She entwined herself majestically round a pole behind the coffee machine, her scales glistening purple, cobalt and crimson, her movements sensuous as she waved forward, backward, and side to side in rhythm with the machine. The barista was a serpent, of the dragon genus. As customers came up, she seized them with her large luminous eyes and smiled her smile. New customers forgot their orders and had to be prodded back into consciousness. Old customers approached reverently and cautiously. No one knew how she operated the coffee machine without hands, and no one was brave enough to ask.

I settled into my favourite spot in the corner. I was bored. Nothing ever seemed to happen in this galactic backwater. I sprinkled anchovy powder on my coffee, sniffed the tart smell of caffeinated salt fish, sat back, and surveyed the scene.

Flocks of galactic servants milled about waiting for coffee. They were mostly avian; some were of the taller flightless subspecies with long necks and even longer legs, but most were of the round puffy subspecies who strutted importantly back and forth. They had come from either the Department of Counting Everything or the Commission for Insuring Galactic Servants. Rarely did the coffee shop see servants from the Department of Sovereign Intergalactic Borders. They were mainly reptilian and somewhat overawed by the serpent. Neither were seen many of the fighting elves or dwarves. Elves tended to keep to themselves and were one of the few intelligent beings in the universe who did not like coffee. Dwarves, on the other hand, loved coffee, though sprinkled with iron oxide. Unfortunately, there were ongoing hostilities between Dwarves and Dragons, and a dwarf entering the café might have resulted in messiness – a great deal of messiness.

The staff of the café, apart from the barista, were mammalian and furry. They scampered about, weaving to and fro, serving the tables or benches or one of the serving platters on the floor. For a café, it provided a wide variety of food; seeds, lettuce, mice, fruit, worms (3 varieties), potato scallops, sugar, fat, sea cucumbers, something gluten free, and pizzas with your choice of topping. Presiding over this spectacle was Christos, Bonobian, friendly, chatty, controlling, and chaotic.

A Nymphalide fluttered into the café, landed, folded her violet wings, and glanced around the room. With high prancing steps she proceeded toward the coffee machine. The galactic servants shuffled back to give her room, nodding slightly as they did so. The serpent smiled, winked, and passed her a coffee.

The Nymphalide came over to my table, reached out a foreleg daintily and touched one of my tentacles. “Lars, it’s been a while,” she said. My mind went into overdrive. I am not good with faces, but I shouldn’t have forgotten a creature this beautiful. Then it dawned on me. I had known her as a caterpillar.

“Porphryogenitis, this is a surprise.” We had known each other two decades ago as space cadets. We had shared a hookah or two during our formative years serving the Imperial fleet. I glowed softly crimson, acknowledging my pleasure at seeing her again.

“What brings you here?” I asked.

“Look around. What do you see?” she replied.

I studied the room more closely. In the far corner was a group of red and yellow beetles, waving their clawed feet and clashing against their shields. They appeared to be having a quick breakfast before heading off to one of the adjacent building sites.

Some of the galactic servants had taken tables to drink their coffee. Finally, there were several tables at which sat human businessmen. Then I noticed him. Sitting across from one of the businessmen was a god. He was much more muscular than the businessmen. He was dressed in a red singlet on which the word “Ouch” was emblazoned.

My colour turned to light blue in surprise.

“What’s he doing here?” I asked.

“I think he is a mercenary?”

“But for whom?”

At that moment, three heavily armed dwarves walked through the door.

Many things happened at once. Events sped up, but time slowed. Christos’s eyes bulged and he leapt screeching over the bain-maries and scampered into the safety of the kitchen. The coffee machine toppled forward onto the floor with a resounding crash. The galactic servants rose as one and rushed for the other exit in a swirl of feathers and squawking, knocking chairs hither and thither. The humans arranged themselves in a military phalanx behind the god. The beetles formed a shield wall. The serpent swelled to three times her size and began to breath smoke. The dwarves let out a chilling war cry. I noticed that the god’s eyes were focused on me and my colour blended with the amber wall behind.

