Fine. If that's the way the Confederacy want it, let them act like a bunch of idiots. I'll hold them back if I can, but if they get past me, their souls may just end up forfeited...

I pass on word of this to Myreena, aboard the mission command ship, several hours ahead. "It was to be expected", she says calmly. "As is the approach of others."

"Others? The Pandemonicum?", I enquire. "What, you expect them to fight?"

"No - we expect them to die", replies the living icon of Tylugarna's might. "Anyone not sworn to The Brazen Lady who enters the Jespar system dies."

The Confederacy mustn't get to Jespar. There has to be a way to stop them without killing any of them. "Myromar, calculate me a solution to the following problem - 'how do you stop Confederacy combat ships in their tracks without blowing them to scrap atoms' - and make it fast...!"

"I may just be able to deliver of that", says the "soul" of Dominion One, "and quicker than you might expect. Looking at the drive schematics of Confederacy 'ships of the line', I can see a quirk in their propulsion field geometry..."

"The idiot's version, please", I interrupt. "How we make silly ships not go?"

"Inverse batrion cascade", answers Myromar.

The risky, absolute last-ditch weapon for all ships of the Hawk-Fleet. "No. Way. No how - 'stop', not 'destroy'!"

"No, seriously - we just don't go all the way", she tries to explain. "We carry out a standard power-up to cascade firing, then just before we release the baffles, we let the batrion build-up dispel through the Int-Dim coil diverters - idiot's version: we stall the cascade. No big budda-boom, silly ships not go any more."

"Permanently?"

"A couple of hours while they purge the energy residue", Myromar replies. "By then, The Imperial Temple could be finished with their business."

"And how many 'buts' are associated with this scheme?", I ask. "I'm thinking we still knock out our own engines for a time..."

"Eleven minutes, maximum", answers Myromar. "Also in the 'but' column is our range of effect. Given the energetic peculiarities of the region, I can only give you about forty per cent of the normal cascade range. The whole attack fleet is going to have to be pretty close."

"How you light up my days", I sigh. It's like trying to clear a beach with a sieve - for every problem you think you've cleared away, there's still going to be one left. However, I do have more than just a "sieve" in my arsenal - I'm still one of the universe's most highly-rated telepaths, and whilst every Confederacy ship has a corps of psionicists, none of them, even as a team, comes close to me. Ships can't go anywhere without engines, that's true, but they also need a conscious crew...

"Place all weapons systems on warm stand-by", I instruct Myromar. "I want to ready for absolutely anything."

"Including live fire against Confederacy vessels?", she asks.

"Including live fire against Confederacy vessels", I confirm, much to my regret. I better be doing the right thing, here. I'm still basing my actions and decisions on what I think The Imperial Temple are going to do, given the scarcity of solid information, but their plan could represent our best chance to put an end to the threat of The Pandemonicum before it spirals completely out of control - we have to fight fire with fire, like with like... fight The Pandemonicum with beings of equal - or greater - stature: Overlords... Queens... and yes, even gods.

But then again, do we really want this whole thing to become the "War Of The Gods"? Do we truly want these vastly powerful - and in some cases vastly dysfunctional - beings battling each other, while the rest of the universe cower in their shadows, fleeing from their devastating expressions of power? After today, we may not have a choice...

A whisper slips from my lips: "And may the gods that survive have mercy on us all..." Thankfully, Myromar doesn't register it, or ask for clarification, for she might just manage to talk me out of this whole awful business, send me running for cover - but if I did that, the Confederacy task-force would be walking into a massacre. However unpalatable my actions are going to be, I have to be here, to try and talk some sense into the Confederacy. The alternative would turn even the strongest stomach.

Outpost Raac'Maeg is an unexceptional facility, basically a mining colony clinging to the barren surface of the planet Has‘prac V, all its buildings and mine-workings under environmental domes scattered across its sunward hemisphere - it's the seven Mutual Defence Imperative battle-ships in orbit, five Narthani, two Vilthorian, that mark this place out as something out of the ordinary, as they hover around the sphere of almost imperceptibly rippling stony-grey material that has added itself to the planet's small family of moons...

