Andie had no sense of how long it took her to climb the elevator shaft rung by rung, the crackling pale yellow light flickering in and out of existence. All she knew was that her biceps and quads burned so badly she thought they might spontaneously combust. Painful blisters erupted like tiny unwanted volcanos on her palms. Without the "unitard of the future," the ascent wouldn't have even been possible.

To keep her mind off the pain, she ran through the items on her To Do list.

1. Find Oliver and save him from prison or the Space Kork dining room or brain reassignment or whatever punishment the Amu might have planned for their errant prince.

Andie nearly missed the next rung at the thought of Oliver's lovely, infuriating, brilliant brain being tampered with. Not on my watch!

2. Locate Sterling, probably from the 2010s neighborhood, and save her from an eternal life of eating anything she wanted and never getting fat and/or having sex with the most glamorous celebrities earth has ever conjured.

Suddenly reverse-abducting Sterling didn't sound as easy as Andie initially thought it would be. But no way could her friend prefer this phony existence to her life on earth. Right?

3. Secure a spaceship with the key in the ignition or the correct security clearance code taped to the windshield or whatever enabled someone to turn the thing on. Then hustle Sterling and Oliver on to the ship, and return to earth.

4. Somehow shut down the Star Enquirer's operations.

Andie really looked forward to this. Because getting rid of the Amu would be even better than getting a refund on your Federal tax return. Better than when a bank statement balances on the first try. Better than seats next to Chris Pine at the next Star Trek movie premiere on IMAX with a full orchestra accompaniment and a post-show fireworks extravaganza!

Well, maybe not better than that last one, but certainly better than the others.

"But not better than one of Oliver's mind-blowing kisses, which you will lose once you destroy his family's operation," Bad Andie muttered.

Andie swallowed hard. "Can you please not mention Oliver and mind-blowing in the same sentence right now? And I know what, or whom, I might have to give up. But I cannot allow the Amu to continue their abduction scheme. I have to stop them."

"Well, I suppose there's always Chris Pine."

"I don't want Chris Pine."

"Then why do you want to sit next to him at a Star Trek premiere?"

"I never said ..."

"You did!"

The benefit of arguing with Bad Andie was that before she knew it, Andie had reached the top rung, above which was what remained of the elevator box.

Carefully avoiding the broken glass, she stood on the top rung, praying it held, and gripped the top part of the frame. She heaved herself up, hands and feet balanced on the metal bar, like she used to do when she was a kid climbing monkey bars in the schoolyard.

Even though Tom Cruise must've recently traversed the quicksand-like substance, it was still there, magically plugging the hole to the lunar surface. It must restore itself after someone passes through, setting up for new victims. Strange that no one else had fallen into the chase scene trope for the entire 20 years Tom had been there. This meant that either the other inhabitants of the celebrity moon paid better attention than Andie, or the sinkhole was a trap made especially for her ... maybe to separate her from Oliver.

Andie straightened her knees, readying herself for the gritty, wet passage through the sand by closing her eyes and holding her breath. She plunged her arms through first, then her head, and finally the rest of her body as the quicksand sucked her in and spat her out the other side.

Two fat orange suns loomed over the low rooftops of the 1950s. The air was clean and morning-crisp. The iridescent security bubble glimmered overhead. Apparently, they'd repaired the thing. Which meant she'd have to short it out again before they could leave the moon. Mentally, Andie added this to her To Do list.

She must've been gone for hours, as it had been nighttime when she fell into the trope. Even though Andie knew it was futile, she scanned the sky for Oliver or the drones.

She shivered, but whether it was from the cold or from utter despair, she was not sure. It wasn't from the quicksand, which miraculously had not left her damp, nor had it stuck to her skin and hair. Of course it hadn't affected the spacesuit, because ... alien technology.

The alley was quiet. Even though Andie knew there were likely to be cameras on the streets, being in the alleyways was like being a rat in a maze, with no way to know where she was. Plus, the alleys kept dead-ending, and she'd end up retracing her steps. Such a stupid waste of time.

Originally Oliver had them heading east toward the shoe mall. The suns, she assumed, rose in the east, so Andie left the alley behind and made her way down the nearest bubble-tree-lined street, walking straight for the suns. She didn't bother avoiding cameras by sticking to the shadows, because she wanted the drones to find her. And this time, she wouldn't fail at being captured. The drones would most likely take her to wherever they were holding Oliver.

"Hopefully it's not the Kork dining room," Bad Andie said. "I've no desire to become anyone's dinner. Except maybe Vlad's."

"Vlad?"

