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ml-typhonverse · 26 days

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What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3; Part 1 and Part 2 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Cassie's in Spanish when Mr. Tidwell stops mid-word, staring at the door of the room. Everyone twists around almost in unison to see. There are three uniformed police officers at the threshold.

"Melissa Chapman?" one cop, a man with dark hair, says.

Shaking, Melissa puts up her hand.

"We need you to come with us," the cop says. "Nobody's hurt, but we have a few questions for you down at the station."

Cassie looks from Mr. Tidwell, back to Melissa. How she wishes Jake, Ax, anyone were here to help her know what to do.

Melissa stands, fumbling to put on her backpack. "My dad," she says. "Please, can we get my dad first? He's in the front office..."

"Not to worry." The cop chuckles. "We're bringing him in too."

Cassie rises to her feet. "What are they being charged with?"

All three cops stare at her. Cassie hears one of them whisper her name. She doesn't know if it's a good thing they know who she is, or a very bad one.

"I'd think you of all people would know that already," the dark-haired cop says. "They colluded with the Yeerk Empire."

"What?" Cassie stares at Melissa in horror. "What, no, that's not what happened—"

"Don Tidwell?" a cop in the door says. She pulls a piece of paper off her belt. "We have a warrant for your arrest as well." She glances at Cassie. "Same charges, Anita Hill. Before you ask."

• Tobias doesn't think much of it when he gets called to the front office — he does cut class a lot — until he sees the woman standing in the principal's door. "What," he says. "What are you doing here?"

His aunt smiles at him. "I'm here to take you home, silly!"

Tobias shakes his head, keeps shaking it. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in that." Principal Walsh steps up behind his aunt. "She is your legal guardian, Tobias, and she's decided to re-enroll you in your school in Michigan."

"Mr. Chapman," Tobias says desperately. "Get Mr. Chapman, he can sort this out." Some distant part of him notes that, just when he thinks his life can't get any weirder, he starts calling Chapman for help.

"Mr. Chapman," his aunt spits, "has been screening my calls. Illegally. One reason among many, I assume, he was escorted out of the school in cuffs this morning."

Tobias backs up a step. Then another. He can feel his shoulders hunching, fingers spreading, as he tries to flare without feathers. This can't be happening.

"Tobias," his aunt says, all sweetness. "Either you come with me, right now, or I call 911 and ask them to look into this Aximili person claiming to be your guardian. Because last I checked, you don't have a paternal uncle."

Tobias leaves with her. But he turns to stare at Principal Walsh as he goes, the same stare he uses for golden eagles who think he'll let poaching in his territory slide unchallenged.

• Rushing down the hall, Cassie fights for air. The cops are gone already, Melissa and Mr. Tidwell in tow; Spanish class is descending into chaos. She has to find help, has to figure out— Rounding a corner, she slams into someone and almost knocks them over. Jake catches her with sweat-slick hands. She looks at him, he looks at her, and neither of them needs to say another word.

• Eva registers Marco's tone in the next room before anything, chills across her arms before her conscious mind catches up with what she's hearing.

"Slow down, slow down," Marco's saying. He's not supposed to be home from school right now, but it sounds like that's the least of their concerns. He sees Eva in the doorway, beckons her forward. "My mom's here, go through it again."

He hits the speaker button, and Jake's voice fills the room. "The cops took Tom. I couldn't stop them. They showed up at the school, there was no time— Ms. Santiago, you need to get out. Now. They're taking all the hosts."

Eva's touched he called. "What did they charge Tom with? Did they tell you?"

"Kidnapping. Conspiracy." Jake takes a breath. "Murder."

"Kidnapping?" Marco demands. "Who'd he kidnap, himself?"

"Jake," Eva says, "how old is he?"

"Turned eighteen last week."

Shit. Shit. She doesn't know how much of this is deliberate — waiting until he's an adult, catching him at school where his parents can't protest. She doesn't know this country's laws. Case in point, she's legally dead to this day, hasn't gotten around to the paperwork.

"I gotta go." Jake swallows loudly. "I have to call my parents."

This took priority? Despite herself, she's even more touched. "Do that," she says. "I need to call a lawyer."

