A/N: Back-to-back posts! If you haven't checked this story recently, be sure you read Chapter 5 (Tobias) first.

This chapter was a collaborative effort, co-authored by FFN user Teltura, to whom I owe inexpressible gratitude.

Chapter 06: Esplin 9466

Breached the theoretical mass synchronization collapse limit? Eliminated the unitary host-construct dependency? Tripled the efficiency of the controller-construct Z-space replacement algorithm?

Impossible.

Esplin nine-four-double-six stared at the report, feeling the odd mixture of fear and happiness that was always his host body's response to bad news. Fear, because they had been one for so long that it felt his own emotions on the deepest possible level. Happiness, because no matter how completely he ruled, Alloran still lived beneath the surface.

Not that he truly wished to be rid of Alloran. Not anymore. It would be so lonely, after all, with only one mind in his head. So boring, with no audience. So easy, with no critic.

There were times, though, when the Andalite warrior's joy was a burden that Esplin tired of bearing.

Esplin scanned the report again, taking separate note of each development.

One—the Andalites had successfully replaced a human girl, with mimicry on par with that of a Yeerk. Conclusion: someone else in the Andalite chain of command had discovered Alloran's little back door.

Two (related)—at least one of them had been on Earth for multiple cycles, long enough to gather sufficient intelligence to choose precisely the right human for easy access to genetic material, likely since the arrival of the Yeerk's own invading force. Conclusion: stowaways.

(Corollary: another upgrade to the morphing technology? The disguised Andalite agent had been executing the acquisition process in morph prior to being uncovered. Alternate hypothesis: handheld extractor/scanner, for later integration.)

Three—it had morphed directly from construct to construct, in roughly one third of the standard interval, after remaining in disguise for an unknown period of time (but at least eight times the original theoretical maximum). Conclusion: _?

Beneath the surface, Alloran supplied a string of appropriate Andalite expletives, each tinged with an acid mix of mockery and smug triumph. Esplin responded with a searing lash of pain, and Alloran laughed even as he shrank back into silence.

This was frightening. If the Andalites had indeed managed to overcome three (possibly four!) of the morphing technology's largest weaknesses, then the Leeran morph (with all of its disadvantages) was now the only method of determining which of his subordinates could be trusted. And if his corollary was correct, and they had somehow infiltrated his ship, then they could be literally anywhere, lying in wait for just the right opportunity—to press just the right buttons, to launch just the right people out of an airlock at 0.5c…

(It would explain nearly every obstacle they had encountered so far—every setback, every delay, every frustrating malfunction, so much incompetence and always just short of something truly unforgiveable.)

Even the coercive demorphing field, so close to functional, might no longer hold any promise. Changes that significant suggested a fundamentally new approach to the entire morphing process, one that could easily rely on a completely different source of power.

With a quick tap of his controls, Esplin initiated the standard lockdown protocol, sealing his quarters and beginning the combination scan and decontamination. Ordinarily, the lockdown took place at random intervals, with a maximum of half a morphing period between cleans, but even that might no longer be sufficient. Esplin had long ago depilated his host's body, to hinder infestation by tiny morphed parasites, but if the Andalites had gone this far, who was to say they wouldn't try infiltrating as bacteria, to slip through the holes in the decon net?

(On a parallel line of thought, his constant monitoring of Alloran picked up a thread of curiosity, noting with bemusement that his pet warrior was even now unable to ignore the temptation of an interesting problem. Possible applications of the new morphing technology streamed through the link between them, and Esplin filed them away, to be guarded against later. Likely most of the precautions would be unnecessary and redundant—he had yet to meet another Andalite who was a match for Alloran in pure savagery and clarity of thought, who had the same inexorable drive—)

((Alloran scoffed at the backhanded compliment, but could not quite suppress the minute wash of pride—))

(((Oh yes, they were made for one another, if only the warrior could see past the narrow interests of his native species, and take the larger view—)))

Suddenly Esplin's musings flashed to a halt, all of his speculations ceasing, all layers collapsing into one as he directed every level of attention toward the path of Alloran's thoughts. The process was immediate, automatic, a reflexive response to a trigger Esplin had installed long, long ago, when he had only just begun to learn what it was to govern a mind that was greater than your own:

Alloran was confused, which meant that it was time for Esplin to pay attention.

