The Illusion

by K. A. Applegate

  “Really quite beautiful, isn’t it?” she announced. A demented pride shone in her eyes. A look that left no doubt that her lips mouthed the words of the Yeerk within. “Some of our best scientists spent nearly a decade perfecting it. The concept is really quite simple. You see, I have direct, unhindered access to the parts of your brain that control emotion and physical sensation.”

  She laughed. A pure, girlish sound. She might have been giggling about some boy. “I can make you feel anything I choose. That, in case you couldn’t tell, was pain — the lowest setting. I’d like to know what you think. No, really. Be honest. Our scientists appreciate feedback. Especially from a mighty Andalite.”

  I tried to answer. To appear in control, unaltered. But I still couldn’t move. Or summon the strength to conceal the soft, pathetic whimpers I’d never known my hawk voice could make.

  “Interesting,” mused the sub-visser, assessing my state. “This may be easier than I anticipated. Don’t give in too quickly, though. I wouldn’t want Visser Three to think anyone could do this job. Ready? One more time? Shall we?”

  She hit the red circle again.

  I screamed. Screamed and screamed.

  My wings trembled, uncontrollable. My beak jerked wildly. Talons clutched at nothing. My bowels failed and I fouled myself.

  Indescribable pain. Staggering pain. Pain that ate into me, chewed at my guts, twisted every nerve ending.

  Had to make it stop. Had to make it stop!

  Tell her! Tell her! Make it stop, tell her, tell her, tell her!

  Me, the human me, the boy inside kept screaming tell her, tell her!

  But the hawk … the hawk suffered dumb, helpless. The hawk had no way out. The me that was a bird, the body, the physical me didn’t know that there was a cause for the pain.

  Didn’t know it could make the pain end. And already, for the hawk, the pain had become a fact of life. Reality.

  Life was hunger. Life was killing. Life was danger. Life was pain.

  The hawk could manage it. Not on a conscious level, of course, but by shutting down. Keeping alive on a sort of primitive autopilot. Only essential parts of the organism were maintained. No contemplation. No decision. Not even observation. Just survival.

  The boy Tobias screamed.

  The hawk Tobias had already begun to accept the pain.

  Pain off. Gasping.

  Pain on. Screaming.

  Off.

  On.

  Tell her everything!

  Pain is normal. Life is pain.

  Make it stop!

  Go away, human. Go away, little boy. The hawk knows. The predator understands because he understands nothing.

  I mumbled to myself.

  “What was that you said?” Taylor asked.

  Irrelevant. She was nothing. I was the hawk.

  Deeper into the hawk. Go away, weak human boy.

  I seemed to stand outside my body. Hawk, human — everything. My mind began to race, the manic frenzy of madness. Up above it all.

  A wave of self-pity, followed by a wave of hatred, followed by the unbearable weight of despair. The pain sped everything up. Faster and faster. Panic, fear, sadness.

  But somehow …

  Using the half of me that was equipped to process pain, I was enduring it. Close down your human mind! It’s your only hope, I told myself. Focus on the hawk. Focus on the part of you where the pain is less subversive. Less destructive.

  Sink into your hawk self, Tobias. Deep into your raptor self.

  But the images!

  Fragments of memory. Random memory. Flashing uncontrollably across my mind’s screen.

  Insanity! Madness!

  A hyper-speed slide show.

  Fleeting. Irrepressible. Dominating my reality and impossible to control. Turn it off. Off!

  * * *

  The living room was fairly dark. As usual, the shades were drawn. It was about four o’clock and he’d just come home. From work as a roofer. His face was tanned and leathery. A beer can in his hand.

  “Yeah, so what?” My uncle’s voice. Raspy and cold. He sat on the couch, where he spent most of his time. Even spent the night there, too, now. With empty, tired eyes he stared at the TV. He had the scanner on as well. Tuned to the police band. Spouting a stream of mundane reports.

  I spoke cautiously. “Well, it’s like an honor,” I said. “I mean, the committee picked my drawing out from hundreds of entries. Just something I sketched during art class. I had no idea it would make the state show.”

