"Hey, Mel..."

Despite the knowledge his body now consisted of graphene-reinforced cells and was therefore seriously destruction-resistant, Max couldn't suppress a pang of anxiety at the prospect of presenting his somewhat...volatile friend with an opinion she would be less than thrilled to hear.

Hunched over the control panel of Kiko Wandoo's sleek silver starship, Mel didn't look up from her intense perusal of the local-area scanner. "What?"

Max swallowed. C'mon, man—I can do this. My mitochondria are powered by zero-point energy. I can interact with the Higgs field to make myself weightless. I helped save Earth. I'm a bona fide, dyed-in-the-wool, genuine superhuman.

These things were all true. They were just rendered less reassuring by the fact they were also true for Mel. Not to mention the fact she was, well...Mel. When it came to Mel-ness, Mel had Max completely covered.

Regardless, he pushed on. He'd promised Cora he would, and if the almost-apocalypse had taught him one thing, it was that when it came to Mel-ness Cora had him covered too.

He took a deep breath. "You know, it might be time we should, er...kind of start thinking about the possibility...that just maybe, there's a chance we sort of, you know, um...I'm just saying...that we won't, well...you know, we won't find..."

Expressionless, Mel turned to face him. "I'm sorry—we won't find what?"

"Um"—Max mustered up his courage—"we won't find"—which promptly deserted him—"er, a planet where we can restock on coffee. Yeah, that's it. We're getting pretty low." With a weak smile, he held up his half-empty cup as evidence. "And we still haven't tracked down one that grows it."

Mel stared at him for a moment before turning back to the scanner. "You were going to say Cam, weren't you?"

"What? Me? Um..."

"We'll find him." Mel's voice was quiet, but resolute. "I know it." And with a slight but unmistakable shift in her body position, she made it clear the conversation was over.

Max opened his mouth but then, failing to think of anything appropriate and/or non-life-endangering to say, closed it again. Disconsolate, he wandered off to find Cora and Kiko—it would soon be time to prepare for the scrunch to their next destination in the so far fruitless search for their missing friends.

In the days following the Earth's near-destruction—the potential planet-destroying kamikaze collision of the Rigellian battle-station, averted at the last millisecond by its uncontrolled jump into scrunch-space—hopes had been high that the battered station would soon be found. Particularly as its central command computer had been taken over by EJ—the proto-human, formerly Rigellian, formerly hologrammatic AI, who had been such a key part of the world's salvation. And who would no doubt want to be found.

But as the days became weeks, the station remained missing, along with its two key passengers: Captain Zlep Flenson—Rigellian rebel, turncoat, coffee-addict, friend to the baristas, fellow Earth-saviour, and Cam—super-human, word-nerd, fiancé to Mel, and the missing fourth barista.

Plus a bunch of world-leaders everyone tended to forget about.

Across the width and breadth of the galaxy the search had been taken up, by long-haul freighters, by military cruisers, by luxurious space-yachts, and by humble commuter-ships—by any and all of the countless galactic residents who had been moved by the plucky little Earth's struggle against the might of the ruthless Rigellian juggernaut, a struggle which had been broadcast to them live in glorious high-res 3D.

But to no avail. It was soon clear the station was not to be found in any of the more well-traversed sectors of the galaxy. And being about the size of Utah, it would have been hard to miss.

So, with flawless—if a little over-optimistic—logic, the baristas had reasoned that if the station wasn't in the well-known areas, well then, they'd go find it in one of the less well-known ones.

Which is how they now found themselves in the Perseus Arm, skimming the edge of a dark nebula as the ship's computer steered a delicate path between the tumbling asteroids that kept less desperate and/or insane people well clear of the area.

The logic of their plan was hard to fault. The logistics, however, were a different matter. The same computer had calculated that at their current rate of progress it would take them something in the order of several million years to conduct a thorough search of all the galaxy's hidden nooks and crannies. On learning of this, Mel's response had been simple.

"Well, then—there's no time to lose."

The Chief Executive of the Galactic Conglomerate was not accustomed to having her orders questioned, and her current expression suggested that was just how she liked it.

"Why you? Why you? I'll tell you why you, Kwoin. Firstly, you were in the middle of that unholy shit-storm of an Earth debacle from the very start. Secondly, you've had dealings with Splurmfeen before. And thirdly, because I bloody well said so!"

