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That set off another round of chatter and calls for more drinks.

By the time the bartender arrived with another tray of deadly concoctions, the chief’s neck frill was stiff with anger. All the years of scientific training and devotion to perpetuating the betterment and longevity of the sentients of Orion, all that learning and civility, began to disappear underneath an unholy rush of pure Balol aggression.

‘Sit down and shut up,’ he roared, ‘before I rip your heads off!’ He bared his teeth for good measure.

The open-mouthed Godheads switched to playing meek children in a trice, each sipping their drink as carefully as if it were their last.

The chief opened his mouth to explain his terrible dilemma, but shut it again as the holo-field near the bar flared into life. They all swivelled their attention towards it. What was so important as to cause an impromptu feed?

‘It’s the OLOSS summit,’ groaned Miranda almost immediately. ‘How tedious. Turn it off!’

‘Quiet, Miranda,’ said Jise, picking up on something that the rest hadn’t. ‘Switch to maximum function,’ he told the station moud.

Suddenly it was as if they were all at the summit meeting, albeit off to one side, seated behind the untidy skieran contingent.

The chief recognised a number of highly important dignitaries, including Warrior Butnik, President Gan, JiHaigh the OLOSS all prime, and the most infamous of all ’esques, Commander Lasper Farr.

A thin young woman stood at the open end of the U-shaped meeting table. Her head was bent, eyes to the floor, shoulders tense as though she bore the greatest of weights upon them.

All attention seemed to be directed her way.

‘I know her!’ said Connit. ‘At least I’ve seen her. She’s the Latino woman who escaped from that horrible little backward planet when it was invaded.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Miranda Seeward. ‘Some type of coup there by those ghastly primitive Saqr. Tekton knew of it. And I think … maybe, that I had relatives in the area.’

‘Shh!’ hissed Jise again. ‘We’re missing it. Listen.’

The tyros fell silent again.

‘All very fascinating, Baronessa,’ said President Gan to the Latino woman. ‘And it would seem that the Post-Species are responsible for the Saqr adaptation. But what is the significance?’

‘Goodness!’ Miranda Seeward exclaimed. ‘Those damnable Extros.’

The Baronessa replied. ‘I have sought to build a picture, President Gan, so that you understand the gravity of what I am about to tell you next. As Insignia approached the shift sphere leaving Post-Species space, we came across a terrifying sight. Millions of Geni-carriers. Shifting.’

At the summit meeting a buzz of reaction broke out from the attendees, but in the mélange lounge the silence was exquisite, and uncharacteristic.

The chief did not like the anxious expressions on the tyros’ faces.

‘Millions, Baronessa?’ Commander Farr finally spoke up, quieting the chatter in the Summit room. ‘An exaggeration surely? There were only three in the Stain Wars. Manufacturing on such a large scale in the time that’s elapsed since then is impossible.’

‘My biozoon can verify this,’ said the thin woman.

‘Then instruct it to do so,’ ordered the OLOSS prime, JiHaigh.

‘I do not instruct my biozoon,’ she said quietly. ‘But I will request.’

After a protracted silence in which nothing happened, the convener of the summit began shouting accusations.

Chief Balbao didn’t recognise him, but one of the tyros did.

‘Landhurst,’ said Labile Connit. ‘He’s the station master at Intel.’

A guard stepped forward and seized the Latino woman and a commotion started, Commander Farr among the many voicing their displeasure. It was the Commander, in the end, who drowned the others out.

‘Wait!’ he bellowed.

His imperative caught everyone’s attention, including the tyros of Belle-Monde, who gravitated closer together, as if proximity to each other would help them digest the situation better.

Focus in the summit room altered as a projection appeared on the hub-screen.