The Illusion

by K. A. Applegate

  “Yes, Sub-visser!”

 

  “Oh, good, it does speak,” Taylor said and clapped her hands.

  I knew I had to “demorph” to Andalite. Act my part. Make this ruse complete. There was no logical reason for me to stay in morph.

  I focused my mind on a happier time, just hours earlier. I pictured Ax. I became Ax.

  This time the tail came first. I felt it push out of my feathers and begin to grow, thick and wide, into its natural arc. Felt the blade emerging at the end. How I must have looked! A blue-tailed hawk.

  The nearest Hork-Bajir started, ready to grab me where I lay. Taylor motioned them to hold. And leveled her artificial arm. Straight at me.

  From the palm of her hand came a hissing noise, louder and louder, until …

  Shooopooof!

  From her hand exploded a spray of white, blinding particulates.

  I cried. Stinging pain that seemed to coat my body.

  Rachel felt it too.

  Chapman and the Hork-Bajir tried to back away. Too late. The Hork-Bajir clawed at their own eyes. Chapman writhed, as if he was crawling with ants.

  “What the —” he yelled, then fell silent.

  Taylor smirked, unaffected.

  Then, slowly, the pain passed and I felt … nothing. No feeling at all! My mind raced, but my body wouldn’t respond. I fell back to the floor with a thud. Unable to move. Frozen in midmorph. Paralyzed!

  Rachel cried.

  They were falling to the ground like giant dominoes.

  Thud. Thumpf.

  Taylor’s lips formed a broad, sinister grin.

  “Surprise!” She laughed to herself, standing tall. Unfazed by the gas. “So sorry for you all. Looks like I’m the only one who remembered to take the antidote in advance. Oh, wait. Did I forget to tell you all?” Her laughter stopped abruptly. “Gather up these fools,” she ordered, motioning to the remaining Hork-Bajir.

  Then she walked over to where I lay and smiled again, eyes aglow with self-satisfaction.

  And she called out, loudly enough so her henchmen could hear: “And pick up the Andalite filth, too. We have a special place all picked out for him.”

  Strong arms hoisted me off the floor by my Andalite tail. I was powerless to resist. Or even move a muscle.

  Rachel screamed with frustration.

  I felt a stab of cold terror. No. No, if Rachel and I were separated … No one to bring word of the Anti-Morphing Ray’s location to Jake. No one to bring rescue.

  And Rachel? Left here, unseen, a fly? Paralyzed in morph? My God, she might never …

 

 

 

  It sounded like she was starting to cry.

  Not a sound I’d ever expected to hear.

  Minutes into the mission, and we were finished. Trapped. No way out. No help waiting.

  A heavy metal door clanged shut. I was in a dark corridor. Another Hork-Bajir held up a metal box, and the first one crammed me into it and sealed the opening shut, blacking out any hint of light.

 

  Bumps and jolts as the Hork-Bajir knocked the box against his leg with each step.

 

  No answer. Silence in my head.

  I was alone.

  The darkness was complete.

  Total.

  And I heard nothing. No sound save my own irregular breathing.

  Sensation started to return and I realized I’d been stuffed into a box half my size. A straitjacket that pinned my wings against my body. Jammed the vestigial Andalite tail up into my neck.

  The hawk in me tensed every muscle. No room! In a panic, it pressed against the walls of the seamless steel box. Terrified. Confined. I fought to control the bird. But I was losing the struggle. The human me was frightened, too.

  Rachel! Oh, Rachel. Could she escape this underground network? Somehow survive?

  She would. Sure she would. She had to. She was Rachel, after all. Rachel!

  Where was she? All I could think of was a paralyzed fly, helpless and vulnerable on the floor. Someone would step on her. She wouldn’t be able to get out of the way, and someone would kill her.

  Better than the alternative. Life as a fly. Trapped, like me. But so not like me. I could see, soar …

  And the plan? Rachel was supposed to have seen where they took me, then lead the others in. First prove the Anti-Morphing Ray didn’t work, then, in the rescue, destroy the thing for good measure.

  It was crazy! Inconceivable arrogance on our parts. We had underestimated our foe. A fatal error.

  Fatal.

  The hawk brain, the animal part that still, even now, lived apart from me, untouched by human reason, began a low, defeated moan. A death moan.

  So hot in the box. Like an oven. Warmer, and warmer still. How much more oxygen could there be? Were they trying to suffocate me? Was that it?

  Interminable!

  The only external input were the wobbles and bobs as the holder of the box hit me against his leg. The ride continued.

  No space to morph or demorph.

  I pronounced slowly.

  That’s it. Keep talking, Tobias. Keep talking. Stay sane. Hold on. Don’t think …

  Zeeewooozeeewooo.

  All six walls of the box began to buzz. Vibrate. And then: Poosh!

