"Yeah, be thankful we aren't the Skrit Na," Myitt murmurs wryly. "Ever seen E.T.? They ain't E.T."
---
In the main control room of the base, where a big circle of green glowing holoscreens hovers, a bored attendant taps at one of the screens. His host is a young man perhaps in his mid-20s, and although the alert has already gone out that an evacuation might be necessary, he doesn't seem too concerned. These kinds of drills have happened before, and there was of course no telling when it would be the real deal, but not sleeping for two days on watch will make anyone a bit lax in attention. But what he's doing is of particular importance to the underground band of rebels--he's one of the people in charge of scanning the surrounding system for approaching ships, attempting to detect cloaks, and allowing access to the base's entry tunnels. A sort of high tech alien air traffic controller. A different sort of controller.
No sign of anything yet. The Yeerk, whose name is Nilkar, sits back and rubs his eyes tiredly. All around them people hurry back and forth, gathering documents, loading cargo, making arrangements for those who can't fight to leave the premises.
A girl next to him taps him on the shoulder.
"Hey Nil, don't fall asleep on us, we're on alert, you dummy," she chides, smiling.
"Yeah, I know, Sethrin," says Nilkar through a yawn. "But I can't see a damn thing out there. I think Rev's just gone on another false alarm paranoia alert."
The girl named Sethrin shrugs. "Suit yourself, it's your funeral," she says lowly, eyeing the screens.
---
((Just a little aside in case morf wants someone to try and contact ^__^))