Porphryogenitis said, “Well, this is interesting.”

“What’s going on?” I gasped.

“It seems the god and I both chose the same time to meet with you. The humans are with him; the beetles with me.”

“What about the dwarves?”

“They just have terrible timing.”

At that instant a huge troll squeezed his way through the entrance of the café. He wore the pink and white striped uniform of the Armed Dwarf Force. He was bald, ugly, and in a foul mood. He carried a large iron club. The dwarves quailed.

“What,” he roared, “are you doing here? You recruits were confined to barracks after the debacle at Mooseheads bar. Your stupidity knows no bounds. The serpent would have roasted you alive and served you as little entrees.”

The dwarves scuttled for the exit. The troll breathing heavily through his hairy nostrils nodded in apology to the Serpent, bowed to Porphryogenitis, looked sidelong at the god and sniffed. He then walked slowly to the exit, cracks forming in the concrete floor with each step.

There was a collective sigh of relief in the room. The humans and the beetles scowled at each other but stood at ease. The serpent resumed her normal size and was now only smouldering. The staff uprighted the coffee machine. The god slowly advanced toward our table.

“Greetings daughter of air. Greetings son of sea,” he said formally. “I am Atlas, son of Atlas, son of Atlas, son of Atlas.”

The formal reply is “Well met: God who holds all things in place.” However, considering the current disarray of the café, this did not seem totally appropriate.

Porphryogenitis, not being one to be held to formalities, replied. “What in hades are you doing here?”

While the rules for addressing a god are somewhat liberal, depending on who or what one worships, Porphryogenitis’s question would have been regarded as rude in most quarters.

Atlas flinched. He would have liked to have torn Porphryogenitis wing from limb, but he knew he was outmatched. No one, not even a god, takes on Porphryogenitis and survives.

“I have come,” turning his attention back to me, “because my worshippers have made to me a request.”

“Worshippers,” snorted Porphryogenitis. “The 4th son will be lucky to have twenty such fools.”

“Not so, your eminence. I hold a monopoly on the gyms in four worlds and my followers now number in their millions.”

“Mercenary indeed,” muttered Porphryogenitis.

Before the conversation could deteriorate any further, I intervened.

“Tell us then Atlas, what is it that your followers want that is in need of my assistance?

Striking a heroic but humble pose, Atlas declaimed, “My worshippers, filled with gratitude for my teaching, example, and bounteous provision of gyms, have beseeched me that I extend my graciousness to our nearest neighbouring world Telsincus.”

Porphryogenitis, unable to restrain herself, responded. “And why would you trouble the great Lars Perstraticus with what appears to be a commercial expansion?”

“To you it may appear a matter of commerce, but to my worshippers it is life itself, that the message of strength, agility, discipline, and endurance should spread to every corner of the universe. And unfortunately, Telsincus is a water world. Only someone with your powers, Lars Perstraticus, could make it possible for us to establish gyms there.”

“And why should I consider such a request when Telsincus already has its own gods and its inhabitants are perfectly happy muddling along without the benefit of gyms?”

“I will not bore you with a long speech on the benefits I bring.”

“Actually it would be quite short,” muttered Porphryogenitis.

“But to cut straight to the chase,” Atlas went on, “while we gods are to varying degrees well known, someone of your dignity is unknown. The only reference that I can find in the annals of wisdom is a book on the Peloponnesian wars, by one Thusquidides, and then his name is often misspelt. By allying with myself, you could become famous as an upholder of worlds.”

“Enough of this commercial rubbish,” exclaimed Porphryogenitis. “Lars, the Emperor has requested your presence to advise on a matter of intergalactic importance.”

“Tell your father that I am busy,” I replied shortly.

“Busy! Before I arrived you were complaining to yourself that you were bored.”

“Exactly. I was busy being bored. Have you forgotten that being bored is the precondition to being creative?”

“But the Emperor needs your advice.”

