"Where in the interstellar abyss is that fool of a human caterer?" Iniss demanded as Toloth entered the back room. The regional Sharing head was pacing back and forth with frenetic energy, his borrowed fingers wriggling as though seeking something to twiddle or throw; indeed, apart from the notable differences of surroundings and vesture, it was essentially what Chapman's body had been doing in the waiting room of the county hospital while Melissa was being born, some fifteen years before. "The Council representative must have shown up by now; everything hinges on him seeing this event flow smoothly. A mishap like this could permanently cripple our region's prestige."
"Cripple our region's prestige?" echoed Penjoth Nought-One-Six skeptically. "We're the nerve center of the invasion, Iniss Two-Two-Six. Earth's Sulp Niar pool is directly below us. How much damage can one tardy food delivery do us?"
Iniss shot a dark look at his right-hand officer. "Do you suppose there's a law requiring the invasion to be focused on this part of the planet?" he demanded. "Garrisons and Blade ships can be moved; the Sulp Niar designation can be transferred. And this would hardly be the first public embarrassment our region has suffered in the eyes of the Council – or have you, Penjoth Nought-One-Six, forgotten how you came to be wearing your current body?"
Toloth didn't need to check Teresa's memories for that one; he already knew, better than she did, how much humiliation the Sulp Niar Earth pool had suffered when Tom Berenson's last Controller had been killed by the Andalites, and the human governor he had been meant to seize had slipped through the Empire's fingers. He doubted, however, that it was sufficient to inspire to a fundamental change in the strategy of the invasion – not least because of the Andalites themselves. So long as a group of morph-capable guerrillas was running amok in southern California, destroying Kandronas and killing Imperial spawn members, the Empire wasn't about to weaken its position in the region.
In any case, it wasn't the sort of discussion in which Malcar Seven-Four-Five would have gotten involved, beyond curling Teresa's lip contemptuously at her leader's transparent fear for his opportunity to self-aggrandize. This, accordingly, Toloth did, and then made his way over to the table by which Elskir was standing, drumming her fingers irregularly against the Formica.
"Well," he said dryly, "it's good to see such selfless public spirit in our occupational commanders, don't you think, Elskir Five-Nought-Seven?"
Elskir gave a little strangled yelp, and her host's eyes, as she turned to Toloth, were those of a haunted soul who had missed her morning's coffee. "Please, Malcar," she said hoarsely. "Not today. Just… not today."
Toloth blinked. "What's the matter?" he said.
Elskir shook Kati's head. "Nothing," she said. "Just don't, okay?"
Nothing, my host's gut fungi, thought Toloth. (6) He knew psychic distress when he saw it; if the little human-Controller in front of him wasn't just about at the end of her rope, then he was Visser Three. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was suffering from…
He frowned suddenly, remembering what Teresa knew about Kati/Elskir's schedule. "Did you skip your feeding this morning?" he said.
"I didn't skip it," said Elskir. "I never had a chance to go. Kati's cousins are visiting, remember? The filthy beasts clung to me like hopsworms; it was all I could do to get them out of our room long enough for me to get dressed. There's no way they'd have let me duck into the mall and mysteriously vanish for an hour."
"So you skipped it," said Toloth, his tone as sternly disapproving as Malcar's would have been. "You willfully came to a major Sharing event in a state of severe Kandrona depletion. Do you have any idea how irresponsible that…"
"Don't start, Malcar," said Elskir. "Don't give me that lecture about my responsibilities to the invasion. You think I'm going to lose control in the middle of the fête and let Kati shout the real purpose of the Sharing to the world? You think I'm that weak?"
"It's not a question of weakness, Elskir," said Toloth. "We're on an alien world, in conditions fundamentally antithetical to our physical being. The price of carelessness is too high for even the…"
"I'm not being careless," Elskir shot back. "It takes seventy-three hours and fifteen minutes for fugue to set in. If I have Brenda stop at McDonald's after the fête, I can get to the pool with half an hour or more to spare."
"Elskir…" Toloth began.
But, before he could continue, a truck pulled up to the door; Iniss made a sharp gesture, and the assembled extra-terrestrial invaders hastily shifted personae. By the time the caterer entered the building, carrying the Sharing fête's most crucial selling point in half a dozen orange cardboard boxes, the members of the Oceanside Inner Sharing were indistinguishable from any other group of well-adjusted, socially engaged human youths.