• Tobias's aunt drops the act as soon as they're both in the car. "I know you're not planning to live with me," she says. "But this could work out for us both, if you're willing to pretend for a while. You do what you want, and I won't interfere. You'd get a generous allowance, even. I sold the film rights to your life story — you can have ten percent of the proceeds."

"Let me out of the car," Tobias says. Of course she put him in the back and engaged the child safety locks. Of course she did.

She blows out a breath. "I'll take you back to your school in Michigan. That's what you want, right? I remember how much you cried when I said I was pulling you out."

"Let me out, now."

"Those drawings you left at my house," she says. "Those go for thousands on eBay. You keep making them, and I'll double my offer. They don't even have to be good. Just signed."

"Let. Me. Out."

"That's—" She blanches at the sight in the rearview mirror. "What are you doing?"

«Demorphing. Last chance: stop the car, or pray that your insurance is up to date.»

"Insur...?"

The back wheels of the sedan drop six inches as the two-pound weight on the backseat becomes a four hundred pound one. There's a SCREEEEEE of tearing metal she feels in her molars as the car's roof peels open like a tin can and an enormous bladed shape explodes upward through the hole.

She catches a glimpse of the spiked and taloned creature that lands twenty feet up on a telephone pole, perching for only a second before it springs into the air again. Those blades catch and grip on the wall of a skyscraper, between the sixth and seventh-story windows. Then Tobias jumps once more, and disappears from view.

• The government moved as it always does: glacially slow, and then all at once. The biggest case in the FBI's history drops its net in a matter of hours: 316 arrests, all on a single day. All human hosts to yeerks. All caught on camera, or in front of witnesses, engaging in activities that forward the goals of the Yeerk Empire, enemy to the United States. False imprisonment, endangerment of children, fraud, conspiracy. Murder. Treason. That last being the only reason a California resident could ever be executed.

• "Hi Aunt Naomi." Tom drops into the chair across from her. He looks okay, Naomi thinks, despite the orange uniform.

"Tom, this is Aja. She's going to be your lawyer." Naomi gestures between them. Aja doesn't offer a handshake; Tom's hands are cuffed. "Aja, my nephew."

"Aren't you my lawyer?" Tom asks.

"It'd be a conflict of interest, and I'm not in criminal defense." Naomi folds her hands on the table. "I'm here as an advocate. I can promise you Aja's the best of the best."

"Okay." Tom looks at Aja. "So, can I get out of here?"

"Not on bail," she says. "But even the preliminary evidence I've gathered the past two days is good. I don't make promises, but I can tell you that there is reason to hope."

He nods. "Then..."

"Three pieces of good news," Aja says. "First is that you're young, you're white, and you're a straight-A student, all of which will be marks in your favor."

"I'm not," Tom says. "The last one, that is. My transcripts were being doctored, and it wasn't me doing the work most of the time."

Aja frowns. "The Yeerk Empire was paying someone to do your homework?"

"Yeah," Tom says, "a yeerk named Aegas 1909 who was in my brain at the time. His job was pretend to be me. Among other things." He looks at Naomi as he says it.

Naomi gets it, she really does. Both where Tom's coming from, and where Aja is. Rachel's been explaining yeerks to her, more or less continuously, for the better part of six weeks now, and she still feels lost. But she also knows why Tom is worried — that question revealed Aja's own lack of understanding.

"The second piece of good news," Aja says, moving on, "is that yours will probably be the first trial. We're hoping to use you as precedent to get the others' charges thrown out. Because you have a considerable legal advantage over the other controllers."

"Hosts." Tom and Naomi say it at the same time.

"Anyway," Tom says. "What's my advantage?"

"Witnesses." Naomi relishes the word. "Everyone but you has the same issue: any witness who can testify to having seen them held against their will in the Yeerk Pool was only down there for one reason." She glances at Aja. "All controllers themselves. And any civilian who made it that far by accident..."

"Ended up like me." Tom gestures at his own ear, for Aja's benefit.

"However," Naomi tells him. "We have five Animorphs who can put you in the Yeerk Pool — who can put you in one of the cages — on November fifth, ninety-six. Jake and Rachel would never count as disinterested, Tobias is a legal mess, Marco's marginal as your former neighbor... But Cassie Logan?" She ticks it off on her fingers. "Highly credible. Can't recall ever having a conversation with you before that day. Attends high school with you, so unlikely to mistake you. Reports that the Animorphs were only in the Yeerk Pool that day because they were trying to rescue you."

