An eternity passed while Andie sat in bed, buried beneath her stormtrooper blanket, flashes of lightning licking at the walls. She stared so hard at the spinning gold star on her laptop, her eyes watered, and her lungs were on fire from her stubborn determination to keep holding her breath.

She was more than aware that everything came down to this moment. All her plans to become a glowy, pregnant fugitive from justice would come to a quick end if she couldn't get into the Star Enquirer's computer system and deplete their assets.

When Andie had almost given up hope, and her lungs were about to burst, the star stopped spinning and the icon—a five-pointed sunburst with the name "Emerson Lieder" in the center—materialized onto the screen.

It worked!

She was in the system!

But before she could full-scale rejoice, something occurred to her about the icon, which was this: why was Emerson Lieder's name emblazoned in the middle? He was the passive one. Sure, Emerson was the king, but it was Cyra who took an interest in the Star Enquirer, while he remained on the mothership fabricating new wife-brains, or playing three-dimensional chess with Vulcans, or whatever busywork they gave him to keep him out of the way.

Was the reason his name was front and center on the logo something as simple and appalling as Amu chauvinism? Or was there something about Emerson Lieder that Andie was failing to notice? She shivered and pulled the Stormtrooper blanket up to her chin.

It made little sense, and one thing Andie had learned in her 26 years of life was that if things don't add up, it's essential to go back through the data slowly and carefully until you find your error.

But she didn't have the time for slow anything at the moment; so she set aside this train of thought and focused on the matter at hand—infiltrating the innards of the Star Enquirer's financial system.

Opening the balance sheet, she clicked on the "Assets" line to get the detail. Almost all the Star Enquirer's eight hundred million dollars were still being kept in non-interest-bearing accounts at a single institution—The First Bank of Hollywood.

Although this was the absolute best news for her evil plan, it made Andie's blood boil. They hadn't listened to her advice about investing the funds in high-yield instruments! Calm down, self, Andie admonished. If the Amu had invested in longer-term assets, it would take weeks to steal it all. Slowly her breathing eased, and her skin turned from a scarlet-tinged glowy blue back to its "normal" glowy blue.

In other good news, the Amu, having no other assets, would only have two options once Andie had drained the accounts:

A. Start all over on earth.

or

B. Evacuate and look for other worlds to invade. Perhaps one with less complicated business regulations.

Andie was certain they'd choose B, because the company had taken decades to build, and bottom line, earth's arcane laws made the place as inhospitable for the Amu as the ammonia-laden atmosphere of Jupiter.

With Anderson Cooper still droning on the great room TV about the "storm of the millennium," Andie clicked the link for the First Bank of Hollywood. Once in, her finger twitched as it hovered over the mouse. One keystroke to put in the order to transfer every penny to the account she set up for a new shelf corporation—a nice little company called Xenon Publishing Inc. Biting her lip, she clicked.

"It's done then?" Bad Andie said.

"Yes," Andie replied. "I just became a felon."

"How does it feel?"

"Surprisingly, I feel the same as I did two minutes ago. I think I was expecting something more earth-shattering. Like a permanent sneer, slicked back hair, the inability to breathe without a scary black helmet and a respirator, a sudden desire to wear a puppy fur coat. But I'm still me."

"That's a relief. Especially for the puppies. Now what?"

"Now we buy the Zuts a restaurant and arrange for them to live in Sterling's mansion."

Instead of hiding in a moldy subbasement working for a race of beings who consider the Zuts nothing but mutants, each day they would smell the promise of bouillabaisse at the ocean. Humankind would appreciate them, not for being beautiful or powerful or entertainingly shallow, but for honest work. For doing their favorite thing in the universe—cooking.

Andie could barely contain her glee when she imagined Ernest, Rosalie, Frank, Bill, and Cash at their new seaside café, grilling sandwiches with thick slabs of homemade yeasty bread and oozing gruyere, folding earthy truffles, roasted garlic, and sweet French butter into mashed potatoes, baking schnecken and gooey chocolate souffle topped with heavenly clouds of whipped cream that melted when they hit your tongue.