  I was hoping he would take me to the prizewinners’ reception that weekend. Stupid. It wasn’t like it was a big deal. But it would have been okay.

  “Do you get prize money?” he grumbled casually, not even turning to look at me.

  “No,” I said, confused.

  “No? So then what’s it worth? If it won’t help pay the bills, what good is it?” He glanced at me patronizingly, then back to the TV. “When I was about your age I already had a job. At this car lot. Washing the cars. All the money went to my mother. All my earnings. Because Dad wasn’t around. It was tight …” He broke off and leaned back into the couch.

  I stood there at the foot of the stairs, unable to move. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Couldn’t show him that.

  I told myself, No big deal, Tobias. Just some dumb drawing. No big deal.

  To him I said, “Yeah, well, it was just an idea.”

  No answer.

  I dragged myself upstairs to my room. Walked across to the window. I could cry up here where no one would see.

  Stupid to cry.

  Then, through blurry eyes I watched a car pull up to a house across the street. A mom and daughter got out. Walked together to the front door. The little girl was carrying a page smeared with finger paint, crumpling it a little as she walked. The mother stopped, took the picture from her daughter, and carried it into the house like it was the Mona Lisa.

  It was like someone had set out to shove my life in my face. Here, Tobias, take a look. Take a look at your life, and at the lives of normal kids. Take a good long look.

  I was alone. I was alone.

  Where would my strength come from?

  I raised a hand to brush away the tears.

  A hand that was … fingers that were …

  Tan.

  Feathers.

  A wing.

  I whipped around to face the mirror. Round, expressionless eyes stared back at me.

 

  * * *

  “Give it up,” Taylor said, her voice dripping sympathy. “Do you think I like doing this?” She laughed her sudden mall-rat giggle. “I will break you. I will. Now demorph, Andalite. Surrender and the pain will end.”

  Again and again, the circle glowed. A deep, agonizing red.

  Hawk instinct told me to retreat. But to where?

  I flapped wildly around the cube. Like an insane chicken in its cage. Nowhere to go!

  “Wasted energy,” the sub-visser remarked. “You’ll wish you’d kept up your strength.”

  Broken feathers littered the bare bottom of the cube. And had I been more aware, I would have noticed I’d sprained a wing.

  I collapsed in a corner, exhausted. Almost destroyed by images of pain and hurt I was powerless to stop.

  “Here we go again,” Taylor said brightly. “Ready? No? Too bad!”

  * * *

  Rick Stathis. There, at the top of the hill. Waiting for me on the sidewalk on a frigid winter morning. His breath billowed like an angry bull’s. A wide, brawny frame concealed under a heavy black coat. Pale blue eyes searched the block, hoping to see me coming.

  There was no escape. He would harass me. Punch me. Why did he have it in for me? Why me? I could run the other way. Take the long route to school. But he’d find me even­tually. Pound on me extra hard. My stomach churned …

  And there was Aria. The young woman who said she was family. Who said she would give me a home. Care abou
t me, even. Aria. In truth, nothing but a mask — a morph — for Visser Three. Visser Three, plotting my death.

  I was a dupe. Again.

  False hope.

  Never trust … never!

  * * *

  “Demorph, Andalite,” the sub-visser repeated, her words a low growl. “Now I’m just getting bored.”

  Rapid surges of memory now. Inexorable. The cube was hot. Stifling. I struggled to draw a breath.

  * * *

  “Uhhh! Ahh!”

  Rick slammed me against the lockers, holding me by the shirt collar.

  Bam! His fist against my face. I reached up to cup my bloody nose. But it was hard as bone. Curved. Sharp at the tip.

  I landed on the dusty floor of Jake’s attic. Pried the lid off of a Rubbermaid container to eat the food I was too squeamish to kill. Trapped in morph. Forever. Never to morph again. Never to be human again …

  Accept it.

  I can’t!

  Staring out at the crescent moon. The stars. I cried in a whisper. But I knew as I spoke I had no idea where home was.

  * * *

  “You’re light-years from home, Andalite.” The sub-visser!

  What? Had I spoken aloud?

  “Your people are trillions of miles away. They grow weaker every day. There’s no one to save you.”