"Wait, really?" Tom's expression softens into a smile. "Jake never told me that."

"And," Naomi says, "it means that Cassie can be confident it was you she saw in a cage. You who made a break for the exit the first chance you got, and you she saw trying to fight back against controllers. As a bonus, she was human for much of this, leaving the prosecution no room to argue she had diminished capacity."

"Yeah." Tom sits back in his chair. "And it really is just me, huh?"

"Cassie would also have every reason to want you put away, if you were guilty," Aja adds. "Given her role in the Resistance."

"Remind me to send her a gift basket when this is all over," Tom murmurs.

"Between her evidence and the deathbed testimony, you have a shot at winning," Aja says. "If you do, we'll call you as a witness in about a hundred other trials down the line."

"Deathbed testimony?" Tom asks.

"Uh, yes." Naomi glances at her pad. "Jake said you would recognize the name Temrash 114?"

He stares.

"Jake's willing to testify that Temrash 114 confessed on his deathbed to kidnapping and impersonating you." Naomi sure hopes this isn't the first time Tom's hearing of this. If Jake lied to her, she's going to make him regret being born.

"He didn't tell me it was Temrash," Tom says at last.

Naomi takes a breath, glancing at Aja.

"Yes," Tom adds, to her relief. "Temrash 114 kidnapped and impersonated me."

"Good," Aja says. She coughs. "Rather, I'm sorry to hear that. But. Third piece of good news. You're small fry, from the FBI's point of view. With their focus elsewhere, we expect that the weight of their prosecution won't fall on you."

"Elsewhere?" Tom asks. "Who's the bigger fish, Eva Santiago? Jim Carrington?"

Naomi shakes her head. "They were important to the Empire, or their yeerks were, but they're not Uncle Sam's biggest concern."

"Then..." Tom stares into space. "It can't be Alloran, he isn't even hum..."

She can tell, from the way he freezes, the exact second the penny drops.

"Holy crap," Tom breathes. "That's why they're trying to put us away. This isn't about me, or Bill, or Eva. It's about eight thousand hork-bajir. Forty thousand taxxons, almost ten thousand gedds..."

"One andalite," Naomi adds. "And a partridge in a pear tree."

"What're they gonna do to them?"

"We don't know," Aja says. "But we think they're looking for an excuse to deport the aliens. Send them to any country on any planet that they can excuse sending them to. Just as long as they're someone else's problem once the dust settles."

"So you have to prove me not guilty," Tom says slowly. "To prove them not guilty. To prevent the hork-bajir from getting shipped off to an ecological wasteland most of them have never even seen, because it's where their ancestors were born."

"Exactly," Naomi says. "Let's do it."

• Eva goes uncharged, at least for now. So do Alloran and the other aliens. The other shoe will drop, they have no doubt, but there are 300-odd cases the federal government needs to prosecute first. In the meantime, Peter and Marco drill with answering the door and stalling long enough for Eva to climb up onto the top shelf of the hall closet and hide herself behind a layer of shoeboxes. Just in case someone shows up. Just in case they have a warrant when they do.

• Naomi's cell phone rings from its car port the moment she sits in the driver's seat. She suspects it's been going for a while, which is the only reason she answers.

"Mom," Rachel says. "I need your help. Uh, legally."

Naomi massages the bridge of her nose, staring down at the folder in her lap. 47 children, and over 200 adults. Far too many of whom, like Tom, are barely legal to keep in adult lockup. Almost 100,000 aliens. She can't help them all.

"Unless somebody is dead," Naomi says, "then honey, I absolutely cannot."

"It's Tobias," Rachel says. She takes a breath, suddenly sounding very young. "Mom, you know how said I had to tell you right away, if an adult ever hit one of us?"

Naomi stares out through her windshield. Thinks of the shy, sweet young man who is dating her daughter. "I'll be right there."

• The boy who sits on Naomi's couch looks as blank-faced as any yeerk host, but she doesn't let that fool her. He's got a white-knuckled grip on the couch arm, for one.

She's done this before. She just really wishes she hadn't. "Rachel," Naomi says. "Can you give us the room?"

