As the sirens grew ever louder, Mel extracted a chair from a nearby pile of wreckage, set it upright on the floor, dusted it off and then—without the slightest hint of concern—took a seat. She looked over at Kiko. "It's funny, isn't it?"

Her open, wide-eyed features uncharacteristically anxious, the young Alpha Centaurian turned from the shattered window she'd been peering through as she waited for the first visible signs of the imminent trouble the sirens heralded. To the best of her reckoning Mel was now guilty of assault and battery, vandalism, disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, quite possibly airspace violations (given the trajectory and velocity of her latest victim), insurrection and rioting, plus who knew how many other more obscure Rigellian rules and regulations, and while Kiko herself hadn't committed any of those crimes, she had a very strong suspicion that guilt by association was a concept the Rigellians would be pretty comfortable with.

Separated from their ship, alone and unarmed, the two of them were on a world far from both their homes, a world conquered and ruled by the most warlike, short-tempered and heavily armed race in the galaxy—and they (well, Mel) had just done more or less everything they possibly could to really, seriously, thoroughly annoy said race.

"Funny?" she echoed, faintly.

"Yeah," replied Mel. "It's funny how your perspective changes, some times. This last little while I'd been thinking the only possible way I could deal with Cam's disappearance was to search for him. You know—that having lost something I love, the only option I had was to look for it. Until I found it—or him. Simple."

Despite the extremity of the situation, Kiko found herself intrigued. This was probably the longest statement she'd heard from Mel in the entire time she'd known her—never the mind being the most introspective. She took a step towards her friend. "And what are you thinking now?"

Staring into space, the ghost of a smile playing on her features, it was a moment before Mel replied. "I'm thinking perhaps I've been acting a little crazy. That maybe setting out on a several million year long quest is just a bit delusional. And that I might need to accept"—she swallowed—"Cam is gone and find a more constructive way to use my time and my...my talents."

"Oh, Mel." Tearing up a little, Kiko squeezed the barista's shoulder. "I know it's hard to let go—and I'll be with you all the way if you decide to keep searching—but I think you're right. It's a great big galaxy out there, and no matter how determined you might be, you can't search it all. You just might end up wasting your life, and I'm sure Cam wouldn't want that. You're capable of so much more."

"I am." Mel stood. "Starting today—right now—there's no more moping. No more ferreting around in the galaxy's darkest corners. No more fart-arsing about. It's time to do something with my life."

Kiko clapped her hands and gave a squeal of delight. "Eeeee! How exciting. Oh, there's so many wonderful things you might do. There's a whole galaxy of opportunities—I should know, I've tried ever so many of them. You could study at one of the ancient universities of Achernar, or go on a pilgrimage to see the Perspicacious Philosophers of Polaris, or dive the depths of the Denebolan Darkwaters, or sample some of the epicurean delights of Vega or do any of a million other scrumptious things. And I can show you them all. Ooh, where to start? Eeee—"

Testament to her experience with the length and volume of these outbursts, Mel put an end to it with the simple but expedient method of putting her hand over Kiko's mouth. "Look, while I appreciate the sentiment—and the enthusiasm—there something I need to say, if I can just get a few words in. Firstly, have you forgotten our little talk about the squealing? Secondly, I've already figured out what I'm going to do with my life. And thirdly—Vegan food? Eeew."

"Bmmph? Phmmph mmmph whmmph," replied Kiko, before Mel had a chance to remove her hand. "That's lovely! Whatever are you going to do?"

"Oh, that's simple. You see, if I can't have Cam, I'm going to get some payback instead. What I'm going to do is kick Rigel's arse. One Rigellian at a time." Glancing through the window, she grinned at the sight of two armoured personnel carriers screeching to a halt outside. "Sweet. Speaking of arses, here's some more, now."

"Ah, Holly—there you are. Please, come in. Take a seat."

