When he arrived at the Bug fighter, however, he walked into a scene of such remarkable uproar that it drove his collected resentments completely out of his mind. Sub-Visser One Hundred and Sixty-Three was standing in the center of a cluster of Taxxon-Controllers, berating them with all the vocal and histrionic power at his human host's command, and all the Taxxons were defending themselves simultaneously with the standard hisses and sputters of Taxxon speech. The result was a cacophony of mismatched noise that, had he been a student of Earthly literature, would have reminded Toloth of the divine judgment on Pandaemonium in Book X of Paradise Lost.
He strained his ears to make out individual words, in the hope that he might thereby determine the cause of the quarrel, but to no avail. What little he could catch of the Sub-Visser's tirade consisted solely of derogatory epithets applied to the Taxxons, and the Taxxons themselves, who rarely enunciated their speech precisely at the best of times, were now slurring and distorting it so badly that they could easily have been discussing the currency question on SNC-244. He decided, therefore, to seek out more efficient sources of information.
"What's all the ruckus about, Lissim?" he whispered to his fellow guardsman.
Lissim Seven-One-Three chuckled. "Oh, our comrades-in-sixteen-arms over there failed to procure the necessary supply of chawkwa seeds to make illutillagh," he said. "So now the Sub-Visser's chewing them out about how they expect to have a proper Esiln Kalkat festival without a tactile revel."
It is a mark of the importance of a shared culture that this summary of the situation, which will doubtless seem completely meaningless to the non-Yeerk readers of this story, not only conveyed a definite idea to Toloth, but also sounded a note of alarm in his mind. "Esiln Kalkat," he repeated. "Dapsen, I'd forgotten all about that."
"Well, you won't likely forget it again," said Lissim. "It's only three more days till the festivities start, and you can bet your host's wrist blades that the Sub-Visser won't let anyone on this fighter think about anything else in the meantime."
"No," Toloth murmured. "No, I suppose not."
"He certainly takes it seriously," said Lissim. "I suppose it comes of being a human-Controller. I've never been one myself, but they tell me that humans have a set of senses that have to be experienced to be believed." He laughed. "If I knew any human-Controller I really trusted, I think I might try swapping hosts with him for a day, just so I could do the Kalkat properly."
"If you knew a human-Controller you really trusted," said Toloth dryly, "you would be so busy writing your hassatiss that you wouldn't have time for Kalkat celebrations."
Lissim chuckled. "Touché."
(Here, once again, a certain knowledge of Yeerk culture is necessary. The hassatiss is the report that a Yeerk explorer is obliged to make to the Council of Thirteen when he has discovered "hitherto unknown wonders or prodigies". It will be recognized that there was no great love for human-Controllers among the Empire's Hork-Bajir-wearing soldier caste.)
"Still, it would be something, wouldn't it?" Lissim continued. "To slither into a human skull cavity, connect to that odd, bifurcated brain of theirs, and just drink in all the sights and tastes and textures there are in the world. Wouldn't it just twist your dominical nodes?"
Toloth sighed. "Perhaps so, Lissim Seven-One-Three," he said, "but I suspect that, if you actually entered a human mind, you might find other things that would twist them even more."
Lissim turned and stared at him, but, before he could ask what he meant, a commotion arose on the other side of the Bug fighter's deck. The Sub-Visser, it seemed, had identified the Taxxon-Controller on whose shoulders (figuratively speaking) the responsibility for procuring the chawkwa seeds had principally rested, and had casually pulled out a Dracon beam and trained it on his belly. The Taxxon-Controller was now clicking his claws together frantically and making an odd burbling noise that one rarely hears from a Taxxon, since Taxxons, in their native state, generally have little opportunity to plead for mercy.
"I'm sorry for this, Temrash Six-Nought-Three," said the Sub-Visser. "If your host could stand up to torture better, I'd find some other penalty for you. But since I've never known a Taxxon to manage more than two minutes in the gnielza without its skin being fatally torn…" He shrugged, and turned to his attendant guards. "All non-Taxxon-Controlling personnel have twenty seconds to get back into the pool area. If, at the end of that time, someone still remains inside this Bug fighter and finds himself in the company of seven blood-crazed Taxxons, I will not be responsible for the consequences."
There was a sudden scramble for the Bug fighter's hatch, in the course of which several of the guards, including Toloth, received minor nicks and cuts from each other's blades. (Fortunately, none of these drew enough blood to distract the Taxxons from the Sub-Visser's hovering Dracon beam.) Once they were all safely outside the ship, they heard a low tseew, followed by the sound of seven mouths tearing and gobbling, and the Sub-Visser exited his fighter with the expression of someone who has performed a tedious but necessary duty.
