Elfangor's Journey

by K. A. Applegate

  This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Alloran was a war-prince. I couldn't disobey a war-prince. But this was monstrous.

  «l won't kill prisoners,» I said. «Noteven Yeerks.»

  «l could execute you right now for disobeying me,» Alloran said.

  For a moment that seemed to stretch on and on, we stood there, face-to-face. I could barely breathe. I was risking my life, and probably destroying my future in the military, just to save my enemies. It was insane!

  But I could not imagine myself sending the Yeerks flying off into the vacuum of space. I couldn't do it.

  «Sir,» Arbron said tentatively. «We are so close to the planet surface that Yeerk sensors might pick up the heat signature of thousands of Yeerks being ... flushed . . . into space. And they would investigate.»

  81 It was true. Maybe. But was it enough to get the prince to back off?

  «Well, we wouldn't want that,» Alloran said sarcastically. «We'll wait till we've completed our mission on the surface. Then, as we leave the system, we'll clean out this filth.»

  I breathed again. But I wasn't fooling myself. I had made an enemy of Prince Alloran. And I wasn't sure I could count on Arbron, either.

  «Time to acquire the Taxxons, if that meets with Aristh Elfangor's high moral code,» Alloran said.

  I turned away and walked back to the two stunned Taxxons. Without hesitating, I placed my hand on one of the Taxxons' slimy flesh.

  Morphing technology allows a person to absorb the DMA of any creature he touches. It takes concentration and focus, because the biotechnology of morphing is triggered by thought commands.

  Focus, I told myself. Put everything else out of your mind, and let the Taxxon become a part of you.

  And as I stood there, the Taxxon's DMA migrated into me.

  My life, which had gone rapidly downhill at a shocking speed, was about to get much worse.

  And then, with the skeptical eyes of Prince Alloran and the frightened stare of Arbron upon me, I began to morph.

  82 As an Andalite aristh. I'd been trained in morphing. Back at basic training they first transformed us with the morphing technology. And they gave us a djabala to acquire and morph.

  A djabala is a small, six-legged animal, maybe a third the size of a young Andalite. It has a mouth and a tail and no natural weapons. It lives by climbing trees and eating the highest leaves.

  You have to morph the djabala in order to pass the morphing proficiency test. So I did. But then, like a lot of arisths, I morphed a kafit bird. I have heard that some planets have many types of bird. But since we only have three, and since the kafit is the best species of the three, it's popular with young cadets looking for fun.

  It was a wonderful experience. I always loved the idea of flying. But of course, morphing for pleasure is discouraged. So I only did it one time.

  That was all the morphing I had done. A djabala and a kafit bird. I had never even dreamed of morphing a Taxxon.

  83 Taxxons are a nauseating species. Even if you've seen holograms of them. But trust me, till you've been up close to a Taxxon, you just don't know how awful they are. The smell alone is enough to make you sick.

  But now I had no choice. I had to show Alloran that I was still a good soldier. I had to prove that I was brave, no matter what he thought of me. I couldn't show any hesitation.

  So I focused my mind on becoming the Taxxon. And the changes began immediately.

  I felt my upper torso begin to melt down into my lower body. As I watched, my blue-and-tan fur ceased being individual hairs and melted into a plas-ticlike covering. The bare flesh on my upper body did the same thing, turning hard and shiny.

  I felt myself falling as my legs shrank. They seemed to be sucked up into my body. Way too fast!

  My stomach hit the deck so hard it knocked the air out of me.

  Then, almost as quickly, I was lifted back up off the deck. Dozens of sharp cones were sprouting from my belly. I was growing Taxxon legs.

  I looked backward through my stalk eyes and saw that my body was stretching out behind me. I was rapidly becoming a fat worm. Ten feet of rippling, slimy segments rolled backward, engulfing

  84 my tail. The process made a sound like wet cloth being dragged over gravel.

  I could hear my own internal organs dissolving. Squishing, slippery sounds. I could hear other organs, organs I didn't even have a name for, take their place.

  Then ... I was blind!

  My eyes had all been blinded at once. I couldn't see anything. I felt fear grow within me. Fear that threatened to become panic. I was blind!

