"Therling," Andie moaned. She couldn't form an "s" sound. She wanted to call out to her friend, but Andie's tongue throbbed, her jaw ached, and in the left hemisphere of her cerebrum, brainwaves sparked and fizzled between broken synapses. The spot at her temple where the microchip had resided, prickled with what felt like electricity.

If Andie had spent the night tossing back a bottle of rubbing alcohol and extracting her own wisdom teeth with rusty pliers, she'd have felt a thousand times better than she did now.

Bad Andie had wisely retreated into wherever she hung out when a. She wasn't annoying Andie or b. There was no sex on the horizon. Andie moaned.

"Shh," whispered a voice. Something cold pressed against Andie's jaw. "On the interweb, we learned that a bag of frozen peas helps reduce swelling in humans. We do not understand why peas have this ability. Perhaps, Andie, later you can explain."

Rosalie. The voice belonged to Rosalie.

Where was Andie?

She cracked open her eyes and discovered she was lying down on a bed in a dark room. Rosalie knelt beside the bed in a yellow and turquoise neon blouse. It glowed in the dim light. It was strange seeing her in anything other than her usual Zut silver top. Was she dressing up for Ernest? Rosalie stroked the hair along Andie's forehead as if calming a child.

A low thrum vibrated beneath Andie's body through some soft padding. Although she was fairly certain she would never eat solid foods again, the smell of yeasty fresh-baked bread, thick Italian roast coffee, and bubbling oozes of chocolate made her stomach groan in staunch disagreement with this assessment.

"Where am I," Andie rasped.

"You are in our quarters, Andie. In the sub-dungeon of the Star Enquirer. On an Amu healing pad. We are saving you like superstars."

"Thupertarth?"

"Yes, the Spiderman. The Superman. The Incredible Hulks."

"Thuperheroth, you mean."

"As you like, Andie."

"Where are Therling and my mom? How did I get here?"

"Calm, please, Andie, so the healing pad will work. Your mother is fine. Cash drove her and her Pilot home in the long black automobile. They are safe, Andie."

"Tha ... a relief," said Andie. "Cath can drive a limo? I mean ith it even thafe with his anger-management problem?" Why did so damn many words have s's?

"It is simpler than flying a spaceship, only perhaps the vehicle operators are more tranquil on the Los Angeles freeways than on the Intergalactic Expressway. The moment they completed it, it was obsolete. Cash behaved well, Andie. At least by Los Angeles' driving standards."

"Good," Andie said. If she had her strength, she would have asked more about the Intergalactic Expressway and Amu healing pads, but right now, the most important thing was figuring out how to regain blissful unconsciousness.

But instead of achieving this goal, bit by bit, against her will, she ascended sluggishly from the depths, like swimming through warm Jell-O. Lime-flavored, which everyone knows is the worst one.

And as she gained awareness, she realized something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

A horrible realization burbled through the muck of her brain when it finally occurred what it was—Rosalie hadn't mentioned Sterling. A fresh pang of fear sliced through Andie's heart as she remembered the debacle at the banquet. The look on her friend's face when the evil ones exposed Sterling's plastic surgery to the world. Talia's cackling laugh as she disappeared from the limo with Sterling in a cloud of silver smoke.

"What happened to ...Therling? Ith thee all right?"

"Um, ah, well, I am not sure. I think Ernest will know, maybe. You should try to eat. Maybe some truffled mashed potatoes with farm-fresh organic butter. We churned it only yesterday."

"You are trying to change the thubject, Rothalie." Something horrible must have happened for Rosalie to avoid the truth. Normally, she would do anything to please others. Andie winced as she tried and failed to compose her face into a stern accountant glare. "I will find out thooner or later. Tell me."

Rosalie clucked and repeatedly squeezed the bag of peas. "Andie, I ..."

Andie braced herself. "Pleathe?"

Rosalie plopped on the bed, jostling it so hard, Andie yelped and clutched her jaw.

"I am sorry, Andie," Rosalie leapt back, jostling the bed again. Andie's brain lurched around in her skull, her stomach heaved, and she was on the verge of blacking out. She groaned from the intense pain. Her fingertips sparked blue, and a warm, prickly energy flowed into her jaw. The pain subsided. The nausea did too. Gingerly, Andie tested her jaw, working it slowly up and down, back and forth.

