Epicurius posted:

Sorry about no post tonight. A few days ago, I was diagnosed with viral pneumonia, and whatever the virus is, it's hitting me hard right now, so my plan is to drink water and go to bed.

Mazerunner posted:

hopefully you won't need a teenager to do brain surgery on you or spew out a crocodile

Epicurius posted:

Sorry about no post tonight. A few days ago, I was diagnosed with viral pneumonia, and whatever the virus is, it's hitting me hard right now, so my plan is to drink water and go to bed.

Epicurius posted:

Sorry about no post tonight. A few days ago, I was diagnosed with viral pneumonia, and whatever the virus is, it's hitting me hard right now, so my plan is to drink water and go to bed.

quote:

At sundown, Sergeant Raines and two other soldiers walked with me down the main street of Sinkler’s Ridge.

Sally Miller and her husband, Joe, were hosting a Christmas party. They’d been kind enough to invite us and we were happy to oblige.

I detailed a number of men for picket duty and left Sergeant Spears in command until our return.

Our pickets were spread out through the woods and hills skirting the town. Before the enemy attacked, we would be alerted.

Several townsmen, Joe Miller among them, brought their own shovels and picks and joined us in the digging this afternoon. They wouldn’t work near the black men, nor even within sight of them. They said Jacob’s men were a disgrace to the Union.

Perhaps. But no one can deny the progress they made. Trees covering the entire south face of Topper Hill were felled and left lying, a formidable defense when time is short. And the Negroes shaped the earthworks like seasoned engineers. Most of the men dug all afternoon, and would dig all day tomorrow.

We stopped before a white clapboard house with candles flickering warmly in the windows.

Fiddle music filtered through the walls and under the door. I climbed the stairs and let the knocker fall.

Scents of cinnamon and vanilla rushed out as the door opened. Sally greeted us warmly.

“Lieutenant. Hello, Raines. Welcome.”

Sally was resplendent with golden hair bouncing in ringlets and a red-trimmed dress to match her lips. She stepped back to let us enter and nodded as we passed.

We were drawn in by the sound of music and voices. Raines hastened to the banjo case that stood in the corner, threw it open, and pulled out the instrument like a child opening a gift on Christmas morning.

Private Tweed raised a tambourine. Corporal Fox unsheathed a pair of bones from his jacket pocket. No words were exchanged. They simply joined the town fiddler, then started in on a new song, the words of which I’d heard before.

“I hear the bugle sound the calls
for reveille and drill,
for water, stable, and tattoo,
for taps - and all was still.
I hear it sound the Sick-Call grim,
and seethe men in line,
with faces wry as they drink down
their whiskey and quinine.”

The stress of the impending attack seemed to melt away. The townspeople present clapped and tapped their feet in time. The young tin whistler and drummer boy, the two I’d seen out my drafty window, watched from beside the roaring fire.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Joe Miller said. “Merry Christmas.” He was a broad man, built for agricultural life. His beard and mustache were even redder than his hair. His wide smile matched his frame.

“And to you, Miller,” I answered. “As you see, my men are glad to put aside their duties.”

“Come.” Miller took me by the arm and led me to a long table by the window. “Sample the foods my Sally has prepared.”

My mouth dropped open at the sight.

Spread across the table were the foods I dreamed of at night. Milk, cheese, cake, preserves, boiled ham, turkey, pudding, pickles, and loaves of fresh-baked soft bread.

“Eat up,” Miller said. “Maintain the strength you need to save this town.”

I reached for a buttery cinnamon roll. “I wish that I alone could save it,” I said solemnly. “As you know, our ranks are thin. We may need to arm the men that came into camp today. They’re willing to fight, and they -”

“Are you mad?!” The joviality drained from Miller’s face. He bellowed as though addressing a plow horse.

“I assure you I am not,” I said quietly.

Raines appeared beside me at the buffet table. The song had finished. The guests were clapping loudly. Miller appealed to Raines.

“Your lieutenant says he would arm a band of runaway Negroes and let them fight the Rebels,” Miller said, forcing unwilling laughter from his throat and patting Raines on the back. “Is he a jokester, Raines? Or does he take to the bottle in the evening?”

“I assure you, sir,” I said, loudly enough to silence some of the guests. “There is no joke intended, nor any drunkenness among the detachment.”

Miller’s face grew still, like a bull before the charge.

“Once you arm those Negroes, what stops them from running wild?”

“Have you met the men, sir?” I said.

“I wouldn’t go within fifty feet of those people. I don’t need to meet a wolf to know he’ll cause all kinds of mischief. They’ll take our chickens, our pigs, the house!”

“The Rebels will do far worse if they take the town. The Negroes have offered to help. They’ve offered their lives.”

“If you treat them as equals, Lieutenant, they’ll begin to believe it.” The color in Miller’s face was rising. “For God’s sake! If you let them fight, they’ll begin to believe they deserve other liberties. Where would it go from there? Would you have them living here in Sinkler’s Ridge? In a house on Main Street?”

Chuckles rippled through the group of townspeople, most of whom had stopped their chatter now to listen in.

Mac once told me integration was the course of the future, the only way.

“You believe peaceful coexistence to be impossible?” I asked, knowing Miller’s answer.

“Darn right I do!”

“Joe, calm yourself!” Sally cautioned.

Raines spoke. “Lieutenant, these men, they’ve never been trained. They’ll only get in the way.”

The objection was a practical one. Raines can always be relied upon for pragmatism. “Besides, at the first shot, they’ll run.”

“I think you’re wrong, Raines,” I said plainly.

“You are wrong, Lieutenant,” Miller argued. “The people of Sinkler’s Ridge are of one mind on this issue.” He waved a hand to include the observing group of guests.

Heads nodded.

“If you persist in this absurd support of slaves, you’ll find that our support will disappear,” Miller said stiffly.

Sally turned abruptly and walked from the room. She understood her husband’s meaning but obviously did not approve.

“Come, men,” I said. Fox and Tweed rose from their chairs. “It seems we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

We left the warm, white house for the cold, black night and walked in silence to the camp.

Spears reported that the pickets had seen nothing but trees in the woods and hills.

I climbed into my narrow makeshift bed and closed my eyes.

All I saw were the colorful foods on the buffet table, the orange fire roaring in the hearth, and Sally’s smiling eyes.

And all I heard was music.

quote:

The more I looked at the makeshift map, the more I realized there weren’t going to be any Hork- Bajir left to relocate after the Yeerks came through.

I saw the battle in my mind. I saw the scouts storm the encampment and fire their Dracon beams on everything that moved. I saw the swarm of Taxxons. Hundreds of unstoppable mouths devouring anything with a pulse.

We could slow the Yeerks, inflict sufficient casualties to make the visser in charge look bad. But in the end, defeat was inevitable.

The thought of a total slaughter made me sick.

I had to get away, get another look. Maybe there was something I’d missed.

I morphed peregrine falcon and flew down the valley to the south. The valley was like a wind tunnel. A steady stream of rushing air that kept me aloft almost as well as a thermal.

