The chambers were enclosed, and could be guarded by cloaking shields, force fields, and several dozen Hork-Bajir shock troops. Open now for Gedds to mill around, ambitious Sub-Vissers to show off their progress to their unimpressed overseers, and Taxxons to lurk greedily around the edges, it nonetheless was a foreboding fortress.

And yet, it was accessible from far beyond. The Emperor stood on the Council ship, surrounded by security of his own, watching silently. It will be very droll, he commented to himself. Perhaps not as…explosive…as the Hork-Bajir conferences eight generations ago, but there's no room for hope in my job.

He would not interfere in the discussions: he had other priorities, and he was actually perfectly neutral when it came to the strategies. Both partisans led many followers, both were capable, both had flaws. Impartial but anything but apathetic, he would watch the deliberations warily, knowing he could be called upon to intervene if things became uncontrollable. Until then, he would continue his bureaucratic responsibilities.

His gifts for subtle manipulation could have come in useful for some of the Yeerks that were gathered inside the complex. Groups of sweet-talkers looking for any advantage they could wring out, they moved in huddles easy to identify with one camp or another. Though they would have no voice in the actual discussion, their preliminary flirts brought tastes of things to come.

"Indubitably," one said, "it is a mark of our own sacrifice that we are willing to negotiate with…people so far opposed to us.."

"Excuse me?" another laughed. "We are all simply servants of the Yeerk Empire."

"Of course. Excuse my inaccuracies."

"Pardoned, of course."

Efflit mingled among them. He knew very few would get any benefit from the event, and those who did would be climbing over the backs of incompetent scapegoats on the other side. Yet illogically, Yeerks who were normally loners, out for their own success, had collectively realized the futility of such solo attempts and coalesced into massive bodies, both charged with a collective passion for their overall strategy. Then they pretended to hide their allegiance behind lofty rhetoric, as if the people who cared paid attention to them. Anything for a leg, or other limb, up.

They were not the only ones seeking to exploit the meeting, though. On the outskirts of that solar system, Skrit Na tuned their radios to a common wavelength. They excitedly prattled in their own language, linking to fellow merchants across the galaxy. "The Yeerks are discussing plans for Earth! They are rarely this keyed up!"

"What will they need to keep their mind relaxed?"

"Oohoo!" The market for psychoactors was literally universal. "Much."

"And of course, our correspondents deserve a constant flow of information."

"Yes. There are frequencies reserved for these purposes. Z-space technicians have been rewiring the electromagnetic spectrum: there is therefore a quantum chance that any attempt broadcast could simply default to our media."

"That is likely to inspire resentment."

"For sufficient payment, of course, we can reconsider. Or at least give the impression that we are reconsidering. I'm not quite sure some of those psychoactors haven't wound up in the extremities of some of those technicians…"

Another voice expressed wariness. "These debates are too irrelevant or sophisticated for some species."

"We will make them relevant. Until something else comes up of greater relevancy."

"This planet they are attempting to invade is famous for its diversity, correct?"

"Correct," came a dubious answer.

"It would be beneficial to acquire native species."

An awkward silence filled the airwaves. "Previous trips for such purposes have been unsuccessful. We are discriminated against, and those who have seen our presence are mocked. Our Yeerk allies will be too involved in their conversations to assist us," one finally explained.

"And then there was the Taxxon detour."

"The what?" replied the ignorant questioner.

Their silences implied very strongly that the fact that it was before his time was all he needed to know, and that might have been pushing it a bit.

He regrouped and tried again. "Perhaps we can market items as being from the planet?"

"That are not?"

"Precisely. Or the solar system in general: there are curious artifacts from a nearby planet."

"They will suffice."

"I will dispatch a foraging team."

The event was spiraling beyond the Yeerks, and even the humans. The Emperor strained to devise a way to keep it manageable, but it could have been even beyond his power now. Reluctantly, he opened a one-way communications link.

"Hello," he announced in Galard, in his capacity as a Councilor. "I have a few simple details to clarify."

A minor advantage of the Yeerks' diversity in infesting different species was revealed: groans from as many hosts were in the chambers at that time, had they been emitted by identical organisms with identical duration and wavelength, would have been so strong as to cause serious structural damage to even that building.

"You are all, of course, loyal servants of the Empire, and would not even consider immature tactics such as bribery. I will not insult you by pretending otherwise."

It had the desired effect: edginess, especially from lurkers in the back.

"Regardless of your rank, you will respect all participants. I have no need to bore you with such minutae."

Uncertain mutterings from people unsure if they were being flattered.

"However, in order to avoid repeats of fluke precedents, several other points will be briefly addressed…"

"There's nothing like a good Yeerk rant. Unless you count a bad Yeerk rant," a low-rank idly mused.

But the sentiment was common and unfeigned. Home pools, host species, nothing mattered except which side you were on…It was an idealistic image, and it would have surely been enhanced had any of the four people that would be most active in directing the course of the action made any effort to do so.

Instead, Visser Three was trying to analyze his opposition, Efflit was eying a vending machine suspiciously, and much to the chagrin of his assistant, Essam was ambling towards the transponder that broadcasted the Emperor's message. He flicked it off, then left the room.