François made some final adjustments with Andie's hair, clucked with pleasure like a pale lavender-suited mother hen, held up his "iPad of the future" and clicked. A tiny Andie hologram snapped into existence between them, hovered for an instant before disappearing into the device. "For my collection. Sometimes I blind myself with my own brilliance."

The music cut abruptly. Captain Lieder stepped away from the pulpit and held out his arms wide. "Come to me, my children."

Sterling stood close to the captain, beaming at Talia as if they were best friends. Which they certainly were not. A filament of cold skittered up Andie's spine and the hairs on her neck stiffened. What had come over Sterling? The sooner Andie got the two of them off this ship, the better. It was as if her friend had drunk the proverbial Kool-Aid. The word "wrong" repeated inside her brain in a constant loop.

Wrong.

Like accounts not in balance.

Wrong.

Like not requiring two signatures on a large check.

Wrong.

Like failing to amortize a fixed asset.

"Ugh! How about saying it's like the feeling you get when you see a broken bone splintering through flesh?" Bad Andie supplied.

"That's disgusting."

"Not as disgusting as your incessant accounting metaphors. You lack imagination," Bad Andie said. "We need a vacation. Somewhere warm. Silly cocktails. Great sex. Like we had with Oliver." Bad Andie sighed.

The object of Bad Andie's regret bowed stiffly to his father, while his bride sprinted into the Captain's arms like a drunk toddler, nearly toppling the large man. Andie could not imagine a less enthusiastic future Amu princess. Oliver plucked Talia off of his father by the scruff of her barely there gown. Andie's own fingers clenched into fists, simulating the movement. In her fantasy, she would grab Talia and fling her out the stained glass window into outer space.

From its perch next to the lectern, Captain Lieder grasped a jeweled scepter, topped with a sharp-edged emerald cross and a heart-shaped diamond as big as a ... well ... heart. It looked like something she once saw in the Tower of London. The Captain pointed it at the "happy" couple.

"You may proceed, my son."

Andie held her breath. So did the audience. Oliver slowly unbuttoned his tunic, Talia tapping her diamond-encrusted stiletto the whole time. Each tap tap tap of her bedazzled shoe sent a splatter of rainbow light glinting across the stage.

Finally, Talia yanked Oliver's jacket from his torso, ripping the sleeves. The audience gasped, presumably when they caught sight of Oliver's perfectly defined abs and smooth, godlike skin. The females in the audience were literally drooling over Oliver. A few of them extracted gripples from hidden pockets in their candy-toned gowns. Once again, Andie imagined pulling out Talia's hair strand by strand or perhaps gouging her eyes out with the matrimonial scepter to mix it up a bit. A low growl rumbled from her throat.

"Rawr!" François smiled, clawing the air, and shot Andie a look of deep approval.

Having an ally in this strange environment, coupled with the fact that the females in the audience were all shooting dagger eyes of loathing at Talia, helped Andie get hold of her jealousy. Plus, powerful emotions would cause a slipshod rescue. "Stay on target," Andie murmured under her breath, quoting the line from the Star Wars Episode IV climax.

"Climax," Bad Andie pined. "I remember those."

Andie rolled her eyes. But part of her thought maybe Sterling had been right. Girls who quote science fiction don't get laid. At least not for long.

François "It is time." Before Andie had a moment to compose herself, François pushed her through the curtain. Next to the waterbed, Talia knelt beside Oliver, her head inches from his crotch, and gripped the waistband. Talia tugged, and his parachute-fabric pants pooled at his feet. Andie's heart beat so frantically, she felt it in her throat.

The nightmare.

Was happening.

She was going to have to watch Talia ... gulp ... execute her years of training.

