The chambers were temperature-controlled for obvious reasons, but Visser Three would have hardly minded going outside for a while. Not too long, but the cold seemed to clear his head. Make him focus.

The Hork-Bajir homeworld had seen Adner 4911 the Greater rise to prominence; the Mak's dark moon introduced the galaxy to Under-Visser Seven (Keslar 102). Visser Nine, Elhak 941, had smooth-talked on Sstram; Poter 376 impressed in an Ongachic space station. The Visser's task was simple: to ensure that the Sub-Visser entering the chambers would never be mentioned in their company.

For once in a very long while, Efflit appeared relaxed. He had done everything he could, rehearsed all his speeches, and, short of exercising his trigger-happy reflexes, there was little left to worry about. In the worst-case scenario, the status quo would be maintained, and there would be plenty more fighting to do. Essam would be pleased, of course, but nothing in life was perfect.

"You'll give me your time, then?" he asked quietly.

"Do I give it to you?"

"Why not. Unless you have something coherent to say?"

Essam laughed. "I'm glad to be out of this business."

"But yes, give it to me and not him. You never know who'll like the illusion of many of us all working together for the good of the Empire."

Edriss took a seat near the back. Realistically, little would change for her however the proceedings went. Her career had stagnated, and nothing would jolt it back into action. Nevertheless, she hoped that the Visser would be calmer after it was all over. More focused, where he needed to be.

He seemed perfectly calm as he began speaking, however. The people who mattered had agreed on most of the important issues, but several still needed clarifying.

"The planetary defense systems?" Sub-Visser Fifty-Four challenged. "They're a drain on our resources."

((Better to have them and not need them than the other way around.))

"The Andalites are trapped. There's no chance they'll move against the homeworld."

((There are plenty of other planets that aren't as secure.))

"Are you referring to the squadron on the far outskirts of this system?"

((That's an obvious example, though I meant in general...))

But point by point, Esplin dismantled every argument with which he was presented. The questions would come in shifts; some from Efflit, some from Sub-Visser Fifty-Four. Until they came less and less frequently.

((Our transport ships must obviously be deployed more frequently to the Taxxon homeworld. We don't know when it'll get as close as it used to be, and we can't sit around waiting for it to. We must act now.))

"We can't act now," Efflit responded. "Next generation it might be Earth that's farther away. Why not improve our Z-space engines so this isn't an issue?"

((It will always be an issue! And we always take care of it because we have to, the budget is designed to compensate for this.))

Efflit tried to speak, but somebody else had speaking rights. He looked around, confused.

"Staff all battle stations! I repeat, execute defense procedures!"

Some Controllers looked around, panicking. Visser Three galloped towards the security headquarters.

"They've destroyed the sensors! We have to do that manually!"

"Abort direct missle launch!"

"What's going on?"

"Visser! What should we do?"

((Follow the procedures as they've been outlined.))

"I can't fly this fighter! Someone take over remote control!"

Things were a bit too organized; everyone meant to be deployed was deployed, and none of the most skilled personnel could spare their energy on the remote control. ((I'll do it.))

There was a time delay between his quick reactions and the fighter's movement, but he quickly compensated. ((Someone turn on a visual display.))

An Under-Visser hastily configured a viewscreen. The Visser "piloted" a Bug fighter from the planet's surface into the atmosphere, evading Andalite fire.

((Computer, secondary hologram of all vessels in region.))

There was no response, of course. Non-defense Controllers nervously looked around, wondering what was going on. But a low-rank who had been watching the discussion quickly turned on the desired graphic.

As he shot Dracon beams at the Andalite ships, the Visser swiveled his stalk eyes to the hologram, trying to gauge their overall formation. ((Elfangor did design this.))

The prince had indeed, but couldn't stop it from crumbling apart. ((Retreat to the Dome ship!)) he barked over the intership radio.

Warriors were quick to respond. ((What happened?))

((Retreat? What do you mean?))

((They're better prepared than we expected,)) Elfangor explained. ((We can't keep this up.))

((Most of the fighters are still functional.))

((Not enough. We planned this attack, we should be doing better than this. And we didn't plan to have this many out of commission, this quickly.))

((We still have—)) The warrior broke off, returning fire to a Yeerk ship that had damaged his.

((Back to the Dome ship, you insubordinate fools!))

The functional Andalite fighters retreated, and the Dome ship inched closer to the fray to pick up those that could no longer fly. "They're retreating!" crowed a low-rank. "Can we pursue them?"

((Pursue them? You fool, this is a defensive base! By the time we effectively mobilized, they'd be out of range.))

"But we have so many ships here, everyone is—"

((Enough.)) The Visser turned all four eyes to Sub-Visser Fifty-Four, who had just arrived. ((Not so dismissive of the planetary systems now, are you?)) he announced for the whole room to hear.

From then on, there was no true debate. Some minor points were clarified, but Visser Three was clearly in charge. The flight path and weapons log of the fighter he had remotely piloted were immediately downloaded to every pool for students to examine and marvel at, the transcripts of the discussions sent from computer to computer. The Empire had found a general to acclaim.

Elfangor stood on the bridge of the MindSong, noting the returning Andalites. Several warriors had been injured during the battle, but were able to morph djabalas and demorph to heal. One by one, he confirmed that they were still alive.

Yet something felt out of place.

((That aristh. Where is he?))

((What aristh?))

((The one assigned to this ship!)) Elfangor frantically ran to the quarters, pounding on the door. No answer. The dome too was vacant.

He remembered boarding his own fighter, the scramble of Andalites to climb on their own. There were purposefully superfluous fighters so warriors could transfer from damaged ones, had the battle gone somewhat more as planned. It would have been all too easy for an arrogant cadet to climb aboard.

It was all too hard for him to get back.