"You definitely need schnecken," Rosalie interrupted Bad Andie. Thank goodness. "You should sit also, Andie." Taking her hand, Rosalie led her to the controller's office.

A completely redecorated controller's office. She now had a sleek computer with an enormous screen. A new glass desk. A credenza with cubbyholes full of office supplies. Lavender chairs (to match the carpet). Paintings of irises, water lilies, and lavender fields hung on the walls, and best of all, there was a trash bin.

"Try the chair," Rosalie said.

The chair conformed to Andie's body as if it had been custom-made for her. "It's perfect."

"Good, Andie."

Cash came in with a steaming mug, Ernest trailing behind with a platter of snail-shaped pastries. Not mollusks. Phew!

"Thanks, guys." It had a beautiful heart design etched in the foam. As she sipped, the frothy milk fizzed on her upper lip. "It's delicious. And artistic. Who made it?" Andie asked with genuine appreciation.

"I did," Cash said, bouncing in his hot-pink tennis shoes. I used our Etienne Louis espresso machine."

"Have a schnecken, Miss Andie," said Ernest, placing the silver tray on her desk. They smelled incredible—all home-baked and cinnamon-y (her favorite smell since meeting Oliver.)

"Um. Well, I really shouldn't," Andie said. After spending the last ten minutes with three Amu supermodels, she'd sworn off all baked goods and maybe broccoli too, in the spirit of non-discrimination.

"But you must, Andie. We can smell that your body cries out for shnecken."

"What?"

"Try it, Andie."

She did.

"Oh, my god. This is amazing," Andie said, mouth full of ecstasy. As the caffeine and sugar hit her bloodstream, Andie realized how much her body craved this exact drink and this exact pastry at this exact moment. It was uncanny. "Thank you. Wait, we have an espresso machine?" They pointed out her office door to the kitchen area across the room. The steel and polished aluminum droid on the counter was to make coffee? Andie mentally calculated what the cost of such extravagance might be. Not a toy, then. She gulped. "Uh, where did it come from?"

"I bought it," said Cash.

"Wasn't it expensive?"

"Oh yes, Andie, but we have much money. We are paid, but we do not go anywhere because we never leave," said Rosalie.

"What do you mean?"

"We do not like the outside." Frank shivered. "We stay inside and only spend money on shoes, food, and DISH Network so we can watch our favorite cooking shows. Amazon delivers anywhere."

So sad that the Zuts are agoraphobic on top of everything else.

"We are very pleased you are pleased, Andie," Bill said.

"Thanks for getting the machine. I'm going to drink a lot more coffee."

"It is nothing, Andie," Cash said, staring at his shoes and shuffling his feet.

"He has a crush on you," Rosalie teased.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do."

Cash buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Poor guy.

"You have embarrassed him, Rosalie," Ernest chastised.

"I am only talking about love here." Rosalie handed Andie another schnecken. "Not that you understand such things," she grumbled under her breath. Andie made a mental note to think up a matchmaking scheme for Rosalie and Ernest. Men can be so oblivious. And on the subject of clarity and openness, Andie decided to be upfront with her staff.

"I have something important to talk to you about," said Andie. "I know the truth about you."

"You know we are mutants?" said Bill.

"What? No. Who calls you mutants?" Even if they were mutants, it was cruel to say so.

"That is what we are," said Rosalie.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It is true," said Ernest.

"What I was going to tell you is that I know that my coworkers, you guys included, are from a planet called Amu." She drained the coffee and ate stuffed the second schnecken into her mouth. Even though there was now a small possibility that someone might see her naked and that she worked with a swarm of supermodels.

"Thank goodness," Bad Andie shouted.

"For what?"

"For even entertaining the idea of getting naked."

"Are you all right, Andie? Do you need another latte?" said Cash, hope shining in his watery blue eyes.

"I'm fine. Sorry. I get ... um ... distracted sometimes. Now, about being from Amu."

"It is true that we are from Amu," said Frank. "But we are called Zuts and are the result of a failed genetic experiment. This is why we are not beautiful like the other Amu. But we are better at accounting. And cooking."