Rachel looks at Tobias. He jerks a nod, and she stands. For a second it looks like she's going to say something, but then she turns and walks out.

"Um." Tobias looks at Naomi. "Do you mind if I...?"

"Anything," she says. "Whatever will make you most comfortable."

Which prompts him to turn back into a bird. She's not sure what she expected.

"Tell me to stop at any time, for any reason," she says. "Okay?"

«Okay.»

"Were you ever treated by a doctor, for injuries she inflicted?"

«No.»

"Were you ever photographed with visible injuries?"

«No. I don't think so.»

"To the best of your memory, did any other adult ever express concern about your living situation?"

«Yeah. Professor Powers. She lived next door. 10 Gentry Street. Uh, that's P-O-W-E-R-S. I don't know her first name.»

Naomi can't hope to match his poker face. But she prides herself in not wavering as she looks him in the eye and says, "Okay. These next several questions are going to be sexual in nature."

• When Naomi's phone rings next, it's ten minutes into her having locked herself in her room to have a good long cry into a pillow where hopefully even hawk ears can't hear. She fully intends to let it ring out this time, hosts be damned, when she gets a good look at the Caller ID. Then she yanks the antenna up so fast she risks damaging it, and shamelessly blows her nose into her shirt hem so her voice will be clear when she answers. "Madame Governor," she says. "How can I help you?"

• There's a new fire in Tom, when Naomi and Aja return the next day to meet with him. She's glad to see it. If fighting on his own behalf wasn't enough to get him out of that funk, she'll accept willingness to fight for the other yeerk hosts.

"What do you need from me?" Tom asks, when they sit down.

"Practice crying." This is part of why Naomi is here: to be blunter than Aja can. "Starting today. Find a mirror, focus on looking sad, and make yourself cry. Juries hate defendants who don't show emotion, almost as much as they hate defendants who mumble." She takes a breath, looking him over. "Sorry, kiddo. I know you can't help it. But anything you can do to unlearn that blank face and flat voice is going to be a favor to yourself."

"No," Tom says, enunciating. "No, that's good to know. What else?"

"A clean, close shave the day of," Naomi says. "A shirt that's one size too large. You'll never pass for small and helpless, but anything we can do to get you looking as young as possible will count in your favor."

He nods. "Can do."

"As I said," Aja says. "You're in good shape. We could have you out of here in three months, if it all goes well."

Tom's face does go completely blank, then. He falls still, so still that Naomi finds herself looking closely at his chest to be sure he's breathing. He doesn't blink, doesn't shift his gaze from middle distance.

"I'm sorry," Aja says quietly. "I know that isn't what you were hoping to hear."

"Three months," he repeats at last. That's Naomi's best guess as to what he says, anyway. There are some vowel sounds missing.

"Anything we can do to speed up the process," Naomi says, "I promise you we will."

Tom tries to smile at her. "Hey, I've survived worse. At least in here they let you wipe your own ass and nobody eavesdrops on your wet dreams." Too late he glances at Aja. "Sorry."

Aja holds up both hands. "I have three teenagers at home, you can't shock me."

Tom opens his mouth. Naomi gives him a don't push it look, and he wisely falls silent.

• By now, Toby is used to the feeling of being the only person in a meeting who understands what's going on. It's frustrating, but it isn't new. "It's a piece of wood pulp," she explains to her parents. "And on that wood pulp are markings, which are sacred to the humans, which say that we can use the land how we wish to use it. If we don't have those markings, humans will believe that they can take our trees, and will wish to do so. To make more wood pulp." She knows already, from how they're looking at her, that her parents don't understand. That writing is one level of abstraction too many for them to grasp, much less land rights.

"You harvest bark, don't you?" the little alien named Naomi asks. "Don't you have a concept of logging rights?"

"No," Toby says. "We don't. We maintain living trees until they die on their own, and then we make careful use of their wood to fertilize the ground and their seeds to grow a new tree. The idea of planting crops, the way that humans do, is counter to our philosophy."

Naomi opens her mouth, shuts it, glances down at her notes. "But you do harvest bark," she says. "Right?"

"Not by killing an entire plant just to eat it," Toby says.

"If humans want our trees," Ket offers, "they can share in them."