“Tell the Emperor to read more and stop watching Sky News. That should solve whatever problem he has.”

“But he wants to hear from you in person.”

“Emperors like the idea of advice, but they don’t actually like receiving it. It would be better for both of us if I don’t come. Send him my regards.”

“Then you will be able to come with me,” said Atlas excitedly. He had not entirely understood the preceding conversation. We had been using big words and speaking quickly.

“No Atlas,” I said, slowing my speech. “Haven’t you noticed that whenever there is excitement that I disappear into the background. That is one of my greatest strengths; I am not noticed. When the minstrels tell of this day, there will be dragons, dwarves, trolls, giant beetles, Atlas and Porphryogenitis, but no squid. I simply don’t fit the narrative. Humans, in particular, have difficulty seeing me. The most that they perceive are tasty, crumbed, calamari rings. That would not help you establish a network of underwater gyms.”

Atlas creased his brow in understanding. Then he looked up and glowered at Porphryogenitis, having decided that she was to blame for the failure of his scheme. Porphryogenitis decided simultaneously that the Emperor’s will had been thwarted by this bumbling god and glowered back. I slowly turned amber and leaned in towards the wall.

At last Porphryogenitis and Atlas led their respective followers out of the café and quiet descended.

I turned green with pleasure and looked forward to an hour or two of boredom.

At that moment a large white unicorn trotted into the café with a toddler on her back. The unicorn sniffed the room, looked around, and then shrank to the size of a Shetland pony.

The unicorn trotted over to my table and bowed her head in greeting. The child, riding confidently on the unicorn’s back, smiled and giggled at me. The serpent barista brought a café au lait in a large antique French bowl for the unicorn. Christos brought a potato scallop for the child. (Christos loves human children but has only the vaguest sense of their nutritional needs.) He made funny faces at the child. The child thoroughly approved, smiling radiantly and squirming in delight. The unicorn delicately tasted her coffee.

Eventually the unicorn spoke. “It is good to see you again, Lars.”

“Indeed, it is well met Princess. Though I am a little surprised. What brings you here?” I asked.

“I needed coffee.”

“And what are you doing with a human child?”

“We are playing hide and seek.”

“So you are hiding, but who is seeking?”

“Just an Emperor or two.”

“You’ve just missed an Emperor’s daughter.”

“I know. As she has just left, they are not likely to search this café for a little while. Ah, the coffee here is excellent,” she sighed. “One does need regular coffee when looking after a human child.”

The child by this time had demolished the potato scallop, spreading it liberally across self, table, and floor. He was now making faces at one of the construction beetles who was happily clacking his claws back in a highly amusing manner for two-year-olds.

“So who is the child?” I asked.

“This is Bobbie. He’s an arms dealer and advisor to the Emperor.”

“He looks a bit young.”

“Oh, he was 42 when I took him from the future.”

I considered this for a moment. Unicorns, like a few other creatures, for example leprechauns and narwhales, travel timescapes in much the same way the rest of us travel landscapes. Being natural inhabitants of the timescape, unicorns do not affect the flow of time in the general universe. However, humans travelling either backward or forward in time can have disastrous and chaotic consequences. This is why those of us in the general universe have been banned from time travel or even researching time travel for the last 10,000 years.

“I take it that you took him from about 40 years in the future.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What if he meets himself?”

“No chance. His this-time self is on the other side of the planet in Qurth and is sound asleep having an unusual dream about beetles, squids, and potato scallops. We only need to be in this time for an hour and we’re halfway through.”

“You’ll be taking him back then?”

“Of course. We will arrive 9 months later than when I took him because of the lateral time distortion. He won’t know where the time went. His only memory of it being whatever remains from his dream as a two-year-old in Qurth, which is likely to be nothing at all.”

“Won’t that be disorientating for him?”

“A little. But that will be the least of his problems.”

“That seems hardly fair,” I said, looking over at Bobbie, who was now beside the coffee machine playing peekaboo with the barista.

The unicorn tilted her head and stared at me for three seconds.