Andie's stomach growled in protest. She gently reminded her stomach that she didn't have time to eat because it was only a matter of time before someone discovered the crime and came after her.

Her stomach, however, would not quiet. It growled even louder. And kept at it.

Ignoring the abdominal racket as best she could, Andie purchased the defunct Kate's Café. The abandoned restaurant on the beach where Talia had threatened to crash Sterling's plane. Any trepidation Andie might have had about her actions faded when she remembered this moment. She hoped Talia was miserable in her chase scene trope on a far off moon, where her hopes for becoming an A-lister were now zilch.

The real estate agent was so thrilled to sell the place that once Andie explained the urgency, the agent promised to have the paperwork and keys messengered over to the restaurant while the storm of the millennium raged outside. If everything went as Andie hoped, she would be at the restaurant shortly to sort out the details before leaving for LAX and buying a last-minute ticket out of the country.

Next, she opened an untraceable email account and sent out three quick messages:

1. To Chris Pine, board member of Ban Plastic Surgery Now! asking him to meet her at the restaurant in an hour to discuss the big influx of money about to come into the charity and to request he be the trustee for the Zuts' finances. He was sure to come as he had been emailing her nonstop for weeks, telling her he would meet her anyplace, anytime. His missives always included a winky face and a kissy face. 😉❤️ Props for persistence.

2. One to her mom, which could be printed in braille, letting her know Andie was fine and she'd contact her once she'd settled. She included an attachment for her dad, which she asked her mom to give to him next time she visited him in prison. Andie had wept as she wrote to her dad, who was a criminal, but also a good man.

3. A message to Oliver explaining that he shouldn't look for her. That this was for the best. It never would've worked being different species and all. She hoped by writing these harsh words, he would forget her and move on with his life. Even though she would never get over him.

Last, Andie printed two sets of documents—one for the Zuts, the other for Chris, giving details of the financial arrangements. She put them in white, self-adhesive envelopes.

Andie rubbed her temples. Her brain hurt. The palm tree smacked against the bedroom window. She allowed herself a moment to absorb all she'd done. The people she was leaving and the people she was saving by doing so. Oliver from his parent's wrath. Her mom and dad, who were better off knowing as little as possible about where she was headed, though she suspected that if Rachel wanted, she could know exactly where her daughter and grandchild were. The celebrities who wouldn't be tricked by the Amu. And their families and friends who wouldn't have to suffer as Andie had when she lost her best friend in the world. And finally, her baby. Already the tenderness and protectiveness she felt toward this little mystery growing inside her was palpable. This child was the center of her universe, and even though it was half alien, Andie never felt more human.

***

Before she could leave the apartment to meet up with Chris, Andie had one more person to contact, but she was fairly certain a secret email wouldn't work. She unscrambled herself from the covers, and even with her Chewbacca robe, the chill air caused goosebumps to erupt along her arms. Andie padded toward the bathroom where she'd left the spacesuit and a business card from the person who represented the last piece of the puzzle.

"What's going on?" Bad Andie said. "When are we going to get to the fun part where we meet up with Chris Pine? Honestly, it's the only thing I'm looking forward to today."

"Why don't you go back to reading about sexy criminals?"

"Not feeling it at the moment. I think I've caught something horrible from you."

"What? Exhaustion?"

"No. Worse. A conscience. I don't think the criminals in those books are sexy at all. I mean, I get the appeal of Robin Hood, since he has his priorities straight, but the jerks in these books only get laid because they have rippling biceps and washboard abs."

"Uh, all right. Sorry about you catching a conscience from me."

"That's okay. It was bound to happen. Living in such proximity. Like women getting their periods at the same time. So what's the holdup?"

"I need to get ahold of François."

"The party planner?"

"The very one."

"Setting aside the fact that he's probably light years from here in a place where email is probably as quaint as cave drawings, why do you need him?"

"The Zuts are excellent cooks, but terrible business-people, and a restaurant is one of the hardest businesses to operate. It takes someone organized to juggle all the variables—food, personnel, supplies, décor, promotion, customers."

"That is a perfectly wonderful idea, assuming that he will take your side in all this, but how are you going to find him?"