  Muddy at first, then sharper, my sight slowly returned. But it didn't exactly make me feel better. It was an eerie, distorted, broken world I saw.

  Taxxons have compound eyes. Each red globule eye is really a thousand smaller eyeballs, each one taking its own tiny picture of the world. Everything I saw around me was shattered into a million small frames. It was overwhelming.

  And then I felt something new. A new sense . . .

  I moved unfamiliar muscles and realized that they operated my mouth. My round, red mouth. And through that mouth came a deluge of sensory input. It was like smell. And like something I'd never really experienced before. It's called the sense of taste, I think.

  And what I tasted . . . what I smelled ... all that my senses cared about was the bright smell of blood.

  85 I never even feft the Taxxon's instincts well up beneath my own troubled and battered Andalite mind. I had no warning. All at once, the Taxxon was in my head.

  How can I even convey the horror?

  Have you ever felt in yourself some awful, evil urge? Some fugitive thought that you quickly snuffed out? Well, as I became fully Taxxon, I felt such a feeling. And it was not some faint wisp of thought, but a raging, screaming hunger.

  A hunger for anything living.

  A hunger for anything with a beating heart.

  My shattered Taxxon eyes saw two Andalites.

  My own people! I wanted to devour my own people.

  But Taxxons are not fools. My Taxxon brain saw and understood the Andalite tails. It knew they were weapons. It knew it could not fight them. And that weakness gave rise to a rage that was like a nuclear fire in me.

  I was hungry! Hunger like no hunger any other creature can ever know.

  As I struggled to reassert my own identity, I understood why the Taxxons had made their alliance with the Yeerks.

  The Yeerks had weapons. Weapons to use to feed fresh, warm flesh to the raging Taxxon hunger.

  The Taxxons had given up their freedom. But

  86 freedom is nothing to a Taxxon, compared with that hunger.

  «How are you doing, Elfangor?» Arbron asked me.

  «Fine,» I lied. «Only . . .»

  «What?»

  «When you morph, be very careful. Be strong. You'll have to fight the hunger.»

  Arbron laughed. «What, are you afraid I'm gonna morph and try to eat you?»

  «Yes, Arbron. I am afraid.»

  87 The hunger never went away. Even as we spi-raled down toward the Taxxon home world, I felt it. I was thankful Loren was safe back in the Jahar. I don't know if I could have resisted the Taxxon's appetite.

  I really don't know.

  As we came in for a landing, ground control appeared on our screens and demanded our clearance. Our ship's computer responded automatically.

  Ground control told us they were backed up on off-loading cargo. It would be half a day before they could unload the Yeerks in our hold.

  I didn't know how to feel about that. I didn't want thousands of Yeerks to make it safely to their destination. But I didn't want to slaughter them, either. And I had no doubt: If we got away again in the Yeerk ship, Alloran meant to kill the Yeerks in the hold.

  The spaceport was a large facility, obviously still under construction. As we came in low for a landing, descending through orange-and-green acid

  88 clouds, we could see dozens of other ships resting in their cradl
es on the ground. Hundreds of Taxxons and Gedds and even Hork-Bajir were busy building, adding new capacity.

  But even amidst all the activity, we could spot the Skrit Na raider ship. That was our target. If we were right, the Time Matrix was aboard that ship.

  A landing beam guided us to a cradle on the far edge of the facility. We were more than a mile away from the Skrit Na ship. A mile isn't much in space. But on the ground, on an enemy planet, in a body that makes you want to scream, it's a very, very long distance.

  «Whatever you do, remember what you are,» Alloran instructed. «You're Taxxons, on a Taxxon planet. Act like it»

  The three of us, in Taxxon morph, exited out the hatch and into the air of the Taxxon home world.

  The first thing I noticed was that the sky was a pale gray-brown. The color of dust. The bright clouds were too high up even to be seen. The second thing I noticed was the smell. Everywhere, warm, living hearts were beating. Hork-Bajir hearts. Gedd hearts. Taxxon hearts. Blood rushed through veins. .

  The spaceport was a vast array of ship-cradles in a dozen different sizes and shapes. Some were taller

  89 than ten tall trees. Some lay almost flat, rising just a few feet from the dirt. Some were empty, but most held ships.