My raptor eyes caught a flash of movement, something bright and oddly colored in the forest. I banked and dove, soaring close over the treetops.
Through the canopy of leaves and branches, a cluster of tents. Three blue, one green, one yellow, one purple. I banked again and made another pass.

A group of sixteen people. Four adults and a bunch of mostly high school kids. The campers Tobias had told us about.

I dropped through the trees. I could smell meat cooking, hot dogs I think, and singed marshmallows. I landed and my talons bit firmly into the branch of a fallen tree. I was less than fifty feet from the group. I could see everything. Camping equipment scattered everywhere. Metal plates and pans. Boots and wool socks drying on tree branches. Open backpacks, spilling their contents of brightly colored camping gear onto the dirt.
Given the amounts of garbage the campers had strung up in the tree branches, beyond the reach of bears, they’d been camped for more than three days. Unless these people had portable Kandrona pools in their tiny tents, they weren’t Controllers.

I gave in to an irresistible urge to preen and caught the eye of a man in a puffy yellow vest.

Watched him magnify and focus a pair of field glasses, then show the kid standing next to him.

I looked directly at them.

We had to get the campers out of there.

I flew up along the edge of the valley and along the crest of the hill north of the colony. Followed the stream that flowed down the valley, through the colony and beyond.

WWHUUMPH!

A small tree toppled. Rustled the brush along the stream.

Who would be chopping down trees out here?

I doubled back and landed on the top of a high pine. The small tree had fallen into the water. Not into the rushing stream itself, but into an adjoining pond.

I watched as two small brown heads pushed and tugged on the tree until it moved swiftly through the water toward the edge of the pond. Until it became entangled in a pile of other wood and debris.

One of the animals lumbered up onto the bank. It was three feet long, covered in slick brown fur. A long, flat, paddle-shaped tail dragged along behind it. Beavers damming the stream.

The wall of wood and brush that held back the pond was leaking. The beavers were working hard to fix it. If the wall broke, all that dammed-up water would rush down the hillside, into the Hork-Bajir colony, and on through the valley floor.

It was too good to be true.

A wall of water rushing toward the colony, tunneling toward the attacking Yeerks?

I checked the size of the pond, and the distance the water had to travel to reach the colony and valley floor beyond …

No good.

The water in the pond would spread out and diminish by the time it reached the Yeerks. It would spill over the banks of the stream and rage for a while. But where it mattered, it would end up as little more than a puddle.

My brilliant idea began to die. I was about to fly away when the beavers pushed another cluster of tangled branches into position. The wall rose higher. The water level raised ever so slightly.

That’s when it hit me.

If two beavers could dam a pond, five beavers could dam a whole lot more.

quote:

“We’re going to flood them out,” I announced. “We’re going to wash the Yeerks back down the valley. The beavers have already started things for us. We just have to expand their dam to hold back enough water to make a mini tidal wave.”

“Nap time!” Marco sang. “I think someone’s a little overtired.”

“I’m fine.”

Tobias laughed. <You know, this mission is seriously important. I’m thinking the morph should be a little more, I don’t know, glamorous. I mean, going beaver to save an entire colony of aliens is like putting James Bond behind the wheel of a minivan. With a bumper sticker that says, “World’s Greatest Mom.” No offense.>

“Very funny. Listen, we’ve gone mole. We’ve gone ant. You use what works.”

“But will this work?” Rachel asked.

“Got any other ideas?” I answered.

We didn’t have to morph to travel to the beaver dam. It was only about an eight-minute jog up the valley. As we approached the pond …

Whack! Whack! Sploosh! Sploosh!

Thundering slaps loud as firecrackers, and no beavers to be seen. New ripples crossed the pond.

“They must have heard us coming,” Cassie said. “Beavers slap their tails on the water if they think they’re in danger.”

The pond looked promising. It was bigger than it had seemed from the air. Attached to a lake, it would have made a respectable fishing cove. In my backyard, it would have made a fantastic swimming pool.

But I knew we needed more. I just didn’t know how much.

<Three to four thousand cubic meters,> Ax said. <l believe that is what it will take to inundate the valley.>

Marco batted his eyelashes. “Ax, you just make me all tingly when you talk all smart-like.” “How much water is that?” I asked.

“We have to make this pool Olympic-sized,” Marco answered.

A beaver popped up in the middle of the pond, pushing a branch with his nose. He placed the branch in the dam and dove back underwater.

We waited. And waited.

<Some lungs,> Tobias observed.

“No,” Cassie explained, “he’s probably in the lodge. See that dome-shaped pile of branches and moss and mud sticking up above water level? There’s air in there.”

“The lodge?” Marco echoed excitedly. “A roaring fire. Hot chocolate. Britney Spears. Brandy, maybe. The girl, not the drink. These dudes know how to live!”

“The lodge is where they live,” Cassie laughed. “Like bears have dens and birds have nests?”

“How do we acquire a beaver while he’s inside the lodge?” Rachel said.

Cassie waded into the water. “Well, the entrances are underwater,” she said. “Maybe we can catch a beaver on his way out.”

She reached the lodge and bent down toward its base. Murky water slapped her chin.

“Found it,” she said. “I think. Someone knock lightly on the side of the lodge to scare a beaver out.”

“Are you kidding?” Marco said, wading after her into the water. Rachel, Ax, and I followed.

“Gentle, thoughtful Cassie wants to scare a beaver out of its mind?”

“Shut up and help. I’m not going to hurt him.”

Marco tapped the lodge with a fallen branch.

“Got him!” Cassie cried. “Oowwwww! He bit me!”

“Cassie, let go!”

“I’m okay,” she said quickly. Then she lifted the beaver to the surface. His body was still from the acquiring trance, buoyed weight.

Good thing, because this guy had to weigh at least forty pounds, big and sturdy. The body of an industrious worker. One by one, including Tobias, we reached out to touch the slick, bristly coat.

The beaver splashed away as soon as we were done.

“You know,” Cassie said, forcing a smile, blood dripping from the cut on her hand, “when your mother tells you not to stick your hand in a beaver lodge, you really should listen.”

quote:

December 24, 1864.

Joe Miller’s rooster crowed at half past five, leaving no question that it had survived the night despite his predictions of raid and plunder by the Negros.

While the coffee boiled, I rummaged in my haversack for sugar. I found none, I had to drink my coffee black.

It felt like an ominous omen.

“Don’t lag, men. Don’t lag!”

Sergeant Spears’s husky voice roared through the frigid air. As I made my way across the stream and down the hill, I saw him standing statuesque in the morning fog, having staked out the highest point of the earthworks to supervise Jacob and the other men, who labored dutifully below.

Spears’s rifle was propped against his shoulder. That was as it should have been, for I’d ordered all men to carry arms on every detail. But from my vantage point, Spears seemed to have his hand rather too close to the trigger.

“They’re lazy men, Lieutenant,” Spears said, far too loudly, as he saw me approaching. “If our men was out working, we’d have finished by now.”