Toby takes a breath. "Humans want to cut down trees. To saw through them at the base, so that they die and fall over."

"Why?" Ket demands, appalled.

Toby looks over at Tobias, perched to Jara's left. He looks back. It's going to be a long, long meeting before they figure out how to define the word constitution. Much less go about making one.

• "We can't keep Tobias here," Naomi says. She and Rachel are sitting on the back porch, late in the evening. She made time because she had to, but she's so tired. "I'd lose my license if anyone found out, not to mention what it'd do to his case. And you know how Sara is with secrets."

"Then where's he supposed to go?" Rachel demands. "Ax is his only real family."

"Does he have friends he can stay with? Human friends," Naomi adds. She knows Jara and Ket would be happy to adopt him, have all but done so already, but their current legal status is property of the Yeerk Empire and she can only undo war crimes so quickly.

Rachel laughs bitterly. "Jake's parents have an empty room right now."

"Jake's parents are in no position to take in a foster." She doesn't mean to sound that sharp; she's damn tired. Tom has no idea how lucky he is, that he might be out in three months. It'll be six years before some hosts even see trial. Has no idea either that Aja costs $1500 an hour, and his parents just took out a second mortgage. He's young, and dumb, and prone to walking through doors marked Do Not Enter, and none of that means he deserves this.

"Cassie, then." Rachel twists around to look at her. "Cassie's family has all that land, they can take care of Tobais."

"Better," she agrees. "We'll talk to them tomorrow. I have more research to do as well, see if I can't dig up any cousins he might've missed." She's going to strangle Hedrick Chapman for getting them into this mess. Just as soon as she's done saving his life. "And in the meantime..."

"He can take care of himself," Rachel says. "Don't ship him off, please, Mom. He's been through that enough."

"Lots of teenage girls sneak around behind their mothers' backs," Naomi says carefully. "Including with boys their mothers may not approve of."

"Do lots of girls put ten packs of feeder mice on their mom's credit cards?"

Naomi chuckles. "I could live without checking my statement too closely for a week or two."

• "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," the governor of California says, and for the tenth time this month Naomi feels her world go a little unreal.

"Of course," Naomi says. "The privilege is mine, Governor Melo."

"Please." The governor smiles. "Call me Rita. And this is my husband, Frank."

There's a pause, more than a second, before Frank lifts his hand to offer it to Naomi. He smiles at her, but it's off-cue by half a beat and appears to take effort.

Ah. Suddenly Naomi has a new hypothesis, as to the governor's stake in all of this.

"Let's get down to it," Governor Melo says. And there's that famous lack of charm. "You defended George Edelman against an insanity charge, when his family sought involuntary commitment after he started telling people he had a yeerk in his brain. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Naomi says. "However, I should mention it never went to trial. The judge threw out the case."

"Because of the work you did," Governor Melo says. "In gathering evidence for his defense, and arguing that no one could prove he didn't have a yeerk in his brain." She smiles. "I've read the brief. Or a summary of it."

Naomi nods again.

"As I'm sure you know, that makes you the only lawyer on the planet with a proven track record of defending controllers." The governor rests her hand over her husband's. After another pause, he turns his palm to lace his fingers through hers. "This case is deeply personal to me, but I also recognize it has national implications." She laughs. "Intergalactic ones, even."

Naomi looks at Frank Melo. "Have they tried to charge you yet?"

"No. I'm too well-connected, we think." He sounds indifferent about it, but Naomi isn't naïve.

"But you're worried it's coming." Naomi looks back to the governor.

"So," Governor Melo says. "Would you be willing to join our legal team?"

Naomi takes a sip of her water. It's an old trick, to buy time to choose her words. "My stake in this is personal as well," she says at last. "My nephew has been accused, as have my coworker and my daughter's good friend. But my goals are, as you say, intergalactic."

"And what would those goals be?" Governor Melo asks.

"For California to become a sanctuary city." She terrifies herself, putting it out there. "Not just for the human hosts, you understand. For the hork-bajir and taxxons as well."

"How would you propose we feed the taxxons?" That's Frank, of course.

"I haven't worked out all the details yet," Naomi admits. She's never even met a taxxon, for one. "That would be for your office to do."

