The Assignment

Star Trek – Animorphs


This is Tobias.

Muscle bulged like rockmelons in a terrific swing over another squat homestead.

Squelch.

Landed. Clawed toes spread in mud warm from intermittent bursts of light, a clod stuck on one talon to drop from another spring into the air. I didn't turn to watch it fall.

My hearts hammered exultation.

It's not our fault.

Flubbery faces upturned to watch me go, exactly where I'd be standing if a seven-foot spiky monster used my backyard treehouse to slingshot over clay tiles. Only a few today.

Not the bewildered dozens of my first village trip.

My tail raised behind me, cat-like, horns curled up and away from the ground.

Suspicion blew over quickly with the Eirin. It's not our fault. We didn't bring the Yeerks here. But I had to wonder...

What? The barbed Hork-Bajir beak tore my chuckle like a woodchipper.

Regret is the killer. And pointless regret?

I caught a larger branch, more trunk than bouncing twig, arms wrapped around it. Watched a gaggle of alien kids make waves as they slid down the main village chute, a crackle-skinned elderly Eirin honking as it wiped mud spray from its eyes.

Growing feathers killed the boy Tobias.

The old me couldn't fathom the thing in the trees. Hawk and boy and Hork-Bajir together, vying for control. I've learned. Changed. Left things behind.

Unhelpful things.

An unfamiliar tune thrummed my second heart. I pressed a hand against it. At the bottom right of a powerful torso, the pulse of skin never failed to unnerve me.

I released the branch.

Hawks know what they are. When it counts, survival meant losing those unhelpful tendencies. Worries. Wondering. Dreams.

I couldn't afford to die. The Yeerks outnumber us already.

Slam.

The shock travelled up my thighs, ligaments flexed until my neck barely bobbed.

I dug talons in wet earth, stepped out of the way to not eviscerate a greyish Eirin torpedo and spared seconds to watch its flippers disappear. Over the edge of a brackish pool. Into the deep.

A whine by my ear cavity. Already sensitive, I rubbed it.

Jungle planets didn't grow that differently from good old Earth Amazon standard, and I thanked my lucky stars for a tanned hide too tough for nasty-looking alien mosquito bites.

The tips of my horns didn't score fresh wood this time. I ducked further down, eyes wide at utter darkness behind the doorstead.

«Here. What's the hurry? I asked.

Incredibly dim, even by Eirin standards. Someone wanted a dramatic entrance, I guessed.

A single lamp hung over the chest-height dining table. Chest-height for the Eirin meant a nice belly-height for me and I gathered my thorny frame to fit between politely spaced members of our 'secret meeting'.

It's secret. No-one knows we're in here.

Just ignore the actual klaxon bringing everyone inside. It's a dinner bell, promise.

Nods to my left and right, more standing opposite. I spread my three fingers on the table edge, thumb hooked in the soft wood underneath. A thick breath in almost masked slapping feet on gritty stone behind us.

A mind to the squashy bodies at my side, I whipped around. The touch on my shoulder matched the beaky grin spreading across my face.

She burbled.

«Hi, Moorguenn,» I said to her probable 'hello'.

Pursed fish lips let on how pleased she really was.

«It's about time, huh?»

Googly eyes black in the single warm light moved on. I followed her line of sight. Grimaced.

Two shining stars. Gold and completely useless.

A tap. I ignored it.

She lingered on my inner wrist.

The Eirin had technology. I'd seen it.

No matter the crude wood, mud and stone houses or the unusual manner of travel I'd almost choked on, they didn't shy away from electronics or shuttlecraft. The Eirine almost seemed excited to get their hands on anything new.

Impatience with a hesitant and frankly green guerilla outfit led to human and Eirine cultural cross-contamination. Moorguenn proved her kind a perceptive species.

She knew wrist-tapping meant 'time'. She'd never seen a watch in her life.

Average teenage culture. A Tobias petri-dish.

I shrugged her away.

«Heard from Boss McGee lately?

"Ppplllbltl uuuuuurh nbllt, bll-"

«Funny.» Maybe I needed to get off my high horse and learn the language. «Translator?»

Moorguenn puffed out air pockets at the base of her neck. The loose skin collapsed with a soft squeal. She shook her head.

She knew what I meant.

I pressed the bridge of my beak between thumb and finger. Closed my eyes. What I said about the Eirin letting suspicion blow over? Yeah. Not when it counted. Not for me.

My hawk didn't need the raw power to win in close combat. I flew best on my own wings, striking from above. Utility. I knew that.

I also knew the potential of an Animorph. I'm wasted on just spying.