“The problem as I see it, Spears, is that the earth is frozen hard as granite.”

“No, sir,” Spears said, chuckling, his Scottish accent lengthening his vowels in a most defiant way. “The earth is soft as butter, ain’t it, boys? Soft as creamy butter.”

Jacob looked up, saw me, and dropped his shovel on the dirt.

“Lieutenant!” he called, waving an arm and pushing toward me over piles of upturned soil. “I want to speak to you about -”

“You!” Spears bellowed.

Jacob froze.

“Resume your position and your duty!”

Jacob hesitated.

“Lieutenant,” he called to me. “It’s about the placement of the -”

BAM!

A rifle shot cracked the air.

Jacob hit the ground.

Spears began to chuckle again. He had fired into the sky.

“Spears!” I yelled.

He returned the gun to his shoulder. Jacob staggered to his feet. The eyes of all the black men turned to me.

“Yes, sir?” Spears answered.

“Ride out to scout for the enemy. Take a few men with you.”

“Are you relieving me of this detail?”

“I will stand in until your return.”

“Very well, sir.”

Spears scampered down the earthworks and strode past me in silence. Though he was my subordinate, I couldn’t very well question his behavior in front of the men. I had to back him.

“Back to work, men!” I yelled. “Jacob, approach!” I said sternly, and retained a posture of severity until Spears was safely out of earshot.

I sensed the reason Jacob wanted to speak to me. The placement of the entrenchments was all wrong. I’d realized it, too. If we moved them back a hundred yards toward town, we could place them behind the stream, a natural barrier to the Rebs. A God-made moat.

“Jacob,” I said gently. “You have an opinion to share?”

He nodded.

“Yes … Lieutenant. This ain’t the best position. Rebs coming up from down there. Make ‘em come all the way up, close to town. That way, you have more chance to shoot ‘em down. Then, when they get to the stream, that slows them down some more.”

“I think you’re right,” I said.

Spears and three privates trampled down the hill on horseback. When they reached the stream, Spears’s horse reared up and whinnied loudly.

“Bronco!” Spears cried.

The horse finally plunged into the water, stepping awkwardly over rocks and mud.

Jacob and I exchanged a glance of understanding. The stream was the barrier we needed.

“Start your men digging again,” I said. “But this time, according to your plan.”

I waited for Jacob to accept the new orders.

“How about rifles?” he said instead, hope flickering in his eyes.

“Why are you so set on fighting? Once you prepare these entrenchments, you can melt back into the hills and be safe. Haven’t you heard what these same troopers did at Fort Pillow? Don’t you know the name of Nathan Bedford Forrest?”

Jacob’s face grew hard and still. He did know the name. But I would drive home the reality.

“Right here in Tennessee, just over those hills a few days, General Forrest’s Confederate cavalry captured a Union-held fort on the Mississippi. The Negro soldiers inside surrendered. But Forrest didn’t take them prisoner. He murdered them in cold blood. Jacob, it was a massacre.”

“I know, Lieutenant. If they take us, they’ll most likely kill us, too.”

His calm sent chills down my spine. He knew the truth, yet wanted to fight in spite of it.

“The townspeople won’t allow it,” I said, changing tacks. “Neither will many of my own men. You know Spears. He won’t fight beside you.”

Jacob looked at me stubbornly. “You need men,” he said, echoing his words from the day before. “Here we are.”

I looked angrily at the camp and the town. Didn’t Jacob see it was an impossibility? Yes, we were outnumbered. Yes, we needed his men. Yes, it was suicide to turn him down.

“Give us a chance, Lieutenant.”

Wagons loaded with household treasures stood outside several houses in town. The white townspeople were loading their possessions and preparing to flee.

I looked at Joe and Sally Miller’s house. There was no wagon there.

Clop-clop. Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

The pounding of hooves!

Spears’s red and sweating face, flailing coat, and screaming horse reared up before me.

“Lieutenant!” he cried. “They’re not a mile from here!”

Comrade Blyatlov posted:

Forrest, while a fine cavalryman, was a loving monster.

Also.... I just can't put aside an attack on an aircraft carrier. I just can't. Even in the days before internet, that poo poo would have been all over every single radio channel from here to Africa. Carrier groups are the most powerful military unit on the planet and you just don't sweep that under the rug. America will be pissed.

nine-gear crow posted:

For additional context: Nathan Bedford Forrest was also the first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. So "monster" is putting it extremely lightly.

Comrade Blyatlov posted:

You're right. There aren't a lot of people where wasting a bunch of unarmed prisoners is the least of what they did, but Forrest is amongst that list.

Epicurius posted:

I will sah, that's probably the best statue of a Confederate General out there. Unlike a lot of the other ones, its pretty much incapable of being revered.

Comrade Blyatlov posted:

Sure, but the topic came up because he was named in the book, is all. You're not gonna find anyone trumpeting the Lost Cause here, I don't think.

Epicurius posted:

One thing I'll say about Forrest is, while you're right to criticize him as being really, really racist, it can be a mistake to single him out, because most of the Confederate leadership, both military and civilian, was really really racist. Sometimes I get the impression that there's a level of classism going on in the way that Forrest, who originally came from a poor family, was treated by historians. For instance, Forrest gets mentioned as being the first leader of the Klan, which is true, But Wade Hampton III, who came from South Carolina planter aristocracy, after the war, one of the people involved in forming the Red Shirts, a Democratic secret paramilitary group, whose terrorist activities got him elected Governor of South Carolina.

Don't get me wrong. Forrest was a terrible human being and incredibly racist. But he wasn't the only one.

quote:

I put Ax in charge of the “dam expansion.” He had a clear sense of the mechanics of the whole thing. Said something about how the natural curve of the beaver’s dam was actually the most efficient shape to hold back the water.

“Fluid mechanics was one of my specialties as an aristh,” Ax said.

Marco sighed. “What haven’t you done?”

“I have never constructed an organic cellulose hydrological attack assemblage.”

“We speak English, dude.”

“No, I get it,” Rachel said excitedly. “He’s never made a dam out of wood, mud, and moss.”

Cassie was concerned about the beaver family whose compound we were about to take over. “They’re scared. They think we’re predators. We need to convince them we’re friends.”

“What we need to do,” Marco said, “is expand this dam and store up a whole lot of water. Fast.” Marco morphed. There was a big splash as he dropped into the water. A resounding crack as he slapped his tail.

<Awesome!> he shouted. <These front teeth are great. Let me at some trees, baby! I’m gonna build me a dam.>

Cassie morphed next. Then Rachel. The beaver was kind of cute, except for the small beady eyes. And the enlarged front incisors, like curving ivory chisels.

I later learned that beaver incisors never stop growing. If the beaver doesn’t wear them down with use, they grow right down to the ground.

<There is the beginning of a small canal on the far side of the pond,> Ax said. <It leads to a growth of young trees, some of which have already been cut down. We need that material for the construction. Rachel and Cassie, stay with me. Marco?>

<On my way.>

Tobias and I had other business. I morphed, and together we flew out of range of the construction below. It was a short flight to the campsite. We were careful to land far enough away so that no one would see us demorph and morph in Tobias’s case.