  Like a camera flash, steel walls vaporized. Dazzling light flooded my eyes. Blinded me. Rods and cones shot to hell. I saw nothing but white.

  I blinked a few times. Then, no. No, my eyes were adjusting.

  I was in another box. But a completely different kind. A cube of glass. Larger. Maybe four feet square. Big enough for me to move about. Brightly illuminated, with several spotlights directed at me. I demorphed immediately. Back to hawk.

  I blinked again. And as I rose to my feet, I ­realized I was suspended. The cube hung in the center of a much larger room. I strained to look beyond the glass. Through the glare from the lights to the dimness beyond.

  “There’s no way out.” It was Taylor’s voice. Sub-Visser Fifty-one. Cold and casual. “There’s no point in looking around.”

  She sat alone at a long table near the door of the large, gloomy, windowless room. To her right and left, armed Hork-Bajir, standing at attention. Above, a network of steel beams and conduits and a daunting maze of wire.

  “You may as well demorph and make yourself comfortable while we wait,” she continued.

  Nice try, I thought. Demorph and make myself comfortable. Yeah, right! Wouldn’t she just love an Andalite to infest. That would get her noticed by the Visser. Why don’t I plunge my head in the sludgy Yeerk pool while I’m at it?

  “No?” she prodded, mocking. “Don’t want to demorph? Worried about that whole Yeerk-in-the-head thing? That’s okay, my little Andalite birdie. You stay just the way you are. For now.”

  I looked again at the glass walls of my cube. Smooth and thick. Flawless. Featureless, except for one small, inset panel. In the panel were three circles. Three discs like oversized elevator buttons. They were colored. One red, one blue, one black.

  “Ah, I see you’ve noticed the control device. There’s a little experiment to be carried out as soon as Visser Three arrives,” she said knowingly. “This device is state of the art, Andalite. The very latest in Yeerk technology.”

  A little experiment? Control device? The Anti-Morphing Ray. That had to be it. Right?

  I re
ached forward with my beak to touch the panel.

  Scheewack! Kewwwack! Force-field static crackled and hissed. An electric jolt grabbed my beak and sent a shock through my body. From wings to tail and back again. I collapsed, stunned, to the floor.

  “Ouchie,” Taylor said.

  There was a loud banging on the door. Two Hork-Bajir scurried to open it, knocking into each other on the way. A clatter of arm blades as they struggled to disentangle themselves. One finally made it to the door.

  the visser muttered as he swaggered into the room.

  He strode, with graceful Andalite steps, toward the center of the room. He paused briefly to grind a hoof into one of the offending Hork-­Bajir’s toes. A muffled cry.

  the visser boomed in public thought-speak, pausing in mid-sentence to turn all four eyes on me,

  My breathing stopped. My stomach was stone. The darkness in his gaze was terrifying. We had met many times, he and I. But visible through those Andalite eyes was an evil that still struck fear in my heart. Still gripped me with hopelessness and despair.

  Perhaps it was the knowledge that this Yeerk had managed something that years of battle had been unable to do: take down the great Elfangor. Stamp out that brave warrior’s life. Or maybe looking into Visser Three’s eyes made me face the hard reality that despite all our campaigns — the numerous ways we’ve succeeded in weakening and slowing his invasion of Earth — this Yeerk still stood powerful and strong.

  Was he just lucky? Or was he really smarter than we were?

  Would he always triumph? Would we never be able to end the invasion? To change the course of humanity’s future?

  He looked away and released me from his hold.

  “Urgent business?” the sub-visser inquired with interest.

  He scanned the room like the queen of hearts, looking for someone to behead. he ­intoned, smoothly reversing the pivot of his stalk eyes to rest on me,

  I was stunned. Surely this was a bluff. Surely Ax had gotten away. The visser waited, clearly hoping to get a rise out of me.

  He paused again.

  Taylor laughed appreciatively.

  I said nothing. And a hawk face shows no emotion.

  The visser seemed a little disappointed.

  No. I refused to believe him. If he’d found anyone in morph, he’d have brought them straight here, to test the ray. We were too valuable as guinea pigs.

  Lies.

  His stalk eyes drooped slightly.

  “Yes, Visser,” Taylor answered obsequiously.

  He searched the room.

  The door was opened again. This time by a single Hork-Bajir. Two small human-Controllers in white lab coats emerged timidly.

  They looked haggard. Like they hadn’t slept in days. They gaped at Visser Three, then looked away.

  One carried a thick, softbound manual, the other, a large tabletop device. A replica of the three buttons in my glass cube. They set their items cautiously on the table in front of the Visser.

  the Visser asked solicitously.

  “Yes, we, I, we … Yes.”

 

  They moved quickly, clumsily, shaking.

  One of them stumbled, running over to a large object that looked remarkably like the kind of telescope an amateur astronomer might own.

  The telescopelike device was aimed at me.

