"So, Terenia was an Andalite before she took her current form," Corliss pipes up from the doorway. "I reckoned that was logical." He steps away from the door frame and lets the wooden door swing shut behind him, walking back over to the bar. He steps up close to Efaen and smiles. "My name is Corliss Three-Eight-Two. My host's name is Michael Leicester, from the human country called England. We exist as allies in the civil war against the Empire. Actually, we've become quite good friends." He idly looks at the fingernails on his bandaged hand. "Surely you've heard of the Yeerk rebellion, Efaen?" Looking back up at the Andalite, he continues, "To you it may be nothing more than a rumor. Propaganda to elicit sympathy for the Yeerk people. But it is a reality, and it's probably why War-Prince Ossanlin continues to find our little faction good company. He is a great warrior, and very wise. War-Prince Elfangor was a great warrior, too, and a terrible bane to our people, regardless of our alliances. But perhaps even he would've seen the truth, that no race can be entirely painted with one brush. No single race is entirely evil, or takes pleasure in the horrors of war. There are many good Andalites, and there are many good Yeerks. Terenia is, or was, a good human being. And I believe that she has good intentions."
His comm link beeps, and he pulls it out of his pocket, accepting the hail. "Excuse me, Efaen."
"Hellooo-ooo?" Myitt's voice streams into the room. "We're about to emerge from z-space, and I got your stupid Cocoa Puffs. Except they're Australian. Sorry. See you in a few."
The hail ends, and Corliss squints down at it, looking exasperated. "All right, Myitt, I'm still here," he replies in English. "Be careful."