  There were slow transports unloading cargo, fighters in for repairs, even a gigantic Yeerk Pool ship. I could see the three spider legs of the Pool ship towering over the cradle. There were shredder burns and one of the "legs" was shattered. The ship had been in a battle.

  Below the maze of cradles was bare, orange-red dirt. Not a blade of grass, just dirt. There were primitive magnetic levitation rails running through the massive forest of cradles. Train cars, some open, some enclosed bubbles, raced back and forth along the tracks.

  Cargo was being loaded onto the train cars by Gedds. The Gedds were the Yeerks' first victims. The first race they enslaved. Gedds almost seem to walk on two legs, like humans, but they are actually always hunched over so that they can keep one hand on the ground for balance.

  We took an open elevator from the cradle down to the ground. As we descended, I counted two ships landing and one taking off. The mag-lev trains zipped back and forth on the dizzying array of tracks. On the ground, big tracked vehicles moved heavier loads.

  90 Everywhere were Taxxons, swaggering Hork-Bajir, and busy, clumsy Gedds. Each was a Controller. A slave to the Yeerk in its head.

  It was a huge, raucous, noisy place, full of steel and dust and the smells of solvents and Taxxon filth.

  «Busy,» Alloran muttered. «Awfully busy.»

  I knew what he meant. Back home, they'd told us the Yeerks were being stopped by our forces. The average Andalite civilian thought we were beating the Yeerks. But this spaceport was evidence to the contrary. The spaceport, just one of several on this one planet, was alive with hurried activity.

  Suddenly . . .

  "Sssnnnrreewaaaaaa!"

  I looked up just in time to see a Taxxon slip from the mag-lev train track overhead. He hit the ground like a bag of goo. His needle legs crumpled and his worm body split open.

  It was pandemonium! Taxxons came rushing from all sides.

  WHUMPF! A big Taxxon slammed into me, practically knocking me over. More of them, all rushing, came toward their fallen friend.

  But they were not rushing to help.

  They were rushing to eat the still-living Taxxon.

  Then I felt the hunger. It swept me up. I couldn't resist. I was moving forward, jostling to get at the

  91 screaming worm myself! Rushing, pushing, shoving, desperate to reach him and . . . and . . .

  NO!

  I felt my own mind snap back to the surface. It had been overwhelmed by the Taxxon's own instincts. But even now, even with all my willpower, I couldn't resist!

  It was as if I were being drawn by a magnet. As if I were being sucked into a black hole. The smell of the wounded Taxxon, the fevered beating of its heart, the . . .

  NO!

  I was there. There, looking down at the injured Taxxon through my shattering compound eyes. I plunged my upper body downward, mouth open, teeth gnashing, ready to ...

  NO! NO! I pulled back. But the power of that hunger would not release me.

  I motored my dozens of cone legs, pulling back, and the other, eager Taxxons pushed me aside, heedless.

  Where were Arbron and Alloran?

  I'd lost them in my mad rush to feed.

  I pulled back and back farther, each step like moving a million pounds. And yet I did move away. The feeding frenzy became ever more nightmarish. Taxxons crawled over each other to get at the fresh meat.

  92 I managed to turn my huge, long worm body around and ran from it. I ran as fast as the Taxxon limbs would carry me.

  I found a shaded spot under one of the towering ship-cradles and I cowered there, using all my strength to resist. Finally, after a while, the frenzy passed. Not because I had grown strong. But simply because I could now smell that there was no more meat left.

  The Taxxon horde broke up and slithered off in various directions, back to their work. Where was Arbron? Where was Prince Alloran?

  I was lost and alone on the Taxxon world.

  All I could think of doing was heading toward the Skrit Na ship. Hopefully, my two fellow An-dalites would be there.

  I had to remind myself that we had a mission: the Time Matrix. If the Yeerks realized what was in that Skrit Na ship, there would be no hope at all.

  Then, although the image was fractured, I saw Hork-Bajir coming toward me. Six or seven of them, moving in swiftly. Surrounding me!

  There was nothing I could do. I couldn't run. A ten-foot-long worm does not outrun a Hork-Bajir.

