The apparent alien marched to within a few metres of the group, its helmeted visage looking at each of the baristas in turn, before turning towards the smoking crater in which the meteorite lay. As if lost in thought, it stood motionless, reflections of the fireballs overhead streaking across the otherwise featureless visor of its helmet.

And then, they stopped. One moment the night sky was ablaze with trails of fire and the next—as if someone had flicked a switch—it wasn't. The only light was that of the half-moon now sailing alone above them, along with the yellow glow still radiating up from the meteorite, at the bottom of its crater.

For a frozen moment, seemingly suspended in time, the tableau held. Until, before anybody had time to react, the alien reached for the holster hanging at its hip, drew what appeared to be a very large gun, and pointed it at Mel.

And then melted. One moment, the fearsome figure was standing there, solid and substantial and then, with a kind of squelch, it wasn't. It was suddenly liquid and insubstantial. And shaped like a puddle. The gun fell to the ground. Or at least to the puddle of liquid alien that was now on the ground.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence as the group stared at the puddle. Which steamed a little. And then went gloop.

"What," said Mel, initially in a calm voice, "the," she continued, in a slightly higher tone, "hell" she went on, with the volume rising a little to match the tone, "IS GOING ON?" she finished, in a shriek that instantly transported Cam back to the unforgettable occasion in their early relationship when he'd mistakenly called Mel the name of a recent ex-girlfriend, and in the process had become temporarily an ex-boyfriend and very nearly permanently an ex-male as well.

"I can answer that," came a voice from behind them. The baristas spun around. Standing at the edge of the crater was a man—a fairly unremarkable man, of average height and a slightly plump build. Unremarkable but for the fact that he seemed to have come out of nowhere. That, and the outfit he was wearing.

T-shirts, board-shorts, ties, black dress-shoes and yellow hard-hats are all perfectly acceptable everyday items of clothing. Just not necessarily on the same person, at the same time. This, unfortunately, was the ensemble that the newcomer was trying to pull off. And pulling it off was undoubtedly what the fashion police would be advocating, were they to show up at that point. Should they happen to be armed fashion police then they would no doubt be advocating it at gunpoint. Possibly with some bonus tasering thrown in.

"And who the hell are you?" snarled Mel, stomping towards the newcomer. "Actually, screw that—I don't care who you are. If you've got some answers then start talking, sunshine."

Then came possibly the strangest event of the night so far. The stranger looked at Mel's rampaging form advancing on him. And smiled. "Sure, sure lady—chill. The name's Ethlukjamson. Where would you like me to start?"

Cam, who was all too familiar with Mel's usual reaction to being told to chill, thought he'd better step in. "Um, that's an unusual name you have."

"Is it?" replied the newcomer, with a slight frown. "Er, I mean no it's not. It's a perfectly standard and average name. In fact, it's a family name. My male parental unit was called Ethlukjamson."

"Your male parental unit?" asked Cora. "You mean your father? And I suppose you inherited that outfit off him as well?"

"What do you mean? What's wrong with these clothes? They should be totally standard and average and blend in seamlessly with other Earthl—er, other people." He looked down at his floral board-shorts and shiny black shoes. A note of doubt crept into his voice. "They did research and everything."

"Guys," said Max, in exasperation. "I think we may be getting a little side-tracked. Our new friend here may dress a little strangely but I think perhaps we need to focus on the more important issues—the meteorite and melted alien issues." He looked at Ethlukjamson. "Not to mention the issue of just who you are and where the hell you came from."

The stranger sighed. "The eggheads should have gone for typical, not average. Typical names, typical clothes. You can't dress someone in a statistically representative pair of pants. Bloody researchers." He visibly brightened. "Anyhoo, no point pretending anymore. Despite the subtle genius of my disguise and pseudonym, you've probably guessed I'm not your average everyday human-type lump of carbon-based life-form. I am in fact not even carbon-based. Or even a life-form, for that matter. Cool, huh?" He smiled winningly at them.

