"Emerson." Andie swallowed hard and backed into a corner, right into a half-dead ficus. Dead leaves drifted to the floor. Fear, acrid as burnt coffee, scorching her throat. Distress signals raced through her brain, demanding she sprint for the door and hurtle back into the hurricane, where it was safer. But terror kept her boots glued to the filthy parquet floor. The air, salty and tinged with rust, was thick and heavy, and pressed against her body, making any move toward defending herself from the angry Amu king impossible.

"Glad you could join us," Emerson purred. Andie narrowed her eyes. The supermodels were all giving her duckface sneers. Emerson leaned casually against an old oak table that wobbled under his weight. Next to him, on the table, was her audit bag. How the hell had he gotten it out of her car (which she had left unlocked for a quick getaway, but still!) and Wormholed inside with six guards before Andie had even closed the door?

Sometimes aliens were a royal pain in the ass.

Maybe all the time.

Especially the royal ones!

"You?" Andie said, lamely.

Emerson grinned and, wait, was he twirling a non-existent mustache? Way to cliché, buddy! "Yes. Me."

"I thought you were the nice one," Andie accused. "But you're like the Emperor Palpatine, controlling your puppet, Darth Vader. Only in your case you're a handsome, mild-mannered alien king without a half-melted face and your puppet is a gorgeous, brain-addled queen who can breathe without a special helmet."

"I find your gullibility amusing," Emerson said. "Hiding behind the guise of ineptitude is the best disguise of all. You are, however, correct. I am the master puppeteer. Controlling my subjects to further my wishes. Only I had to get involved, since they were all truly incompetent."

Why had she not given more thought to Emerson? She was smarter than this. As an auditor, she had been trained to find the rot beneath ostensible truth. Had she not focused on making out with Oliver, rescuing Sterling, and not getting blown up by jellyfish drones, she might have seen this coming.

Emerson was there when Cyra had threatened her at Oliver's house. He was at the Joining and. He was in the Big Guns when they fired on Star. On the Colony beach that day, it seemed like he didn't want Cyra to kill Oliver, but he did little to stop her. And then his biggest worry was that it was time for his wife to acquire a new brain.

Andie gnashed her teeth in frustration. Somehow, she had to get out of here without becoming demolecularized. Molecularized? At least being angry, even if it was mostly at her own stupidity, was better than being petrified with fear.

She tried calling forth her blue energy, but all it did was spark and fizzle from her fingertips. In movies, superpowers always did this. Failed at key moments. Like right before the climax, when the heroine needed them most, forcing her to rely on her wits.

Using one's wits to defeat the enemy was always a lot harder (and many times bloodier, more painful, and less time-efficient) than simply setting them on fire with one's mind, pinning them beneath an eighteen-wheeler, flinging them into the sun, or choking them with the Force.

She had to get the hell out.

Andie swiveled her head and scanned the restaurant, hoping against hope that there might be a bookcase that turned into a secret door. She'd even settle for a well-placed manhole. However, she found neither of these options available in the derelict space, which had all the oxidized, barnacled, soggy appeal of a shipwreck.

But with potential.

She needed a miracle. Something like Scotty beaming her up to the Enterprise. Or a knight on a white steed crashing through the window, scooping her up, and galloping off into the sunset. Neither of these scenarios seemed likely either.

Her best chance would be a practical solution that didn't stretch the laws of physics or bend reality but didn't result in her being shot. Andie considered a list of these options, but none of them seemed workable. For example, if she:

Ran for the door—Dead

Hoped she'd somehow gained Dr. Strange-level martial arts moves—not going to happen, so again—Dead

Asked nicely—Dead

Cried—Dead

Begged—Dead.

Played dead—Dead

Sigh.

If she was going to hatch a brilliant strategy and overcome this latest setback, she would need a calm, organized, rational mindset. Andie took what she hoped was a deep, calming breath. And, no surprise, the whole calming breath thing didn't pan out.

Reverse psychology, perhaps? It had sort of worked on Talia during the great eyebrow incident the first time Talia attacked her. Worth a try.

Someone snapped his fingers in her face. Why were people always doing this to her? She focused on Emerson, who was the snapper.