From behind the desk of his well-appointed office, watching the girl clamber onto a chair and sit with her legs swinging—as they were too short to reach the ground—Spoonduckle Grenthar reflected on his foolishness in thinking this diminutive person, irrespective of whatever newfound abilities she possessed, might have helped stem the tide of the Rigellian onslaught. He sighed, as he pondered how best to break the latest news to her.

"Holly, I've asked you here so that we might have a little talk. You see, there have been some, ah...developments, with regards to the possible upcoming, um...disagreement between Earth and Rigel." He paused to wipe his forehead with a handkerchief. Despite the articulacy acquired from decades of high-level diplomacy, he found himself struggling under the force of that wide-eyed gaze. "And, well, you see, these developments have placed Earth in a rather more...vulnerable position."

If Holly was troubled by this statement, her expression didn't show it. "Don't worry. Jess and I said we'll help and we will."

As though summoned by the mention of her name, the beanie-clad hologram popped into existence in the chair alongside Holly, making the councillor jump.

"Yeah, don't sweat it, Spoony. We've got your...um—what is it we've got again, Hols?"

"His back."

"Oh, yeah. We've got your back. Hey, Hols, shouldn't we get his front, too? Might get messy, otherwise."

"It's just a saying, Jess."

"Oh." The hologram's genial expression became glum. "One of those."

"Don't worry." Holly placed a hand on the position in which Jess' back would be, were she to actually have one. "They give me trouble sometimes, too. You'll get the hang of them."

"Wait, so I've gotta hang stuff now? Without having any hands? Youch, this being-a-hologram thing is tough, let me tell you. You know, just the other day—"

Grenthar cleared his throat. "Uh, forgive me, Jess. It's just that my news is rather pressing. You see, due to some rather complicated reasons I won't go into, Earth can no longer count on GalCon to support them against Rigel. Which means that you...that is to say, we are on our own, so to speak. And given how futile any such unsupported resistance would be, I'm sorry to have to tell you I've just finished a conference call with the major world leaders in which I recommended surrender as the best option."

"What?" Holly leapt to her feet. "Surrender? We can't do that! Things didn't look good last time, either, and we still won. Even without your stupid GalCon. The baristas will fight, I know they will, and now we've got Jess and me, too."

Jess also stood. "Yeah, Spoony. We've got us. So, you can stick your surrender up your...up your...um. What's the word I want here, Hols?"

"Butt."

The hologram frowned. "But, what?"

"Never mind. Look, mister. Those world leader people can do what they like, but Jess and I aren't giving up." For once in her life Holly had felt more like a solution than a problem and it wasn't a feeling she was willing to give up without a fight. Regardless of the dangers entailed. "I bet if you ask my mum she'll tell you the same thing."

Grenthar gave her a sad smile. "But I have asked your mother, Holly. And she agrees the best thing is for you and her—and Jess—to accompany me back to Galactic Central, just until things, um...settle down a little here."

"You want us to run away? That's even worse. We won't! We won't do it and you can't make us."

"Well, in fact, as you are only a minor—and your mother agrees with me—I'm afraid I could make you." He held up a hand to forestall the explosion Holly's thunderous expression no doubt presaged. "But I won't. If you want to stay here on Earth, of course that's your choice. And your mother will stay with you."

The outraged expression switched to one of suspicion. "Really? No tricks?"

"No tricks, Holly. But there is a condition." The councillor stifled yet another sigh. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. "The condition is that even if you stay, I'm afraid Jess and her capsule will have to come with us. While it would be bad enough if the Rigellians were to capture you, the consequences of them getting hold of that capsule—and somehow unlocking its superpowering potential—simply do not bear thinking about. We cannot take that risk."

"What? You can't take Jess away!"

"We have no choice, Holly. Well, there is one other option." He swallowed. "We could destroy the capsule. In fact, given how close the Rigellians are, there are some back at Galactic Central urging us to do exactly that."

"What?" Holly's voice became little more than a high-pitched squeak. "What?"