"I'll have no more talk of mutants," said Andie. "You are people, I mean humanoids, I mean Amu, and are as good as anyone else, if not better. You are honest and kind and wise, and you make a mean cup of coffee. Why are you crying, Rosalie?"

"That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about a Zut. And we are glad you know we are not of the earth. We did not like keeping secrets from you, Andie," Rosalie sniffled.

"Speaking of secrets, can you tell me what's behind that big metal door across the hall?"

"No," Ernest said. "We do not know. We have the lowest security classification."

Andie supposed this made sense, as the Zuts truly were second-class Amu citizens. "How do you Amu pop in and out of existence with such a blatant disregard for the laws of physics? Do you have transporters? Beam me up, Scotty?"

"You are making a Star Trek reference. We love the Star Trek—but only the original. The one with James T. Kirk. Our favorite human is Spock," said Bill. He grinned in a way that Spock would not.

"Spock isn't a human. He's a Vulcan," Andie said.

"But Vulcans do not wear eyeshadow. I have seen a few long ago on the Magnificence, our mothership."

"Vulcans exist?" said Andie.

"Yes, Andie. Where do you think Gene Roddenberry got the idea? No transporters, though," Ernest said.

"Wait, you have a mothership?"

"Yes, it is in orbit around your earth."

The department she couldn't find in her research on Wormhole Technology was called "Magnificent Maintenance." No wonder she couldn't locate it in the building. 'Maintenance' was in outer space. How could NASA or Richard Branson or Tom Cruise not know it existed?

"How far away is the mothership right now? Why can't we see it?"

"It is cloaked. And near."

"How near?"

"Near enough to be accessed when transport is necessary."

"Come on, give me a distance in numbers."

"It is 10 somites away."

"Somite?"

"Yes, Andie."

"Can you translate that into miles?"

"No, Andie. They tried to teach us the conversion in Earth Survival Training 101. We were told that soon all Amu would convert to the United States's Imperial system, but it has not happened," said Ernest.

"Okay." Andie gave up on learning about the mothership for now. She'd ask Oliver. "So, if you don't have transporters, what do you use?"

"Wormhole Technology," said Frank.

So that's what it's for. "Can humans do it?"

"We do not know, Andie," said Rosalie. "I do not think any have tried. It is very difficult. Zuts may not Wormhole."

"Why not?"

"Do you recall the nuclear reactor meltdown in Fukushima?" said Frank.

"Yes."

"We must not speak of it, Frank," Ernest murmured.

"If you want to learn more about Wormholing there are the instructions," said Cash."Hold on." He ran out of her office and came back a few seconds later carrying a book, the size and heft of the yellow pages, and presented it to Andie.

"The Amu Training Manual?"

"Yes, Andie," said Rosalie. "The unabridged version. It has a chapter on Wormholing."

"Thank you," Andie said. "Well, I'm pretty tired. It's been a long day, what with passing out, being blinded and then being used for target practice by the lovely Talia, I need to get some rest. But have work to get done first."

"Please be very careful of Talia, Andie. She is possessive of Mr. Lieder. And she is chosen by Mrs. Lieder."

Did the staff know about Andie and Oliver? Best not to say anything. "But she got fired. And Mr. Lieder said she had to go to the brig, wherever that is."

"It is on the Magnificent. Is she there?" Cash said.

"I'm not sure. She escaped before those supermodel guards could apprehend her."

"You are at significant risk."

"I don't see why you're so worried. Mr. Lieder will make sure she's captured."

"She is cunning," Ernest said.

"Got it."

"You should stay with us tonight," Cash offered. "We will keep you safe. There is an extra bunk in my room." Had he wiggled the place where his eyebrow would be if he had hair? What happened to shy?

"She should be with me," said Rosalie, then began clicking and clacking at Cash while shooting him what Andie perceived as a dirty look.

"That is very kind of you, Cash, Rosalie. "I'll be at my mom's house this weekend, so it'll be fine." Andie cringed thinking about spending two days breathing marijuana fumes and pretending to like zucchini/alfalfa/tahini bread. But she loved her mom, and it would be good to give Pilot some ear scratches. If he'd let her. "Thank you again for the schnecken. Back to work. I'll be in here, door open, so you can see I am safe from all psycho secretaries."