  * * *

  The prey. I was the prey. I was the hunted in every story of animal cruelty Cassie ever told us about.

  The Canada goose clubbed to death on the golf course. I felt my skull shatter. My confused, terrified cries. Chilling, jubilant grunts of aggression from the boys with baseball bats.

  The fly lying quivering and scared on the concrete. As two classmates pulled off first one wing, then the other. A scientific experiment, they said. I felt appendages rip off my body wall.

  The drone of plane engines. A frightening man-made shadow trailing me, tracking me. Responding to every turn I made. I was the wolf. Across untouched snow that glared in the sunlight. Paws pounding. Breathe. Breathe, breathe.

  I was the wolf I’d seen so many times in the video clip. That wolf, with foam trailing from its mouth. Exhaustion and terror in its eyes. The men in the planes shot everyone else in my pack. From the air. High-powered binoculars and a rifle. Big game hunters who say I ruin their sport. So they will chase me down. Chase me until I can’t run anymore. And fall, heart exploding, onto the plain. Victim of slaughter.

  Better for the wolf who cannot fathom the evil depths in their predators’ hearts. Who sees this merely in terms of nature’s hierarchy. Man is smarter. Man has run wolf down the way wolf runs down the caribou.

  But I am wolf and human. I see more.

  Visser Three towered huge and horrific above an injured Elfangor. Closed him in monstrous jaws. The Visser’s shrill cries of victory rang in my head. Elfangor. The father I never knew. My link to everything strong, enduring, and good in the universe.

  Murdered.

  Anger boiled inside me. A rage whose power made me shake. Energy that rose up and took control. Infested me. I will end him! I will end that Yeerk! The hatred carved away my insides. Scarred me, scraped me clean.

  Leave me free! I pleaded. But the anger wouldn’t go.

  And I shot toward the earth, in full dive. Opened my wings quickly, to slow my descent. Glide in. Glide faster! Ready, now! Talons strained forward, outstretched. Closed over the prey. Punctured the skin. Into the heart. Around the skull. Too efficient for the squirrel to scream.

  Yeeeeeeee! Yeeeeee! A bone-chilling wail. What? Hadn’t I killed it? Back up. Up. Power hard to reach the trees. Blood dripping from my talons. A warm, wriggling body flailing to break free. To live.

  * * *

  “You tiresome bird! Demorph!”

  * * *

  The hawk in me tightened its hold. The human in me screamed. And screamed again. I don’t want to do this. A life extinguished in an instant. Agony. Death. So that I could survive.

  I looked down. There were no talons there. No. Only human fingers. Blood-covered fingers. Strangled by my human hands!

 

  And I shot toward the earth, in full dive. Spread my wings wide, to slow my descent. Easy, easy. Now! Talons sprang forward. And reached.

  “Gilalll. Ahhh!”

  The Hork-Bajir grabbed his eyes in anguish. Blinded. I rose in the air to reach sufficient altitude to dive and strike again. And as I flew, I felt the burden of a thousand wounds, each one fresh and vivid in my mind. Weighing me down.

  How can you carry such a weight? All the pain I had inflicted. Seemingly inevitable. Perhaps avoidable. Strikes made by me. A hawk. A warrior. A ruthless kid.

  One deafening shriek, comprised of the voices of all those I had faced in combat overpowered me. Shook me. Hork-Bajir. Taxxon. Rabbit. Squirrel. Human.

  My head filled with screams. Everything red. Excruciating. Endless, endless. Violent images rushing past like the landscape out a car window. Was this payback? Was that it?

  * * *

  And then:

  Silence.

  Peace.

  Slowly, completely, the agony drained away.

  The red circle flickered, and dimmed.

  “Arrrgh!” The sub-visser ran at the nearest Hork-Bajir and gave him a shove. He grunted, but knew better than to respond further.

  “I’m a fool!” she raged suddenly, inexplicably. “Of course the pain ray can’t break you! You’re using your morph as a shield. Any sentient creature would long since have wilted from this much pain. Whatever ugly bird you are now isn’t sentient. It can’t be! You would never have lasted …”

  She flipped rapidly through a manual the scientists had left on the console. She stopped on a page near the end, smiled, read some more, then slapped the book shut and tossed it across the table.