Oh, my gosh! What the hell just happened? Now she had the power to heal herself?

Rosalie gasped.

Given Rosalie's look of horror, Andie realized this was absolutely not normal. Until she figured out what was going on, it was important to keep it as secret as possible. Preferably, even pretend it never happened. "It's all right. I'm fine now," Andie said, having no difficulty pronouncing the letter "s." She tried to sit, only to be impeded by the tight "leather" of her borrowed gown. She gave up. "That healing pad of yours is amazing. I feel much better."

"Andie, it was not the pad. I saw your fingers." She carefully lowered herself to the bed, sat at the edge, and pulled Andie's warm hands into her cold ones, examining each finger. The sparking had stopped. "You have the Neuronic energy. But how? Are you Amu?"

Neuronic energy. Oliver had mentioned this to her before. It was a trait of the royal family, which she was definitely not a member of. "I'm not Amu. Although I have accused my mom of being from another planet on more than one occasion. I don't know how it happened." But maybe she knew. Oliver seemed filled with the stuff. His eyes crackled with it. And when they had cosmic sex, his blue energy had surrounded and filled her. The next morning, the microchip disgorged itself.

Maybe she "caught" it like a virus. Since Amu could not have sex with humans, there would probably not be other cases to compare it to.

She had so many questions. What was Neuronic energy? How had it healed her jaw? And how could an Intergalactic Highway threading through the vastness of space be over capacity? But none of that mattered now. The only thing that was important was what had happened to Sterling. "Please tell me where Sterling is. I can handle the truth."

She hoped.

"Andie, you must understand. There is nothing you can do for your friend. It is her choice. You might not wish to know that it is, but you must be glad in knowing Sterling is happy, and you will have a life here on earth that is happy only one that does not have Sterling in it anymore."

"What?" Andie tried once again to sit, but Rosalie's powerful hand pushed her back and held her in place. "Where is Sterling?"

Rosalie let out a long breath and grew still. "She is gone, Andie."

"Where?"

"The ship," Rosalie barked and yipped like an injured dog. Andie felt terrible that she was putting the poor thing through such anxiety. She would make it up to her later. After Sterling was safe.

"The mother-ship?"

"Yes, Andie."

The blood in Andie's veins turned as cold as liquid nitrogen. "Talia abducted her. Against her will. There was no choosing. I am going to that ship!" The idea that she would find her way onto an invisible spaceship, in constant motion in outer space, guarded by an advanced race of psychopathic aliens, was not even a question. She would rescue Sterling. Period. And she totally had "The Force" or whatever it was, dammit! "How do I get to the ship?"

"It is impossible, Andie," Rosalie said, her eyes wide with fear. She was definitely withholding something else.

"What aren't you telling me?" Andie whispered.

Rosalie barked. "Nothing." She looked over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to come in and rescue her. Andie grasped Rosalie's wrist.

"It's okay, Rosalie. Please."

Rosalie's shoulders slumped. "There is no going back once the contract has been signed."

"What contract?" Any Amu contract would be unfair and iron-clad. Andie knew this from personal experience.

"The replicant agreement," Rosalie said.

The nausea returned. What the hell was going on? The Amu had contracts where people agreed to be replicated? "What is a replicant agreement?" Andie said, trying to keep the hysterical edge out of her voice.

Fat tears dripped from Rosalie's huge blue eyes. Andie felt like a monster. She patted Rosalie's hand. Rosalie smiled. "I do not know. Honestly, Andie. But you are safe and healed, which makes both my hearts drum with joy. Now please rest." Rosalie closed her eyes and touched Andie's forehead. "The mashed potatoes are perfect. I will bring them."

Andie's stomach growled. If she could choose any food to eat at this very moment, it would be mashed potatoes loaded with butter and salt. But she couldn't eat until she had rescued Sterling. "Not right now, Rosalie. I need to find my friend."

"I will be right back," Rosalie said. She stood and glided toward the door, her blouse glowing like a misshapen moon.

Think. Think. Think.

There has to be a way to get to that ship!

"Why are you thinking about spaceships instead of what it feels like when Oliver's body presses hard against us?" Bad Andie said in a breathy tone.

"First of all, I wasn't thinking at you. You interrupted. Second, it's not 'us.' It's me. And do you ever think about anything but sex?"

"Of course. I think about kissing, too. I like a little foreplay. But just a little. I prefer the main event."