"We'll think about your proposal," the governor says. "If you'll think about ours."

"Yes," Naomi says, to both. "Thank you."

• Loren hates that she can never read people. She opens her door, and they're at an advantage: they can tell how old she is, what she's wearing, how she looks. She won't even know how many people there are, if they don't all announce themselves. It's just easier, when you can read someone's looks and get a sense of how much to trust them. She doesn't even know if the coffee mug in her hand is stained or not.

"Loren Fangor?" the woman on her porch says. Unfamiliar voice. American accent. Loren's paid up on the rent, but she's been letting the electricity slide. Could also be someone here about medical debt, or religion, or vacuum cleaners.

Loren decides, without enough information, the way she always does. "Yeah. That's me."

"Can I pet your dog?" the woman says. Then again, there are other signals that a person's worth knowing.

"He's off the clock right now," Loren says. "Go right ahead."

"Naomi Berenson." The woman offers her hand to Champ, from the way he's sniffing. "And with me I have..."

Loren can hear her turn away on that last word, presumably looking at the person she's with.

"You don't have to do this." The other voice is, if Loren had to guess from its uneven tenor, an adolescent boy. "M— ma'am. Loren. You don't have to do this."

"And why don't you tell me what it is I don't have to do," Loren says, running low on patience.

"Tobias," Naomi says, "could use somewhere to stay."

The mug slips from Loren's hand and shatters on the floor.

• "I understand that you don't intend to cut the trees down." Naomi massages her temples, staring down at the table in front of her. Funny, how she never noticed the grain of the wood before she started these meetings. "But a logging permit is still the closest human equivalent to what you do want, and I think it's the best way forward." She lifts her head to stare at Jara. "I'm sorry. I'm not in contract law, you should really find someone better qualified."

"We need a friend," Jara says simply. "Not an expert."

«He said it,» Tobias adds. «We trust you, and that's worth more than any fancy degree.»

• "You're a lawyer, right?" the voice on the other end says, as soon as Naomi answers the phone.

No, she's tempted to say. "Loren," she says, as it comes to her. "And I wish I could do more to help, but I'm not in criminal defense. I do civil cases. Proving competence, mostly."

"Yes." Loren sounds amused. "And I need someone to prove me competent in court."

Naomi blinks. "In that case, maybe I can help you. What's this about, disability payments?"

"My sister." And now there's no humor in her voice. "Has chosen to contest my claim to Tobias. Given that I formally relinquished custody to her once before, and have more than a little brain damage..."

"Shit," Naomi says wearily. Remembering parts of that interview she'd rather forget: Struck with a closed fist? Yeah. Struck with an object? Yeah. Threw an object with intent to injure? Does it count if the lamp didn't hit me? "You think it's going to go to trial." That Tobias will be forced to repeat every one of those details, again. And again. And again.

"I'd like to prevent that, if I could."

Naomi doesn't ask if she can pay; she's been to the woman's house. "Give me a week," she says. "I'll see what I can do."

• Rachel hands her a plate of reheated Chinese food, as soon as Naomi walks in the door. It's after midnight; she doesn't know how Rachel knows she hasn't had dinner yet. "Thank you," Naomi whispers. And. "I'm sorry, honey. That I haven't been here more."

"We won the war," Rachel says. "You're making sure that victory lasts."

She smiles at her too-adult little girl. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve a kid like you."

"Probably all those drugs in the sixties," Rachel tosses out, turning to head back up the stairs.

• It's on a planning call the following day that Loren mentions she has no idea what to wear for the hearing in front of the judge. Naomi practically begs her to go shopping, to let Naomi buy her a dress. Loren balks, protesting that she doesn't need even more favors on top of this pro bono work, until... "Please?" Naomi says. "I could really use some retail therapy right now." And Loren caves.

"Well?" Loren emerges from the Ann Taylor dressing room, her arms spread out. "Give it to me straight."

"Hmm." Naomi sits back, looking her over.

"Hmm?" Loren crosses her arms. "Hmm. Come on. It's comfortable, but I don't even know what color this thing is. Paint me a damn word picture already."

"Lavender," Naomi says. "A sort of shimmery, silvery lavender. The stitching is asymmetrical on the skirt, and the bottom half hangs just right on your hips."

