"Two tickets to Earth, please."

The man in the ticket booth might have looked more puzzled if Cora had asked him for two serves of lightly fried stoat—but not by much. "Two tickets to where?"

"Um—Earth."

"Earth?  Never heard of it. What kind of a name for a planet is that?"

Max and Cora exchanged a glance. It seemed the residents of this remote spaceport, orbiting a massive gas giant on the very edge of the Crab Nebula, hadn't been keeping up with recent galactic events.

"It's a new member of GalCon," explained Max. "Over towards Alpha Centauri."

The man gave him a dubious look, before consulting his data terminal. "Let's see. Well, how about that. There is an Earth.  What's next?  Mud?" He shook his head in apparent despair for the future of a galaxy in which such nomenclature-related travesties were allowed to occur.  "It's gonna cost you, though.  Them new routes are never cheap."

Reaching into a pocket of her jeans, Cora retrieved the iridescent piece of plastic Kiko had given her before dropping them off at the spaceport.  "Do you take...whatever this is?"

The ticket-seller's surly attitude vanished.  "A Promethium Card!  Yes ma'am, certainly ma'am, no problem ma'am.  Two tickets, right away—first-class, of course.  Would you and the good sir care to relax in our traveller's lounge, while you wait for your shuttle?  Right this way, please."

A few minutes later, the Earthlings found themselves safely ensconced in comfy armchairs, sipping on cocktails and watching what appeared to be a music video on the lounge's giant holo-display.

Max frowned up at the image. "Uh, Cora—is it just me, or are those guys singing Under Pressure?"

She glanced up. "Oh, I don't know. They look pretty relaxed to me."

He shook his head. "No, I mean the song Under Pressure. You know, from the 80s?"

She took a more considered look. "Hmm. It is kind of familiar. Maybe some tunes are just sort of universal? Or galactic, at least? It's just a coincidence, though—surely?"

Max looked dubious. "Well, coincidental songs I can maybe get behind." He pointed up at the image. "But faces? Not so much. That's Freddy Mercury and David Bowie."

As the song came to an end, the image of the singers faded away, to be replaced by that of a presenter seated behind a chrome desk—a tanned, glossy figure who appeared to be more hair product than person.

"Aw yeah, that was Under Pressure, just another dose of awesome from the little planet that could, my favourite planet and yours, the planet with the music the galaxy just can't get enough of, GalCon's new bestie, the planet Earth. And hey, pressure is something those Earthlings should know all about, am I right? Now, next up in our ad-free, all-Earth multi-play we have a real treat for you—a hot little number by the name of Total Eclipse of the Heart. Those Earth-peeps might not know their anatomy from their astronomy, but when you're as kick-arse as those cats, who needs brains, huh? On with the music."

The presenter faded away, to be replaced by the image of a stately manor-house and the strains of a piano.

Max considered—and then shook his head. The fact the galaxy appeared to be enamoured with Earth's 80s pop-rock, when just a few weeks ago they hadn't even know the planet existed, was a concept he didn't have the headspace to process right now. He glanced at the departures board.

"Six hours until we leave. And it looks as though we'll need to change shuttles at Theta Orionis. This is gonna take a while." He shook his head. "I still can't believe Mel dumped us."

Cora sighed. "I know.  When she agreed we should head back to Earth, I thought she meant all of us.  I guess she's just focused on finding Cam, and doesn't want to fall behind schedule."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Behind schedule? On a route that's going to take about three million years? I think she could probably have spared a day or two."

Cora felt compelled to defend her friend. "I know she doesn't really show it, but losing Cam has hit her hard. She's hasn't had the easiest life, and although they may not seem very compatible, she knows Cam is the best thing to ever happen to her. She needs him. So, she's doing the only thing she can to get him back."

"I guess," Max conceded. "I mean, we all want the big dufus back. And Flenson.  And EJ." He stared down at his feet, unwilling to look Cora in the eye. "It's just getting harder and harder to believe it's ever going to happen."

Cora placed her head on his shoulder.  "I know."

They managed a few moments of sombre reflection before the calm was broken by a sudden outburst of excited squealing, coming from the other side of the lounge.

"Ooh, it is them!  It is!  I told you so!  Oh, how exciting!  Rerfnola and Glerdwyn will just never believe me.  Yoo-hoo over there!  Hello, baristas!  C'mon, Narger—let's go and say hi.  They won't mind, I'm sure."

When the baristas had been recruited and super-powered by EJ, the hologrammatic AI sent to Earth by a rebel Rigellian scientist with a guilty conscience, they'd had no idea the virtual man was also a media source for the Pan Galactic Network, or that their planet-defending exploits would be broadcast live to billions of viewers. No idea, that is, until hordes of barista-philes had arrived in the Solar System, enraptured by the Earthlings' defiance of their Rigellian invaders, and determined to display their support at as close a range as possible. The four baristas had become galactic celebrities, whether they wanted to be or not.

Now, however, having spent the last few weeks scouring some of the galaxy's most remote and least populated areas, they had forgotten about their fame. The large blue woman advancing on them, with her smaller—but just as blue—husband in tow, was proving an effective reminder.

"Oh, this is such a treat! Fancy meeting some actual baristas. Ooh, we just have to get a photo with you.  Narger, you sit near Cora, and if Max just scooches up a little, I'll squeeze in next to him—there, that's perfect. Yoo-hoo, excuse me over there!" The woman waved her phone at a newly-arrived group of uniformed school-children, led by a harried-looking man. "Would you mind? We've got a couple of the baristas here, and we'd love a picture."

The man's expression cleared. "Baristas? The Baristas? And you children said an excursion to the Crab Nebula would be boring. Come on, let's go check them out."

