Nicola's hand tightened around her microphone.
On the opposite side of the Blue-5 road a woman wearing a tailored white suit stepped gracefully out of a long, sleek black vehicle like a limousine, except with the sort of large chunky wheels you would see on a farm tractor. Even if Nicola hadn't recognized the woman from the photos the Globagaskar Chief of Special Intelligence had shown them, she would have known she was someone important. She radiated a powerful aura of authority.
"Is it her?" said the policewoman without turning around.
"I think it's Mrs. Mania," answered Nicola. "Your president."
"Oh no." The policewoman cowered as if she'd been caught doing something bad by the school principal. "Is she coming this way?"
"I think so," said Nicola sympathetically.
Mrs. Mania was striding through the puddles of water toward the policewomen and the Space Brigade. (All of the protesters, including poor Bertha, had long since crept away.) A cluster of official-looking Volcomanians in suits and dark glasses followed Mrs. Mania, scanning the crowd and making terse remarks into earpieces.
"What is going on here?" called out Mrs. Mania. "Who gave you permission to speak to the press? And where are the protesters?"
"Oh, what have I done?" moaned the policewoman. She slapped her forehead rhythmically. "I'm such a fool! I was excited to be on television! It was the lipstick that tempted me."
"Well, it did look lovely on you," offered Katie.
"Nicola!" hissed Tyler in Nicola's ear. "We've got to get out of here before we're recognized by the Secret Service!"
Recognized? Why would they be recognized? Suddenly Nicola remembered XYZ40 saying the Space Brigade has quite an intergalactic reputation.
"Well, thank you so much for your time." Nicola grabbed the policewoman's hand and shook it. "We'll be off now!"
The policewoman didn't take any notice of her. She was babbling to herself. "Fool, fool, fool!" The other members of the police force were all rubbing furiously at their lipstick with tissues and saying things like, "I said we shouldn't talk to the press!"
"Let's go," said Nicola quietly to the others.They all began to sidle unobtrusively toward the school bus.
"Wait!" called out Mrs. Mania. "I'd like to speak to you journalists!"
The Space Brigade froze.
Nicola didn't know what to do. If they ran, it would make them look suspicious, but if they stayed, one of the Secret Service might recognize them.
Impossible, sick-feeling-in-the-stomach decisions.That was the worst part about leading the Space Brigade. Nicola looked at Greta, who stared blankly back at Nicola as if waiting for her to decide what to do. Mmmm,thought Nicola crossly. It's fine for me to be the leader when it gets hard isn't it, Greta?
There was a sudden ruckus from Mrs. Mania's car. The back door was flung open and a figure catapulted out.
It was a girl wearing a blue dress. She spun around on the spot, clutching her neck and screaming, "Help! Someone help me!"
There was something very familiar about that voice.
"I need help this instant!"
"It's Princess Petronella," said Tyler.
A stout, scaly-skinned young boy had also gotten out of the back of the car and was scratching his head as he watched the princess.
"Mom!" he called to Mrs. Mania. "I think, umm--she's, ah--" He pointed hopelessly at the princess.
Mrs. Mania turned around. So did the Secret Service.
"I am choking to death!" cried Princess Petronella. "I am having an allergic reaction to the air! I am about to die!"
"Oh dear, is she all right?" asked Katie.
"I think she's creating a diversion for us," said Nicola. "Well, I hope that's what's she's doing. Quick! Let's go."