Words thrummed out, vibrating from the murky soup inside the small liaison sphere, four meters in diameter. The voice, though not human, produced speech that was clearly understandable. “I speak for the hydrogues. I bring a message to the king of the rock dwellers.” With a hissing blast, excess steam vented from tiny holes in the pressure vessel.

The royal guards moved about in a frenzy with weapons drawn, looking pathetically ineffective. Ground-based military units rushed into place, but none of them wanted to open fire on the small diamond ball. High overhead, the immense alien mothership waited, silent and threatening.

When no one moved to open the Whisper Palace doors, the alien voice pulsed again. “I am the hydrogue emissary. I demand to speak with your king.”

Inside the Throne Hall, Old King Frederick squirmed in anxious confusion. What was he to do? Basil Wenceslas was not here. The Chairman had gone to Ildira to meet with the Mage-Imperator, leaving him to sit on his throne and maintain the appearance of stable government.

“I’ve looked over your calendar, Frederick,” Basil had said before departing. “There is nothing that requires immediate attention, and if anyone should demand that you make a decision, stall them. Send me a message. I won’t be gone more than a week.”

Who could have guessed that after so many ignored demands for parley, the deep-core aliens would choose this moment to appear in person?

“Get me a green priest,” King Frederick said. “We must send a message immediately.” He would ask Basil what he should do. Unfortunately, on Ildira there would be few, if any, green priests to respond. The King had to hope his message would get through, that someone in the Mage-Imperator’s palace could use telink for instant communication.

Nearby, the minor court advisers, equally terrified, pressed close to the throne, drawing upon the King’s imagined strength, hoping Frederick would keep control of the situation.

Outside, the emissary’s enclosed sphere hovered impatiently in front of the barred doors. Thin, ominous wisps continued to hiss from the sphere’s vents, like a fuming and impatient dragon.

“Tell him we’re considering the request,” Frederick said, stalling, and the message was relayed. He felt desperate for someone to lean on. “And find my old Teacher compy OX. I might need to tap into his information.”

The alien’s liaison tank reminded King Frederick of a diving bell. Recalling that these—what had they called themselves, hydrogues?—lived at incredible pressures deep within gas giants, he realized the crystalline sphere must be an environment chamber. Any alien emissary would have had to enclose himself like that, just to survive in Earth’s atmosphere. He couldn’t imagine the pressure it must contain.

“That small tank could be filled with weapons, Sire,” said one of the court guards.