"Oh. My. God...!", gasps Mariella as she looks upon this incredible sight. "Is - is that... her?"

I have very little to base a response upon. "I'm assuming that to be the case", I reply. "There's nothing on record that compares, even vaguely. There are very few races even capable of building something the size of a small moon, and even fewer who can launch such a construct through space..."

"And The Dire Queen can?"

"She has the resources of a race whose empire spanned and exploited three galaxies", I remind my companion, "and The Dire Hunt, as some came to know them, did launch a star through interdimensional space towards Mystalorn in a last-ditch attempt to stop The Dire Queen wiping them out."

That revelation stuns Mariella into silence. She knows I'm not exaggerating - I never do - and it's good she's learning that early. The respite is timely, and welcome, giving me a few minutes more to centre myself, and get ready to resume my ambassadorial duties. All too soon, however. Myromar-Two breaks the peace: "The Outpost is sending up an orbital skiff", she announces. "Shall I prepare a docking bay?"

"Direct them to one of the forward bays", I tell her. "We're in their territory, so let's play by their rules - until they say, or try, something truly idiotic."

The Narthani shuttle, a craft designed to reach orbit, and little more, barely has time to settle in the launch bay before it has to make ready to depart. Mariella only has to pause to pick up an official-looking data tablet, and I just have to take less than a minute to slide into a short, white leather dress, a garment with a somewhat military-looking panel at the front fastening up the sides with polished buttons, and we're ready to go - I'm carrying no weapons, no armour, and neither is my companion, for I'm all the weapons we're likely to need.

"Remain calm, whatever happens", I advise Mariella as we walk across the launch bay to the Narthani craft. "Speak only when spoken to, and choose your words carefully. It's better to just bow your head respectfully than just blurt out something because you feel you're expected to respond."

"Hey, you really seem t'know y'stuff", chirps my companion.

"Not really", I respond, lightly. "I tend to wing it, and let my personality shine through."

"Oh great", mutters Mariella. "We're dead..."

I let my companion get away with that one. I did rather run into it...

The flight down to the planet can't exactly be called "luxurious", for our transport can at best be described as "functional", and someone may just have given the interior a quick spray with a steam-jet cleaner to make it remotely presentable, but the flight is brief, and relatively smooth, taking us from orbit to the central landing facility of the Outpost in only a couple of minutes. On touch-down, the landing pad descends into a pressurised bay under the planet's surface which gives the distinct impression of having been cleared of dirt and clutter in a hurry - this is a working mining base after all, not a lavish diplomatic venue, and there is certain to be a population of surly miners, just out of sight, muttering resentfully amongst themselves about us disrupting their routine...

Let them mutter, I think to myself, as we disembark. We're just here for as long as this takes, and all we'll be taking with us are lungfuls of your air, and hopefully an agreement with The Dire Queen. If we were The Pandemonicum, they'd probably slaughter you all, and strip this planet bare - now that is what I would call "inconvenient"...

A minor official awaits us inside the main airlock, leading us through a maze of corridors deep into the heart of what seems to be the residential centre, and more than once, I tense myself in anticipation of an ambush that does not come. The outpost's security personnel are conspicuous by their absence, but I'm thinking this is more to do with keeping order amongst their own, rather than attempted snub for their guests - guests who are, in my case at least, more able to defend themselves than the whole security staff.

For now, however, I'm keeping those defensive - and offensive - abilities in check, not wanting to give anyone cause for offence. The Narthani will, I'm certain, have secrets they'd prefer me not to extract, and the Vilthorians in orbit will surely be watching for any psionic impropriety - and I see no reason at all to needlessly provoke either race.

A vertical transit-tube takes us deeper below the surface to our final destination - a gallery that has been completely mined out, then hastily finished off to form a functional conference hall, with lighting provided for us by a web of spotlights and work-lanterns suspended above the oval meeting table. At present, "us" means me and Mariella, a typically yellow-haired woman in a heavily-beaded robe - the Narthani representative - and a squat, egg-shaped figure made of metal; the armoured support-suit containing the highly-evolved brain-creature that represents the Vilthorians...

