Work Text:
The Andalite bandits are a small crew, probably only five members although at times the number varies and of course it’s always possible they have members kept in reserve. Visser Three has over the years kept track of them, and he can pinpoint only a couple members by their frequent morphs: One who morphs a bear, one a gorilla. There’s an elephant somewhere in the mix and usually the bear and the elephant aren’t together but that’s not exactly conclusive, so that might be a third. One who deigns to show his native Andalite body. One who nearly always morphs hawk, even in situations where the body is hardly useful, often even for combat. And then, of course, the leader, the most interesting member to the Visser at least: the tiger.
When they capture the peregrine falcon alive, he is delighted. He might be happier if they managed to force the falcon to demorph before the time limit ran up—now they won’t have a morph-capable host, after all. But in a way that’s good: If other hosts were capable of morphing, they would challenge Visser Three. Of this he is certain. No being, Yeerk or human or Andalite or even Taxxon or Hork Bajir, is without ambition. Visser Three clutches his power tightly, and he will not hand over his advantage.
Of course he would have used the infestation to gain information, crucial information. But he is too excited about the capture to be as angry about the loss as he should be. After all, this success proves that his current strategies are already working well enough. Intel? Well, it would be useful, but he hardly needs it. About the Andalite bandits he already knows quite a lot.
And now, with the peregrine falcon captured, he tries to apply this knowledge: which of the five is this? Bear? Gorrilla? Tiger? Andalite? Or perhaps that one who morphs all sorts of animals and has no real constant except perhaps the wolf or elephant. The only one he can eliminate is the hawk—at the time of the capture, the two were flying together, and there is only one red-tailed hawk in the group, at least consistently. And it makes little sense to change from one bird morph to another. Takes long enough to accustom one’s self to a morph that Visser Three usually uses the same ones when he can.
<Tell me your name>, he says to the falcon. It would not tell him which member of the group it is, but it might tell him more with a little research.
The falcon does not respond. He (he? She? They?) has been in a cage, a simple if sturdy bird cage, for hours now. Visser Three has had one of his best hosts interrogating him, using simple shocks and similar tactics. The falcon has said nothing mentally. He’s squawked a little. One might easily think him a normal bird.
The way he looks at Visser Three, tired and yet steadfast, says otherwise.
<Tell me your name>, Visser Three says. <Maybe I’ll tell them to give you a break. You know we’ll get it out of you eventually.>
The falcon does not respond.
His determination says nothing about his identity. All members of the Andalite bandits have a similar resolve. He is not the hawk. Visser Three thinks the bear and the elephant would be more likely to claw at the bars, trying to scratch Visser Three’s face even though it is impossible. But they might equally well have the sense to back down at their own helplessness. And it might easily be the young Andalite or the gorilla.
But. Maybe it’s premature victory, but Visser Three has a hunch. He knows the tiger. He knows the tiger as only an enemy can. And when he looks at the falcon, and when the falcon looks back at him without flinching, even when Visser Three lifts his tail to knock against the cage, even when the blade reaches slightly through the bars…well. He has a hunch.
<Make him talk>, he tells the host in charge. <Or I will make you bleed.> He cocks his tail at the human body’s throat, and the host trembles. Weak. Visser Three is surrounded by cowards. Even Alloran, always screaming in his mind, has grown quieter lately, more sullen than defiant. Even he bends and breaks.
The falcon is the best company Visser Three has had in ages.
When the host ultimately fails to get any information out of him after three days of effort (starving, water boarding, more shocks, sleep deprivation, any device possible to cause the falcon pain), Visser Three laughs. He kills the host quickly and cleanly—he’s hardly even annoyed. And he has the falcon moved to his menagerie, where he keeps the animals he acquires to morph and various curiosities, and tells an underling to make sure he is regularly fed.
He doesn’t even visit the falcon for a week. When he does, the falcon is looking better than before, physically. He sits in the cage and stares at Visser Three, as before.
<Are you wondering why I stopped having you interrogated?>
No answer.
<I don’t need your information, not really. We are on the verge of capturing your fellows.> It’s not…exactly true, but Visser Three has every confidence, after this latest victory, that they will succeed sooner rather than later. <Probably your information is already outdated, in any case. I don’t need you.>
No answer.
<Then you may wonder why I keep you around.> No answer. <I like your feathers. They’re very pretty—is that why you chose this morph? Clearly it wasn’t for utility, since you were captured this easily.> No answer. <I’m trying to decide whether to have you stuffed or to keep you around alive as decoration. Perhaps when I conquer this pitiful planet and get a proper headquarters I can hang your cage from the ceiling, as a reminder of what happens to those who challenge me. My allies would probably find the sight of you amusing.>
The falcon only cocks his head.
It is a pretty fantasy, really. He’d live in one of those mansions they have here, one with a nice high roof, and hang the falcon off a high chandelier. Sometimes he would reach up and push the cage and make it sway back and forth, back and forth…
Though, he has to admit, part of him is uninterested in showing the falcon to any ally. If it’s the tiger, at least. He could be wrong. He’d feel like he’d swallowed lead (in a morph that actually has a mouth) if he were to be wrong. But he thinks it’s the tiger. He wants to keep the tiger here, isolated, only surrounded by mute and terrifying animals and the occasional underling coming to feed him or clean his cage, Visser Three the only one to talk to him. After a while he’d recognize Visser Three as his owner, his master.