The staff shuffled out of her office.

Andie moved the manual to the drawer where she also put her purse. The Cannon she'd taken from Cash the first day was gone, which made sense as this was a new desk. But even if she had the weapon as evidence and took it to the authorities, they had little chance of defeating an advanced alien race. Andie was on the inside of their operation. She had a lot to figure out what to do, both accounting-wise and alien-wise.

"I have a better idea about how to spend the weekend," said Bad Andie.

"Ignoring you."

Bad Andie inserted an image of a full-on naked Oliver lying on a bed atop red satin sheets, wearing a crown and holding a scepter, beckoning her to join him.

"First, I'll analyze the accounts receivable aging."

"Oh, joy! I can't believe we're related."

"We aren't. You're part of me. An oversexed, juvenile, impulsive part of me."

"Better than being a frigid, withering, bore."

Andie flipped on the new computer. Someone had changed the screensaver. The tree had been replaced by words flashing on and off in red: GET OUT NOW!!!

Oh, brother.

Andie jiggled the mouse, and the screensaver disappeared. She absolutely hated being sent anonymous cryptic messages. If you want to warn someone about something, at least leave a name or a forwarding address. Most likely the message was from Talia. And if she thought a stupid red pulsing message on a computer screen would be all it took, Talia needed to up her game.

I think my devil-may-care attitude is rubbing off, Bad Andie crowed.

It's logic. Trust me, nothing of yours has rubbed off. And if it has, I'm sure there's a cream or ointment for that.

Andie once again thanked the fates she was in charge of the body, not Bad Andie. Time to check out the accounts receivable aging. Bad Andie yawned and slipped away like a fattened tick. The receivables were a disaster. Some of them were so old they'd qualify for Social Security. Well, almost. She reviewed the thing until her eyes practically bled and she wanted to climb on the desk and nap. One little skirmish with an evil secretary/assistant, and Andie turned into a steaming pile of mush. Maybe she should join that gym Oliver had mentioned as a company perk ... or not.

Once she sorted the receivables, Andie clicked over to interest income. She growled and had to click out of it before she burst a blood vessel. Cash in non-interest-bearing accounts made her blood boil. On the bright side, she was no longer half-asleep.

Andie switched over to the far safer long-term liabilities screen. It pulsed at her, and after half an hour, the numbers, and not their meaning, etched into her brain. Time to stop. Speaking of stopping something, a forgotten memory niggled at her. Something important from the other night at the bar. What was it? Thanks to the Purple Madness, she might never know. Andie shook her head in defeat and decided to go home before she accidentally deleted the accounting system or, even worse, fell asleep, drooling on her desk.

Rosalie knocked on the door frame to her office. "Miss Andie?"

"Yes, Rosalie?"

"This came for you." She handed Andie a small white box with a silver ribbon. Her heart skipped a beat. Was this from Oliver?

"Thank you."

Rosalie lingered, worrying the ruffled collar of her clown shirt and shuffling.

"You can go back to work now. I've got this," Andie smiled.

"Are you sure, Miss Andie." Rosalie scowled at the box. It was adorable how protective the Zuts were. Affectionate warmth bloomed in her belly.

"You'll be right outside if it turns out the box has anything scary inside."

"All right," said Rosalie, backing out of the office, facing Andie all the way.

Andie opened the thick creamy envelope and read the card:

Dear Andromeda,

I assume you are in need of this gift due to the unfortunate demise of your previous mobile device. Even though it is a company phone, I have taken the liberty of adding my personal information to your Contacts. Your phone number is the same as before. I am sorry about today.

I would love to make it up to you. Please respond that you can meet me this evening for dinner at the restaurant of your choice.

Oliver, President and Chief Operating Officer, the Star Enquirer

What was he sorry about? That he kissed her? She hoped not. A knot tangled in the back of her throat at the way he signed the note so coldly.

He asked you out to dinner, and you worry about him regretting kissing us.

Us?

Us. You better get home and pick out something sexy to wear. I'll help.

Shhh. I need to think.