The Narthani send a woman, and the Vilthorians choose to lesser member of their race as emissary, not a great multi-lobed "master-brain" - either they're being understandably cautious, given that they're at war with a force deep inside their own territory, or they're not taking this unilateral approach by The Dire Queen seriously. The latter, if that proves to be the case, will most definitely need to be addressed, if the Mutual Defence Imperative hopes to attain the lofty status their leaders feel they are owed.

For now, the best they can expect is a respectful nod of acknowledgement as Mariella and I take our seats, at the opposite end of the table from our MDI hosts. There seems to be no seat for The Dire Queen, however - and no sign that she who brought about this meeting is expected any time soon...

"Welcome to Mutual Defence Imperative space, honoured guests from Dominion", says the Narthani woman. "We shall begin shortly."

"Would it not be wise to wait until the third party involved presents herself?", I suggest.

A puzzled expression on her face, the Narthani woman glances towards her Vilthorian counterpart, who in turn gives no sign of emotion, his metallic body-shell a blank canvas of dead white. After a moment, the armoured alien speaks, through an on-board voice synthesiser that makes... him sound more machine than life-form. "The Dire Queen..."

"...has been here for quite some time", a woman's voice interrupts, seemingly from all around us - and with good reason, as she reveals as the floor seems to slide out from under us, apparently flowing towards a point ahead of us - then at that point, a column begins to rise, the stone of the floor condensing into a liquid mass of material bearing a slight mother-of-pearl hue. The larger the column gets, the more intricate its shape becomes - there are signs of limbs, suggestions of fingers, facial features...

"Oh, man...", mumbles Mariella. I don't need to admonish her, for those are the only sounds she manages to make as the column grows arms, legs, a female face, complete with hair - two additional snake-like necks that rise from just behind her shoulders, one ending in the head of a dragon-like reptile, the other in the head of a wolf-like predatory creature. Three heads as a Soul-Selfer, three heads as a Dire Queen...

She has most definitely arrived.

The Dire Queen strides forward, high heels sprouting from her feet and making her as tall as the ceiling of the chamber, whilst the floor seems to flow with her, like a great cloak of liquid matter trailing out behind her. She's not threatening, nor aggressive - just her very presence is all she needs to intimidate a person, a room... an empire. Even Mystalorn trembled at the threat of the power that is now hers to command.

That hasn't stopped the Narthani from pushing things just a little. There's no seat for our guest... a typical ploy for a race with a history of military might, fiercely defensive of its territory. This is their way of making it irrefutably clear that they are in control, that they dictate the terms, no matter what...

...right up to the moment The Dire Queen reaches the table. Smiling pleasantly, she starts to lower herself, as though sitting down in a chair only she can see - and the "cloak" of matter gathers up under her, folds of "fabric" weaving together to form a short column beneath her that shapes itself into a throne as she makes herself comfortable. And now who has the power...?

"I am familiar with Narthani methods, Narthani traditions", she says plainly, looking towards the robed woman. "I expected them... but I did not expect that The Mutual Defence Imperative would be so... rude as to greet me with a minor, four-lobed functionary of The Vilthorian Aggregation" - her wolf-head fixes its eyes on the Vilthorian representative - "or some noble's daughter desperate to impress upon her father that she is more valuable as an ambassador than she could ever been as a prospective gift-wife for some half-wit warrior."

The Narthani woman's knuckles whiten - a sign that The Dire Queen has struck the bullseye with one target - whilst the Vilthorian continues to show no sign of any emotional response. There may be a specific reason for that, as The Dire Queen appears to realise...

"...but all is not quite as it seems", continues our three-headed guest - then she switches to her wolf-head to address the Vilthorian. "You are even less than you appear. You are a puppet, an empty shell, animated by the mind of one of your people's higher ranks, most likely from orbit - but that, and the lowly status of your Narthani counterpart, do not bother me in the slightest."

The Dire Queen's central head focusses on me. "One power at this table, at least, has sent a genuine delegation, and for that gesture of trust, they are recognised", says the graceful woman's head, like that of a marble statue. "Hello, Mane-of-Night - it's good to see you again."