"I'm going to have to hurt him," growled Mel. "Nobody try to stop me. Somebody is going to have to pay for the night I'm having, and Mr Weirdo Smiley-Face the Snappy Dresser here just drew the short straw."

Despite her seemingly mild nature, Cora was the only one with any chance of managing Mel in this sort of mood. "Mel, put your claws away. Ethluk-whats-his-face here is going to find it hard to explain much without his teeth. Explanations first, creative dentistry later."

"No, no, it's cool," said Ethlukjamson, cheerfully. "Far be it from me to deprive Miss Mel of the ass-whupping she is so clearly dying to give." His grin grew even wider. "Or is she all bluff? Yeah, that's what I reckon. All talk, no action." He leaned forward and stuck his chin out. "Take a shot, if you think you're up to it. 'Cause I don't."

Mel didn't need to be asked twice. With an enraged shriek, she covered the ground to Ethlukjamson in a couple of strides, winding up as she went and letting loose with a round-armed, jaw-breaking, no-holds-barred haymaker. A haymaker which went straight through his head, as if it wasn't there. The momentum of the unchecked punch spun Mel around, lifted her into the air and deposited her full length on the ground, at her intended victim's feet.

In an instant she was up again and swinging. Punch after punch went straight through Ethlukjamson, who continued to stand calmly, smiling at her all the while. Gradually, Mel wound down, and with one last half-hearted swing, finally gave up. She stood with her hands on her knees, breathing deeply. "What the hell," she gasped, "are you?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Adjusting his yellow hard-hat to a rakish angle, Ethlukjamson drew himself up to his full height. "I am a life-sized, photo-realistic, three-dimensional representation of an artificially-intelligent, human-personality-based entity. In other words, I am a hologram of a fake dude. Apologies for winding you up like that. I just thought it might save a bit of time. You know, the whole 'I am a hologram', 'oh no you aren't', 'oh yes I am', 'OK prove it then', 'fine, come and try to touch me', 'are you nuts, I'm not touching you, you weirdo', 'I'm not a weirdo, I'm a hologram', 'your face is a hologram', etc. Much easier just to incite a bit of rage, thereby invoking acts of violence upon my person and hence proving my lack of corporeal substance. No hard feelings?"

Max approached and warily tried to poke Ethlukjamson's arm. Encountering no resistance whatsoever, his finger went straight through. "No hard feelings." He waved his hand back and forth through the hologram's chest. "Or any feeling at all. But where is your image coming from? And what's it being projected onto? And where does your voice come from? And—"

Gently, Cora pulled Max away. "OK, I think those might be details that can wait until later. Time to get some answers." She turned to Ethlukjamson, who was now staring up at the peaceful night sky, seemingly unperturbed by Max's probing. "OK, mister whatever-you-are. Start talking."

"Hmm?" replied Ethlukjamson, shifting his attention to Cora. "Ah, yes. Answers." His gaze wandered back up to the sky. "No problem. But we'd better be quick." He pointed to a faint line of fire streaking across the southern sky. "We're about to have company."

Cam pointed to the north. "There's another one." He looked to the east. "And another. The meteors are back."

Ethlukjamson shook his head. "Those aren't meteors. Those are more troopers like our liquid friend over there—only less liquid. And they're looking for me. They must have stopped because Mr Squelchy reported finding me, but now that he hasn't checked in for a while, they're coming to see what's happened. Trust me, we don't want to be here when they find out."

Mel slowly spun around, taking in the whole sky. New streaks of fire were blossoming in all directions, all converging towards where the little group stood. "So it was you who melted the spaceman? Why don't you just melt the others as well, when they get here?"

"Lady, that wasn't me. I'm more of a talker than a melter. That was the automated defense system in my capsule." He pointed towards the crater. "It might be able to take out a few more, but not all of them." Thoughtfully, he looked towards the alien's spaceship, steaming gently beside the river, with its ramp still extended. "No, I think it might be time for a road trip. Only without the road."