Seated on a stylishly uncomfortable chair, positioned front and centre before the CE's magnificent and imposing solid-marble desk, Councillor Uva Kwoin—skilled diplomat, hardened negotiator, veteran of countless political crises, key-member of a secret cabal sworn to halt the rise of the Rigellian empire, polished, stylish and fiercely intelligent—fidgeted and did her best not to feel like a naughty schoolgirl.

"Yes, ma'am. It's just that my encounters with Admiral Splurmfeen could hardly be classified as...cordial."

The CE snorted. "Cordial? That military bonehead is as about as cordial as a punch in the face, and I can't imagine the time he spent dead has improved his disposition." She poured Arcturan whiskey into a couple of glasses, and slid one towards Kwoin, her expression softening a little. "Look, Uva—this situation calls for delicate handling, and you're one of my best councillors. That's also why you."

"But ma'am, now that Earth is classified as a Level Two world and is a full-member of the Conglomerate, surely the Rigellians wouldn't dream of attacking it again? I know Splurmfeen intimated as much, but that can't be anything more than bluster and bluff. Invading a member planet would mean war. Rigel would face the full might of GalCon."

"The full might of GalCon? Yes..." The CE's expression was grave. "The catch there is that the Conglomerate's full might may not be quite as mighty as everyone assumes."

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, collectively our members could field an impressive force, no question. The key word there is 'collectively'. GalCon is an amalgamation of worlds held together by common interests: trade, research, cultural events such as the Galactic Drinking Contest, and yes—security. But for most members that last interest is far from the priority. We have our peace-keeping forces, which are fine for handling those little interplanetary squabbles that pop up from time to time. But against the full might of Rigel? They wouldn't last five minutes.

"No, to take on the Rigellians we would need to recruit military units from member-worlds, which would mean the activation of GalCon alliance statutes and the compulsory drafting of forces, with all the mess that would entail—complaints, resistance, diplomatic protests, skirmishes in the courts and maybe even in the field. But most of all it would mean time, Uva. Time during which Rigel would run roughshod over the galaxy, starting with the Earth.

"GalCon would fight. In the end, we'd probably even win. But the cost, Uva—the cost would be enormous. Billions of lives, trillions of credits, galactic civilisation devastated. We can't let that happen. You can't let it happen. Somehow, you have to convince Splurmfeen and that idiotic Ice Warrior ally of his that GalCon is ready for them."

"You want me to lie, Ma'am?"

Once again business-like, the CE drained her drink. "Of course I bloody well want you to lie. We're diplomats, aren't we?"

"But—"

"And you may as well take that ridiculous Earth ambassador with you. Who knows? Despite all evidence to the contrary, he might even prove to be useful." She snorted. "Stranger things have happened."

"Pack your bags, old boy. We're off on another adventure."

"An adventure, Ambassador?

"Oh, yes. Apparently, I'm required for top-level negotiations with those Rigellian troublemakers. Probably all a storm in a teacup, but at least it gets us out of the embassy for a bit. There's only so many games of Solitaire one can take, and for reasons I can't fathom you still refuse to play Monopoly with me. Afraid of losing again, no doubt."

"Hmm, yes. That's definitely the reason, Ambassador. Tell me, where are these negotiations to be held?"

"Let me see, they did say. Were was it again? Oh, that's right—Rigel."

"Rigel! Do you think that's wise, Ambassador? Putting yourself in the clutches of the very people who pursued you from one side of the Earth to the other? The people who no doubt hold you responsible for the failure of their invasion? The people known across the galaxy as borderline psychotic, rabid war-mongers?"

"Oh, that's all water under the bridge, Captain. I'm sure the Rigellians are perfectly reasonable folk and ready to let bygones be bygones. Once I apply a bit of my famous Aussie charm, old Admiral What's-His-Face and I will become great friends. Just you wait and see."

"But...yes, Ambassador."

At Max's entrance to their cabin, Cora switched off the holo-display and gave him an expectant look. "How did it go?"

He flopped into a chair. "She's determined to keep looking. I mean, it's not as though we don't want to keep looking too. It's just that it seems so futile. But I guess in the absence of anything better to do, we keep going."

"Well, as it turns out, we might have something better to do."

Max sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"I've just watched the latest news from the Rigellian civil war. It seems as though, just maybe, the Earth might need us again." She switched the holo-display back on and the forbidding face of Xarnax Splurmfeen materialised before them. "Watch."