In the hold of the battle-tank, the eight remaining members of the crew stood in a circle around the baristas, each with at least one weapon trained on their prisoners and several with two—they had raided the tank's substantial armoury for the biggest guns they could carry.

Rigellians are strong—and like big guns.

Staring down the barrel of some kind of silver, spiked space-bazooka, Cora whispered to Max from the corner of her mouth, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Max was having trouble staring down the barrel of the gun pointed at his head, as it appeared to have five of them. "I was," he whispered back. He switched his attention to the other gun pointed at him. This one was glowing green, was adorned with four bayonets, and somewhat disturbingly, a fork. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"What are you guys complaining about?" hissed Mel. Of the thirteen guns currently pointed at the baristas, seven were directed at her. Clearly, having seen her disposal of two of their colleagues, the tank crew were a little wary.

"Well, at least you know you're bullet-proof," whispered Cam. "Or laser-proof? Energy-beam proof? Dunno, but space-gun-proof, anyway."

"Yes, against the piddly guns those short-arses outside had. What about these ones?"

"Silence, humans!" barked the XO, immediately wishing he hadn't barked it so loudly. He had a killer headache. "You scum are our prisoners and will only speak when spoken to."

"OK, no worries," replied Cam.

"Silence!" shouted the first lieutenant, whose head was fortuitously quite numb.

"But the other guy said we could speak when spoken to and he spoke to me so I figured I could speak."

"You will speak when we tell you to!"

Cam considered this. "OK, just so we're clear—we can speak when spoken to but only when spoken to in a manner instructing us to speak. Is that right?"

"Silence!" bellowed the XO and the lieutenant, in unison. The XO groaned and rubbed his temples with the hand that wasn't holding a laser-guided rocket-launcher.

The first lieutenant grinned. "Something the matter, XO? You seem to be unwell." He knew this was a good thing and was happy about it, but couldn't for the life of him remember why. His memory seemed a little fuzzy for some reason. He wondered if it was the same reason his head was numb. Anyway, the important thing was to focus on the prisoners. He blinked and shook his head.

"Hang on. Wasn't there a Narguwullian with the humans before?"

"Yes," snapped the XO. "He went back to his craft, as the captain ordered. Don't you remember?"

"What? Of course I do! Where is the captain, anyway?"

"He's outside with a car parked on his head! Damn it lieutenant, what's wrong with...?" Realisation dawned on the XO. "Oh dear, you seem to be a little concussed. With the captain out of action and you indisposed, that means I'm now in undisputed command of the tank."

Once again, the first lieutenant wasn't really sure why, but he knew this was a bad thing. "What? Disinposed? No, I'm ferfectly pine. Couldn't be wetter. And furthermore, plerk."

The XO grinned and held up three fingers. "How many, lieutenant?"

The first lieutenant frowned in concentration. "Hang on, I know this one. Give me a second. Um...I've got it—W!"

"W fingers?"

"Yes. Quithout westion. Smelnark," replied the first lieutenant with great conviction, before passing out and collapsing to the floor.

The XO pointed to a couple of crew members. "You and you—take the first lieutenant to his cabin." With intense satisfaction he watched his rival being carted away, his head suddenly feeling remarkably better.

But not for long. His recovered head had no sooner turned back to the prisoners, before Cora punched it. Staggering backwards in shock, he raised his gun, only to find that he didn't have it any more, as Cora had taken it off him. He just had time to process this before the very same gun smashed him over the head.

The speed of Cora's attack took everyone by surprise, but it was only a second or two before Mel joined the fray, leaping on to another of the soldiers. The three remaining crew members opened fire on Cam and Max, who dived for the floor, resulting in two of the crew members shooting each other, while the third copped a Rigellian in the face, courtesy of Mel throwing her victim at him.

A few noisy, violence-filled seconds later, it was all over. Five unconscious or semi-conscious Rigellians littered the floor around Cam and Max, who lay face down with their arms over their heads. Cautiously, the two male baristas looked up and surveyed the damage.

Max turned to Cora, a mixture of shock and wonder on his face. "What did you do?"

Smiling shyly, she shrugged and held out a hand to help him up. "It seemed like a good opportunity. There were only five of them, and the shouty one was distracted. I didn't think we'd get a better chance. And I kind of figured that if Mel was space-gun proof, then we probably would be, too."

Max stuck a finger through one of the numerous holes burnt into his shirt—the skin underneath was unharmed. "You 'kind of figured'? I see. Well, it looks like you were right. But this being a superhero, saving the world gig is hell on the wardrobe."

Cam inspected his bare torso. "At least you've got a wardrobe. But I'm hole-free, too."

Max made a circuit of the room, collecting the Rigellians' assorted weapons, before piling them into an impressive heap. He glanced at their immobile or feebly wriggling forms, before turning back to Cora. "Um. Next time we have an argument, remind me to lose." One of the Rigellians groaned pitifully. "Or how about I just concede defeat here and now, for all future arguments?"

Cam grinned. "Wise words. So, what's next?"

"Step two," replied Max. "We kick the Rigellians out of the tank. Or in the case of these sorry individuals, we carry them out. Cam and Mel, if you guys are happy to take care of that, Cora the destroyer and I will round up the other three." He picked up one of the confiscated weapons. "Load up, babe." Suitably armed, they left the hold.

Cam picked up an unconscious Rigellian's feet. "OK," he said to Mel, "if you get the other end we can start with this guy."

Mel rolled her eyes. "Oh, Cameron. You seem to be forgetting our newfound kick-arsedness." Bending down, she tossed a Rigellian over each shoulder, walked to the exit of the craft, and without ceremony, hurled them outside. She dusted off her hands. "Give it a try."

With a bit of shuffling, Cam soon had a Rigellian under each arm and one draped around the back of his neck. He grinned at Mel. "Being weaponised feels pretty good." His cargo had just joined Mel's outside, when Cora and Max returned, dragging the unconscious forms of the remaining crew behind them.

"They resisted arrest," reported Max, as they tossed the soldiers outside. He yawned enormously. "Okay, I reckon it must be time for step three. Food, coffee and sleep, although not necessarily in that order. Let's get EJ over here."

"Way ahead of you," said the hologram as he walked in, back in Armani mode, but still sporting the hard hat. "I watched the whole thing by accessing the tank's security cameras. You guys are now functional superhumans. I'm so proud."

Max pulled a face. "Gee, thanks dad. But let's not get too carried away. So far we've retaken a paddock. We still have the rest of the planet to go."

Now Mel yawned. "The rest of the planet can wait. I need some sleep. And then a very long, very hot bath."

"OK," said Max, rubbing his hands together. "Let's go. EJ, can you fly this thing?"

"Pfft—fly this thing? Oh, please—I'm a military grade AI, or at least I was. I can fly a whole battle fleet."

"Excellent—so that means you can fly Cam's spaceship, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Easy as falling off a dog."

"Um, right." Max frowned. "The only catch is not getting found by the bad guys. Any ideas?"

"No problem. The cloaking device will take care of that, and it'll cover Cam's ship as well. The only question is where do you want to go?"

"Oh, EJ," said Cora. "We're tired, we're dirty, we're hungry, we've been blown up, attacked, had our brains probed, been shot at, and our planet has been invaded. And we're baristas. Where do you think we want to go?"

"Um—to a bar? Or maybe a therapist?"

Cam shook his head. "You know, for a super-intelligent AI, you can be pretty dumb."

Baffled, the hologram looked around the little group. "Where, then?"

The four baristas of the apocalypse replied, as one. "To the coffee shop!"