Salem laughs in surprise at Ossanlin's comment- his shock draws his attention away from the mildly-concerning beginnings of a headache. Well, then, that answers my first question. "Not Lord-Commander, no," he says. His eyes sparkle and he smirks as he speaks. "But if you think that's a viable life goal, I may have a new career path ahead of me." He laughs at the sheer absurdity of that thought. Heck, getting an Andalite to even speak with him usually feels like an accomplishment, especially since what he's come to think of as his banishment from the homeworld.
He hesitates, glancing around the room, then stares hard at Ossanlin, thinking. There's probably a good chance Ossanlin himself is a member of Sector Seven. Heck, he's not even entirely sure how Sector Seven itself is organized. With as well as he knows Ossanlin- that is, not exceptionally well- he has reason to believe the War-Prince would back him up in his beliefs. He's not, however, willing to bet his own life on that fact, let alone the lives of those he cares about and the fate of the galaxy. He'll have to proceed cautiously.
"It does concern... Sector Seven, though." Even saying the words in front of this many people feels off. Taboo, somehow. At this point he's just following Ossanlin's lead. "Have you noticed anything... unusual about their movements lately? Anything changing? How about on the homeworld? Or among the people as a whole?"
Al shrugs at Mar. "I don't think so, but like I keep saying, I'm no doctor. Too many mixed drink recipes in here," he raps the side of his head, which gives off an unnervingly deep metallic thudding sound, "not enough medical knowledge. I may be fluent in over six million forms of dubstep, but I'm lucky if I know your face from your... like, secret second face." He pauses and looks around. "Humans have those, right?" He grins and looks back at Mar. "Anyway, man, feel free to have a look. I'd welcome informed suggestions, but there's nothing else to be done that I might suggest, I don't think."