"I do not mean to interrupt your internal banter," Emerson said. "But I have a brain replacement procedure to oversee back on the ship, so if we could just get to the part where you cower in fear and give me what I want, I would appreciate it."

Andie planted her hands on her hips. "I am not afraid of you," she lied, adding a nonchalant chuckle as proof of her total nonchalantness. "But it seems you're pretty scared of me. A mere human."

Emerson's dark brows, (so disturbingly like Oliver's that it made her want to rip them off with hot wax), drew together. "What are you talking about?"

"That you need seven blasters pointed at me to feel safe."

"Check her for weapons," Emerson commanded.

So much for reverse psychology. Andie's heart jack hammered as she realized the supermodel guard slithering toward her to carry out Emerson's order was none other than her nemesis and lookalike—Ixis. "Ixis," Andie said. "Can't say it's great to see you."

The evil doppelgänger gave Andie an "I am a superior being who will not deign to even respond to you" eye-roll, and not so gently patted her down. When she got to the stomach region, she paused. Gasped. Andie's eyes grew round, and she silently begged Ixis not to say anything or, even better, for her to spontaneously combust. But Ixis's mouth curled into a malicious grin.

Totally not combusting, Ixis turned on her stupidly shod stilettoed boot-heel, tottered back into formation next to Emerson, and whispered something in his ear. His face remained stoic, but his finger, poised the whole time on the trigger of his blaster, twitched.

Emerson cleared his throat. "Not only are you a thief, but you have also committed the most serious of crimes in the Amu world by becoming ... pregnant," he hissed, wrinkling his nose. "And you know that the punishment for this is death."

"You would kill your own grandchild?" If Andie hadn't known that they were going to survive this ordeal because François had met a future version of her child, she would've been inordinately horrified. As it was, she was only markedly terrified.

Emerson's lip curled in disgust. "Our children are made in a lab. Where it is sanitary and we can select the proper genetic traits. With this ..." he waved the blaster dismissively at Andie's stomach, "... kind of uncontrolled situation, you never know what kind of abomination will result. I am afraid we must carry your death sentence out posthaste."

This perked the guards right up. "Soon, my pets," Emerson drawled. Apparently condescending to female employees wasn't a practice restricted to the human realm. "First, our Controller needs to tell me where she put my money. Because Miss Bank, I have no intention of leaving earth. This operation is going smoothly and is astronomically profitable. I am afraid all your efforts will have been for nothing."

Andie clenched her fists, the tiniest of blue sparks zipping against her palms. "Like I am going to tell you anything. I always knew there was a risk I might get caught and punished. But getting rid of you was my goal. No way am I going to help you stay."

"Even if cooperating means your child may live?" He glared at her belly, and Andie shivered.

With this offer on the table, Andie realized the flaw in her previous logic. Just because François had met Andie's time-traveling child, it was wrong to assume that both mother and child lived. Maybe only the child survived.

While she was fond of living, the desire to protect her baby was even greater. Her love for this child was her biggest weakness in a negotiation. Emerson knew Andie could not sentence her baby to death, which is what would happen if she didn't do what he wanted.

Think, think, think.

There had to be a way. Why wasn't François here yet with the Zuts? Andie scanned the room, willing them to appear.

"Waiting for someone?" Emerson said.

"Yes. So, you better stop this nonsense, because I have backups coming any second."

"Do you mean those mutant bookkeepers and that overrated Joining planner, François? They're not coming. I uninvited them to the party."

"What do you mean?" The blood drained from her face; nausea roiled through her gut.

Emerson patted a glowing medal pinned to his chest. "Borrowed Cyra's Wormhole Blocker. Too bad you'll never meet Cyra 3.0. She is much improved from the old model. The things she can do in bed ..."

"Enough! Gross! I don't want to hear about it, Grandpa." Oops. Maybe that wasn't the right approach. Emerson merely laughed. He'd been trying to get to her. God, he was a jerk. "Oliver will never forgive you if you hurt me or his baby."

"Oh, I do not think it will be an issue. Oliver is in the brig right now, awaiting his new brain. Which is why I need to get back to make sure those imbeciles in the lab do it right! I promise Oliver 2.0 will be more compliant. And will remember nothing about you. Or ever know about this," he stirred the air, "little problem."