  Dr. Singh flipped several switches on the base and shaft of the instrument. The other man appeared to connect power to the three-circle device. The two men then stood together. Their expressions were a disturbing mix of hope and pride and terror.

  Together they pressed sweaty palms down onto a large black button.

  I would have laughed, if I weren’t sick with fear. They were like a pair of hopeful kids in a science fair being judged by a psycho-killer.

  The corresponding black circle in my glass cube glowed with an eerie light.

  I closed my eyes. Hoping the ray wouldn’t kill me, but knowing full well that it could.

  I waited.

  My body tingled ever so slightly.

  Wooomp, wooomp, woomp.

  A strained noise, like a helicopter at liftoff, or an old car engine turning over.

  Woomp, woomp.

  I opened my eyes.

  The two little scientists looked unsettled. Their eyes darted nervously from the telescope object to their charts, to their controls, to me.

  Then slowly, slowly, they turned their faces to Visser Three.

  the Visser called loudly.

  At this point the scientists’ faces grew flushed. Perspiration beaded on their brows. They flipped rapidly through pages of calculations. One climbed up onto the machine with a wrench and began to peel off the outer body. A wrench. How high-tech, I thought.

  “I don’t understand,” one of them said breathlessly. “It is impossible for it not to be working. Impossible.” He ran toward me. Stood on tiptoes to peer at me in my cube. I was still a hawk. I had not demorphed. For the very excellent reason that I was not morphed to begin with.

  “It must work!”

  “Visser … it must work. It does work!”

  “It works, Visser, it … somehow …”

  Taylor rolled her eyes and sighed.

  Visser Three stood completely immobile. A stillness filled the room.

  I would not have been surprised to see an actual column of steam rise from his head.

  He uttered a single command.

  “No, Visser, no! You don’t understand. This must be some sort of Andalite trick. It is inconceivable that the ray should not work.” The other one held up a paper brick of calculations and shook it desperately.

  “Look through our work, Visser. You will see that it is perfect. That the work is valuable. That we are valuable.”

  “It’s not my fault,” a wild-eyed, weeping Dr. Sinegert cried. “It’s him! He … he’s a saboteur! A traitor!”

  Visser Three stared hard at me with his main eyes. I stared back. Did he suspect? Did he guess that this game was rigged?

  he said, disgusted. He walked leisurely toward the door.

  Hork-Bajir grabbed the scientists. The struggle was brief. A hatch opened in the floor. A grate I had not noticed. From it issued the snorts and sloshings of hungry Taxxons.

  “Nooo!”

  The Hork-Bajir looked more interested now, as they dangled first one, then the other scientist down into the pit.

  I looked away. I could do nothing to shut out their howls of pain. Howls of pain that went on till, at last, with the visser gone, the Hork-Bajir released their hold and dropped the Controllers into the pit.

  The floor closed up.

  The sub-visser looked shaken. Maybe she guessed that she had just glimpsed her own future.

  But I watched her work to recover her strength. Her ruthlessness. Eye
s that had held faint traces of pity hardened again.

  “You can make this easy, Andalite,” she said slowly, deliberately. “Or you can make it … horrible.” She paused. “It’s all up to you.”

  She planted her face inches from the glass — uncomfortably close — and stared icily into my hawk eyes. A zoo animal on display. That’s how I felt.

  “You’ll soon be trapped in morph, Andalite,” the sub-visser said. “Surely you don’t want to live out your life as a bird.”

  I decided to answer.

  She looked at me intently for a moment more, as if she found my statement difficult to grasp. The resemblance to Rachel was disturbing. Same proud stance. Same natural, glowing beauty. But I knew the similarity was only skin-deep. Inside, she and Rachel were like night and day.

  Or at least night and twilight.

  “No, of course you won’t.” She mocked. “Brave Andalite. Your sense of honor is ridiculous. It will get you nowhere.”

  She walked across the room with placid determination. Turned her attention to the control panel. It looked like something I’d seen at the modern art museum. Three large circles — maybe six inches in diameter — that stood out vividly against a silver-gray background. Blue, red. And black. That last one I knew. The AMR. But the other two?

  She hesitated before the panel, almost like she was afraid. Then suddenly, startlingly, slammed her hand down on the red button. The circle in my cube glowed a deep crimson. I watched it pulsate with color.

  And without warning —

 

  It struck like a knife. Staggering, twisting pain that sliced through to my bones.

  A dagger … twisting …

 

  Sharp bursts of pain knocked the wind out of me. I gasped.

  “Demorph,” Taylor said.

  I was silent. Impossible to respond. To even think of speaking as the pain seared. Stronger. More intense each second. A high-pitched tone began to ring in my ears.

  Couldn’t stand it … oh, God, the pain!

  Stopped.

  Gone.

  Color drained from the red circle.

  I had to look strong. Seem unaffected. Tough. Unbreakable. But I could do nothing but lie there. Lie there and breathe. Breathe.