Andie tripped onto the stage, choking down her rage. Talia frowned at Andie, who now had an excellent view of Oliver's deliciously firm half-moon butt, currently locked in a death grip by Talia's silver claws. Instead of wallowing in jealousy and watching the weird alien mating ritual, Andie tried catching Sterling's eye. Somehow, she had to let her know she wasn't Ixis. That she was Andie, here to rescue her. But no matter how hard she tried, Sterling stared at Oliver and Talia with laser focus while licking her lips, which was weird, because Sterling always said that lip-licking only made the dryness worse.

The captain softly cleared his throat. Andie glanced at him. "Ixis, please proceed with the unveiling," whispered Captain Lieder from the dais.

Andie cringed as she whipped off Talia's "dress." But Talia's nude Amazonian perfection made little difference. Oliver was not responding to her "affections."

"Oliver, you cannot resist me," Talia half-begged, half-commanded.

Andie swallowed hard, but rather than bringing attention to herself by yelling or barfing, she worked on gaining Sterling's attention. Look at me! Look at me! She said silently, hoping for a best-friend telepathy. But it did no good. Perhaps the Amu had Sterling drugged or under some kind of stupid alien mind-control.

Clearly, Andie would have to remove Sterling involuntarily from the premises.

She calculated she could reach her friend in mere moments. Grab her. And then what? It almost didn't matter as long as she could get out of this room. Step one: get far, far away from this vile Joining. "So gross," she muttered, her voice echoing in the chamber.

The audience gasped. Oliver gasped. Sterling gasped. Captain Lieder quirked half his mouth into a smile.

Talia glared at Andie. "What did you say?"

For a split second, she thought about denying it. But they were going to find out who she was as soon as she un-abducted Sterling. "You heard me."

Oliver put his pants back on. "Andie. What are you doing here?"

"Get her OUT," shrieked Talia.

"I'd love nothing more. Just let me have my friend, and I'll disappear." Andie hurled herself at Sterling, wrapping her dear friend in her arms. Globules of tears sprang from Andie's eyes. "Oh, Sterling. I'm so sorry you've been through all this. It's my fault. I should've figured it out sooner."

Sterling pushed Andie away. "Do not touch me!"

Andie was too late. She swallowed her tears even as they burned her throat. But it could not possibly happen this fast. The Zuts had said it would be soon, but they had thought at least a half a day until Sterling was transmogrified. That's what they called it—when an Amu took on the form of a human celebrity. This meant Sterling was gone. Off to some far off place in the galaxy. To be in an alien reality show called As the Earth Turns.

"How dare you ruin my Joining!" Talia lifted Andie as if she weighed no more than a corporate tax return and chucked her off the stage. Her ankle exploded in pain; her head spun.

"Andie, are you all right?" Oliver bounded from the stage and knelt at her side. "You are bleeding. Bring me a gripple," he commanded. François emerged from the curtain, gripple in hand. Oliver grabbed it and applied pressure to Andie's ankle.

"Argh!" Andie cried out. The room spun. Bile burned her esophagus, and though she willed herself not to, she threw up. On Oliver. Again. "I'm sorry," Andie said. "Your clothes ..."

"Shhh," Oliver said. "Your ankle is broken. But the gripple will heal it quickly as it will cleanse the, uh, mess." François produced another gripple, which he used to daub Oliver's soiled uniform. Already her ankle was feeling better.

The audience erupted in gossipy chatter. Some had iPads of the future, and soon the air as well swarmed with little holograms of the royal family freaking out. The deep, frenzied cooing of the pink doves trapped beneath the ceiling sounded like a dying moose.

Get away from her," Talia demanded. "You will pay, human." Talia vaulted from the stage, lifted Andie once again, and threw her at the pulpit. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Oliver rushed toward Andie to catch her before she landed, but he was too late. Andie's head hit the sharp corner. She screamed as Oliver slid under her and cradled her in his arms.

"Stop this! All of you," Oliver roared.

Sterling bared her teeth. "Out of my way."

"No."

"My Joining is ruined. And I got blisters for this." Talia kicked off her six-inch stilettos, throwing them at Andie, but Oliver batted them aside. "Kill her, Cyra," Talia proposed.