"You are vile."

"Why, thank you. One tries. Sometimes being vile is difficult. But I am glad you noticed my effort."

Stall, stall, stall.

"How did you know I was here?" Andie said.

"Oh, that was the easy part. The Zuts and François told me."

Andie's chest tightened. They wouldn't betray her? Would they? "I don't believe you."

"Yet here I am, my dear."

"You don't call a person you're about to murder 'my dear.' Especially one carrying your grandchild."

Emerson unleashed a hearty Santa Claus-level chortle. "You are amusing. I can see why my son likes you. He leered at her, and her stomach pitched. Too bad you will be molecularly undesirable after I have you blasted. Maybe I could take some cells first and have a new, improved, cooperative Andie made in the lab."

Acid burned Andie's throat, and before she knew what was happening, she projectile retched a cinnamon-scented puke. All over Emerson's face.

Emerson pulled out a Gripple and wiped his face. His now clean features twisted into a snarl. "Enough!" He snapped open the audit bag and fished out her computer; a few of her figurines toppled onto the table. "GET ME MY MONEY BACK!" He roared, throwing her Nien Nunb action figure at her!

Threw it!

It was a 1980s VINTAGE!

That was the absolute last straw. "No," Andie said, crossing her arms over her chest, partially to look tough, partially to hide her fingertips, which were getting sparkier as her anger grew and her patience thinned; still, was it enough for her to out-zap 7 blasters?

Emerson's face reddened. "Yes. You will." He grabbed her hair and dragged her to the table, where he pushed Andie into a chair and opened the computer in front of her. Fortunately, she'd gotten rid of the Chris Pine screensaver. "Where is it? Where is my money?"

"Even if I wanted to help you, I can't. It's in someone else's name."

"Whose name?"

Andie forced herself not to look at the door. Please, Chris, don't show up. Please! "I don't feel like telling you. Maybe I'll be more in the mood later." That's what Andie needed. Time to figure a way out of this situation. As long as she didn't reveal who had the money, she was safe.

"What a shame. I had hoped to avoid the extra work, but if you're going to be so uncooperative, it will force me to take you up to the mothership and download your brain."

"You're bluffing. You don't have that technology."

"Try me. Ladies, take the prisoner into custody."

"No!" Andie said, leaping from the chair and assuming a fighting stance. Her against six supermodel guards and one insane grandfather, who had the gall to look like Ryan Gosling. She gulped. But a tingle of warmth and safety emanated from Sterling's jacket and Oliver's shirt, reminding her she was not alone. Love surrounded her. And she had the strength to do what she needed for her child, her lover, her best friend, and herself. "Stand back! I AM a weapon. I will give you five seconds to leave or suffer the consequences."

"Now, who is bluffing?" Emerson laughed.

The supermodel guards charged Andie. But before they completed a single step, she unleashed a blast of Neuronic energy so powerful that she took out all six in quick succession. They crumpled to the filthy parquet wood floor like a jumble of unconscious dominatrix Barbies.

Emerson's jaw dropped. "How did you ...?"

"Get out of my restaurant. Get out of my life. And get off my planet!"

"I do not understand," Emerson said, toeing a guard as if to make sure she had really been knocked out. He shook his head.

"It's called motherhood, dude. I know you've never been much of a parent. And by this, I mean that you and your 'creature' Cyra are the worst parents in history. You disgust me. This here," she held up her fingers to show him the blue sparks, "this is what we earthlings like to call 'protecting our young.' There is no power greater than the love a parent has for a child. So back off, buddy. Because I am so done with you!"

"I don't think so," Emerson said; a stream of Neuronic energy erupted from his fingertips, aimed at her. Andie instinctively sent off enough of her own blue energy to power the greater Los Angeles area. The two crackling currents met in the middle, high in the air, sparks flying across the room. Andie's arms vibrated, and every hair on her body stood on end. The streams of blue electricity were like when Yoda fought Darth Sidious in Revenge of the Sith or when Harry Potter battled Voldemort in the graveyard in Goblet of Fire. Andie and Emerson's powers were equal. The only question was, who would tire first?