Had Teresa Sickles been there, she probably would have shuddered uncontrollably and said a quick prayer for Temrash Six-Nought-Three's soul, but Toloth was barely stirred. He had been in the Sub-Visser's guard too long to be discommoded by a little thing like the killing of an unsatisfactory subordinate – and, anyway, he had other things on his mind.
Esiln Kalkat. The great festival of infestation, which only occurred once in a Yeerk's lifetime. The one day when you could count on a Yeerk to be inside her host – and it was in three days.
Now Toloth was faced with a terrible dilemma. If he went up to Teresa's Controller while she was outside the pool and required her to leave her host so he could talk to that host about the beliefs of Christians, the Controller would have plausible grounds to accuse him of treason by sympathy with a subject species (he was skirting close to that as it was), and getting sentenced to death by Kandrona starvation was no way to spend Esiln Kalkat. On the other hand, if he failed to show up at Teresa's cage in three days, he already knew what Gef would do – and there was no point in trying to explain the situation to him. Hork-Bajir didn't even have a concept of festival days; how could Gef be expected to appreciate the problems this one caused?
Toloth grinned wryly to himself. Well, Jesus? he thought. Teresa says that you're all-powerful; surely you could find a way to solve this little difficulty of mine. After all, it wouldn't do to let it get out that you let poor Gef be killed just because he's interested in knowing about you.
Much later, when telling the story of his conversion to his Ongachic biographer Thraqa-Tulluq, he would refer to this, ironically, as the first time he ever prayed. At the time, however, nothing could have been further from his mind than that Teresa's imagined sellith/god/pantheon would actually provide him with a recourse – and he was, therefore, completely unprepared when the Sub-Visser, who had pulled out a sub-Z holographic communicator and been speaking on it while Toloth had been brooding, suddenly snapped it shut with an audible click! and muttered a foul imprecation against the Skrit Na race.
"What is it, Sub-Visser?" said Kythel Three-Eight-Four.
"I just made contact with the only Skrit Na ship currently on Earth," said the Sub-Visser. "They do have a supply of chawkwa seeds on hand, and they're perfectly willing to barter with us for them, but, for whatever inscrutable Skrit-Na reason, they refuse to allow more than two sentient, non-Skrit-Na life-forms on board their ship on this particular week."
"Oh," said Kythel. "So you can't take more than one of us as a guard. Well, that's frustrating, of course, but…"
"Kythel Three-Eight-Four," said the Sub-Visser sternly, "if you're starting to think with that bark-stripping brain you're wrapped around, maybe it's time we dropped you back in the pool for a year or so. Two sentient beings, I said. The Skrit Na consider hosts to be sentient beings."
Kythel's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "So you would have to go in without any guards at all."
"Which is one thing I have no intention of doing," said the Sub-Visser. "For all I know, this particular ship has just sold out to the Andalites, and only invented this taboo so they could present a Sub-Visser's head to old man Lirem. No, this is definitely a job for one of my loyal guards." He glanced around at the Hork-Bajir-Controllers, his human eyebrows raised. "Let me see, how about…"
Toloth suddenly realized, with a start, that here was his opportunity. The Skrit Na were the galaxy's most inveterate packrats, and they collected knowledge the way they collected everything else. If he could get one of them to provide him with information on Christian doctrine, it was just possible that Gef would be deterred from seeking out Teresa again.
"If you please, Sub-Visser," he said, "I would like to volunteer myself for this task."
The Sub-Visser blinked, evidently startled. "You, Toloth Two-Nine-Four?" he said. "Why?"
"Because I have never seen the inside of a Skrit Na ship," said Toloth, at a venture, "and I would like to broaden my horizons."
The instant it was out of his mouth, he realized what a stupid answer it was, and his heart sank, for he felt sure that his real purpose would now be obvious. He was therefore somewhat surprised when the Sub-Visser laughed aloud.
"You mean you want to ingratiate yourself with me by appearing loyal and devoted," he said. "Well, good for you. I hope you're watching this fellow, men," he added, turning to his other guards. "He's the most sterling subject of the Yeerk Empire I've seen since the mid-cycle began. He'll end up a Council Member someday, if he doesn't forget himself and actually say what he thinks at some point."
As his fellows shot various looks at Toloth – some of disdain, some of admiration, and some of annoyance that they hadn't thought of it first – the Sub-Visser cocked an ear towards the Bug fighter. "Sounds as though your comrades have finished their business in there," he said. "Either that or they've all killed each other. Well, let's clamber back in and take Toloth the Sly out to the rendezvous point."