Pausing only to pull out their own phones, the horde of kids advanced on the wide-eyed Earthlings, as—roused from their spaceport-induced torpor—the assorted travellers scattered around the lounge glanced in curiosity at the growing commotion.

"I don't mean to be rude to our hosts, but I can't say I think much of this hotel, old boy.  'Dank' is the first word that springs to mind. Followed, in short order, by 'leave'."

"Hotel? Ambassador, surely you realise this is a dungeon?"

"Oh, I think that's a touch harsh, Captain. The decor is a little industrial for my tastes, and the plumbing could do with some work, but I don't know if I'd go so far as to call it a dungeon. A dive, maybe. It's certainly an upgrade on some of the places we've been. Besides, as guests, we should be open to new cultural experiences. Maybe this passes as luxurious, for Rigellians?"

"Ambassador, we were brought here under armed guard and we have been locked in. Quite clearly, we are prisoners—not guests."

"Oh, I don't think so. No, I suspect this is simply the Rigellian way. No doubt the fellow who took away your gun just wants to clean it or something. I'm sure any moment now somebody will be along to whisk us off to a vital ambassadorial function, or a high-level diplomatic meeting or some such."

"But, Ambassador—"

"Fortunately, I brought along a deck of cards, to help us pass the time. How about a quick game of Snap? Now that I've given away the demon drink, I'm feeling sharp as a tack, old boy. Couldn't be more on top of things."

"How the hell could she have escaped? She was in a locked bloody cell, you imbecile."

The soldier monitoring the video-feed from the Rigellian High Palace's dungeons gave a nervous swallow, while surreptitiously trying to position himself in front of the magazine lying on his desk.

"Yes, sir.  I know, sir. But"—he pointed at the screen showing Uva Kwoin's cell—"she's not anymore."

"Yes, I can see that, you moron. The question is, where is she now?"

"Um. Somewhere else, sir?"

The guard captain sighed. "I'm guessing you didn't top your class at the academy, soldier?"

"Uh...no, sir."

"What a surprise. I dunno. You had one job.  One bloody job!  Watching a screen—how could you mess that up?"

"Sir, I can assure you that I was closely monitoring the feed, at all times."

"Is that right? Are you sure you weren't closely monitoring that copy of Whose Shoes?"

"I don't know which copy you mean, sir."

"That one over there. The one with the enormous chrome-plated battle-boots on the cover."

"Oh, that's not chrome, sir, it's actually...er...hmm."

The captain rubbed his temples. "Tell me, how do you think the admiral is going to react to Kwoin's little escape act?"

The soldier tried to swallow again, but found his throat had become too dry.  Er...badly, sir?" he croaked.

"Badly? Hah!  Just be glad you've only got two kneecaps. The trouble is, he's not going to stop at yours. Come with me. We need to find how Kwoin got out, and then we need to find where she's gotten to—quickly."

Uva Kwoin was furious. She was furious at Xarnax Splurmfeen for imperilling galactic peace in order to satisfy his own vainglorious ends, not to mention not bloody well not staying dead the way people were supposed to when they got killed. She was furious at the Rigellians for being battle-crazed warmongers with the worst collective case of short-man syndrome in galactic history, and for being the kind of knob-heads who conquered worlds to get cheap platform-soles. She was furious at GalCon's Chief Executive for sending her on this fool's errand, and for being too damn obtuse to insist on neutral ground for her meeting with Splurmfeen.

She was furious at the Ice Warriors in general, for being the morally bankrupt, lethal killers-for-hire they were and Kraal Vanar in particular, for stoking the ever-simmering fires of Rigellian discontent .

And she was furious at the galaxy as a whole for being so, so far removed from the ordered, well-governed and peaceful place her deeply bureaucratic soul yearned for it to be.

She was so furious that when her erstwhile captors had entered her cell, it took all the willpower she could muster to slip her invisible form past them and out into the corridor, rather than wiping the slack-jawed, confused looks from their faces with a couple of well-placed roundhouse kicks to their heads. Particularly as there was just something so eminently hittable about Rigellians.

Later, she promised herself. Her prototype personal cloaking device was still top secret, and if she was going to keep it that way, video footage of Rigellians collapsing into bloody, unconscious heaps for no visible reason would have to be avoided. Plus, it didn't have much charge left. It was time to come up with a plan, and for that she'd need a hiding spot. Preferably one with a power-socket.

"Let's make this quick."

Stifling a sigh, Kiko Wandoo forced herself to smile at Mel. Even her unrelentingly sunny personality was beginning to wilt under the pressure of the barista's unwavering, single-minded determination to find her fiancé. Not for the first time, she wondered whether she should have gone with Max and Cora and left Mel to it.

"Oh, don't worry. Blerg's not the kind of place where you want to linger. We'll just pick up some lovely supplies and then before you know it, we'll on our way. It'll be ever so fast."

Mel frowned at the young Alpha Centaurian woman. "Blerg? What kind of a name for a planet is that?"

A little thrown by this unexpected non-Cam-related interest, it took Kiko a moment to reply. "Um. That's not its real name. Blerg is just the closest non-Blergians can manage. To pronounce its actual name, you'd need super-malleable vocal cords, like the natives have."

"Right. And why don't we want to linger?"

Kiko giggled. "Because of the Rigellians of course, you big duffer."

"Rigellians? Kiko, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, silly me. I keep forgetting you don't really know much galactic history. Blerg is one of the planets those bad old Rigellians have conquered. Just like they tried to conquer yours."

"What? Why the hell are we going to a world run by those scuzzbags?

"Um—because it's on our way. I thought you wanted to use the most efficient route possible. I can find somewhere else, if you like."

The barista regarded the turquoise and jade world rapidly growing larger on the ship's main viewscreen. Her expression became thoughtful. "No, that's okay. Let's go and see how things might have turned out, if thing had gone differently for Earth."