“He’s an arms dealer, the biggest of his generation. Before I took him, the Emperor had paid him 15 trillion Imperials for the latest in planet-busting technology. Had he delivered on the deal, the Emperor would have used the technology; there would have been quick reprisals, and life in this galaxy for those who live primarily in space rather than time would have reverted to the level of the trilobite.”

I looked at Bobbie again. He looked so small and endearing, though perhaps not as endearing as a little squid.

The unicorn continued, “The Emperor thinks Bobbie has run off with his money and is/was/shall be searching furiously for him. The financial loss to the empire is so large, that it is/has/will undermine faith in the Emperor.”

“So what did you do with the money?”

“We invested the whole lot in Dogecoin just before it collapsed for the last time.”

“I am surprised Dogecoin is still going 40 years in the future.”

“We unicorns have kept it artificially afloat for that purpose. We needed a vehicle that didn’t exist in either time or space, but only in the imagination. The money has now all gone, disappeared, completely unretrievable. But the Emperor won’t realise this until Bobbie returns, and by then he won’t be Emperor.”

“So this is all a complex plot to ensure regime change.”

“We unicorns think of it as an elegantly simple plan to save the galaxy. Except, there’s been a complication.”

“A complication?”

“The leprechauns told the Emperor that Bobbie was hiding in time.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They’re tricksters. They like playing games and they were annoyed at us for making the money disappear. They regard making gold disappear as one of their tricks.”

“But the Emperor can’t travel back in time or even send anyone back in time to retrieve Bobbie.”

“Exactly, but the leprechauns agreed, for a rather sizeable amount of gold paid in advance, to get a message to the current Emperor, the future Emperor’s father, that it was vitally important for the future of the dynasty to find Bobbie.”

I pondered all this, looking round the coffee shop as I did so. I noticed that the coffee shop was again filling with human businessmen. They were polite, though somewhat stiff as they waited in line for their coffee. The serpent barista was giving them a curious look and wasn’t smiling. Bobbie wandered over to one of their tables, and the unicorn called him back. Bobbie reached up his arms to me and I lifted him into my lap with my tentacles. He smiled and promptly fell asleep.

At that instant a grim-faced military elf entered the café. He stopped for a moment and surveyed the scene, the plume in his cap spreading starlight across the room. His gaze fell upon the businessmen. He did not shout, but his words carried to every corner of the café.

“By order of the Emperor, I am looking for Robert.”

The businessmen all nodded to each other.

“If you are Robert, stand, and come with me,” the elf continued.

Every human in the room, except Bobbie who was still asleep, stood. The elf’s brow creased. He strode up to the nearest Robert.

“Are you an arms dealer?” The nearest Robert looked horrified.

“Oh no,” he squeaked. “I deliver end-to-end space solutions and mission breakthroughs.”

“And what about you?” the elf asked the next.

“I deliver technology that protects critical information, systems, and operations.”

“And you?”

“I assist teams to master DevOps in a risk-free environment.”

The elf swung on his heel, scowled at his Lieutenant, who had followed him into the room. “These three are arms dealers. I have no doubt that every Robert in this room is an arms dealer. Have your men escort them all back to the palace for questioning.”

Thirty-three Roberts were escorted by elves out of the café.

Just as the elves and Roberts left the café, I noticed that two leprechauns had appeared at the table beside us. They lifted their shillelaghs to their foreheads and bowed to the unicorn and then burst out laughing. The serpent had resumed her smile and brought two coffees to the table with sides of whisky and cream.

“Declan, did you see the face on that elf? Priceless. Just priceless.”

"Indeed I did, Colm. Sure he knew he'd been had but he'd no idea what to do about it."

"And a pity it is that those unicorns have no expressions. I'd have paid dearly to see hers when himself started asking for Robert."

"Well, I saw the squid was turning amber and he's not even involved."

“It has been a profitable day, or hour or nine months depending on which way you look at it.”

“You could have endangered the whole mission with your silly prank,” snorted the unicorn.