Then we walked toward the brightly colored tents. Thank God we could finally morph some halfway decent clothes, the result of a whole lot of
experience. Boys in T-shirts and jeans generally look a lot saner than boys in spandex.

We approached the campsite. A tall kid with glasses spotted us first.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” I answered.

Then we just stood there.

<Jake? Fearless leader? Do you have a plan, or are you just going to smile and look stupid in our morphing outfits?> Tobias said privately.

“Just be cool. I’ll handle it,” I whispered.

“I’m Jake,” I said to the tall kid.

“Lewis Carpenter. I’ve had blisters for five days.”

“Huh. Bummer.”

An adult stuck his head out of a tent. The guy who had sighted me in his binoculars. “What are you two boys doing so far out in the woods?” he asked, stepping outside. “Where’s your equipment?”

<Good question, Jake.>

“We’re camped on the ridge,” I said easily, pointing up the valley wall.

“Right,” Tobias added.

More silence and staring. This was getting ridiculous.

“Look,” I said. “We came to tell you we all have to get out of here. We just met a ranger and he told us the park is closed. There’s a huge storm coming this way. Guy said they’re predicting straightline winds and tons of snow, enough to strand us all. Everyone’s got to pack up and get out of the area
before sundown.”

A girl stood up from the group of kids sitting around the campfire and came closer to us. She was maybe Tom’s age.

“It never snows this early in the year.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said quickly. “That’s what’s so dangerous about this storm. No one’s prepared. I mean, who’s gonna have cold-weather gear? Right?”

The girl grinned.

“I’ll be fine. I hiked Mount McKinley.”

“Emily, Lewis?” The adult binocular guy. “Let me handle this.”

<They’re not buying it,> Tobias said privately.

“Frostbite is bad news,” I said, trying to sound all serious and worried.

“Look,” said binocular guy, “you boys need to learn a thing or two about hikers’ etiquette. People need to trust one another in the wilderness. You don’t make up stories just to get someone else’s campsite.”

The guy held out a tiny portable television flickering a commercial for an SUV.

“The local news meteorologist predicts sunny skies and no wind for the next three days.” His voice bristled with adult annoyance. And with confidence. “We’re staying right where we are.”

I could feel my ears getting hot. They turn red sometimes when I’m embarrassed.

Three more adults, two women and a man, came from their tents. Asked the kids what was going on. I started to feel a little sick. Like I was going to get sent to my room or earn a week’s worth of detention.

“Listen,” Tobias said loudly, “you have to believe us. If you don’t get out of this valley now, something really bad is going to happen. Your lives are in danger.”

The campers didn’t respond. Emily looked at Lewis, then at the man. A kid near the campfire started to laugh. Pretty soon, all sixteen people in camp were snickering. Four adults and twelve kids, laughing at the two pathetic losers.

“Get a life,” Emily said.

I turned to Tobias. “Okay. We’re desperate. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

“Are you sure?” Tobias whispered. “What if one of them bolts? Or attacks us? Or runs straight to the local media? If the Yeerks hear that two human boys were morphing …”

“I know, Tobias,” I snapped. “I know there are consequences.”

That was my job. To know the consequences. It was also my job to make the tough decisions. To lead.

I started to morph.

“It’s okay,” Tobias called. “What you’re going to see will shock you, but don’t panic. We’re only trying to help.”

Lewis was the first to react. He clutched at his glasses and stepped back. Groped behind him with his free hand until he bumped into a tree. His mouth hung wide open.

The man dropped his television in the leaves. His face went white.

One boy by the campfire stumbled to his feet, then took off into the woods.

“Don’t be frightened,” Tobias repeated.

Morphing is not pretty. It’s disturbing and grotesque. Of course the campers were frightened. Anybody would be.

My human body began to twist violently. Big, flesh-tearing teeth sprouted from my gums. Ears migrated to the top of my head. Shoulders hunched, spine expanded, skin toughened. Fur, orange with black stripes, spread across my flesh like liquid spilled out of a jar. Until finally, I fell forward onto the dirt. All five hundred pounds of me.

I was a male Siberian tiger standing before a group of whining, whimpering campers, in a place no Siberian tiger should be.

I growled gently. Just enough to let them know the tiger was real.

When Tobias started to demorph, I began to demorph to human.

Emily backed up, tripped, fell to the forest floor. Tears streaked her face. The red-tailed hawk shrieked once, then morphed to human.

“Who … what are you?” the man cried.

“Its a long story,” I said, fully human again. “I can’t explain it all now, but you’ve got to believe we’re not here to hurt you.”

The campers were silent. At least no one else ran.

“Sometime before tomorrow noon,” I said solemnly, “an army of aliens is going to march up this valley. If you’re still here, they’ll kill every single one of you.”

quote:

My heart stopped.

Spears gasped for breath.

“Not a mile from here! A good-sized detachment of Forrest’s cavalry. A hundred or more.”

“Sound the alarm!” I ordered. “Get the men down here with everything we’ve got! Bayonets, muskets, revolvers … Spears, we’re not ready for them.”

Spears raced toward camp with a desperate look in his eye.

Jacob was running down the hill to rejoin the digging men. They were still building up the defensive position.

“Jacob!” I shouted above the bugle cry. “You’ve done your part. Get your fellows out of here!”

My men on picket duty were streaming from the woods now, hollering and whooping, running toward the earthworks like the devil was at their heels.

Jacob picked up his shovel.

“I’ll be staying, Lieutenant.”

He was a fool!

The men from camp raced from their tents and rushed down the hill. They pulled on coats and parkas as they came, and fastened bayonets to muskets.

“Take up your posts!” Raines cried, pulling a pistol from his belt. “Take aim, but do not fire!”

One by one, the men in blue fell into line behind the earthworks. Raines, Spears, Roth, O’Connell, McDonnell, Price …

We were pitifully few.

“Dear God,” I breathed, drawing my own revolver.

A Rebel drum beat in the woods. General Forrest was upon us.

I watched the trees.

The tree trunks suddenly multiplied, doubling … tripling in number!

“Hold!” I cried, uncertain of the visual effect.

All at once, the illusion vanished and I knew what it was that I saw.

The forest was dense with brown horses, gray coated cavalrymen, and dully reflective carbines.

“Lieutenant.” Raines turned to me. “They’re forming up for a charge!”

Jacob and his men were still piling up dirt. Still digging.

“Get down, you fools!” I yelled. “You’ll be shot!”

A few of the men lay down against the dirt. One took off up the hill toward camp. But Jacob and the rest ignored my warning.

“Prepare to fire … .”

The woods erupted with whoops and shouts. Angry cries.

“Yeeeeeee! Hah! Yooooop! Yeeeeeeeeeeeha!”

The Rebel yell.

“I’ll answer you with lead!” Spears shouted down his gun barrel.