"Your... Majesty", I respond, dipping my head.

"Now that's something I never thought I'd see - you bowing before me", observes The Dire Queen, smiling. "And who might your little friend be...?"

Mariella takes a moment to consider her response - good girl - then says only as much as is absolutely necessary. "Mariella da Silva, diplomatic intern for Dominion - howya doin'?"

Correction - she says maybe just a little too much...

Before I can shoot a reprimanding glare at my companion, The Dire Queen has defused any uneasiness all by herself. "I am well, thank you for asking", she replies. "I trust Mane-of-Night isn't working you too hard."

"No", murmurs my assistant. "I'm good."

"Glad to hear it", says the three-headed giantess. "Now, to business - I shall be brief..."

The Dire Queen sits back, one head directed at each delegation. "I shall bring my forces to bear in support of The Unified Response, and in direct defence of The Mutual Defence Imperative, in return for a single concession..."

Her dragon-head briefly turns away from the Narthani woman, and... regurgitates a rectangle of dark metal, the size and thickness of a slim, soft-covered book, delivering it into The Dire Queen's waiting hands. "This is a data-module I happened to recover in open space, just beyond MDI borders, some time ago. It contains some rather interesting information collected by a group I believe are known to you as the Vaggtshaersken..."

"They are a proscribed organisation", mutters the Narthani representative. "Traitors. Lodge-burners."

"Then can I assume you would not be adverse to impounding materials they have collected, in the pursuit of their betrayal", continues our giant guest, placing the data-module on the table, and sliding it across to the Narthani. "I require the item designated inventory fifteen, item four-five-eight - complete with cargo. Deliver it to me, and The Dire Queen will answer Darkhawk's call."

"We are unfamiliar with this item", says the Narthani as she studies the read-out set into the surface of the data-module. "As far as I am aware, we have not yet recovered this vessel. The traitors have been busy, acquiring much technology, and knowledge. This may interest you, Lady Mane-of-Night - the item in question appears to be a Confederacy space-vessel..."

The Narthani passes the device to Mariella, who takes a quick look at it before handing it on to me. The ship is fairly unremarkable - a heavy transport of some kind, possibly Tai-reh'taran, and not some secret prototype, or an Over/Strike Unit... just why might The Dire Queen want something so mundane?

Mariella leans on close to my ear. "I just checked with Myromar, and that ship's serial number comes up as belonging to a ship called the Guizal - a heavy colony-carrier that went missing over twenty years ago..."

Twenty years - the time of the Hybrine Wars...

"...its cargo is on file as Class N-7 Habitation Modules", she continues, her voice becoming more and more of a whisper. "Funny thing is, there ain't never been no such thing. According to Myromar, there's a reference to 'em in the files the Confederacy gave Darkhawk when she agreed to rehome what was left of the Hybrine in Dominion. 'Class N-7 Habitation Modules' is a code for a mass-relocation of Hybrine prisoners in deep suspension - whatever that is."

The Dire Queen wants Hybrine - a lot of them, and probably the only ones left that aren't on Myrnia, or in Dominion. It seems like such a small price to pay to bring her fully into the fold of The Unified Response... but this could be far, far much more than the simple material transaction it might appear to be - we may defeat The Pandemonicum, only to find ourselves plunged into another war with the Hybrine...

The Dire Queen can probably get anything she wants out of the MDI, unquestioned and unchallenged, but I'm not so easily won over. There are questions that must be answered before I can possibly justify putting Dominion's name to the deal she's proposing - and I know just who to call upon to help me get my answers. "With your permission", I say to the MDI representatives, "I will contact my vessel, and have my crew make contact with someone outside your space who can verify the identity of this vessel, and the cargo involved."

"Please, proceed", says the Narthani delegate. "You are our guest."

I give a nod of acknowledgement, then open a comms-channel to Dominion Two with the communicator contained within the gold-framed pearl-like jewel of the leather choker about my neck. "Myromar? Please get me a channel to Science Specialist Korax. There are matters requiring her unique perspective..."

...to be continued...