Visser Three has a prettier fantasy than the first, where he has the falcon, the tiger, trained like in this planet’s medieval days, hooded and ready on Visser Three’s wrist. He’d have to morph a human form to have the strength to hold it up. He’d send the falcon flying this way and that, and the falcon, trained by perhaps years or even decades of captivity, would immediately obey.
Visser Three reaches through the cage to pet the falcon’s head. It snaps at him, and he laughs as he withdraws his hand. It is bleeding, but that will heal easily the next time he morphs. It is such a petty wound. So beneath the tiger to inflict it.
<You’ll learn>, he promises the falcon. <You’ll learn.>
They say most animals dream. Jake never slept in morph before this, but now he does when he can (other animals in the menagerie are constantly roaring or stamping, there is no quiet), and he dreams. He has nightmares.
Most of them involve people dying, blood and guts and animals turning into humans or into each other, monstrous sights and the strong smell of coppery gore. These are similar to the dreams he had as a human. Had as a human, past tense, because he is not a human now and never will be again. Ellimist chances like the one given to Tobias are not handed out like candy. Ellimist miracles in general have never favored Jake, and were he to ask for a miracle right now, it would not be freedom from the falcon morph but freedom from this cage. Freedom from Visser Three.
He has one new nightmare, and it is very simple. He dreams of Visser Three coming to talk to him, as he does very often, and greeting him by name. <Good morning, Jake Berenson.> And then he stands in front of the cage and waits for Jake to ask which of his friends was infested, where he got the name, who is now enslaved or imprisoned or dead. The dream ends before he gets an answer. Jake does not want to know the answer, really, but no answer really means all of them. He is sick with worry.
Visser Three never tells him anything that doesn’t make his worry worse. <I know who you are>, he says one day, and Jake nearly dies of a heart attack. He fights to keep his gaze and body steady, but he can feel his tail twitch. He has never spoken to Visser Three. He will not betray his humanity through the nuances of his speech, but also, he does not want Visser Three to know what he is thinking, feeling. He is sure some of it still seeps through.
Visser Three says, <You are the tiger. You are the leader.>
That’s…not exactly good, but not an identity either. Jake tries not to show his relief.
<Your team’s plans have changed. They have grown less organized. They take on more injuries. Without you, they are so close to falling already.>
Close, but not fallen. Visser Three may well be exaggerating. Jake tells himself to trust. It’s hard to say who might be in charge now: Cassie? Rachel? Marco? But he is sure whoever it is, is doing a fine job. He made enough mistakes in his time. He’s not irreplaceable.
They’ll get used to fighting without him. They can still win.
<They don’t want me to know it was you.> Visser Three laughs. <They bring a tiger morph into the fight. But whoever it is moves differently. Do they think I don’t know you? Fools.>
He puts a hand through the bars of the cage and strokes Jake’s back, his touch far too gentle. He’s had Jake’s beak fastened closed with a small muzzle whenever he’s not being fed, Jake’s talons fastened to the bottom of the cage at least whenever he visits, so Jake has no way to attack him. He endures it. Visser Three likes treating him like a pet; so what? At least Jake isn’t being tortured anymore. If he’d been tortured for much longer, he would have lost his mind entirely. He’d be only falcon by now.
<I know you>, Visser Three says, mind-voice soft but confident, inescapable. <I know you. I own you. Did they think they could fool me?>
For a moment his grip is rough. When he extracts his hand, he pulls out three feathers. <Ah. I suppose I shouldn’t indulge myself. You won’t look as pretty if I pluck you.>
Jake flaps his wings. Those, at least, he can move. He spreads them, tries to look intimidating.
Visser Three’s eyes widen. <Oh? Did I finally provoke you into a temper tantrum? How funny. Well, I expect you’ll get over it.> He drops the feathers on the floor. <Tiger.>
Jake has other dreams, too, better dreams. He dreams of an elephant crashing through the strong metal walls of the enclosure. He dreams of strong gorilla hands bending back the bars of his cage. But these dreams have no connection with reality. Realistically, the walls are strong enough to hold up even to an elephant, and his cage is of sturdy material—Visser Three has gloated about this often enough. This particular stronghold isn’t in a location the Animorphs know of. Unless someone slips up, they aren’t likely to find it. It’s more likely that Visser Three will decide to kill Jake first, getting tired of whatever game this is, ceasing to find a silent bird amusing. Though that’s not a good thing to think about either. He tries not to think about death or rescue, each depressing in its own way. He tries not to think of his future at all.
The dream he allows himself with no guilt is of Cassie in wolf morph or Rachel in bear morph or even Ax as an Andalite ripping through Visser Three’s throat. He dreams of it happening in battle. He dreams of it happening at the Pool. He dreams of them doing it in the menagerie, blood pouring out on the floor in front of the cage, and then them walking forward and…but that goes into dangerous ground again. Hope is too dangerous. Vigilance is fine—he watches for a chance to escape constantly. But hope, for his own life and freedom, is dangerous.
He hopes his friends will win the war. He hopes they will be enough to turn the tide, succeed where he has now failed. For the rest, he will be patient and wait for whatever may come.