The Rebs pulled out of the woods. Numbering only fifty or so, they screamed as loud as a regiment.

The galloping hooves grew louder and louder. The whoops and hollers tortured my ears.

The Rebels jumped the trunks of the slashed trees, leaped over branches until they were so near I could almost see their faces.

I could almost see the whites of their eyes … .

I stepped up to the line and aimed my revolver at a snarling blond cavalryman who raised his carbine at me.

The order was rumbling inside my mind … waiting to explode!

“FIRE!” I raged.

“FIRE!” boomed the Rebel commander.

The Union line pulled twenty-four triggers and riddled the air with lead.

The Rebels replied in kind.

“Ahh!”

Blood spattered my face and sleeve. Private Foster clutched his neck. Blood poured through his fingers. He slumped and fell to the cold ground.

“Ahhh!”

A Negro was struck in the chest! He hit the dirt and rolled, screaming. Still, Jacob didn’t take cover. He raised his shovel like a weapon.

“RELOAD!”

I hit my target in the thigh, but he kept galloping. I shot again. Missed! Two Rebel horses down! A man falling from his mount.

“FIRE!”

My men shot again before the Rebels could reload, a difficult task while riding. Three Rebs down on the east flank. Six or more on the west.

“BAYONETS!” I cried. No time for another shot. I picked up Foster’s musket and gripped it hard. Fire coursed through my veins. The hooves grew thunderous, racing, pounding. Roaring up to the earthworks!

“FORWARD!” I ordered.

We stabbed the air, whooping like banshees.

The Rebel horses faltered, reared up. The riders struggled to draw their sabers, but too late! We were upon them!

Union men stabbed through Rebel trousers, pulled bodies from horses. Everywhere I looked, punching, stabbing, beating.

One Rebel cleared his saber of its sheath.

And skewered O’Connell.

“STEADY, BOYS!” I ran for the man I’d struck with my revolver. I didn’t realize until too late
…
BAM!

He’d saved his carbine shot for me!

“Ahh!”

The bullet struck my stomach, threw me back!

I hit the dirt and clutched my stomach. No air!

The Rebel snarled, turned, and retreated.

No air!

My head was empty and full, calm and crazy … .

“Lieutenant!”

It was Jacob’s voice. He told his men to drag me back behind the entrenchments.

Strong hands clasped my arms, lifted, raised me off the ground.

All around, men locked in combat with the Rebs who’d fallen from their mounts.

The Rebs on horseback were broken up, scattering to retreat.

Jacob heaved his shovel like a javelin. It struck a Rebel in the side. The man slumped and slid off the saddle.

Four of the other men swarmed another cavalryman and dragged him off his horse.

The men carrying me placed me on the ground and raced away to aid their fellows.

I ripped open my coat and groped my stomach, searching for the injury. My ribs and guts felt crushed and broken, but there was no blood, no bullet, no hole at all!

How!

My head was swimming. Footsteps stopped beside me. I looked up and saw Joe Miller’s face against the sky. He had a shotgun in his hand, a revolver in his belt, a knife in his boot. He smiled and picked up the brass belt buckle I’d just thrown off.

It was utterly deformed, nearly cut in two, and folded up around a point at its center.

He handed me the buckle and I saw the flattened lead bullet embedded in the buckle. “You’re a lucky man, Lieutenant. That buckle is lead-lined.”

I’d been shot in the gut and survived. No words would form.

“Those slaves,” Joe Miller said. “I’ll give them credit for determination.” He glanced at the battlefield, at the Union men rounding up Rebel prisoners, then looked back at me.

“This was just a slight effort,” I said hoarsely. “A testing of our defense. The Rebs will be back soon.” Miller nodded.

“That’s why you need the help of every man you can find,” he said, looking at the Negros. “Arm them, train them, and let them fight.”

Star Man posted:

oh boy oh boy oh boy

This thread is a bad influence

Fuschia tude posted:

At least the cover art got better after the first one

just like in the original series

Also, huh. That "we can morph clothes now btw" seems kinda big for them to just include as a throwaway comment here.

nine-gear crow posted:

The first one was pretty well done, but Chris Grine kinda sucks at visually differentiating characters and can only draw one style of face. I've seen some of the submission portfolios from other artists who all auditioned for the graphic novel job with Scholastic posted on Tumblr and Twitter and a lot of theirs were much better selections for the job, but it is what it is, I guess. At least Grine's a cool dude on Twitter and can draw animals REALLY well.

Fuschia tude posted:

Also, huh. That "we can morph clothes now btw" seems kinda big for them to just include as a throwaway comment here.

Epicurius posted:

Really, the only leading Confederate who probably wasn't insanely racist was General Clerburne, who wrote a memo to Jefferson Davis saying, basically, om paraphrasing "Hey, since we're so badly outnumbered, we should probably recruit or draft slaves. To sweeten the pot, we can promise freedom to people who join up and their families. Plus, another benefit is that slavery is a pretty big disadvantage for us both domestically and internationally. The more we reduce the number of slaves, the better off we'll be. After all, we're fighting for independence, not slavery, right?"

It was not received well.

Here's the actual letter for those interested.

https://www.battlefields.org/learn/primary-sources/patrick-cleburnes-proposal-arm-slaves

CidGregor posted:

Also thanks for this, I'd never heard this story before and it's kinda fascinating. I always kind of thought the "It wasn't about slavery, it was about States' Rights!" creed was a more modern-day defense of confederate pride, I had no idea anyone within the actual confederacy itself legitimately believed that.

quote:

The campers believed.

The initial terror on their faces softened to looks of curiosity and recognition. An adult retrieved the kid who’d run off into the woods. The rest glanced at one another, then back at us, and, suddenly, began to beam.

I didn’t get it.

“We’ll follow your instructions,” one of the men said. About twelve of the others nodded in agreement.

<Okay. That was too easy,> Tobias said privately.

The man who’d spoken stepped delicately toward us. As if the snap of a branch would make us disappear.

“I’ve waited my entire life to make contact,” he said suddenly. “My name is Richard Carpenter. What do you call yourselves? What system do you call home?”

“What system?”

“What solar system are you from? Are you with the Federation? Is your ship in orbit or on land?” Unbelievable. I almost laughed.

“Uh,” I said, “we’re from Earth, just like you.”

“Ah, yes,” Richard said. “I always knew you lived among us. I have friends who’ve seen your ships.”

“We don’t have any ships,” Tobias said.

Richard reached out, grasped Tobias’s hand, and pumped it in a too-long handshake. Then he grabbed my hand.

“I’m honored to meet you. So very, very, very honored.”

“Can you become anything you want?” Lewis said.

“No, not anything, but a lot of things. Any animal we touch,” I said.

Yeah, morphing was gross and uncomfortable. But it had been a long time since I remembered it was also very, very cool.

Lewis grinned. “So, like, what’s your natural form?”

“We’re just normal kids with a special power,” Tobias said carefully. “We’re not aliens.”

