jokes, please. How about you?"

"Um. Joan."

"Divine." Without warning, he whipped away the triangle and potted two balls. "Your move."

I managed to hit the white into another ball, but nothing touched the sides, let alone went into a hole. "Oh. Crap. Sorry."

"No worries, you'll get used to it. I play way too much. There's never anything on TV." Mickey grinned again and easily potted another two balls, then moved to help me line up my cue. "So, what brings you down here?"

"Oh… well, Uric said that every three days…"

He laughed. "No, I mean to start with! You a Sharing member or what?"

"Oh. Yes." I realised that I wasn't exactly contributing to the conversation. "What about you?"

"Family sucks," he said bluntly, moving my arm to improve my aim. "Mum's broke and I haven't seen my old man in years. These guys gave me a fresh start." He peered knowledgeably at the table. "If you get the white to hit that red, I'd bet my soul it'd get those other three in the corner net…"

A gravellyvoice cut across us. I jumped when I realised that a Hork-Bajir was talking, calling from just inside the voluntary area.

"Sally Lewis, Lucy Pensworthy and Michael Padstow to the loading bay," it said. "Gra fit. Time's up."

"That's me," he said apologetically, laying down his pool cue. "Hey, look me up, okay?"

"Uh, yeah, okay," I called as he, a teenage girl and a woman of forty-ish were hurried away to the steel piers. I stood there for a moment, then moved the pool balls around listlessly for a few seconds before returning to my chair. No-one else tried to pick me up, so I spent the time watching some sitcom about a bunch of people who didn't seem to do anything. Mickey had been right when he'd said there was nothing on.

"Joan Davies and Samuel Colbert to the loading bay!"

The Hork-Bajir was back. I heaved myself out of my chair and followed him, and the blonde guy from before did the same. Although the guy tried to strike up a conversation, walking back to that pool was like being on Death Row, or led under the Bridge of Sighs to be executed.

The infestation piers were on the other side of the pool, and we had to walk past a lot of cages in which humans cried, screamed, begged, threatened or just sat and stared hopelessly at nothing. One woman spat sharply at me. "Traitor! Traitor!"

The Hork-Bajir banged his arm-blades against the cage bars, knocking her away. "Nach! Fit nach. Be quiet!"

And then we were lining up on the pier, guarded by two more Controllers: another Hork-Bajir and a darting, hissing Taxxon. The blonde guy lowered his ear into the viscous soup, unable to suppress a shudder as his Yeerk slid back in. Then he stood up, once again a Controller.

It was my turn.

I looked down. One of those little flashes of unhealthy greenish-greywas Uric Four-Three-Seven-One, waiting to crawl back into my ear and make me a slave again. I wouldn't be able to speak. I wouldn't be able to move. I wouldn't be able even to choose what sounds to listen to, what sights to focus on. I would be utterly a slave.

But I wasn't one yet.

"No!" I screamed – and, spinning around, knocking shocked humans out of the way, I sprinted towards the nearest staircase.