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Unfortunately, she was thick with Lawmon Jise, who Chief
     Balbao had a great and wary respect for – the man who had sculpted the new OLOSS charter and was known for his diamond-cut
     intellect. Labile Connit was the other one that made the chief nervous. Rumours had risen around Belle-Monde that the geneer
     had dubious and powerful connections. Jividdat was less of a concern and kept to himself, and Ra was simply weird. Tekton,
     thank Sole, had gone on practical absence leave – something about overseeing the manufacturing of a construction – and not
     returned. On the one hand, the chief hoped that something terrible had befallen the tight-skinned hairlessfop. On the other, he wished the greedy back-biter was here. He had one enormous problem, and these idiot Godheads were his
     best hope of a solution.
    ‘I have an announcement to make. Something unsettling and perplexing. I have …’ his Balol pride made it a struggle to get
     the words out ‘… need of your expertise and opinion.’
    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 summitmeeting, 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 outfrom 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,