“If you don’t want us to call you aliens, we won’t call you aliens,” Richard said with a wink.

<Jake? These people spend way too much time watching Star Wars.>

“Look,” I said. “There are aliens taking over Earth, but we’re just regular kids. You know, from here. Trying to stop them. The bad aliens.”

Emily’s forehead scrunched with skeptical wrinkles.

“It’s a long story.” Tobias sighed. “Just trust us. Please. You need to get out of here.”

“Can’t you just beam us somewhere else?” Lewis asked.

“Or you could generate a shield to surround us,” said another kid with spiky blond hair and sunglasses. “You could cloak our entire campsite so we could watch all the action!”

“Yeah!” That was one of the adult women.

“Okay, look,” I said, fed up. “This is real life. This is not a Star Trek episode. I’m not Captain Picard. I can’t beam you anywhere.”

“Justin,” Richard said to the blond kid. “They can’t put that kind of technology in our hands. It would violate the Prime Directive.”

“Oh, right,” Justin whispered loudly. “Of course.”

Richard looked at me.

“I know that revealing yourselves to us is a major violation of the Prime Directive. But you did the right thing. We’re ready for contact.”

Tobias snorted.

“Are you official Trekkies or something?”

“Actually, yeah.” Emily blushed. “Our parents, too, like my dad here,” she said, pointing at Richard. “This is the annual camping trip. You know, a few days away from computers and videos and stuff.”

“So you’re not with the Federation?” Richard pressed.

Tobias and I helped break camp. In less than an hour everyone had assembled, packs on their backs.

“You need to take the quickest path out of the valley,” I explained. “The Yeerks will be coming from the south, so you can’t go that way.”

“Who are the Yeerks?” Emily asked.

I looked at Tobias. He shrugged, then nodded.

“I’ll tell you,” I said, “but you have to promise not to tell anyone about anything you’ve seen or heard tonight. Secrecy is essential. For your safety and ours. For the, uh, Federation. Can we count on you?”

“Absolutely,” said a female adult. “If there’s one thing we can do, it’s keep an intergalactic secret.”

I ignored the knot in my stomach. I was taking a risk with these people and I knew that. Their lives were in my hands. But times were desperate. Things had changed.

“Okay. The Yeerks are parasites. In their natural form they’re just slugs. Pretty much blind, deaf, and dumb. They need bodies through which they can live and be powerful. So they invade the brains of other species. Like Hork-Bajir.”

“Hork-Bajir?” Lewis repeated.

“A naturally harmless group of aliens. Almost completely enslaved by the Yeerks. The Yeerks are coming to destroy the small colony of free Hork-Bajir in this valley and infest any survivors.”

“‘Infest’?” Justin.

“Yeah, infest,” I said. “The Yeerks crawl into your head through your ear canal. Then they attach themselves to your brain. Enslave you. Take total control of your mind. You become what we call a Controller. A prisoner in your own head. Basically, you can say good-bye to free will. The Yeerk totally manipulates you to get other bodies for other Yeerks.”

Justin made a face. “Why don’t people just say, like, no to these Controllers?”

“It’s not that easy,” Tobias said. “Controllers look and act just like you and me, which makes them seriously dangerous. Look, the Yeerks are all about betrayal. No one can be trusted.”

“No one,” I emphasized. “Not neighbors, not relatives, not friends. That’s why you need to keep your mouths shut about what you’ve just seen. And about anything else you might see. Because if a Controller overhears you, you’re history.”

<Nice try,> Tobias said dryly. <But you know someone’s going to blab.>

“Well, I want to help,” Emily declared. “We have to free the Hork-Bajir and crush the Yeerks!”

Tobias grinned. “Remind you of anyone, Jake?”

“Yeah,” Lewis said. “Let’s help the good aliens!”

“Wait,” Richard cried. “Your mother would have a fit.”

Lewis grabbed his dad’s arm.

“Real aliens, Dad.”

Richard looked down at his son’s glowing face.

“You’re right, kid,” he declared. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. We’ll join your fight!”

Tobias shot me a glance. <Jake, they just don’t get it yet. You need to get graphic.>

“I don’t think you understand what this means,” I said, looking hard at each camper. “We’re talking real battle. Real war. Pain and blood and even death,” I said. “Spilled guts and severed limbs and psychological horror you won’t ever get past. This isn’t a trip to a theme park. It’s not TV or some video game. It’s an appointment with a seriously grim reality.”

“I understand,” Justin said. “And I’m going home. Sorry, guys, but I’m no hero.” He handed Lewis a small black case. “Take some pictures, okay, Lew? This stuff sounds perfect for our Web page.”

“Secrecy, remember!” I barked.

Justin looked startled. “Oh. Right.”

Then two other campers walked off with him.

The remaining thirteen, it seemed, were coming with us.

<ls this smart?> Tobias said. <l mean, can we do this? Can we take these people to the free Hork-Bajir? Can we involve them this way?>

“We already have. And besides,” I reasoned pathetically, “no one will believe reports of aliens from a bunch of Trekkies. I hope.”

We led the thirteen campers, ten kids and three adults, the mile or so back to the Hork-Bajir settlement.

We approached the outskirts of the colony. A dozen Hork-Bajir, eerily visible in the flickering torchlight, stood in two rows on either side of the path. Toby stood in the middle.

“Welcome,” she said. “We’re honored by your presence. We thank you for your help.”

The campers didn’t speak. They just walked on through the canopy of branches and the towering, bladed extraterrestrials.

“How did you know we were coming?” I asked Toby.

“The trees whispered something about new friends who would take up our cause. Human friends who would join our fight,” she said. “I see things, Jake. Many things.”

quote:

All told, the Union lost five men, the Rebels thirteen.

It was fine fighting by our side. Accurate shooting and brave hand-to-hand. But we know it was a gift. A sweet, ephemeral moment of triumph. Forrest’s cavalry will return and in full force.

I do believe that anticipation of an event can be as powerful as the event itself, as Mac had said of whipping. We don’t know when the attack will come and we surely can’t prevent it. Yet we can live it in our minds a hundred times.

Sinkler’s Ridge is doomed.

Everyone is aware of this truth, but no one will let on. Not even for a moment.

“Atten-SHUN!”

I stared into the black faces of nearly thirty men. Their bodies stiffened tall before me. The sun beat down from the zenith of its path, but its rays weren’t
sufficient to warm us. Misted breath billowed and steamed from the noses and mouths of men seething with excitement. For they had just been armed.

The rifles of the sick men, the rifles of the dead - together they numbered just enough.

One of the Negros, a young man with a square jaw, couldn’t contain himself.

“I wish my massa could see me now!”

He raised the rifle and made as if to shoot the older Negro next to him.

“Atten-SHUN!” I repeated, stepping closer to the line.

The young one lowered the weapon to his side and fixed an obedient stare on a distant point.

“This is not a toy!” I snapped. “What’s your name?”

“Samson,” he answered, avoiding my gaze.

“Do you know what you hold at your side?”

“A weapon, sir?”