"Very well," Sterling said. As the blue energy arced between her fingers, Andie realized this was not her best friend. This was a transmogrified Amu royal—Cyra. She blasted Andie with her neuronic power. The blue crackles of light arced between like when the Emperor used the dark side of the force to kill Luke in Episode VI.

The evil Amu energy hit her skin. She screamed. Oliver spun them around, and now he was absorbing Cyra/Sterling's neuronic assault.

"Enough," Oliver grunted against Andie's neck. He had to be in so much pain. Even the one second she had been subjected to the blue energy had felt like being cooked alive. "Mother. You stop right this minute. I do not want to hurt you."

"Mother!"

Cyra, halt," said Captain Emerson. "This will not do. You are hurting Oliver. Stop or I will destroy the scepter."

Cyra hesitated for the smallest moment, eyeing the glittering scepter. "You do not know what I went through to get it."

François huffed. "What you went through."

"I'll deal with you later, you insolent excuse for a party planner. Now, Oliver, move out of the way," Cyra roared. Emerson threw the scepter aside and grabbed Cyra, who yanked her arm easily from his grasp, continued her electrical assault.

"I said to desist." Oliver, still absorbing his mother's zapping, rolled with Andie over the floor as his pants smoked. And stink—like the smell of sweaty hiking socks roasting over a campfire. As he rolled, Oliver lifted one hand and zapped his mother, who became airborne.

"Aarrgghhhh," Cyra gurgled.

Andie cringed, only because Cyra looked like Sterling, and it hurt to see her beloved form slammed into the stained glass window and crumpled to the foggy stage. In the meantime, Talia grabbed the matrimonial scepter off the floor and advanced on Oliver from behind.

"Oliver, watch out," Andie cried.

He pushed Andie out of harm's way, leapt back, and in quite a show of athleticism, performed three gravity-defying air twirls like in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Oliver landed face up on the waterbed with a horrible slapping noise.

Talia repeatedly swung the scepter at Oliver, but never hit him. It was as if he had some sort of magical force field protecting him, but as the blows got closer, Andie had to take action. She stood on wobbly feet and nearly crumpled to the floor, which honestly looked rather inviting, as it had the distinct advantage of being a place where she could remain horizontal.

But Oliver needed her. And no matter what he had done—not telling her about the death penalty, or Sterling's abduction, he did just save her life. Andie stood. The ankle was much better. She ran, or maybe it was more like an enthusiastic limp, toward Talia, planning to snatch the scepter and brain her with it. It would make a nice 530-carat diamond-shaped indentation in her head. Talia tugged the scepter away, causing Andie to fly back and land yet again on her tailbone.

Talia screamed, "mine," as she wielded the scepter like a sword. She slashed downward, but Oliver rolled to the floor, and Talia ended up skewering the waterbed.

Which exploded.

Water squirted everywhere—the pulpit, the royal family, the bride and the front five rows of the audience. Everyone screamed.

Talia slid wet and naked across the stage. The scepter flew into the air, hit one of the stained-glass windows (which thankfully held) and dropped on to Talia's head, whereupon the bride crumpled to the floor.

Cyra sprang to action, pushing Andie on to her back. Dripping wet, Cyra sat on Andie's chest, wrapped her cold, slimy hands around Andie's neck and squeezed. "You human whore. You could not just do your fucking job. Andie fought to breathe. She tried to buck Cyra off. "Hold still." Right, like Andie was going to make it easy for Cyra to strangle her. And why had the zapping stopped? Did she run out of battery power? Or was it dangerous to use when wet?

"Could you give me a hand?" Cyra spat at her husband, who seemed as inert and riveted to the drama unfolding as the rest of the audience. The Captain shrugged his shoulders at his wife. She rose and stamped her foot like a spoiled child having a tantrum. Andie had a coughing fit. "Guards!"