"Oh, didn't I mention? I've switched to vampire romances. Had to give up on the Blackhawk pilots after they almost killed us."

"How very loyal."

"I know! Plus, vampires are just so bloody tempting. The sexpots of the undead. Right now I'm reading Tall, Dark, and Hungry, starring the delectable Vlad. Next is Batty About You and then Fangs for the Memories. All of this means we can't die yet. So much reading material!"

After ten minutes of walking, no one had crossed her path, tentacled or otherwise. Andie waved her hands over her head and called out, "Andie here. Come and get me!" But there was no response except for some tinkly birdsong in a nearby tree. The trees have eyes. Andie recalled Oliver saying this. Good. She waved some more. "Hello, jellyfish drones. I can't abduct myself. Hurry!"

From behind, Andie heard the thrum of a car engine. She acted casual. Swinging her arms carelessly at her sides. Whistled a nameless tune. Although Andie wanted to be caught, she wanted it to be by the drones, not some new pursuer, because otherwise she might not end up in the same place as Oliver.

None of this seemed to work, because the car slowed its pace, maintaining a distance of only a few feet behind her. She didn't want to look over her shoulder to see who was driving, although she suspected it wasn't a drone with eight floppy tentacles.

Although imagine if humans had eight arms. One for gripping the steering wheel, another for turn signals; arms for the gas pedal, rear-view mirror, gearshift, and still three more left over for less important functions like lipstick application, adjusting the seat, and making rude gestures to obnoxious drivers.

She shook her head at this stupid train of thought and instead, repeated over and over in her mind: Look casual. Look casual. You belong here. Why couldn't she have Jedi mind powers? Then she could make the driver believe—"this isn't the fugitive you're looking for. Move along," and the car would drive away.

Andie tested to see if the car was following her.

She sped up.

So did the car.

She slowed down.

So did the car.

Her heart beat faster than a podracer. She could barely hear herself think as her pulse throbbed in her ears.

She took off running so fast the wind blew back the skin around her mouth like she was pushing 5-G's in a flight simulator. The shops and trees blurred. She came to a T-intersection and practically flew over the road.

Tires screeched.

The reek of burnt rubber seared the air.

And the last thing Andie saw before collapsing onto the street was the front end of a yellow Hummer.

Andie's body throbbed as she fought consciousness. Unconsciousness was preferable to consciousness because at the moment, every square inch of her body ached. Her stomach churned and burned like a cauldron of boiling acid. Waves of nausea rippled through her digestive tract.

But even worse than the physical maladies, were the mental motivations for being dead to the world. Like not remembering being hit by the Hummer limo. Or acknowledging that she was most likely now on the back seat of that ostentatious behemoth.

Andie had a pretty good idea who was driving.

As impossible as it seemed.

The limo turned sharply, tossing Andie off the seat. She resolutely squeezed her eyes closed even harder, desperate to return to oblivion. But when she hit the floor hard, bile rose in her throat and she bit her tongue. She screamed.

Her kidnapper hadn't even bothered to buckle her in!

Andie laughed at this inane thought. As if a kidnapper would care about her safety!

She opened her eyes. Yep. She was in the Hummer limo. The windows were tinted, so the only light came from multicolored LEDs on the roof. Yellow velvet upholstery! It smelled like roses.

The privacy screen slid down with a hiss.

"Thank you for stopping by," Talia said cheerily, glancing over her shoulder at Andie. The evil assistant had a sickening yellowish purple lump on her forehead, presumably from her dealings with the matrimonial scepter at the Joining. Remnants of dove droppings adorned her sheer wedding gown, which was on backward.

"Talia," Andie growled, Neuronic energy zipping from her fingertips.

"Really, Andromeda. Sometimes you make things too easy. It's almost no fun."

"Sorry I'm letting you down," Andie said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, do not worry about that. I'm sure everything will get a lot more fun soon."

Fear prickled on the back of Andie's neck. Nothing was ever good when Talia was acting so pleasantly. "What do you mean?"

Talia scraped a bit of bird poop from her shoulder and spread it over her forehead like war paint, then reached down to drag someone in the seat next to her into a sitting position. "Look who I ran into at the Induction Center."

The figure twisted and jerked as best as it could, considering it was bound with a sort of glowy rope and had what looked like a metal hairband covering its eyes.

Wild brown hair and flowery caftan. No. It couldn't be. Andie's heart twisted. "Mama?"

"Say hello to your daughter," Talia cooed. Then she laughed. Maniacally, like the villain in a B movie. "Oh, I am terribly sorry, Rachel Bank. I forgot I gagged you."