  One Hork-Bajir-Controller swaggered up before me. At a signal from him, the others all leveled Dra-con beams straight at me. Not that they needed

  93 Dracon beams. A Hork-Bajir can slice a Taxxon to ribbons in seconds.

  And I had seen what happened to any Taxxon careless enough to be injured.

  "Welcome to the Taxxon home world," the Hork-Bajir said. "I am Sub-Visser Seven. You interest' me. Yes, indeed. I am very interested in any Taxxon who will not eat fresh meat."

  94 Morphing power is a wonderful tool. It allows Andalites to pass among many different species. It makes us the greatest spies in the galaxy.

  But it has an awful drawback. You see, if you stay more than two hours in morph, you stay there forever. You become a nothlit. An Andalite living out his life in a different body.

  That was my greatest fear as the Hork-Bajir-Controllers led me to a mag-lev train car. The sub-visser commandeered the train car. He ordered everyone else off. I stood there, helpless, surrounded, as the mag-lev car shot away from the platform.

  It wound its way through the maze of ship-cradles, through the construction workers who were busy building up the might of the Yeerk Empire.

  The Yeerk sub-visser said nothing. He seemed almost bored. He slouched his Hork-Bajir body and watched the passing sights gloomily.

  I watched him as well as I could with my Taxxon eyes. A sub-visser is a high rank. I remembered that from the basic training classes where they taught us

  95 about the Yeerk foe. At the top of the Yeerk Empire is the Council of Thirteen. One of those thirteen is emperor, but no one knows which one. It's a closely guarded secret. The Yeerks fear assassination.

  Just below the Council of Thirteen are the vis-sers. They are the generals of the Yeerk military. They are numbered according to their power and importance. Visser One would be the most powerful, on down through Visser Forty or so.

  A sub-visser is like a colonel. Very powerful, especially if he has a low number like seven. But not a visser yet.

  The sub-visser spoke. "So, Andalite, how long have you been in this morph?"

  I had to stop myself from crying aloud. He knew! He knew I was an Andalite.

  No ... wait. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he was trying to trick me.

  "Ssssewwaari ssstwweeeshh," I said. I d
idn't know what it meant. The Taxxon body had Taxxon instincts, but not a Taxxon's life learning. So I couldn't speak the Taxxon language. But maybe the sub-visser couldn't, either. He'd been speaking Galard so far - the language of interstellar trade and commerce. It was the language many races had learned, back when the galaxy was at peace. It was used to communicate between different species.

  The sub-vrsser looked at me with his slitted

  96 Hork-Bajir eyes. "Don't waste that snake-speak on me. If you're one of us, you'll be able to speak Galard."

  Was this another trap? Could Taxxon-Con-trollers speak Galard? Was it even possible for them, with their strange mouths? I didn't know. I had no experience speaking with sounds. And even though I still had the translator chip in my head, it could not interface with my Taxxon brain. What could I do?

  The sub-visser laughed. "So. You want to resist me? Good. I need the entertainment. It's rather dull, being in charge of security for this sector. I suppose you're one of the rebels. One of those mountain Taxxons who refuse to join the Empire. Well, we'll get to the truth quickly enough."

  Mountain Taxxons? Rebels? I was so surprised I temporarily forgot to be terrified. There were still Taxxons resisting the Yeerks? This would be huge news to my people. We'd assumed all the Taxxons had accepted Yeerk rule in exchange for promises of fresh, unusual meats.

  The train car was riding a hundred feet off the dismal plain now, just getting beyond the outskirts of the spaceport. Through the window I could actually see the cradled Skrit Na ship as we zipped past.

  I hoped Alloran and Arbron had made it there. I hoped they would complete the mission. Because it didn't look as if I would be there to help them.

  97 Then, suddenly, the train car veered sharply left and I saw a mound, almost a small mountain. It was maybe two or three hundred feet high. Nothing but a slag-heap of dirt excavated from the construction of ship-cradles, really.

  But it seethed.

  There were holes everywhere, holes the size of a Taxxon. Taxxons were crawling in and out of the holes. Their pulsating worm bodies would slither and wallow into the mound. Others would emerge, seeming to almost blink with their foul red mouths.