The warrior's mind instantly went blank, his thoughts smoothing into the placid flow of meditation as he tried to cover his involuntary betrayal. Esplin merely laughed, seizing the reins and forcing the neurons to fire, unwinding the spool of thought to see what tiny flaw had caught his host's attention.

—and even then, why leave Ispec alive AFTERWARD, a critically-positioned host, it made NO SENSE—

—farther back—

—surely not so utterly shortsighted as to throw away an invaluable tactical advantage on a SCARE TACTIC—

—farther back—

—unless for some reason he WANTED the Yeerks to receive Ispec's report? But what possible justification—

—farther—

—the first, most basic, most OBVIOUS move being to grind the filthy slug into the dust, even a stiff-tailed cadet could not HELP but notice the open communication channel—

Ah.

Carefully, suppressing his desire to leap to a conclusion, Esplin reconstructed the scene in his mind's eye. The mighty Andalite, exposed but triumphant. The lowly Yeerk, cowering in a weak and feeble body. The gloating reveal—you have no idea of the depth of your failure! We took the girl weeks ago, and you clumsy, stupid Yeerks noticed nothing! Yet another victory for the superior Andalite race!

(It would have gone something like that, anyway.)

Yes, it was in character, all right, character so perfect it was almost a mockery. But the flaws were obvious when you looked at it objectively. If they'd had the girl for weeks, then why the sudden rush to visit half of the animals in the collection?

Obviously, it was a bluff. Some thick-stalked ship-jockey, who had never so much as heard the word "espionage," found himself stranded after the battle, moved immediately to acquire local morphs—

—at least the idiot had followed ONE protocol correctly—

—and blundered right into the middle of the Yeerks' damage control operation (triggered by some other cloud-furred fool?). Desperate, he changed forms, got his leg shot off, and then, unmasked and stranded deep in enemy territory, tried to cover up his blunder with boasting. It made sense.

Except—

(Alloran desperately tried not to object, but he had no choice, really…)

—at that point, WHY didn't the oaf terminate the enemy host?

It went against every scrap of Andalite military doctrine, half of which Alloran himself had written, replacing centuries of obsolete folly. It was the first lecture given to every cadet who entered the armed forces: You identify the enemy. You find the enemy. You destroy the enemy. End process. You don't make the enemy squirm by parading tactical information in front of them!

For a moment, Esplin enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie as he and his host were united by their shared frustration at the eternal incompetence of underlings. Then the moment passed, Alloran recoiled, and they each turned their mind back to the problem, the master eagerly, the pet involuntarily.

Who were the key players? Subject A, a midgrade Yeerk operative, being outwitted by subject B, a stunning example of Andalite mediocrity. In the background: the incoming reinforcements? A frustrated field commander?

The host.

Laughable. Of course Alloran would think that—he had to, lest he cease to be able to deny his own irrelevance. Though the human had in fact apparently fought her Yeerk to a standstill, so credit where credit was due. Such a wasted effort, only to have her words fall on uncaring Andalite ears. They'd taken her mate within minutes while the oaf blundered off in the opposite direction—

The host's daughter.

Dead. Obviously. Even dust-fed buffoons would not risk the sudden arrival of a doppelganger—

Unless she was cooperating.

Esplin froze, cursing himself. Of course—that would not only justify the ill-advised and irrational mercy, it would also explain the swiftness with which the Andalites had learned of the animal collection, and infiltrated its security.

The castigation turned to laughter as Alloran's sense grew thick with horror. Oh, the proud Andalite race, reduced to alliance with planetbound primates! Would they invite the monkeys into space, next? Give them weapons, perhaps? Maybe some of the lonelier sort would morph and seek mates among the humans, as rumor said had been done during the conquest of the Hork-Bajir, on the homeworld of the Arn—perhaps Esplin and Alloran would give it a try, together?

