Loren thought about what Elfangor had just said. Then she remembered all of the things that had just happened. She bit her lip, glaring at the floor as she thought of the stupid, bull-headed now Andalite-Controller that had gotten them into this fix. Alloran just couldn't accept the fact that Elfangor still had a conscience. What a jerk. Not that I'm glad he's a Controller now or anything, but I'm really glad Chapman punched him.
"If we give the Time Matrix to your people, won't they use it even in spite of the dangers?"
Elfangor sighed, lowering his head and closing his main eyes. He was ashamed to admit this, but he could not deny the truth.
A week ago, I would have said that no matter the circumstances, no Andalite would do something that dishonorable.
"And now?" Loren prompted.
Elfangor sighed again.
And now, I know that desperate people in wartime do desperate, evil things.
"Whatever Alloran did on the Hork-Bajir planet, releasing that quantum virus, that was wrong wasn't it?"
Loren, Elfangor raised his eyes to look at her again. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore. I just don't know.
The navicomputer gave a soft beep, alerting them that they would soon be reentering normal space.
Ascending slightly, Darkblade leaned his head against the hull of the black ship. He was still extremely bored, but didn't want to chance losing track of the ship if he were to go exploring. Besides, it wasn't as if there was anything worth seeing on this worthless dirtball in the first place.
A slight warning sounded inside his head, not with the strange intensity of his othersense but with enough that he didn't disregard it. The pod had expended the last of its energy reserves and would need the use of his own energy if it were to survive. Pressing his left hand against the supple skin of the pod, he watched in mild surprise as one of the tentacles pulled itself free from the hull and wrapped around his upper arm.
A second twined itself around his right, lifting him into contact with the pod. The pod itself opened, slightly at first, and two more tendrils wound themselves around his ankles. Once he was safely inside, the pod closed and Darkblade detransformed. Shedding his clothes and storing them in subspace, Darkblade made himself comfortable for what would most likely be a very long ride.
His eyes closed slowly, and Darkblade felt himself slipping into the deep hibernation that he had not experienced in what felt like countless thousands of years. Curling his body into a fetal position by instinct alone, Darkblade's conscious mind shut down completely. As the teknopod began to generate oxygen one of the smaller bubbles flitted across his eyelashes, eliciting not even a twitch.
Sub-Visser Seven trotted back onto his Blade ship, still getting used to his new Andalite body. The mind within his newest body was strong, but nowhere near the level of his one-time Navari host. Perhaps that was a good thing, as he hadn't yet the strength of mind to subdue a true telepath.
His host, an Andalite War-Prince named Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, was infamous even among Andalites as a murderer of Hork-Bajir. Tilting his head slightly to the right, he held up his right hand. There were two extra fingers, and the fingers themselves were more slender even than those of the Navari. The skin was a soft blue, with downlike blue and tan fur, but those were the only dissimilarities.
As he stared at his host's hand, he pictured one with five strong but slender fingers. The skin had not the slightest tint of blue, and was instead a pale shade of ivory with a subtle hint of tan. Then he imagined that same hand, covered in armor as black as the hull of his Blade ship.
Curling his hand into a fist, he could just imagine a long silver blade appearing in his armor-encased hand. Remembering the wild laughter of the Navari as he slammed his blade into the spine of a Hork-Bajir, tearing its head off in the process, he heard a question from his currant host.
Admiring my body, you vile Yeerk? I promise you, when I gain my freedom I will truly enjoy killing you.
If, my friend. If you gain your freedom. And that is not a very encouraging prospect for you.
I am not your friend Yeerk! I demand my freedom!
Oh, so you demand. Well, that makes a world of difference. I was going to simply ignore you. Now though, I think I will laugh in your proverbial face.
Alloran raged while the Sub-Visser did just that, laughing at Alloran's anger like the Navari had so often done to him. Now that he looked back, Sub-Visser Seven could appreciate the lessons in humiliation that the Navari had so subtly given him.
Who are you thinking about, Yeerk?
What makes you think I would tell you that?
Alloran fumed, but he soon fell silent. All the better, since the Sub-Visser was not particularly eager to tell his new host how much he had enjoyed his old one. Especially this host, who was so much less than the Navari had been.
None of the easy grace that had been the Navari's defining trait when not in his armor, nor the utter confidence of the invincible. Looking back, before his former host had caught a glimpse of a Yeerk, he could perfectly recall the Navari's penchant for actively seeking danger. Just so he could test his admirable skills against a new opponent, and he would always come out on top.
Crossing his arms, he noticed that he was absently stroking his left arm with his thumb. He had noticed the Navari had a habit of doing that when he was considering something, or when he would stare out at the sky with that strange look in his red eyes.
Even though his former host's thoughts had been closed off to him, he could still catch brief flashes of emotions. There was a deep sadness about him, but he seemed to be determined to ignore it. Wrenching himself out of those pleasant memories, Sub-Visser Seven turned his attention back to his surroundings.
He was receiving a transmission from Visser Five, routed through planetary control. Activating the audio as well as the visual communications, Sub-Visser Seven looked into the face of his superior. Visser Five possessed the body of a Calaision, a reptilian creature from the planet Meraeth.
"Sub-Visser Seven, so the rumors are true. I wondered if you had really taken one of those creatures as your host."
Alloran bristled at the thinly veiled insult, but Sub-Visser Seven ignored him.
Visser Five, it's good to hear from you again. But I have a feeling you did not just contact me to ask about my new host.
Visser Five smiled, showing more fangs than were strictly comforting. Sub-Visser Seven and Visser Five were old friends, and Sub-Visser Seven wondered what Visser Five really wanted to talk about.
"Actually, I wanted to congratulate you. You have been promoted to Visser Thirty-two."
The newly minted Visser Thirty-two blinked in surprise, as he had not been aware of this until now. And he swelled with pride at the title. Even Alloran was momentarily silent, as Visser Thirty-two waited to see if his old friend had anything else to say to him. The reptilian Controller's smile widened into a predatory grin, not that you could really tell the difference.
"We have received a transmission from the homing beacon placed on the Andalite ship. They are located in a nebula over three hundred light-years from your present location. You, Visser Thirty-two, are to take a Pool ship and five fleets of Bug Fighters and annihilate the Andalite, and whatever assistance that he has managed to find."