Chapter 2

Present

The compartment shook violently to the side as the pilot reported hitting another storm. Chains rattled, feet scraped the deck, and the unlocked metal storage doors slammed to their frames, withdrawing with pitiful squeaks and groans. In the dim light, the task force's bodies swayed back and forth as silhouettes, emotionless and cold. Not a single breath could be heard over the delicate humming of the tiny transporter built for half the number it was carrying.

From the bridge came the thumping of four mechanical feet. The centaur-like machine that forever sustained Surote's Yeerk body was finally ready to give us the last brief before we set out on the mission. He reached with robotic hands into a storage box, humming something tunelessly to himself.

I heard a shuffle from Santorelli; every movement was exaggerated with a crumpling by the thick protective clothing we all had to wear from around the neck to the upper portions of the legs. He turned to Jake as if he would have some words of inspiration of his own. But Jake continued to stare forward.

Marco was still with us. Somehow. Menderash, too, who was finally going to get his first taste of real action, assuming things went according to plan. Upon request, he had received permission to acquire Burr-Ammit's DNA. He was capable of morphing Kelbrid, just like everybody else crammed into our little task force.

I didn't know anybody else, apart from Surote. They were introduced to us as simply Team Hook, specialists in infiltration. There were six of them from various alien races I had never come across before. There was a creature named Kv-Aret-Cukku Et who stretched over eight feet tall and had the curious appearance of mutant seaweed. One who resembled a red Kangaroo with no tail and big reptilian claws. Another whose entire front was riddled with suction pads, looking like he was suffering from some really nasty skin disease. The alien sitting beside Menderash was of a race based on a planet predominantly coated in mud. His limbs ended with spatula-like feet, his body a smooth leather, and the top of his head was like a helmet covering much of the face. He was blind, but with an extreme sense of smell and the ability to detect the direction of heat sources, that was more than made up for.

There was one called Arkv. He stood like a bear on hind legs, with the skin and gills of a shark. A permanent membrane surrounded his lizard-like gray head and neck, filled with water. It was filtered through a container latched onto his back. He was the leader of Team Hook.

Surote pulled a small wristband-like device from the storage container and strapped it around his robotic arm. The pilot called back into the compartment, "Landing in the vicinity of Station 4." The transporter's constant hum lowered in pitch, and it started to vibrate as we descended at a sharper gradient.

"Team Hook," Surote started, loud enough to steal the attention of all. "We've done this many times before. Nothing new or special here. We go in, follow the plan, and we get out with as many souls as we can. Population estimate is eighty-seven self-sustaining Yeerks with no connection to any other organized body. They will have no reinforcement. This is a mining station, and they operate only for self-preservation. They scavenge Ooguui and mine the ground for metals to fortify. With that in mind, they are not trained fighters, but they will have dangerous weapons at their disposal. We do not expect a fluid or organized response to our infiltration, but do not let yourselves fall to complacency."

Arkv took the small pause in Surote's brief to insert a question. His voice was muffled slightly by his watery mask. "What races are we to expect?"

"Expect the following:" Surote said. "Gedd, Oo, Mak, Pject, Hork-Bajir, Taxxon, Verg, and Nahara. Nothing particularly threatening, and the hosts are likely weak and malnourished. Take care when paralyzing. Humans."

We were already paying attention when he addressed us specifically. We waited for his instruction.

"You have been shown how to operate the paralysis guns. You are here with us to bolster the team as we face a larger number than usual. Stick to the plan: Remain in line, do not break rank if the situation escalates. Aim to stun, and wherever possible, avoid the killing of the adversaries. We are here on a rescue mission, Yeerk and host. Fruyt has spare paralysis gun ammunition. If you are out of ammo, go to him. Do not resort to other means."

"Understood," Jake replied, speaking for us all.

Surote nodded. "If we stick to the plan, we save lives here. We don't destroy them. Since there is no outside contact for this mining station, we are under no obligation to enter in morph. Keep your eyes on each other, and we go home happy. Are there any questions?"

Jake raised a hand. "What's the policy on morphing?"

"Use at your own discretion," he answered. "If it aids the mission, I have no issue. Just make sure you spend no more than three hours under-mask. Any problems, head to Fruyt. We shouldn't be here that long, anyway. Any more questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Santorelli called out, an eager grin on his cheeks. "When do we start this ass-kickin'?!"

It didn't get the intended reaction. Where his usual informal bravado would offer a final lift before entering a scene, it left a glaring silence from Team Hook and some awkward, wary glances. Surote, far from impressed, clanked forward to Santorelli's seated position and darted his eyes at the increasingly alienated Ranger.

"The only ass being kicked will be yours," Surote seethed. "If you do not take this mission with the seriousness it deserves. Now shut your flat Human mouth and get your gun."

Santorelli bolted up, outraged but also out of line. "You just fuckin' try, slug!"

Jake was immediately on the case, jumping up and grabbing Santorelli's arm roughly before he could crack Surote's metallic frame. Marco was half-up, ready to provide extra strength to hold him back.

"Let it go!" Jake urged him. He was having a hard time restraining him, but Santorelli was just calm enough to refrain from throwing a punch. His jaw and fists were clenched, and his eyes burning with violent desire, but it was safe.

"Sit down!" Surote bellowed, completely unfettered. "Know your place! Don't ever confront me again! Such insubordination from somebody of your background is unfathomable!"

Santorelli wasn't a stupid man. Not academic, but he had a reasonable degree of common sense. Despite his history with Yeerks and utter hatred for them, he quickly measured the pros and cons of picking a fight with the mysterious Surote. He slowly, shakily sat back down and averted his eyes to look the other way. Surote watched him for a good few seconds and then proceeded back to the head of the compartment.

"Get ready. We leave immediately."

Team Hook finally started to make noise after a journey of almost complete muteness. They got up, and each grabbed their paralysis guns, adjusted their squeaky, crumply protective clothing.

"Ammo at the ready," Arkv ordered boldly. "Proceed to Point of Action 1 in formation. Be on alert, and don't disappoint me like last time!"

"Geez," Marco groaned quietly as our inexperienced portion of the team tested our one-size-fits-literally-all kit and located our weapons. "Somebody didn't get any birthday cards this year, huh."

"He's gonna get my boot in his mouth if he ain't careful," Santorelli growled, all boisterousness vanished from his tone.

Jake twisted sharply and glared at him. He was not impressed by Santorelli's momentary rebellion. "I get it, man. I do. But don't."

Santorelli, as frustrated as he could get, wasn't one to forget his place. "Apologies, boss."

And that was that. No sulking, no more whining. He grabbed his paralysis gun – a shimmering, boomerang-shaped object with looping metal bars from loading port to barrel over the top – in both hands and attempted a practice aim. He was readier than ever.

Before we could leave, and just as the team's regulars were heading forward, Fruyt, the brown mud-burrowing alien, approached with a spatula hand filled with small cubes. It was the ammo that we needed. One by one, they were taken and placed into weapons. But Fruyt had something else for us.

He spoke with a raspy, monotone voice, quietened beneath the large helmet that covered his head. "You don't mess this up for us. It's bad enough that we have to speak your language to accommodate you. Don't make the journey back more painful than the journey here because you really don't want that."

It was a not-so-subtle stab at Marco. We all had language implants, but Marco's refusal to take one meant that the whole team had to speak our specific language. It was the biggest source of tension from the get-go.

Watching it all unfold, it was hard not to forget that I was a part of it. I had no weapon, but a more specific, and, dare I say it, a more predictable role. I was the birds-eye view, of course. Somebody had to do it.

I did have my own protective clothing, though. Somehow, it didn't make me feel any safer.