"Sorry it took so long, Mr. Chapman," said the caterer, a plump, cheerful woman named Kimberly Hogan. "But you know what it's like, trying to navigate these streets this time of year…"
"Naturally, naturally," said Iniss, his Equatorial-Chasm smile back at its stand. "Think nothing of it, Mrs. Hogan. Now, what do you have for us?"
"Ooh, let's see," said Mrs. Hogan. She set the stack of boxes down at the corner of the table that the Inner Sharing had set out, then lifted all but the bottom box off again and set the new stack down beside it; in this fashion, she had all the boxes laid out on the table in a matter of seconds, and proceeded to flip them successively open as she named their contents. "We have mozzarella cheese balls fried in beer batter; we have Loaded Fruit Cups – made with a mixture of fresh and dried fruit, and garnished with different kinds of nuts; we have roasted turkey wings, complete with a special house dipping sauce; we have buttered shrimp and scallops; we have an assortment of specially shaped Gingerbread Fancies; and," lifting the last lid with an air of particular solemnity, "of course, we have the world-famous Hogan's Kitchen honey shortbread."
"Shortbread?" Penjoth repeated, gazing wide-eyed into the box. "That's not shortbread; that's a box full of butter and honey, with just enough flour to keep it from oozing out onto the sidewalk."
"Naturally," said Mrs. Hogan, her eyes twinkling. "A triumph of culinary minimalism, delighting both mind and palate at once. Hath news of the wonder not reached thy land, Master Berenson?"
«Butter and honey,» said Teresa with a laugh. «How appropriate.»
Toloth gave a weary interior sigh. «Why?» he said, not caring to go to the trouble of checking her memories.
«It's the second half of the Emmanuel prophecy,» said Teresa. «The one no-one ever quotes. "A virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel; butter and honey shall he eat, that he may learn to do what is good and avoid what is evil."»
«And what is that supposed to mean?» said Toloth peevishly.
«I don't know,» Teresa admitted. «Nobody seems to know what it referred to in Isaiah's time, and I've never heard anyone explain it with reference to Jesus. But there it is, all the same.»
«Uh.»
"Well, Mrs. Hogan," said Iniss, "this all looks marvelous, and we're very much in your debt. And, speaking of which… how much was it again?" And he pulled out a pen and a small, blue-plastic billfold, filled, presumably, with the open notes of credit that humans preferred to use in place of money.
Mrs. Hogan named a figure that would have been outrageous in any sensible system of exchange, but Iniss didn't bat an eyelid as he wrote out the appropriate formula, tore out the check, and handed it to her. "There you are," he said.
"Thank you kindly, Mr. Chapman," said Mrs. Hogan. "I hope you all have a lovely time doing… well, whatever it is you do at these things."
"You're sure you don't want to stick around and find out?" said Penjoth. "We'd love to have you."
"Oh, no, I couldn't," said Mrs. Hogan. "I've already stayed too long; I still have three more orders waiting in the truck. You know what this season is like for caterers."
"Of course, of course," said Iniss. "We wouldn't dream of keeping you. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hogan."
"The same to you, Mr. Chapman, and many more," said Mrs. Hogan, and turned and hurried back out the door.
When the sound of her vehicle's engine was heard outside, Iniss turned to the assembled Sharing members solemnly. "All right, my fellow Controllers," he said, "we are now ready to begin. Remember, the prestige of our chapter for the next few months will depend very largely on how you conduct yourselves today; you must, therefore, behave in every way as becomes true Yeerks. You must be courteous, but not servile; single-minded, yet not inflexible; zealous as regards your duties, but without the degrading emotionalism that you observe in your hosts. And, above all, you must remember…"
"Kati, shut up!"
The sudden, sharp cry caught everyone off guard; Iniss broke off in mid-peroration, and all eyes turned to Elskir, who flushed and shook her host's head. "Sorry," she said. "My host was just getting a little… disorderly."
"Elskir," said Toloth, "really, maybe it would be better if you just…"
"I'm fine, Malcar," said Elskir, shooting a steely glare at her supposed comrade.
Iniss coughed, and attempted unsuccessfully to resume his lost train of thought. "Yes, well," he said, "in any event, the important thing is simply that you… well, you just mustn't… that is…"
"Don't embarrass the Empire, folks," Penjoth offered.
"Yes," said Iniss gratefully. "Yes, exactly. And now, let's get things underway, shall we?"
(6) It will be noticed that Toloth, despite inhabiting Teresa, still thought of himself as a Hork-Bajir-Controller. Humans, to be sure, have gut flora, but the specialized microbial fungi by which Hork-Bajir digest tree bark have no parallel in the human body.