Should she accept a phone purchased by The Star Enquirer? She opened the box and fingered the pink iPhone. It didn't feel extraterrestrial or menacing. Oliver must be back from his meeting. She ought to resend him the investment analysis report now that Talia was fired and hopefully safely ensconced in outer space jail. And confirm that she was in space jail. What was jail like on the Starship Magnificent? It might be cold and metallic and industrial, or perhaps dark and filthy like Jabba the Hutt's dungeon. Maybe it even had a rancor monster. A girl can wish.

Andie texted back:

Dear Mr. Lieder, President and Chief Operating Officer The Star Enquirer,

Just to confirm you received the investment analysis I sent to your office. Let me know what you think. How about we meet at 8 p.m. at Kate's Cafe on Pacific Coast Highway? My treat tonight in thanks for your well-timed entrance today. Thank you for your very considerate gift.

Andie Bank, Controller and Token Human, The Star Enquirer

Kate's Cafe was within walking distance of her mom's apartment. It was so small there would be no chance of running into any aliens. Even if Cyra saw the correspondence, it clearly stated the business nature of the meeting. Though Andie definitely wanted another one of those non-businessy kisses.

Courtesy of Bad Andie, an image of Andie in a sheer, low-cut black short dress popped into Andie's head. No way. We're not wearing that to a business dinner.

Accountant, chided Bad Andie.

Strumpet. I've got to get back to work.

Please. No more receivables.

I was going to review expense reports. Of all the accounting tasks, Bad Andie tolerated this one the best because it was like eavesdropping. But since you mention it ...

Ugh. I'm leaving.

Andie did not want to admit to her bad self the wanton images flashing a slide show across her consciousness. She managed with great effort to thrust them into the locked folder in her mind.

Saw that.

I thought you were gone.

Excited for dinner, and very sore from her battle with Talia, Andie scooped up the phone and grabbed the manual and purse out of her desk drawer. She could decide later whether to keep the phone.

"I'll see you in the morning," Andie said. In all her years as a controller, she'd never left work before her staff. "Tomorrow I'll teach you more than you ever wanted to know about amortization. It'll be fun." She managed a weak smile. What was she forgetting?

"Be safe, Andie," said the Zuts in unison. It was disconcerting when they did that.

Sweltering in the heat in an infinite line of traffic on Interstate 10, the guy behind her in a theoretically white Econoline van with a windshield fissured like a spider web, blasted her with his horn when she hesitated a quarter of a second before inching up to the rear bumper of a Ferrari, the color and sheen of a raw egg yolk. Apparently, Mr. Econoline believed this delay might ruin his life. The phone buzzed in her purse. Maybe it was Oliver. A wave of adrenaline sliced through her abdomen. She knew you should never check your messages while behind the wheel, but with no forward motion of any kind, she made an exception.

Am sipping champagne ALONE on my jet. We're taking off for Brazil in an hour. Our departure is held up by some hurricane about a gazillion miles away. It's taking forever. I'm off to see my specialist. Disappointed in you. You are officially the worst best friend ever. I am seriously thinking of demoting you to 'satisfactory friend' when I get back. This status change would revoke your unlimited access privileges. I will think of how you can make it up to me. It won't be pleasant.

Oh no! This is what she had forgotten from the night at the bar—Sterling doing this crazy shit at the worst possible time and wanting Andie to accompany her.

And now the message might have been seen by the aliens. And not normal aliens, but aliens running a tabloid who would like nothing better than this juicy story about Sterling Champagne, Spokeswoman for Ban Plastic Surgery Now!

Andie had to call Sterling right away to put an end to this self-destructive behavior. She pressed "Call back" but canceled it immediately. She couldn't risk the possibility of Amu eavesdropping; she'd phone Sterling from Mom's apartment landline rather than text or call her from this phone. She had almost an hour. If the traffic acted like normal afternoon commute hell, she should be there in twenty minutes. Andie punched in a security code for the phone. It might not help, but she had to try everything to maintain privacy for herself and for Sterling.

Just as she was about to delete Sterling's message, someone honked a horn. The traffic let up. Andie hit the gas.