Animorphs The Decision

Converted to E-Book by:

Kamal Raniga

My name is Aximili-Esgarrouth- Isthill.

I don't know if my fellow Andalites will ever recognize that name. I guess some of the story I'm about to tell will appear in the scientific journals. I mean, the accident that occurred to me has certainly rewritten the science of Zero-space mass extrusion during morphing.

But I doubt that my real name will be used. I doubt that the whole truth will be told. And I guess that's a good thing. You see, there are traitors among us. Yes, traitors among our fellow Andalites. Andalites working for the Yeerks.

I am the only living Andalite witness to the Ascalin incident. Only I--and my human friends, Prince Jake, Cassie, Tobias, Rachel, and Marco--know what truly happened aboard that ship on war-torn planet Leera.

And even though I know what happened, I will never know why it happened.

I know it seems impossible even to conceive of Andalites as traitors. I know the very idea makes any decent Andalite sick inside. But I am telling the truth. The Ascalin incident happened. We were betrayed by one of our own.

My name is Aximili-Esgarrouth- Isthill, brother of Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul. And I swear by his memory that everything I say here is true.

I am the only Andalite presently located on planet Earth. Don't bother looking Earth up on any of the databases. You won't find much information. The truth is, we lost a Dome ship in orbit above this planet. The Yeerks destroyed it. We lost my brother, Prince Elfangor, in that battle, too. But before he died, Elfangor broke our law and gave the secret Andalite morphing power to five human youths.

The Yeerks are after this planet now. They are invading Earth in their usual style. The Yeerk parasite slugs have an easy time entering human heads, wrapping themselves around human brains.

Enslaving humans as they did the Hork-Bajir and the Gedds. As they hope someday to do to us.

I live among these humans now. With the group of young humans who were given the morphing power by Elfangor. They call themselves Animorphs. They resist the Yeerk invasion of Earth. All alone, as far as we know.

I live with humans. I respect them. But my hearts are still Andalite. No matter what anyone ever says about me and about what happened on Leera, I am true to my own people.

And yet there are times when I wonder: Who are my own people? My race, my species? My family? My friends? My allies?

My human friends insist on reducing my name to "Ax." You see, humans communicate by making mouth-sounds. (most Andalites understand the concept of a "mouth," I believe.) And although my full name is easily pronounced in Andalite thought-speak, it is somewhat long and complex for primitive human mouth-sounds.

I am alone on this planet. The only one of my species. The only Andalite among all the humans. So I have used the morphing technology to create a human morph. And sometimes, for two hours at a time, I become human and pass among humans as one of them.

I am very good at passing for human, if I say so myself. I have learned the customs and habits perfectly so that I seem entirely normal.

That's how I am able to pass even in the most human of places. For example, the mall. Which is a place full of shops, most of which sell artificial skin and artificial hooves.

Technically known as "clothing" and "shoes."

The mall also houses the most wonderful eating places. You see, in addition to making sounds with their mouths, humans use them to eat. They place foods into the mouth opening and grind the foods with teeth while adding saliva. This involves a sense called "taste."

Taste is very, very powerful.

Oh, yes.

I was wearing artificial skin and artificial hooves like a human. I approached the counter of my very favorite eating place.

"Hello," I said, making mouth-sounds with my human mouth. "I will work for money. Muh-nee.

Mnee."

I should explain: Money is a sort of abstract human concept. You give amounts of money to various people in society and they in turn give you useful items.

"Do you want to order something?" the human said to me.

"I require money so that I may exchange it for the delicious cinnamon buns," I explained.

The human blinked his eyes. "So ... you do want to order, or you don't?"

Obviously this was a less-intelligent human. "I wish to perform labor, lay-ber, lay-burrr, and to have you give me money. Then I wish to use that money to acquire delicious cinnamon buns. Bun-zuh."

"I'll get the manager."

"Bun-zuh," I said. I find the z sound especially enjoyable. It tickles the mouthparts.

Many sounds are amusing.

The manager came and I explained my request to her.

"Well, I can't give you a job," she said.

"I think you're under age. But I guess if you're hungry I could have you clear some of those tables and give you some food."

This was acceptable to me.

"Poor kid," she said to the other human as I turned away. "A little off in the head, maybe.

But a good-looking boy."

I soon discovered what she meant by clearing tables. In this part of the mall there are many tables, surrounded by eating places. The tables were littered with delicious things!

On the first table I found thin, crisp, salty-greasy triangles covered with a bright yellow secretion. I ate them and they were very good.

On the next table were liquids. I drank them. One was hot, one was cold. Along with the liquids was a square of crumpled paper.

Smeared inside the paper was a reddish, semiliquid product. I licked it. It was fine, but not wonderful.

Then at last, I saw what I wanted.

Two large, steaming hot, glistening cinnamon buns. Two humans were sitting very near the cinnamon buns.

They were going to eat my buns!

I raced over as quickly as my wobbly human legs could go. "I am clearing these tables!" I cried.

The humans looked at me. "We haven't even eaten yet."

"Good," I said, relieved. I grabbed the two cinnamon buns and carried them away.

"Hey! Hey, stop!"

I began to shove the first bun into my mouth.

Oh, the joy! Oh, how can I even explain to an Andalite who has never possessed the sense of taste? The sensation! It was a pleasure beyond any pleasure imaginable. The warmth, the dripping, sweet goo of the cinnamon bun!

"What are you doing?" the manager cried as she came running over.

"I amm glearing khe khables," I said. It is very difficult to speak while eating. Just one of the many design flaws in humans.

"I am terribly sorry," the manager said to the humans who were trying to take my cinnamon buns. "I'll get you two fresh buns. And you," she said, pointing one of her powerful-yet-stubby human fingers at me, "come with me."

She pulled me away, causing me to drop a small portion of the bun from my mouth. She took me into the eating place and made me sit on a chair. This involves bending the two legs and resting the weight of the body on a raised platform by pressing the fatty pads at the top of the legs against the platform. It's hard to visualize unless you've seen it.

"Okay, now look, son, if you're that desperate for food, there's a tray of buns here that are just a bit stale. You can help yourself. You poor kid."

She indicated a square array of cinnamon buns. Perhaps a dozen in all!

"For me?" I asked in a voice choked with emotion.