“The model ‘61 Springfield musket with rifled bore and socket bayonet,” I clarified for all to hear. I gripped my own weapon tightly. “Nine pounds and fifty-eight inches of hope. Your new best friend. Your only chance against the enemy. Do you hear me, Samson?”

He nodded. I stepped back from the line and Sergeant Raines moved forward. He would teach them how to load.

“Most soldiers get days or weeks to drill,” I added, looking down the line. “You men have minutes, and since ammunition is in short supply, only ten practice rounds.”

“Ten rounds!” Samson whined. “How we supposed to learn to shoot a Rebel with only ten tries?”

“Silence!” Raines bellowed.

It was his turn now and I would leave him to it.

“Don’t speak until spoken to! Don’t act until ordered! Don’t load your weapon until I -”

“Are these the bullets?” Samson suddenly said, disbelief widening his face as he looked at the .58 caliber conical balls in his hand. “These ain’t no bigger than peas!”

A raised vein pulsed across Raines’s reddening face. Jacob stepped in.

“Shush, boy!” he called down the line to Samson. “The peas are lead. When they blast out the muzzle, they move fast enough to rip a hole through your guts.”

Raines took a deep breath.

“Samson, step up and load your gun!”

“Sir?”

“Load it!”

Samson unhooked the copper powder flask that dangled from his belt and fumbled to open it.

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll guide you. Pour the premeasured powder charge down the barrel.”

Samson leaned the barrel awkwardly toward him, struggled to funnel down the powder.

“Rip a patch of cloth. Place a lead ball on it.”

Samson drew a length of cloth from his pocket, ripped off a patch, opened his pouch, grabbed a ball, placed the lead and patch against the muzzle.

“Ram it home!”

Samson pulled the ramrod from the barrel, dropped it on the dirt, picked it up. The ball and patch fell to the ground. He reached down, picked them up, raised the ramrod, lowered it into the barrel, and pumped it so the ball would pack against the powder charge.

“He looks like a fool!” said a man in line.

“He won’t look a fool when the Rebs are charging,” Jacob shot back.

“The percussion cap!” Raines boomed.

Samson’s fingers opened another pouch, pulled out a cap, pulled back the hammer, inserted the cap, closed the frizzen.

“Fire!”

There was a line of tin cups on a fence post fifty yards off.

Samson raised the gun, closed one eye, sucked in a breath and held it.

BAM!

A tin cup blew off the post. The men in line began to whistle.

The kickback sent Samson staggering, eyes wide, but he saw that he’d struck his target.

“Yeehah! If massa could see me -”

“RELOAD!” Raines roared, slowly raising a revolver to point in the air over Samson’s head.

The men fell silent.

Samson smiled nervously and lowered the gun, grabbed the barrel …

“Ah!”

The barrel was hot and Samson released it, but caught it before it fell.

His fingers were shaking now. The powder spilled. He ripped the cloth, grabbed a ball … Ka-bamm!

Raines shot his revolver into the air.

Samson rammed home the patch ball, fumbled for a cap, pulled back the hammer …

Ka-bamm! Raines fired again.

Samson’s whole body trembled now. He raised the gun and it shook like a tree branch in the wind.

BAM!

The rifle fired. Samson missed.

“RELOAD! FASTER!” Raines raged.

Samson gaped at Raines as one might gape at a madman, but he reached for the powder flask, the barrel, the patch, the ball …

BAM!

Ka-bamm!

Another charge released in the air over Samson’s head as he loaded and fired a third time.

And missed.

“Stop,” Raines ordered, suddenly calm.

Samson was panting, trembling, and sweating. He stood as still as he could, the rifle shaking at his side.

Raines let the echo of the gunshot die.

“In the heat of battle, with guns firing in your ears and men exploding next to you, a good soldier can load and fire three shots per minute, and make each of them count. Blood will spatter in your face, gentlemen. You may even take a bullet in the arm or leg. But you must fill your mind with only three
words: Load. Fire. Reload. Gentlemen, load your weapons!”

I returned to headquarters and watched the remainder of the training through the window.

At the end of the drill, not one cup sat on that fence post. Indeed, the rail was fairly well destroyed. These men learned faster than any enlisted men I’d seen. Perhaps because for Jacob and his men the stakes were somehow higher.

“Keep your powder dry!” Raines called to the men as they filed away for rations. Almost as he said this, the man in line in front of Samson lost hold of his powder flask. It rolled across the snowdusted dirt.

Samson bent down and retrieved it, then turned toward Sergeant Raines.

“Keep your powder dry!” he repeated with a wary smile.

Epicurius posted:

The day wukk be saved,,,

Fuschia tude posted:

Epicurius posted:

I'm pretty sure this scene is straight out of Glory.

rollick posted:

I was following the thread out of childhood curiosity, but stopped when it got too painfully repetitive. Catching up now, it's incredible how much better it gets with some actual plot momentum. You could adapt the whole series into one movie by cutting 30 books' worth of white noise.

JesusSinfulHands posted:

I've always imagined that in the completely unrealistic scenario where Animorphs ever got a Game of Thrones level TV adaptation, it would be around 6 seasons, with a slow and leisurely, character-building adaptation of most of the first 26 books or so, while skipping obvious filler like 14 with the Yeerk-infested horses or 25 with the adventure to the North Pole. After that a ton of filler books in the 30s and 40s could be skipped, not skipping the important Aftran/Yeerk Peace Movement stuff, everything with Marco and his mom, and the Tobias & Taylor stuff. Then nearly everything from 45 onward is basically an entire big-budget last season on its own...actually 45 would be a great episode to end the previous season on.

Not sure how the Megamorphs or Chronicles come in, something like the dinosaurs one or the time matrix shenanigans seems unrealistic to ever make even in this hypothetical world where Animorphs was a global phenomenon. Ellimist Chronicles would simply be unfilmable.

Capfalcon posted:

When you steal, steal from the best

quote:

The Hork-Bajir welcoming committee walked after us. The campers kept their distance, fear and wonder on their moonstruck faces.

“They don’t bite,” I told them. “At least, not the free Hork-Bajir. The blades are just for harvesting bark. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Richard was the first to approach a Hork-Bajir. He stuck out his hand and said, “Greetings.”

The Hork-Bajir slowly raised his hands and enclosed Richard’s palm in a cage of blades.

Richard flinched, but didn’t move away.

“Hallloooo,” the Hork-Bajir grunted, shaking Richard’s hand up and down several times. Once released, Richard examined his hand. Not a scratch.

A flash of light!
“This is the greatest day of my life!” Lewis said, sticking Justin’s camera back into his bag. Without a word, I reached into the bag. Retrieved the camera. Opened it. Ripped out the film. Placed the camera back in the bag.

Lewis gulped.
“
Jake!” Marco’s dad jogged up to our group. “So it’s true? We’ve got people willing to help?”

“Willing and ready,” Richard replied, giving Marco’s dad a hearty handshake.