Alloran snarled, a wordless expression of pure fury, and Esplin reveled in the wash of hormones that filled the skull where the pair of them lived. Meanwhile, in the back of their shared mind, a lower, slower sort of process began following up on the new hypothesis, working through the strategic implications of a human-Andalite alliance, combining it with all of the other data on the current situation—

(((Cassie Withers, my host's daughter! She just morphed into an elephant!)))

(((We took her daughter weeks ago, and she never even noticed.)))

((Cassie Withers, my host's daughter! She just morphed into an elephant!))

((And after holding human form for an entire day! Visser Three will be exceptionally interested in hearing how you accomplished that.))

(Cassie Withers, my host's daughter! She just morphed into an elephant!)

(Enjoy it while you can, Yeerk. The Andalites are coming.)

Cassie Withers, my host's daughter! She just morphed into an elephant!

Like a rocket launching skyward, the realization tore through every layer of Esplin's attention, clawing its way upward, each fraction of his mind demanding greater priority from the next until even Alloran's misery failed to be more interesting.

Unless she was cooperating.

A human that could morph—

A human that didn't have to bypass the mass synchronization limit because it wasn't morphed in the first place—

A human that could transform straight into a construct because it wasn't morphed in the first place—

A human that could acquire animals directly, without demorphing to Andalite form, because IT WASN'T MORPHED IN THE FIRST PLACE—

A human that didn't stomp its captive into the dust because it hadn't read the Andalite war journal, and because the captive hadn't been another faceless Yeerk but the human's own mother—

It all clicked into place, a hypothesis far more elegant than any of the others—a single, deft principle that explained every one of the oddities that had troubled them both so far, dispensing with the need for impossible leaps in technology and implausibly incompetent operatives—

((Well, not the oddities aboard ship, but there was no fundamental reason to expect those to be related.))

(Esplin ignored the rising echoes of Alloran's seething self-hatred as the warrior realized he had once again guided his master to the solution.)

It had Elfangor's scent all over it—a final, desperate ploy, recruiting a handful of primitives and arming them with the most devastatingly powerful technology in the known universe—

(And that was why he had allowed himself to be dispatched so easily, rather than morphing and leading them on a merry chase. Esplin and Alloran had been somewhat disappointed.)

A quick explanation (inadequate)—a quick activation (untested! Irresponsible!)—a noble sacrifice (all poor Elfangor ever wanted)—and behold, a brand-new piece made its entry into the game. Morph-capable humans! Children, some of them! How many would the Beast have had time to recruit? Seven? Fourteen?

For the third time in as many minutes, Esplin's thoughts ground to a halt, his mind stunned by the sudden recognition of a new expanse of possibility.

Had Elfangor left the Iscafil device in their hands?

(Beneath the surface, Alloran howled with despair at the folly, the absolute folly, for they both knew that that was exactly what the Beast would have done.)

And now Esplin felt that odd mixture of fear and happiness again, its sources reversed, its flavor subtly but deliciously different. Here was a challenge worthy of his full attention, with the potential to strike years off the time that his true plan required. They were down there, somewhere—frightened humans with the key in their hands, a key which they would surely destroy rather than allow him to have, a key which not even his fellow Yeerks could be permitted to discover.

Visser Three opened a channel to the central command hub. A bladed Hork-Bajir answered immediately, its salute crisp and respectful, its eyes dull and uncomprehending.

Message, the Visser signed, and the Hork-Bajir signaled confirmation.

The Andalite bandits are cooperating with the humans. Investigate all known associates of Hedrick Chapman, Paula Chapman, Melissa Chapman, Walter Withers, Michelle Withers, and Cassie Withers, and place a full surveillance net on Walter and Michelle Withers. Do not engage; observe and report only.

The Hork-Bajir signaled confirmation again, and Esplin closed the channel, turning to the small compartment that stood beside his interface.

A little snack, before the real work began…