After a few minutes, a burning pain started in Andie's fingertips, and ran along her arms, down her sides and into her legs. It was like being electrocuted while running a marathon on Jupiter. She couldn't keep it up much longer. And Emerson showed no sign of strain. He was smiling like a shark who knew the "your prey is ready" timer had just dinged on the microwave.

She continued blasting through her pain, but the juncture of their power crept closer and closer to her fingers.

Andie would not give up. She would drain every ounce of energy in her body to save her child. The point of contact was inches from her hand when the door to the café jiggled and opened.

Emerson glanced at the door, which gave Andie the edge she needed. While his concentration was broken for that instant, she screamed like a lioness and zapped him with everything she had. The center of power reversed course, heading for Emerson. He screamed, but it was too late. He buckled and collapsed as Chris Pine slammed the door shut and ran toward her.

"Andie!" Chris yelled.

"Oh, my gosh! Thank you, Chris! Thank you so much. You saved my life!" As she sobbed, Chris took her in her arms and patted her still-wet hair.

"It's okay, Andie. It's okay. You're safe." She buried her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled sweet and sour, like lemon bars. "You're all right. It's fine. I mean, I have no idea what just happened there. It was pretty hot, really. I know this probably isn't the right time to tell you how hot it was watching you zap that dude like we were in a real-life Star Trek movie, but it was amazing. I knew you were special."

He removed his raincoat. Underneath, he wore a crisp, dry white shirt. In typical James T. Kirk fashion, he removed the shirt and used it to wipe her tears. This act of kindness only amped up the crying. His face was so close to hers.

For a moment, his beautiful blue eyes mesmerized her.

His breath quickened. Was he about to kiss her?

"Let's hope so!" Bad Andie said.

Once again, the café door opened with a whoosh of rain and lightning. And in walked a two-legged storm in the guise of a very drenched Oliver Lieder, out of breath, but still looking sexier and angrier than she'd ever seen him.

"Oliver?" she breathed. Was he even real, or was he made from clouds and thunder, wind and rain? Perhaps she had conjured a vision from the sheer wanting of him? Or, even worse, was this Oliver 2.0? She was afraid to move. Afraid if she rushed into his arms and pressed into him, she'd discover he was only a mirage. Or perhaps he wouldn't even know her at all. Her heart kicked against her chest.

He glanced at Andie with a blank expression. Oh no!

Then he frowned at the shirtless Chris Pine, his face hovering close to Andie's, poised for a kiss, and with one long stride, and one swift stroke, before she could stop him, Oliver punched poor Chris in the jaw. There was a thudding sound—like someone tenderizing a raw slab of gristly meat—followed by another thud as Chris hit the floor, which was now literally littered with bodies.

Oliver was definitely real. And definitely the original. Because 2.0 wouldn't have throttled Chris for taking off his shirt and almost kissing her. "Oh, Oliver.. I ..." She paused, not having the words to express her joy at seeing him with his original brain and everything! Chris groaned, then went still. "Oh, my gosh! Chris!" Andie dropped to the ground, next to the now unconscious movie star, and pulled his head into her lap. His jaw was already red and swollen. "Oliver, he saved my life."

"I see," Oliver said, frowning at his father, as he knelt and tore the Wormhole Blocker off the king's chest. Oliver crushed it in his fist and let the pieces fall. He practically growled at Andie, cradling Chris's head in her lap. "Tell me what in Zandorkia is going on here? Why were you kissing that rogue?"

How could Oliver think this of her? "I wasn't kissing him," Andie countered.

"About to kiss then, woman! Why must we argue details at a time like this?"

"How did you even know I was here?" Andie said, wondering why she couldn't form the sentences she wanted. To tell him that his being here was an utter miracle. Even better than a manhole, or a secret passageway, or a transporter. "I thought you were in the brig."

Oliver laughed. But not in amusement. In disgust. "There is no jail that can hold me!"

"Really?"

"Not anymore. I recently gained some important skills from a brilliant, gorgeous, yet galactically vexing accountant. First, I shorted out the security bubble with a glass of Orwellian wine, then I stole a spaceship."

"Thank god," Andie said.

"I am not a god," he said. Naturally. "Even so, I would appreciate the answer to my question. Now."

"I can explain," Andie said.

"Just tell me, Andromeda, are you in love with him?"