“Not at all, not at all,” laughed Declan. “Sure didn’t we have it planned right down to every detail of every second, hour, and month? We leprechauns don’t do things by halves you know. Besides, how could we let such a golden opportunity pass us by? Not with the Emperor as desperate as he was.”

“He must have been desperate to make a deal with you two,” I smiled.

“Argh be kind, be kind now. Months had gone by and he was making no progress in finding Robert despite us letting him know that he had gone back in time. For time and space are vast and the Emperor had no idea how he had managed it. He wasted a lot of time searching for a time machine or a portal. He had no idea that the unicorns were involved and we value our skins too much to tell him that.”

The unicorn’s flank quivered in threat agreement.

“Any road, finally the Emperor comes back to us. In desperation he was. Real desperation. And offering a vast amount of solid gold. Well, we wouldn’t be doing anything on credit would we? Not in our line of work. He begged us to tell his ancestor when and where Robert could be found. So, we dilly dallied a little to get the timing right and do our own preparation. Then we took delivery of the gold (and a beautiful sight it was) and told the Emperor where wee Robert could be found. Only we omitted the ‘wee’ bit of it.”

“So the Emperors had assumed that Robert would have stayed the same age when he travelled to the past,” I said.

“They had. It’s been so long since mortals have travelled the timescapes, that even the basic rules of time travel have been forgotten.”

“OK so I get that part of the plan. But where did you get all the Roberts?” I asked.

“Oh, that was easy right enough,” replied Declan. “They’re chimeras. Real as they look, they’re not. We made them out of hopes and dreams. It took a little time, but we have plenty of that. And arms dealers are not all that complicated. They’re not like philosophers. They’re intelligent enough, but they lack imagination, and empathy, and their conversation is quite facile so they’re not that hard to duplicate. All the chimeras are copies of Robert, so the elves will be tearing their hair out trying to figure out which one is the real Robert. And, of course, we’ve made them to be helpful so they’ll all be claiming to be him and making a good case as well.

“Another ten minutes and they’ll disappear. We can’t maintain chimeras for long. Another 30 seconds and the elves will realise they’ve been tricked again. Then the Empire will be flying back to look for us.

“But no matter. Another five minutes and wee Bobbie will be leaving for the future. Another 60 seconds and we’ll be off ourselves into the timescapes. Much as we’d like to see their faces, discretion is a key leprechaun value.”

Christos at that moment brought over a large ceramic thermos flask, and with a harness hung it round the unicorn’s neck. I looked quizzically at the unicorn. “For Bobbie,” she said. “He will need it when we get forward, along with a good barber and a manicurist.”

“Won’t he be upset that he’s lost all his money, position and power?”

“He’s quite resilient, and the coffee will help. Besides, we have saved him wasting the rest of his life being an arms dealer. Not too many get that sort of second chance, even if it is only a side effect of saving the galaxy.”

I placed the still sleeping Bobbie on the back of the unicorn and she trotted out the door, followed a minute later by the still exuberantly happy leprechauns.

I sat back and relaxed into my chair. If I had smoked a pipe, I would have blown smoke rings up toward the ceiling. Squids do not smoke. We are, however, good at waiting. I waited.

Right on cue, four and a half minutes later, Porphryogenitis stalked into the café. She looked about her. Apart from the staff and myself, the café was empty. She approached, glaring at the table beside me on which were two empty coffee cups, two empty whisky shot glasses, and two empty pots of cream.

“I appear to be too late,” she said.

“Perhaps it is for the best,” I replied.

“I wouldn’t have believed my father would have been taken in by a leprechaun trick, no matter how complex.”

“They’re quite clever.”

“All that rubbish about a Robert being a danger to his line. What nonsense when you think about it. But they got him where he’s vulnerable. He wants his line to go on forever.”

“Ah, the illusion of power and immortality, a potent mix,” I murmured.

“Never trust a leprechaun,” she said.

“No,” I responded. “Never trust an arms dealer.”