"Holly, please, you must understand. The possible consequences here go far beyond the fate of Earth. And there is a simple solution to this problem. Come with us to Galactic Central. That way you and Jess can stay together."

The girl took a step towards the desk. "Consequences, schmonsequences. Listen—"

"What are schmonsequences, Hols?"

"Later, Jess. Listen, mister. You promised us. You promised Jess and me could stay together. Back on that beach, you said, 'Holly, I give you my word. My word as a GalCon councillor. As the highest representative on Earth of the most powerful organisation in galactic history. I most solemnly promise that if you come down from that tree, if you agree to help us, nobody will take Jess or your capsule away from you.' That's what you said. I remember."

Grenthar found himself a little dumbstruck at this verbatim recital. And the abrupt unravelling of his plans. "I...well, yes...but—"

"And then, just a minute ago, you said you won't make me come with you. That if I want to stay, it's my choice. That's what you said, isn't it?"

"Er, I suppose. However—"

"That's settled then. I'm staying and Jess is, too." Holly crossed her arms and fixed the councillor with a steady gaze. "Or are you gonna break promises you made to a little kid?"

Grenthar looked from Holly to Jess and then back to Holly. He wiped his forehead again.

"Oh, dear."

Councillor Uva Kwoin swept into the most luxurious—and expensive—of Galactic Central's multitude of high-end drinking spots and, as she expected, spotted the short figure she was looking for lurking by the bar. She made her way over.

"Drink up, Prax. We're out of here."

The former High Lord raised his eyebrows at her. "Is that so? And where are we off to, my dear?"

"Earth. GalCon's cut them loose."

Prax motioned to the bartender for another round. "Yes, I know."

Kwoin blinked. "How the hell...?"

"Oh, I have my sources, Councillor. My friends in places both high and low. Yes, it's all rather unfortunate for those poor Earth-folk."

"Unfortunate? It's more than unfortunate. They're sitting ducks for the Rigellians and the Ice Warriors. That's why we need to go and help."

"Ah, I see." Prax took a delicate sip of his drink. "And what nature of help did you have in mind?"

"Well, you know..." Still caught up in the outrage of the CE's news, Kwoin suddenly realised what an excellent question this was. "We'll figure that out when we get there."

The Rigellian shook his head. "I don't think so, my dear. You see, I rather think my...talents are better utilised here."

"What? In a bar?"

"Sadly, no. Although as a fellow student of the political arts, I'm sure you're well aware of just how much can be accomplished, in a diplomatic sense, with a little alcoholic lubrication. But what I meant is here, as in Galactic Central."

Pulling up a stool, Kwoin ordered a whisky for herself—a double of the most expensive they had. "And just what talents do you mean, Prax? Your ability to find the nearest pedicurist?"

"Ah-ha-ha. Very droll, my dear. But what I was referring to was my capacity to move behind the scenes. To pull strings, as it were. To lobby on behalf of the forlorn, beleaguered people of Earth. In other words, to see if I can get GalCon back in the game again. I rather think that's the way in which I might be of most use. I'm not much good in an actual scrap, you see."

"Not much good in a scrap? Prax, you're a bloody Rigellian—you lot were born to scrap."

His smile was wan. "Yes. But I'm afraid we High Lords are rather the exception to the rule."

She gave him a considered look over the rim of her glass. Given his history and current circumstances, she trusted her newfound ally about as far as she could throw him, but then what did she have to lose? It wasn't as though he would be any use in an actual fight. Although she supposed, if it came down to it, she probably could throw him at the Rigellians.

"Fine. But I need your ship."

"What? But I—"

"That wasn't a question, Prax." She drained her glass, before turning to leave. "Oh, and thanks for the drink."

Once again thanking his lucky stars for the inviolability of the Altairan banking system, and by extension, the copious amounts of his money it held, the little man sat and watched the councillor make her imperious way from the bar, until he was distracting by the beeping of his communicator. He glanced at the screen.

Appointment, 30 minutes - Twinkle Toes Foot Salon.