"There's no doubt he will take my side. After working on the royal wedding, I would bet my Star Wars figurines that he would do anything that would anger the royal family. As far as how to find him, he gave me his business card, remember?"

"Oh yes, the one with no information other than his name?"

"The very one."

She retrieved the spacesuit from the floor and felt along the seamless side until she located the hidden pocket. Her fingers clasped the card, which was thick, yet pliant, and drew the heat from her fingers as if it was made of metal, not paper. Holding it to her ear, Andie detected a faint hum. It was definitely not an ordinary card. "It's a device."

"So, how do you use it?" Bad Andie said.

Andie turned it over. Ran her finger over the silver engraving on the front side that read François LeGrande - Joining Planner Extraordinaire. She'd hoped for a secret button on the back, but it was disappointingly smooth. She shook it. Nothing happened. Tossed it in the air. Andie growled in frustration. She didn't have time for this! "I have no clue." Andie took the card back to the bedroom, plopped atop the stormtroopers, and, sitting cross-legged, opened her laptop.

"What are you doing?"

"Googling how to use Amu business cards."

Bad Andie chortled. "So the Amu use our internet?"

"It's just a hunch. Remember Google Galaxy, Star's navigation system?"

"Of course."

"Oliver told me Google was an alien-run company. So if they have an intergalactic map for aliens to use for puttering around hyperspace, they must have a web browser for them to putter in cyberspace." Andie typed Google Galaxy into the regular Google search box. Andie scrolled through a list of search results that were clearly decoys to fool any human interlopers, with titles like "Space Galaxy Wallpaper" and "Liquid Galaxy." There was one that was promising called "100,000 Stars," and though it turned out to be an interactive map of the nearest stars in our galaxy, it was nothing at all like the magic of the real Google Galaxy.

She kept paging through until she came to a brief entry called "Google Delumium Web Browser." Oliver had mentioned the Delumium mines of Zog. This had to be it! The description read—A fast, secure, and free web browser built for the modern extraterrestrial. Delumium syncs to all your intergalactic devices, including cranial microchips.

Most humans would assume this was all science fiction, but Andie was not most humans. She clicked on the download option, but nothing happened. She'd been so sure. Her heart sunk; her fingers sparked in frustration.

A jagged thread of light arced from her fingertips to the screen, and like invisible ink, more words on the entry emerged, glowing with an eerie blue alien pulse. Like a kind of password protection. Only someone with an alien Neuronic signature could access the app. Clicking on Google Galaxy, Andie clenched her fists, snuffing out the Neuronic zappiness while the app downloaded in the interval between two heartbeats.

"Impressive," Bad Andie said. "Now what?"

I guess I Google the search term "How to use an Amu business card." In seconds, the answer appeared on the screen:

"The Amu business card is a simple device that allows a specific recipient the ability to contact instantaneously to the card's owner anywhere in the known universe by holding the card pressed between two palms and reciting the inscribed name thrice. Amu business cards, while extremely powerful, do not work in alternate realities, the upside-down, two-dimensional universes, or beyond a black hole's event horizon. Warning: The card's owner will receive no advance notice of the summons. Be prepared."

"That seems too easy."

"It does. But not everything is rocket science. I hope! Here goes ... "François LeGrande. François LeGrande, François LeGrande," Andie said in a loud, clear voice, pressing the card between her palms. For good measure, she added: "I have a bit of an emergency. This is Andie Bank. From the ... uh ... Royal Joining. Not sure if you remember me, but ..."

The air filled with the smell of burnt metal and ozone with a hint of lavender—the telltale precursors of a Priority One entrance—François-style. The red curtain of light appeared against the far wall where she used to have a poster of Chris Pine as Captain Kirk.

"It worked!" Bad Andie squealed.

A pale figure, coated in lather, wearing a shower cap, emerged from the maw of the Priority One. As soon as he was clear of the lights, they spun faster and faster until they winked out. "François!" Andie said, tightening her Chewbacca robe at the sight of the normally dapper party planner wearing nothing but suds.

"The one and only," he said, soapy water cascading down his pale body and forming a little puddle on the blonde wood floor. "But your timing is ruinous."