  “It’s all about contrast, don’t you think?” Taylor asked. “That’s the way life is, eh? You don’t know pain unless you know pleasure. You don’t know what it is to be strong unless you’ve been weak. Isn’t that right, Andalite?”

  I managed to say.

  “You think I’m weak now?” she shrilled. “I have you in my power, Andalite. You call me weak? No. No, I was weak. Now I’m strong. I know the difference. And when you submit, you will know the difference, too.”

  Her hand moved over the blue circle. She hesitated, seemingly savoring her moment. Then she slammed down her fist.

  The circle glowed. A soulful, soothing indigo.

  And in my mind I heard laughter. Peals of joyous, human laughter. My own.

  * * *

  I bounced wildly on a trampoline. Out of control. Walked home from school barefoot, squishing cool spring mud between my toes. Felt a sugar cube melt on my tongue. Discovered that soft spot behind a cat’s ear that made Dude close his eyes in ecstasy.

  * * *

  “Pleasure, Andalite. Fun, isn’t it? Remembering happy days back on your filthy planet? Are you recalling happy times, running across the grass? Of course, you are. Up and down, Andalite. Pain and pleasure. I will take you into madness, Andalite.”

  * * *

  Pleasure.

  The blue button was pleasure: intense, continuous, out of control.

  The hawk didn’t know pleasure. Satisfaction, yes. The satisfaction of a good kill, the meal that followed. But happiness?

  Don’t leave me, Tobias the hawk. I know what she will do, I know what the foul Yeerk will do, but oh, oh, no sadness, no fear, all gone.

  Happy! Joyful!

  Such happiness. Not for a hawk. Pleasure was human domain. Purely human.

  * * *

  I raced through the garden, stopping at a raspberry bush. Frothy ocean waves crashed against the rocks. A fairweather wind tousled my hair. I picked a berry and ate it. So sweet on my tongue. Sublime. The sun on my face.

  “Young man!” From the hilltop house, perched like a lighthouse above the cove, came an elderly wom
an. Graying hair. A strong, deep voice. Of course! These berries were hers. This garden. I was an intruder. I turned to run. But no, something kept me there. A kindness in her eyes.

  Into a kitchen washed with light. Walls painted warm tones of yellow. Deep shades of blue. Cozy, comforting heat enveloped me as I neared the stove. And the aromas! Hot cider. Homemade cinnamon rolls. Raspberry tart.

  When no one else cared, Professor Powers fed me and told me stories. Gave me the illusion of home.

  * * *

  “You have at most twelve minutes left in morph. Maybe less! Are you a fool? Do you want to live out the rest of your life eating roadkill? Never to know such pleasure, such happiness again?”

  * * *

  Sudden, hideous pain!

  Pain, and no hawk to save me. Agony and no escape!

  No, no, no, no, I was all alone, me, just me, just Tobias, the boy.

  Pain as if my body was being fed into a meat grinder. Unbearable!

  Hawk! Come back, save me, protect me!

  * * *

  “Ticktock, ticktock, the Andalite will be a bird forever, ticktock.” She was close by. I couldn’t see her, my eyes, red with my own blood, the veins broken.

  “Time’s almost up, Andalite. You’ll never run free again. Never use that fantastic tail of yours. You’ll die, so soon. How long does a hawk live?”

  Rachel?

  No, no, the sub-visser.

  I want you with me, to be part of me, my life, not to die a bird, not to die for nothing.

  Rachel?

  Rachel! Rachel!

  * * *

  I was listening to the waves crash over the rocks.

  A late spring morning. The thinning fog beaded on my face as I buzzed the shoreline, then turned inland. Glided over a baseball field, subdivisions, a strip mall. A familiar route to my destination: Rachel’s window.

  I coasted in for a landing on her ledge and knocked gently against the glass with my beak.

  Dink. Dink.

  I waited, heart pounding from exertion. Her comforter rustled. Feet padded across the floor. And there she was. Framed by the dappled sunlight of early morning.

  “Hey, you,” she whispered with a smile.

 

  “You know it, Soaring Hawk.”