Loren twirls in place, hair flaring out behind her. "And how do I look in it?"

Naomi takes a breath. Lets it out. Takes another breath.

"That bad, huh?" Loren's grinning.

Like stepping off a cliff, Naomi comes out with it. "Hot. In a word, you look... hot. And I can't decide if that's a good thing or not."

"Huh." Loren smooths her hands over her skirt. "Yeah, hot and responsible mom aren't exactly overlapping concepts, are they. All right." Unhooking the zipper, she tugs it down right there in the room. Steps out of the dress, wearing only panties and a bra.

"Um." Naomi swallows. "I can still see you."

"Yeah." That dangerous edge of laughter is back in Loren's voice. "Close your eyes, then, if it bothers you so much."

• "We have a statement from a Lia Wu," Aja says, "that you tried to pressure her into joining the Sharing. That you threatened her life, when she refused, using a gun on your person."

"I know." Tom stares down at his hands on the table. He's running out of steam; they've been rehearsing all afternoon. "But that was a yeerk pretending to be me, because yeerks kidnapped and impersonated me."

"And what were you doing at the time you were kidnapped?"

"Trespassing."

Aja winces. "Okay, try not to sound so eager about it."

"You told me to talk faster."

"Try and... sound like you regret it. At least a little."

"Trust me," he drawls, "I do."

Aja draws herself up, going back into her imaginary prosecutor voice. "And what were you doing at the time?"

"I was lost," Tom says this time. "I'd come there with a girl, and I was looking for her. Obviously, that was the wrong door."

"Better," Aja tells him. Then, "You were at this Sharing meeting willingly, correct?"

"I arrived there willingly, yeah."

"Then it would be accurate to say that you got yourself into that situation."

"Rude, but not wrong." He holds up both hands. "Okay, okay, I'll try that one again." He takes a breath. "I only went to that meeting because I didn't have full information. I didn't even know what the organization was, just that I'd..." He squints at Aja. "Is it bad to admit that a yeerk asked me on a date?"

"How about you characterize it as going out of curiosity, because you knew a classmate was a member," she suggests.

He gives her a thumbs-up. "Came for a chick, stayed because I was mind-controlled by aliens. So it goes."

"Yes, speaking of your claim about these so-called 'yeerks,'" Aja says in prosecutor-voice. She takes a breath — this is one of her nastier curveballs, but they have to be ready. "Is it not true that you have an extensive family history of mental illness, Mr. Berenson?"

Three seconds pass, then five, then ten. "Wouldn't say 'extensive,' no," he tries at last.

"One great-grandfather, one first cousin, one sibling, two aunts, all of whom have been treated for psychiatric illness." She doesn't let up. "Is it not the case that mind-control by aliens is a common feature of many mental delusions?"

"If so, it's just me having it. Last I checked, Grandpa G's twitchy not delusional. Same goes for Rachel and Jake."

"Funny you should say that, when your brother in fact claims to have been mind-controlled by aliens as well. By the exact same alien who you claim kidnapped you. That doesn't strike you as at all convenient?"

Tom stares at her. And stares. Aja shuffles her notes, shifts her position, bites down on the urge to tell him again to hurry up.

"I give up," he says at last. "What's the right answer? How do I respond to that one?"

Aja blows out a breath. "Soon as I figure it out," she says, "I'll let you know."

• Naomi has a coworker defending Melissa Chapman. She has a coworker hammering out a contract with Earth Hive One, which is what the taxxon government calls itself these days. She has a coworker coordinating with the governor, a coworker trying to secure rights to Rachel's image, another coworker trying to prevent Rachel's image from being sold to tabloids. There's a whole team working on the defense for Tom, another team on the constitution for Jara. She's called in every favor she has to spend, and then she's gone into more social debt than she can ever hope to repay. She's working pro bono for Loren, on top of sixty-hour weeks in the office. She's going a little insane. She's loving every minute.

• "Mom, Mom!" It's Sara's voice. It's seven o'clock, on the first morning off Naomi's had in... She doesn't know how long. "MOM!"

Naomi sits up. Her hair is stuck to the side of her face. Her manicure is not so much that as a few spots of paint clinging to chipped nails. She went to bed three hours ago. "What is it, honey?"

