Keslin winces at the sounds of battle within the room, but he hangs back, letting Firin and the Andalite lead the charge. They had the advantage of natural weapons, and he could not very well lead the mission if someone incapacitated him.
"Serid, tell Ferxal and Firin both to fan out and relieve the Imperials of their weapons and any other technology," Keslin says. He nods to Nefitt. "Go take care of any injuries. Our people first, then the Imperials. If they're beyond saving, end it quickly for them."
Nefitt nods, doubling his grip on the medical kit and slipping into the room.
"Serid, cover Nefitt. I'm going to do a final circuit of this room and then I'll follow. Make sure there aren't any other Imperials lurking in that room." He gives Serid a grim smile. "If we're lucky, we may have a number of freed slaves today."
He turns to do a circuit of the room they landed in. Seemingly empty since their arrival, he doesn't expect to find much. The true battle seems to lie deeper within the guts of the ship, which makes sense. Deeper in the ship there are more places to hide, and more weapons stores to be found.
<<Just a cargo ship,>> he reminds himself.
<<We should clean if of Kandrona,>> Chris murmurs as Keslin pilots his body around the perimeter of the room.
<<Yes,>> Keslin agrees. <<And any human and Hork-Bajir food they have on hand. And Taxxon food,>> he adds, thinking of Varit.
He has nearly completed his circuit of the room and is about to declare it clean when a bit of movement catches his eye, behind a pile of cargo boxes. Frowning, he slides out of control, letting Chris' more steady grip control the Dracon.
"If you're waiting to jump out at me, the jig is up," Chris says loudly, leveling his weapon at the shadows.
Silence.
"Alright, fine, don't say I didn't warn you," Chris says, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"No wait!" a small voice cries out. Chris' eyebrows raise and he hesitates, stopping himself before the weapon discharges.
"Come out of there," Chris says. He squints, waiting as a form detaches itself from the shadows, looking up at him cautiously.
<<It's a child,>> Keslin says, aghast.
<<No older than ten,>> Chris agrees, eyeing the little boy doubtfully. He is wearing a standard Imperial uniform, and the Dracon he is clutching in his hands is ridiculously oversized -- meant for a Hork-Bajir's hands.
"Please don't shoot me," the little boy -- the Yeerk controlling the little boy -- says, wincing.
Chris adjusts his aim, lowering it so that it is level with the boy's chest. "It's on stun," he says. "You're going to be removed from that kid's head. He won't be harmed."
<<I can't shoot a kid!>> he says internally to Keslin, torn.
<<He'll be better for it, in the end,>> Keslin responds.
The Imperial boy shakes his head, shrinking back towards the shadows. "No, I can't leave him," he breathes. "I won't leave him with a bunch of Andalites and traitors to be used."
Chris blinks, then laughs. "Sorry, kid. You don't have much of a choice. You're--"
The child moves with uncanny, almost unbelievable speed, raising the oversized weapon and pulling the trigger before Chris can finish his sentence.
The shot takes Chris full in the chest. The force of it knocks him backwards and his head strikes the landing gear of his own ship. He collapses in a heap, a small river of red matting his blonde hair while his chest smokes.
"You're not taking him away from me," the boy Controller firmly repeats to Chris' prone, burnt and bleeding body.
