Varit had watched, a few minutes ago, as the turelek ran off to attend to the ongoing battle, leaving him essentially-alone, aside from his ever-present Andalite detail. He'd spent the next few minutes pacing, wandering out into the middle of the dome and back, hoping to find a rebel-- any rebel, really-- before deciding that they all must be off somewhere else. Shame, since he needs somebody to help him feed, and he's loathe to ask one of the Andalites.
Battle... he's been brought aboard a dome ship in the midst of a battle. For all they knew, this ship was constantly at the front line of the war, and it would only be a matter of time before it was torn to shreds.
<<We will survive,>> says Resseliss reassuringly. <<We have always survived.>>
<<We only have to mess that one up once,>> Varit responds dryly.
Varit feels his consciousness fade for a moment, a small spasm running through his actual, physical Yeerk body. He needs to feed, and now.
With a resolute sigh, Varit turns to the nearest Andalite; a young warrior with only a single stalk-eye trained on Varit, and the rest pointed directly at the transport aboard which the supposed-battle is taking place. Varit calls out, "I need to feed. Would you care to assist me?"
The Andalite looks surprised at being addressed, but seems almost relieved to have the distraction as he turns towards the Yeerk. <I...> he begins, finally tearing his last stalk eye away from the transport and scanning the dome for a higher authority. <I believe I can assist you,> he says uncertainly. <What do you require?> If this young warrior is put-off at all by the Taxxon before him, it doesn't show in his demeanor. In fact, not much shows in his demeanor except for tension in his shoulders and flanks.
"A safe place to keep my host, and transportation from there to the pool," responds Varit, sounding more confident than he feels. Even a young warrior could turn his Taxxon host inside out, or simply refuse to help him feed.
The warrior hesitates, then nods. <This way.> He leads the way a short distance out of the dome, avoiding conversation and staring at the transport. Soon he opens the door to an empty, tiny room. <This was my room as an aristh,> he says.
"This is fine," states Varit. "Now..." he hesitates, and shudders in disgust, "do you have a container? Or were you planning on carrying me to the pool?"
In an instant, all of the Andalite's attention is on Varit again. At the look of sheer horror on the Andalite's face, Varit begins to laugh, but a shudder wracks him, running from his Yeerk body and through his entire host, his vision swimming. By the time he can see again, he finds himself lying on the deck with a confused, concerned-looking Andalite at his side.
"I need to go now..." he mumbles, and without waiting for a response, begins the process of disconnecting his neural pathways from Resseliss's. Within moments, he's slithered out of Resseliss's ear canal and lies, helpless, on the deck, spasms continuing to contort his tiny body.
He waits. And waits. And as he waits, he begins to realize; he's going to die here. He can't trust this Andalite, and now he and his host are going to die right here, in this room. He's not thinking clearly... he's not planning clearly...
Soon, however, he feels a familiar Taxxon claw gently scoop his body from the ground. There's airflow over his body... and vibrations that might be sound... and after a few moments, as clear as a bell, the young warrior's voice saying, angrily, <Okay, I'll take it to the pool. Just get out of my face, Taxxon.>
The next sensation is the claw dumping him into a less-familiar hand, a soft-skinned, many-fingered hand. It closes menacingly around him, squeezing him just enough that it doesn't actually hurt... and Varit feels himself drifting... his concentration slipping... as though he's entering a sort of trance...
The next thing he knows, he finds himself in the familiar, warm, wet surroundings of a Yeerk pool, bathed in the light of the Kandrona. He allows himself to float to the surface, gratefully drinking it all in. He'll need to find a way to thank Resseliss for saving his life yet again, but that's for another day. For here... for now... this will have to be enough...
Aetheas watches, rapt, as the data streams in regarding Keshin's injury... the boarding party's difficulties... the bounty hunter's involvement... the speculation that this may be The Hand... He's not sure trusting that one would be his first choice, but he trusts Ossanlin... if the Captain thinks using her to be a worthwhile risk, Aetheas will hope for the best.
It's as the party splits to attempt a flanking maneuver on the bridge that something catches his eye. Nothing more than a brief flash of movement, picked up by the Tyrennian's sensors, located on the deck below the boarding party. Unsure, he rewinds the display and plays it back again.
There. Again. A brief flicker, and then it's gone.
<Captain,> he says uncertainly, sending the brief recording to the Captain's station, <I am not certain, but the enemy may be attempting to flank our boarding party now.>
