Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

Four figures sit on folding chairs scattered about a moonlit clearing.
“Agent Doir. This is your first time, isn’t it?”
He turns his attention to the nearest impossibility: a goose-sized pale skinned humanoid with multiple pairs of gossamer wings folded neatly against its back.
“Please call me Virgil. Yes, this all new to me. Quite honestly, I was surprised to be assigned. Only been on the team for a few weeks.”
They nod.
“Happened to me, too. Apparently it saves wasting training. Those unfit will suffer a mental breakdown almost immediately.”
There’s a deep chuckle from the furthest impossibility: a large biped balanced precariously on one chair with its feet up on another. Whenever it moves, both chairs creak under the weight. Virgil fails to not stare at the single shining horn projecting from the scaled equine forehead.
“Once or twice a year we have to quell some unfortunate. The only ones who seem unshakable are our offworld visitors.”
Which forces Virgil to regard the ultimate impossibility: a smoky-skinned biped with impossibly large black eyes set in a face shaped like an inverted teardrop: an actual Grey!
It nods.
“We know of many intelligences, along with several dominants that have no need for sentience. It gives us a certain familiarity.”
Virgil can’t help but grin at the humorous tone. But the round has raised a question. He looks back to the horned being.
“You do this several times a year?”
The shining horn dips.
“With the main powers of this apparent world, several from adjacent realms, and two nearby planets.”
Virgil takes a couple of steadying breaths. Be embarrassing to faint at the answer to his own question. Composure regained, he starts.
“Pardon me, but I’ve been given only one item to share with you all. Is that normal?”
The winged being nods.
“Those you answer to do not trust us. They provide the minimum necessary whilst feverishly working on methods to conquer or capture us all.”
Virgil looks surprised. After a moment’s thought, he visibly relaxes.
“You know! I did wonder. My briefing emphasised giving the impression of my bosses being overawed and so on.”
The Grey laughs.
“If it makes you feel any better, every human nation we liaise with harbours similar intent, and every one of their representatives who attend these meetings thinks their bosses are varying degrees of-” it turns to the horned being, “what was that delightful definition we heard last month?”
The horned one snorts a laughing reply.
“‘Batshit crazy’.”
The winged being gently claps their hands.
“Enough, now. Virgil hasn’t succumbed, so we should get on. My name is Vanavaeth, by the way.”
The Grey nods.
“Call me Druck.”
The horned one smiles, revealing a lot more pointed teeth than Virgil expected for someone with a horse’s head, albeit scaly.
“I’m Banchan. What’s the item?”
Virgil quotes from memory.
“‘The supersonic incursions over Ireland are nothing to do with any force we correspond with. They’re faster than any aircraft of comparable size currently in operation. The localised lightning strikes that accompany the sightings also remain unexplained’.”
Druck swears luridly. Virgil doesn’t understand a word, but still. He gestures for them to speak.
“They’re Recurarnan. The lightning is a side-effect of operating their engines in an oxygen-rich environment. I thought those pesky Venusians had been a little too quiet lately. Tell your people we’ll handle it.”
Virgil nods.
“You have anything for me?”
Vanavaeth smiles.
“Tell your bosses what Druck said, and that we seemed convinced of your reporting their subservience, etcetera. Should set you up nicely.”
Banchan grins.
“Welcome to the Deepest State.”