"Ugh! Go away. I need to figure out how to beam myself on to an alien spaceship right now. So unless you have a transporter, please go read your gargoyle romances and leave me alone."

"I'm done with gargoyle romances. Now I'm into Bigfoot. He's so ... big! And not just his feet."

"But wouldn't Bigfoot be hairy?"

"Yes! His fur is really soft. Like kittens," Bad Andie mewed.

Andie threw up a little in her mouth. "Now can you go away so I can figure out how to get to the mother-ship and rescue our ... my ... best friend?"

Bad Andie chuckled.

"There is nothing funny here! They have abducted Sterling! And taken her into outer space."

"You already know how to get there," Bad Andie said, all cryptically.

"I do? How?"

"Oliver already told you. Bye now! Bigfoot is calling."

"Wait!" Andie cried. But of course, the one time she wanted Bad Andie, the strumpet refused to answer.

The light in Rosalie's room brightened with a lavender glow. Besides the long narrow bed, posters of famous chefs like Julia Child, Wolfgang Puck, and Gordon Ramsey, covered the walls, and a mobile, like something you'd find over a child's crib, hung from the ceiling—ladles, spatulas, and sharp downward-facing kitchen knives, bobbed and drifted in the current of central air.

Andie, who finally sat, spooned the most miraculous mashed potatoes that had ever been created into her mouth. Each bite was a heavenly cloud of umami perfection—buttery, salty, garlicky, and truffly. Rosalie had delivered the bowl of potatoes and scurried out, muttering something about rising yeast. But most likely, she was avoiding Andie's questions.

The warm food worked miracles. Andie speculated that her brain could once again function at full capacity. She tested this theory by recalling pi to 22 digits.

3.1415926535897932384626

"Could you please keep it down over there?" Bad Andie griped. "Your obsession with pointless math problems is annoying. It's a wonder you're not still a virgin!" Andie heard the wuffing of an enormous bear or ... could it be ... Bigfoot? Listening to her inner bad self regularly was one thing. Hearing the grunt of mythical creatures was something else entirely.

Maybe it was time to head for that padded room.

For a moment, Andie imagined the conversation with a nice psychiatrist about her alien entanglements and decided listening to Bigfoot was the preferable alternative.

The good news is now she knew how to summon Bad Andie—vex her with math.

"Now that you're back, what did Oliver say about how to get to the ship?"

"Sometimes I feel like I have to do everything around here! Remember, in the bathroom at the banquet? His invitation to run away together? Sex on white sand beaches?"

"He did not mention sex on the beach."

Bad Andie sighed, as if Andie was a hopeless case. "It was implied. Anyway, he mentioned something about 'We can take the Priority One to the Magnificent.'"

Andie's mouth fell open. Of course. The Priority One!

"Just one problem. What the hell is a Priority One?"

"No idea," said Bad Andie. "Now if you'll excuse me ..." Something howled in the depths of Andie's consciousness and after a moment, her head filled with silence.

Time to not think about Bad Andie and sexy Bigfoot. She had to find Rosalie and get some answers.

Barefooted, Andie padded along a dingy white corridor, frowning at the fluorescent bulbs crackling overhead. After rescuing Sterling, the next job would be to find the Zuts improved accommodations. She followed an intoxicating smell, that of baking bread and brewing coffee, to a door at the furthest end.

Inside a tiny kitchen chock full of ancient appliances, the Zuts—all five of her neon-clad accounting staff, Rosalie, Ernest, Cash plus Frank, and Bill, neither of whom seemed to speak—huddled around a small wooden table. They were passing around loaves of bread, breaking off steaming chunks, and slathering them with butter.

Rosalie stood, her metal folding chair scraping against the linoleum floor. "Andie! You should be in bed."

"I'm fine now. Those mashed potatoes fixed me right up. Thank you."

Rosalie beamed, and the warmth of it spread into Andie's chest. She smiled with affection.

"Hello, Miss Andie," chimed the rest of the Zuts.

"It is good that you are better now," Ernest said.

"Have some bread," Cash said, standing and offering his chair. "We are trying to perfect the recipe."

"The bread looks delicious, but I'm full of mashed potatoes right now. Maybe later?" Please sit back down, Cash. I just have one question for you all, and I'll be out of your way."

"You are always welcome to be in our path, Andie," Rosalie said. "For we will follow you with joy."

