“I knew that would get you interested. If Simon Vyx gets command of the most powerful army in the world so does Yalda. Then he’s got Earth in his hand and the Galactic Administration maybe never forms. That leaves the entire galaxy as his buffet.”

“It would be a crime-ridden hell with him as the king,” Luna added.

“What happens, in 2016, in your timeline?” Ian asked.

“Bootstraps,” Wolf said. “Remember bootstraps.”

“Unacceptable,” Ian snapped. “If you’re going to ask us to go with you to deal with this Yaldabaoth, we deserve to know how this turned out in your time.”

“Vyx doesn’t win, Yalda doesn’t get his claws on the controls,” Wolf said. “That’s all we’re giving you.”

“I’m not going,” Ian stated.

“Hate to say this, but I’m with Roland,” Cheryl said.

“You defeat Simon Vyx,” Holly piped up, “You defeat Yaldabaoth. The Seraphim of Parthus come to take him into custody. Earth and Parthus begin a friendship that leads to the formation of the Galactic Administration. I don’t think I screwed too much up.”

They stood quiet, exchanging glances.

“They could have come up with something more impressive than ‘Galactic Administration’,” Cheryl mumbled. “If I come, I get to name it.”

“Would you get in the goddamn ship,” Wolf said.

“Wait,” Sophie yelped.

Wolf looked at her hard.

“Dr. Spector’s victims, we can't just leave them as ghosts.”

“Oh, they're just out of phase,” Holly set a box on the ground and turned it on.

One Led Zeppelin laser light show later, the ghosts returned to human form.

“People of Earth,” Holly began. “You were briefly out of phase with space. While unpleasant, it will leave no lasting harm. You may again roam freely in your accustomed dimensions.”

The former ghosts exchanged uncomfortable glances, surrounded by waist-high piles of slaughtered Draconians and their sundry bits.

“Do you not have homes to go to?” Wolf said.

The restored citizens leaped into a trot and fled.

“Why does it play ‘Immigrant’s Song?” Ian asked Wolf.

“I had some design input.”

They began filing into the side hatch of The Starcrossed. They pierced through a curtain of beads and into a lounge area. Ian leafed through Wolf’s vinyl collection.

“Country Preacher,” Ian cried.

“Put it on,” Wolf clicked a button and a record turntable emerged from the wall.

Hunter crashed on a couch and Sophie sat beside him.

“Psamurai,” Wolf called across the lounge, lighting a joint, “Wanna try some space shit?”

“Fuck, man. I thought you’d never ask.”

Carl squashed himself into a corner, trying not to take up a fifth of the room.

As Cheryl passed through the curtain, Luna leaned into her, “It is pretty cool to meet you guys. Wolf always told Holly stories about the adventures of The High Priestess.”

Cheryl drew tight, but then softened into a smile, nodding, “That’s really great.”

“Look, just because we’re not telling you anything, doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to tell,” she put her hand on Cheryl’s shoulder. “Only thing I can tell you is, you and I are not related,” she grinned, waved and entered the cockpit.

“Are you flirting with people from the past?” Wolf asked, entering the cockpit, Adderley's ‘Humming’ flooding in behind him.

“Maybe,” Luna replied.

“I’m no expert on space-time or anything, but that screams ‘the line.’”

Luna laughed, “I’ll run it by Holly first.”

“You’ll traumatize the girl.”

Several hours later, Luna emerged from the cockpit to Carl lying prone counting the myriad Steal Your Face stickers on the ceiling, laughing. Hunter and Sophie were in hysterics listening to Cheryl and Ian discuss the possibility of engineering a device to pass the joint for them using only what was available on the table in front of them.

“Are we there yet?” Sophie shrieked through a wailing guffaw.

“It only takes a couple minutes to get there,” Luna replied, sitting. “We just thought you could use this.”

“Why did we ever go to a fucking teamwork retreat?” Cheryl exploded in laughter. “I was almost killed by a massage therapist. I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she said through the sighing coda of her fit.

“A massage therapist?" Hunter snickered.

“You tell me your story Psammy, I’ll tell you mine.”

“Yeah, I wanna hear this,” Sophie resituated herself facing Hunter, “You’ve been different since then.”

“Yeah, like a little closer to lucid than normal,” Cheryl said.

“And competent,” Sophie added.

“Good one.”

“Thanks.”

“Bart isolated the active ingredients and distilled a tincture.” He shook a vial of blue liquid which hung from a piece of twine around his neck. "It’s much clearer, now. As for the competence, after getting our asses handed to us for who knows how many times? By fish people....” Hunter began.

“Icthians?” Luna snapped forward and yelped.

“No. It’s this idiotic fish themed gang.”

“Go Fish?”

“I’m doing my best to suppress the impulse to ask ‘how do you know,’ constantly,” Cheryl said.

“They’re on the Vyx payroll. I don’t think I’ll anger Holly’s algorithm by telling you that. You’ll figure it out in a week or two anyway.”

“Kind of kills the sense of achievement,” Ian lamented.

“Son of a fuck,” Cheryl drew out the words. “The human Tinkertoy is going down.”

“He was banking on you chasing a gang of exotic villains, because you need something to do since Vyx seemed to be suddenly off the table. You would end up getting humiliated due to lack of experience, the public would start to turn on you and ultimately you’d just give up. Beat yourself silly against a brick wall he built for you. But, Yaldabaoth calls the shots. The Go Fish Gang only exist because Yalda wants it to. He’s stringing you along.”

“What’s he want with us?”

“He’s keeping you occupied so you don’t interfere with Vyx during the campaign. He threw a bone he thought you would chase.”

“And I did,” Cheryl sighed. “Sorry guys.”

“Nobody twisted my arm,” Ian said.

“She twisted mine once, but it was over something else,” Hunter said.

“Sorry, Hunter,” Cheryl said. “Sorry for a lot of stuff, guys.”

“She made me cry at the La Quinta,” Sophie said in mocking seriousness.

“Somebody ends up crying at a La Quinta, sooner or later,” Luna said with a faraway look.

“Why doesn’t he just kill us?” Ian asked.

“He’s got a fucked up code. Punishment fits how bad you pissed him off. And at this point in history you haven’t pissed him off that bad yet. We’re pretty sure there’s a reason he picked this turning point in time. Putting all the people who pissed him off the worst in one place. Just missing one. And I’m sure he’s on his way.”

“Who?”

“Director Raphael.”

“Raphael?” Sophie perked up out of her stoned slouch. “My ancestors wrote a lot about a guy named Raphael.”

“I guess he kept his distance. He probably doesn’t want to draw attention to you, but you can bet he’s looking out for you. Abigayle Rosenkreuz and her grandfather meant a lot to him. They helped him defeat Yalda in the 1400s. Which puts you on Yalda’s shit list. Sins of father and all. Or in this case, distant grandmother.”

“Who is Raphael?”

“He’s a seraph of Parthus. That’s a planet. And the seraphim are the dominant species. In my time he’s Director of Intelligence. I have no idea what his function is now.”

“How old is this guy?” Cheryl asked.

“Seraphim live so long they don’t bother counting age.”

“I have a guardian angel,” Sophie laughed.

“I guess, in a manner of speaking, but nix on ‘angel’. It’s kind of racist. Now, you all get some sleep. We have work to do. Anyone need a blanket?”