Crawling through the undergrowth, watching, listening to snoring Yeerks, it's a waste. It had to be. I wanted more.

I'd watched that particular bright dot fly by every night.

The biggest star, my last friend in the universe, trapped by slugs. Just out of my reach.

Moorguenn crooned sorrow. Her undertones didn't lie.

Cassie got out. Moorguenn stood by me. And Asuf, wherever he was, didn't need the Eirin lady mother-henning him. He and his speaking device must be safe.

I raised my head. Just in time to hear it.

Boom. The roar of water splattering rocks.

More booms. I counted three.

We turned as one. Chatter fell to respectful silence.

The biggest Eirin I'd ever seen slid in on a firm belly.

Familiar in bulk and expert twists of flippers, he skidded to webbed feet. Welcoming bleats from our fellows met inflated air sacs, a slight hunch buoyed the Eirin up another good inch.

Bossman swaggered to the table head.

Whistles. Gullet vibrating with power, resonant slides across octaves high and low, those four-fingered hands played havoc to the crowd.

My eyes wandered.

At his side, somehow less obtrusive under bright orange sensory organs, an Eirin paler than Moorguenn matched my curious stare. Blue veins forked visibly beneath its skin, thin and translucent in the dark.

It looked me up and down. I craned my neck.

The stranger paid no attention to Bossman. Its attention wandered over my spikes. Passed to each face in the crowd.

In a word, bored.

Sharp cut through air. Bossman's quick jab dragged my attention. Flipper at an angle, he swiped to the right. To the new guy. Bossman purred, bowed at the hip and waved us to the Glory Wall.

We flinched in a lightbulb flare.

Accustomed to a constant headache from sitting in the dark, a low hiss startled even me.

Greenish metal slabs. Distinct curvature, the carapace of a spaceborn insect hung in blood and silence before the War Room. Broken. Edges cut, welded apart to bear up like a pinned butterfly.

A bug fighter. I crooked my beak. Right.

Our most recent victory.

Bossman roared.

Knee blades stuck into soft jungle wood. Finned toes flapped like schools of dead fish as the Eirin around me picked up the excitement.

Then, produced with a perfect magician's flourish, the bulky alien seal-man held out the piece de resistance.

My arms stiffened.

They'd been busy.

I really, really hoped someone had the bright idea to deactivate it. Because that circular device ill-fitting a large four-fingered hand probably had a z-space transponder.

Ax'd confirm it but I knew what it was. An alien radio. A Yeerk Walkie-Talkie.

Moorguenn tapped the table.

She leaned around my torso to add harmonics to the general noise.

It went dead quiet.

She continued. Even I understood her vocalised unease.

The white-orange Eirin honked.

Like a goose.

Moorguenn's sacs rapidly inflated. She trailed off, expelling smelly puffs of fair. A hint of needle teeth drew more eyes to the alien woman staring daggers at our leadership.

New Guy tilted a camel ear to Bossman.

The big Eirin let loose another patriotic roar, as if nothing happened at all.

They went crazy.

Moorguenn slumped.

And before we knew it the pufferfish mouths dipped to the waterproof map with several encouraging hums.

Finally. I clicked metal under razor-sharp claws.

Unrolled and waterproof, the holographic overlay to our map kept my digits rolling light and careful. Puny as the war effort might be, I didn't want to accidentally punch a hole right through it.

Damp air cooled the skin of my forearm. Moorguenn stared down her snout and puffed.

«Sorry. You okay?»

She sneered. "Scith."

I closed my beak. Refused to gape like a moron.

Duh. Eirine understood each other. I'd never heard real words from them before, but that didn't mean anything. Of course they had words.

«'Skeeth'... what's that?»

But she nudged me and muttered over an unflattering spitting sound. Stared at the map.

I peered through bright green lines.

Over hills and valleys, trees transparent to give lay of the land, an arrowhead rotated on its axis. It pointed up, tip smooth as a river pebble.

Bossman's confident vocals dropped stones in my stomach.

The space-humans.

Their star-shaped badges. Lights dimmed to allow better contrast for the map, I'd adjusted to the dark enough to catch their yellow glint. To compare how perfectly my strange allies matched the symbol of Starfleet to the Yeerk forward base.

A hush ghosted between all gathered.

I understood. For better or worse, without understanding a word, I knew what Bossman wanted. It turned my guts into pretzels.

Spock's infestation. A potential Yeerk Pool. Possibly the most dangerous on-planet target for our little resistance movement. I'd come close, spied on it, toyed with half-baked rescue plans.

Never infiltrated it.

It's the one place I needed to go.

«I'm in.»

And the wide-eyed dawning horror on Moorguenn's face couldn't stop me.