Sara waves a doll, bouncing in place on the bed. "Dad got me a lawyer Barbie!" she announces. "See, it's just like you. Wanna play lawyer Barbie with me, Mom?"

Naomi takes a breath, trying to come fully awake. Trying to push the headache away. "Yes. I would love to."

• "Ms. Berenson. Sonn-nuh."

Naomi recognizes the kid standing on her doorstep, even if this is her first time seeing him in person. "Aximili, I presume?"

"I wished to speak with you," he says carefully. "About a matter of Earth law."

Of course he does. Of course it is. "I'm sorry," Naomi says. "I don't think I can..."

She recognizes, as well, the object he just pulled from his pocket. From news reports. From artistic recreations.

"I believe," he says, "That Arbron would benefit from access to this. And I believe that it would be best, if the Andalite Electorate were not to be made aware of its existence here on Earth."

"Where...?" She doesn't touch it, wary of what it can do. "Where did you get that?"

Ax sets the morphing cube on her front step. "eBay," he says cryptically, then he turns and walks away.

• "Sanctuary," the Governor of California says on TV. Naomi's watching because Rachel ran into the room to get her. They perch now on opposite arms of the couch, vibrating with tension. "For all extraterrestrial beings brought here against their will." The governor stares into the camera. "California's national forests have already benefited from their presence, and we are happy to report that they will continue to do so. Any non-human sapient being can apply for asylum in California, and will face a formal review within six weeks. That is my promise, as elected representative of this beautiful and welcoming state." Naomi's laughing. She's crying. She's... a lot of things, right now.

• "And if we do go through with it." Loren's leaning her head against Naomi's shoulder. Sunset sprawls across the sky. The bottle of wine is empty on the table next to them; they're celebrating her big win. Not that the judge granted her custody of Tobias, although that is a relief. That it won't go to trial, that his testimony will not be necessary. They're just drunk enough to be bold, not quite drunk enough to have an excuse. "If we do. What the hell do we tell our kids, huh?"

"It's not like we can get married," Naomi says. "They wouldn't end up as stepsiblings or anything."

Loren grimaces. "You know what I mean."

"Lots of moms sneak around behind their teenage daughters' backs," Naomi says. "I don't see why we have to be any different."

• The jury deliberates for eighteen hours. Eighteen interminable hours, stretched over three days. Naomi has always hated this part. She did what she could — she always does — but at some point it passes out of her hands. But it ends, as it must.

"How does the jury find the defendant?" the judge asks. Tom's face is so blank he looks bored, although Naomi knows that's a sign of quite the opposite.

"Not guilty." The forewoman raises her voice. "On all counts."

The judge bangs his gavel. Tom sags forward like a dropped puppet. Jean and Steve are doing enough yelling and crying to more than make up for his lack of response.

• "Naomi, turn the lights off. Come on, only weirdos have sex with the lights on."

"You can tell the lights are on?"

"Yeah, I can see relative brightness. Loads of blind people can. And right now the relative brightness is weirding me out, so turn them off and get over here."

"It's eleven PM. If I turn the lights off, I won't be able to see."

"Oh, no. What a tragedy."

"Yeah? And what if I bump into something and fall over?"

"Shuffle your feet. Hold out your arms. Come on, lady, it's not rocket science!"

"Fine, fine. I'm coming. If you hear a scream, that's me breaking my ankle on a cabinet."

"Right on, counselor. Lights off, clothes off, hup to."

"Yes, ma'am."

• It isn't perfect, it isn't airtight, it isn't even grammatically correct in places. Naomi's never been prouder of a document, as she watches Jara Hamee press his first digit to the stamp-sized inkpad and then fingerprint his signature onto the Hork-Bajir Constitution.

• It's an accident of timing, that has everyone already sitting down in Spanish class when the door opens and Melissa walks in. Cassie is the first one to rise to her feet. But it's Bailey who starts applauding, as Melissa walks to her seat, and pretty soon the whole class has joined in. Even the substitute teacher is clapping. The charges have been dropped against every one of the kids, and rumor has it Mr. Tidwell will be back next week. This country is stupid, and maddening, Cassie thinks. But every so often, it argues its way into undoing one of its own mistakes. And that's something worth fighting for, in spite of it all.

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