"Andie, are you okay?" Oliver said, as a dozen supermodel guards rushed the stage. Oliver zapped them all onto their asses in one zappy swipe of his arm. Okay, so the zap worked just fine in soggy environments. Why hadn't hers worked? "What are you doing here?"

"Destroying your nuptials, clearly," she coughed some more, her neck throbbing and raw from the strangulation.

"How can I thank you?"

"It was a joke," Andie rasped. "I'm here for Sterling. But I can't believe you abducted my best friend. Where is she?"

"Not on the ship."

Pain sliced through Andie's heart. "What have you done with her?"

Oliver winced. "I can help you."

"You've already helped enough," Andie snapped. Boy, it felt good.

"Andromeda," Oliver reproached. "You need my help."

The supermodels regained their footing and formed a circle around Andie. She panicked. There was no way out unless gravity did its job, and the guards toppled off their stilettos.

"Take her to the brig," Cyra ordered."

The supermodels raised Andie over their heads and carried her off the stage. "Let go of me," Andie said, punching at the air and squirming, doing her best to free herself.

"Resistance is futile," said a guard.

"Ixis. Oh, crap," said Andie.

"Yes, oh crap," said Ixis. "Luckily, this is the last time you'll be impersonating me again." She laughed evilly. Andie got an arm free and dug her fingers into Ixis's eye.

"Let go." Ixis reached up and pulled Andie's hair.

"Ouch," Andie cried. Sure enough, the guard had extracted a good third of her new beautiful tresses.

"Not. The. Hair!" François hollered. He pushed something on his iPad of the future and looked up. The sling holding the doves disappeared, and the air churned with the beating wings of a thousand hot pink doves.

Cyra let out a high, furious scream that cut through the deafening sound made by the abruptly freed, tremendously freaked-out birds and the now shrieking spectators.

The frightened doves responded to the scene by raining bird poop upon the heads of the now wet and unruly Amu. The congregants hunkered down between the aisles and under pews, using their iPads of the future and gripples as shields against the onslaught.

Andie, lying across the top of the guards, was a perfect target, taking a lot of the hits of white goo. Once it caught a few of the supermodels, they clutched their hair and dropped Andie on her ass—a super popular landing spot today.

"Go now; the birds will only hold them for so long." François helped Andie to her feet. He quickly fixed her hair with a gripple, then pressed something into her palm. "My business card. In case you ever need me." Andie glanced at the card with silver engraved letters that read: François LeGrande, Joining Planner Extraordinaire. No other information. "Put it in your pocket."

Andie raised an eyebrow and looked down at her see-through dress. "Pocket?"

"Right there." François pointed at a seam in the side of the dress, and sure enough, there was a pocket. She slipped the card inside.

"Come with me," Oliver said, pulling Andie up.

"I'm not going with you." Andie jerked her arm back. "I can't trust you."

"I know it must be hard after all I've put you through, but please trust me this once. I'm going to help you find Sterling."

"Tell me where she is. I'll get her myself."

"Seize her," Cyra shouted. The supermodels had pushed aside some guests and snuck under the pews, complaining about the bird droppings in their hair and clothes. None of them came to Cyra's aid. "Must I do everything? Come, Emerson."

"Yes, dear," he said, staying put.

"Aargh. It is always up to me. Earth will not invade itself." Cyra grabbed Andie's arm. The lights went out as fireworks exploded in whirls of gold, blue, pink, and green.

"What?" cried Cyra. "The fireworks are for the end of the ceremony, François, you idiot. You will never work in this galaxy again."

François stood smug-faced, hand on his hip at the edge of the stage, waving his tablet. "Promise?" He made a few swift movements over the screen, and the air smelled of burnt metal and ozone. The Doomsday Machine, or the Priority One, appeared over François. Cyra lunged at him, but Andie's fingers fired up with blue energy. She zapped Cyra so hard, her hair burst into flame. "Thanks, Andie!" As François disappeared into the curtain of red light, he shouted, "I am free!" The doves zipped in after him.