Aetheas hardly notices Farxel's disdain towards him based on his deformity. He's lived his entire life under that sentiment. <The Captain prefers to promote the most qualified individuals,
vecol or otherwise,> he says matter-of-factly. He listens, for a bit, to the volleying back and forth between Farxel and Nefitt. He's fully aware of Nefitt's situation, and feels no need to explain it to this... overly-curious new arrival. If he keeps poking around, Farxel may prove to be a security risk. Aetheas resolves to keep an eye on him.
As for the ranged-versus-melee debate... this is an argument he's heard before. It's an argument he's taken part of many times. Perhaps it's his own deformity, but he's always held a definitive bias in this matter.
<Andalites are adept at close combat,> he says directly to Farxel, <but if we are unable to match our foes at range, or especially in space, we will never be given the opportunity to use it. Our tails must be our last resort. If we make a point of relying on them, we have no options to fall back to.>
<Who is your Prince?> he asks. Over the weeks preceding his promotion, he'd been attempting to map out Sector Seven's reach within the Electorate and the military, including a list of Princes he believed may have direct or indirect connections. He has nothing but hunches and guesswork to date, but Ossanlin seems to be of the opinion that they are an extremely powerful organization. Best to make sure Farxel won't somehow alert them to the Tyrennian's existence.
Varit's spirits leap for a moment at the sound of Chris's voice. So someone else had made it! And if Keslin is the one transmitting, that could mean other survivors. Keslin would be a choice for speaker of many large groups.
Many, but not all. Reven had never been shy about speaking for the Rebellion when he could... which may mean that he currently could not.
Still, though... Survivors! If only... he checks the code sent along with the message. Verified. It looks like this is, indeed, Keslin.
<<Or an Imperial,>> his host points out, pulling himself out of his preoccupation with whether or not to eat the rest of the bones in the back now. <<An Imperial could easily fake that by infesting Chris.>>
<<But we were attacked by Andalites,>> Varit says, <<And there's no way they could. Keslin would alert us with the code.>> He punches the controls, then grunts and smacks the console, <<I can't tell where the transmission is coming from.>>
"This is Varit Zero-Seven-Zero," he responds. He's instantly aware that the sound of his Taxxon host's garbled Galard will not be what Keslin is expecting-- he himself is startled by the sound. He hurries to transmit his own encoded verification.
Keslin! Keslin, who else is alive? Keslin, help! he thinks, but doesn't say, instead sticking to a more professional delivery. "My ship is damaged and my supplies are depleted," he says. "I require assistance if possible."