Andie's face reddened. "Uh, gosh, Rosalie. That's really nice of you to say." Andie fumbled with the straps of her gown. "I promise to come back. But right now, could you tell me how to get to the Priority One?"

Rosalie gasped. "It is impossible, Andie."

"Nothing is impossible," Andie said. "Some things are just harder than others. A few weeks ago I'd never have thought I'd be in the basement of an alien-run tabloid, talking to oppressed aliens about a real spaceship and Hollywood abductions, and Intergalactic Expressways. But here I am. After all that super-strange stuff, I know there must be a way to do something as simple as getting to the mother-ship. If Sterling got there, so can I."

Cash clucked and barked. Rosalie blinked her eyes at him. "She can do it," he said.

"Cash, do not make Andie hopeful. It is wrong."

Cash shook his bald head. "It is not false hope, Rosalie, and you know it as well as I. You told us she has the blue Neuronic energy. You are being overprotective."

"I am not," Rosalie said.

"She must find the truth for herself, Rosalie," Ernest said, touching her arm. "You know this."

Andie hated seeing Rosalie upset. But right now, retrieving Sterling from the clutches of the evil aliens took precedent. "What do I need to do?"

Rosalie stamped her orange neon Nike-clad foot. "You need to go back to bed."

Ernest rose. He towered over Andie. "There is a way. It is dangerous, and you may not survive, but if you decide to do this, you must go immediately. There is no time to waste."

"What do you mean?"

"Sterling will only be on the Magnificent a short time. Once she is processed, she will go somewhere very far, and you can never follow her."

Andie gulped. "Processed? What does that mean? And how long will she be on the ship?"

"It could be a matter of only a few hours, Andie," Cash said.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Andie said.

"First, you must Wormhole into the War Room. That's where they keep the Priority One."

Her heart sank. The bad news just kept coming, like doom scrolling in a Twitter feed. Anything named 'War Room'—bad. Processing of best friend—bad. Limited timeframe—bad. But worst of all, she couldn't Wormhole. "I ... I can't Wormhole any more. The microchip is gone. Also, I have no red wine or shower cap."

Ernest poured some coffee in a dainty teacup. "You no longer need these things any more, Andie. You have the blue energy. This will be sufficient."

"I'm only human. I know nothing about blue energy or why I have it."

"We do not know why either, Andie, but there is a reason. Figure out the why of it later—when there is time for contemplation." Ernest handed her the coffee. "Here is what you must do..."

Andie sipped the coffee. It was bliss in a cup.

Ernest cleared his throat. "As I said, first you will have to use your blue energy to Wormhole into the War Room, which is protected with a series of deadly security measures, then you will use the Priority One, which requires careful calibration or you could end up on some dodgy, unsafe asteroid or a certain unsavory Dutch satellite. Once on the Starship Magnificent—which is the size of a small earth city—you will need to track Sterling's location by hacking into the ship's computer system, which by the way, is unhackable and, not to mention, heavily guarded. But Andie, I know you can do all of this. You have straightened out the accounting systems of The Star Enquirer. After that, what faces you now is child's play."

"Like performing a brain transplant?"

"No, far more difficult than that. But why would you bring up a brain transplant? Do you require an upgrade?" Ernest said.

"Uh, no. I'm fond of my ... uh ... current model. But I always think about the scene in Star Trek when McCoy gets the knowledge to perform a brain transplant and says something like, 'it's so easy; it's like child's play.'"

"Brain transplants are common in Amu society. They are not so very difficult." Ernest sighed. "Humans do have a long distance of catching up. But we cannot solve this problem now. If you want to find to your friend, you must prepare."

"Where is the War Room? And for that matter, what is a War Room? Are the Amu declaring war on earth?" Andie squeezed the teacup. It broke and hot coffee spilled over the top of her hand. Rosalie leapt up, pulled one of those magical alien handkerchiefs from a drawer and wiped Andie's hand. "Thank you," Andie said. "Guys, are the Amu planning a military invasion?"

"As mutants, they do not consult us about strategy," Cash said. "But the Amu have no need of armies to achieve their goals. As far as the location of the War Room, you already know where it is."

"I don't."

"It is accessed through the door opposite the Accounting Department," Cash said.

"The Forbidden Room?"

Ernest barked. "That is what you call it? I suppose it is a fitting label."