"I'm sorry, but why did you come if you were in the shower?"

"You said it was an emergency," he said flatly, looking down at the Chewbacca robe and raising one of his chalky brows.

"Well, you could've waited." Andie's face heated. "I mean, you're naked."

"Seems only fair since the first time you came to me, you were in the same state, if I remember correctly."

"True."

François snapped his fingers, and a Gripple appeared in his hand. "Travel nowhere without your Gripple." He whipped the Gripple over his body in a blur, and in seconds, he wore his usual lavender suit. He tugged at the lapels. "That is better."

"Um ..."

"What is it? Out with it, human."

Andie rubbed the top of her head. "You're still wearing the shower cap."

"Blast it." He tore off the cap, and his white hair fell immediately into place. "Now, what's your emergency?"

Ten minutes later, Andie and François sat ensconced on the loveseat with curls of perfumed steam rising from mugs of Earl Grey tea, as palm trees outside battered the windows. Andie's leg bounced up and down in agitation as she was aware of the passage of time. She needed to get to the restaurant and out of town. But François had insisted on "civility," which meant sitting down with tea.

Biting her tongue to keep from arguing with him, Andie had made the tea. As she described the plan, François sat with perfect posture, one pant leg pressed to knife-slit precision crossing his other leg.

"Let me see if I understand." François cleared his throat. "You have stolen all the Star Enquirer's capital, thereby forcing them to leave earth. You will use their money to fund a charity that promotes the idea that humans should love themselves the way they are, and you have purchased an ocean-side restaurant for your accounting clerks, which you would like me to run, and you plan to disappear?"

"That's essentially the plan." His expression was inscrutable. Andie hoped she'd done a good enough sales job on it. Would he help her or turn her in?

He tapped his index finger on his pointy chin. "The royal family will be furious."

"They will be," Andie said, trying not to think too much about Oliver.

"I would be spectacular at it," François added.

"You would."

"That wasn't a question." He waved an index finger at her. "And you say I shall live in a mansion?"

"Yes, you and the Zuts will live in a mansion. Not just any mansion. Sterling Champagne's. It has fifteen bedrooms, twenty-five bathrooms, two home gyms, three swimming pools, one Olympic-sized, two movie theaters with THX Dolby surround sound, a bowling alley, and a wine vault. It even has a gift-wrap room."

"I've always wanted a gift-wrap room. One with rolls of paper and ribbon. Sharp scissors. Ample table space for wrapping even the largest of gifts."

"Well, all that could be yours. Also, you will never have to airbrush doves or steal another scepter. The design of everything in the restaurant except the menu will be in your capable hands."

"Way to kiss up," Bad Andie said.

"Be quiet," Andie said.

François set his empty mug on the floor and clapped his hands together. "I accept."

Andie released a squeal of joy. Finally, something was falling into place. "Thank you, François. Oh, thank you so much. Now, the next step will be for you to quickly Wormhole us to the Star Enquirer. We can ask the Zuts if they want to live in a mansion and run a restaurant. If so, you can Wormhole us all to the restaurant."

François shifted his gaze downward toward Andie's belly, his eyes widening in apparent horror. "You cannot be serious!"

"Why? What's wrong? You can Wormhole others, can't you?"

"Of course I can. But not you."

"Why not?"

"Clearly, given your luminous blue state and paunchy abdomen, you are with child."

"My stomach isn't ..." Andie felt her belly. It was paunchy! She took a sharp intake of breath. "Just how long is an Amu gestation period?"

"Two earth months in the test tube. We haven't had an in utero birth in eons."

Andie felt the blood drain from her head. "Oh, my god! I'm not ready!"

"One never is," François said.

Calm down. Calm down. Do not panic. Andie told herself this, but if the outside of her stomach was now slightly convex, it was nothing compared to the inside, which was mayhem. Like a crazed crowd stampeding out of a soccer match. "But why does that mean I can't Wormhole?"

"Wormholing is a delicate procedure. Even I would have trouble ensuring that your child's molecules all ended up in the proper configuration. It is far too risky."