“Then come with us. We’re running out of time!” The thirteen campers followed Marco’s dad up the hill to where Marco’s mom was waiting. I swear those two were made for wilderness living. They looked younger and happier than I’d ever seen them. Like helping stranded aliens with key concepts like organization and productivity was their destiny.

I could hardly believe what I saw at the top of the hill. A hut with torchlight had become a kind of factory.

This is how it went. The first Hork-Bajir in the assembly line grabbed a stick off a pile. Using his razor-sharp wrist blades, he stripped it of all bark and knots. Then, he tossed it to the next Hork-Bajir in line. That Hork-Bajir inspected the stake and gave it a second straightening trim. If a stick was too bowed, the Hork-Bajir tossed it into a separate pile. That pile was given to the younger Hork-Bajir for sharpening. The bent sticks became the stakes at the bottom of the pits.

The sticks that passed inspection were handed on to several older Hork-Bajir. They fastened sharpened stone arrowheads to the tips. Grooves had been carved in the tips during the stripping process so that twine could be easily tied around the arrows. A last group of Hork-Bajir carried the completed spears up to the tree platforms.

Richard, Lewis, Emily, and a mother-daughter pair of campers named Meg and Chloe were assigned duties in this assembly line. I’d never seen such willing workers.

“I’ve got to check the progress at the dam,” I told Marco’s dad. “I’ll be back.”

Tobias had already demorphed and was flying lookout. We were taking no chances. It seemed unlikely, but the Yeerks might stage a night attack. Might go for the element of surprise.

I morphed owl and flew to the construction site. The owl’s superior night vision, and the bright moonlight, allowed me to see the progress from the air. A new layer of sticks and trees topped the original dam. The water level was at least two feet higher. Water spilled over a new section of the
forest. <Where’ve you been, Prince Jake?> Marco, packing mud into the cracks with his tail. <You’ve missed all the fun with our new friends, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver.>

I landed on the bank and began to demorph.

<They’ve been excellent help,> Cassie said. <At first they were afraid of us. But they seem to have realized that we’re just here to help, so they’ve gone back to work.>

“That’s great,” I said absently.

I had to tell them. But suddenly, I wish I didn’t have to say a word.

“I, uh … Listen. Those campers from down the valley want to help the Hork-Bajir.”

<You mean, they know?> Rachel. <Jake, are you nuts?>

“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” I said evenly. “You used those words at the meeting yesterday.”

“Oh. Okay, I did. Thanks for listening.”

<This could be the beginning of something big,> Cassie said reluctantly. <The first volunteers>

<Right,> Rachel said. <They’ll tell others, encourage them to join the fight.>

<Exactly the problem!> Marco said angrily. <Jake, who decided it was okay to make public appearances?>

“Well, you, actually,” I said. “And that’s not an accusation. It’s a fact. When you told your dad about us. You did what you had to do and so did I.”

<That was different with my dad,> he said forcefully. <Maybe even with those sailors and marines on the aircraft carrier. I don’t know. But come on, Jake. You don’t even know these campers. Who they work for, who they’re related to, where they’re from.>

“They’re a bunch of sci-fi fanatics who believed in aliens before Tobias and I even showed them anything.” I tried to smile, pretend I wasn’t as worried as Marco. “They thought we were from the Federation. Can you believe it?”

No one laughed.

quote:

<Prince Jake.> Ax. <Time is running out. We need your help to finish the dam.>

Not a word about what I’d done. With all that had happened between us, all that had gone down in this war, Ax still considered me his leader. Still followed my orders and accepted my decisions.

Not that it really mattered what Ax, or anyone else, thought. As long as they acted with loyalty. As long as they also understood that I’d already taken full responsibility for revealing us to the campers. Nobody else was to blame. Not even Tobias.

I focused on the newest DNA I carried inside me.

SWZOOP!

My body began to shrink. Arms and legs sucked into my torso.

FWUMP!

I hit the ground.

PING PING PING …

Thick brown fur sprouted all over my body. I felt suddenly warm, like I’d pulled on a wet suit.

POOT. POOT.

My back legs reappeared as short little flipper-feet.

THWUMP.

A heavy weight pulled on my rear end.

I turned my head around.

Stretching my spine almost two feet beyond my main body was a thick, flat, formidable mass. A paddle, a tool, a tail.

Morphing is unpredictable. The most dramatic changes often happen last.

Finally, my skull began to shrink, squeezing my brain into a new shape. Rock-hard skull bones, heavier than a human’s, elongated to form a very rugged jaw.

And inside, my front teeth were growing. And growing. And growing …

I opened and closed the jaw. Could feel the strength of the incisors, huge as carpenters’ chisels, sprouting from my gums.

The beaver didn’t have the raw, quick strength of a tiger. But it did have amazing stamina.

And its mind was smart in a goal-oriented, problem-solving kind of way.

The beaver felt anxious to get to its project. Its mind was alive with a single thought.

There are things to be done!

It was the mind of a workaholic.

There was a sapling. A dead branch just ahead. A vine beyond. Choose one and move!

I was an enlightened worker bee.

An ant with a college education.

I slid off the shore into the dark pond. Swam with my head above the water. The beaver’s oily fur repelled the water, keeping its skin dry.

I paddled purposefully down a small canal. Away from the pond and toward the place where Ax was gnawing through a large tree.

<We need this tree for the main spillway,> he said.

I climbed out of the water and started to chew.

Oh, it felt good to sink my teeth into the tree fibers. To efficiently rip them away. Scraping more layers with each pass! Carving through the growth rings!

Suddenly, Ax cried, <Stop! Get back!>

The tree quivered in the rising wind.

Creeeekkkkk!

The wonderful sound of splintering wood.

Ba-boom!

The tree crashed to the ground.

The beaver mind was pleased. But wait …

The tree wasn’t aligned with the canal. It had fallen across it. Ax and I stood up on our hind legs and pushed. The tree rocked but we couldn’t dislodge it.

<We need some help down here!> I shouted.

Marco and Cassie joined us. The four of us pushed together. The tree rocked up and down the sides of the impression it had made when it fell. But it still wasn’t going anywhere.

The beaver was frustrated. It felt it had failed.

Suddenly …

“Rrrrroooaaaarrr!”

In one sudden movement the tree rose off the ground! Twisted around in the air. Aligned with the canal and crashed into the water. Bobbed crazily, then calmed.

<You just need the right tool for the job.> Rachel’s grizzly snorted proudly in the moonlight.

<Now let’s get this thing into place.>

Mr. and Mrs. Real Beaver disappeared at the sight of Rachel. But the five of us pushed and pulled at the tree, like tugboats guiding an oil tanker into the harbor.

The log moved easily into the pond and toward the dam. Ax had shaped a place for it. We nudged it in. The current flowing over the top of the dam did the rest.

<Are you ready?> Tobias, from overhead.

<Almost,> Ax said proudly. <The water volume has exceeded my predictions.>

<It better have,> Tobias replied. <Because the Yeerks are less than an hour away. And, Jake? There are more of them than we thought>