A/N: ( and ) are thought speak ... written with Ember Nickel...
Visser Three emerged on his Blade ship terrified from his encounter but trying not to let it show. He walked to his control panel and pressed the speed dial.
"Hello?" a Human-Controller called.
(Hello Iniss. What do you know about the human diversion called...) he looked at his book. (Flag football?)
"Little, Visser."
(Imbecile. Bring your host's mate and her Yeerk, and I'll see if I can get a debriefing.) He curtly disconnected, then bypassed speed dial to a number no Yeerk lower than Sub-Visser was allowed to know.
"Are you sure?" the computer asked. The last time he had tried it, he had gotten a virus that corrupted his computer.
(Yes!) he raged.
A female voice answered, "This is a private line."
(And this is a Yeerk who can decapitate you.)
Visser One hung up.
Visser Three knew it was time to bring in a higher authority. He accessed the second number on his speed dial.
"This is the Empire Oatmeal Treatment Facility. How may we help you?"
(I need a supply of-)
"We're going to have to put you on hold for a minute- we have a new outbreak."
(In who?)
"Aftran Nine-Four-Two."
(Send her to me. I take priority here.)
"Y-yes Visser."