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The billboard outside of the café declared, in letters as bold as its claim, “THE LIVERPOOL CAVERN CLUB – CONVENIENTLY RELOCATED AND REFURBISHED!” A flickering hologram of The Beatles greeted and waved at passersby and tourists.

Arthur, body feeling particularly sluggish (– What had that Clyiorian put in his drink? – ),    had stumbled out of the Clyiorian’s spaceship, hoping only to find a strong cup of coffee and a bite to eat. As he dragged his feet across the landing lot, a sleepy grin spread over his face as he read the sign in front of him.

Arthur rather doubted that he was entering the Cavern Club (wouldn’t he have heard if some aliens had stolen a national landmark?), but, waking on an unknown planet with a nasty hangover, he was too grateful about finding someplace that spoke English to concern himself with the validity of their claim. He wondered vaguely if he should holo the Clyiorian and ask zir if ze would like him to bring anything back from the café, but he wasn’t entirely tickled by the idea of being the one to wake zir.

The café, wallowing in a thick layer of smoke and vapor, caused Arthur to cough as he entered, earning him a few irritated glances from patrons, an assortment of humanoid (but none human) types. A pinkish fellow gorked at him and a glowing yellow wyvern-like creature did some somersaults in the air. Even these obvious displays of unwelcome were not to deter Arthur, though. He would get his cup of coffee if it was the last thing he did.

He made his way through the café. It was a cramped space, the brick curving walls of the Cavern Club only making the space feel smaller. Booths and tables had been squished between the dividing walls and under the archways. In the back was a long bar. Arthur looked at one of the walls and noticed a series of news clippings showing pictures of an apocalyptic Liverpool, a space-craft teleporting the remains of the Cavern Club, a few construction photos taken on the planet he was on now.

“Hm,” he muttered to himself, “perhaps this is the Cavern Club. I wonder what happened at Liverpool…”

A pink tentacled server with a single eye roller-bladed over to him. The server wore a ‘60s style waitress uniform of a button-down and collared dress, in a shade of pink that almost matched her skin. She also had a short brown wig and a paper hat. She said something to him in a language he didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry, but do you speak any English?” he asked, grimacing as a few more patrons glared at him.

The server pushed some buttons on a wristband she wore on one of her tentacles, and this time when she spoke, the wristband translated in a familiar English accent.

“What can I do for ya, lovey?”

A wave of relief came over Arthur. He’d gotten by on hand motions and pointing at a few places during his travels, but with his head beginning to throb and the unwelcoming atmosphere, he probably would have given up and waited for his Clyiorian friend to wake up before eating.

“I was wondering if I could get a table and a cup of coffee.”

“Sure thing, doll!” the server said, leading him to a booth underneath one of the arches.

She roller-bladed off and returned in a moment with a mug and carafe of coffee. She filled the mug and set it in front of him.

“Would you like to look at a menu?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, please. Also, I was wondering, how did you get the Cavern Club here? Did something happen to Liverpool?” He brought the mug of coffee to his lips. There was an other-worldly boldness to it, but it was, most certainly, coffee.

“We quantum locked it and brought it here when half of England was destroyed in Earth year 2096.”

Arthur gulped his sip of coffee and gasped. 2096? I knew space travel could cause lost time but exactly how much time have I lost?

“Excuse me, sorry, one more question. What year it is now?”

The server’s single eye scrutinized him before she began cackling, which was especially unnerving coming from her directly, as well as her wristband translating her laugh into something somehow more English-sounding.

“‘What year is it now?’” she repeated through breathless giggles. “Ah ha ha. Don’t you know what planet you’re on? ‘What year is it now?’ he says. What a hoot. What did you have to drink last night, hunny? I’ll be right back in a minute to get your order.” He could hear her repeating his question to her coworkers and giggling as she walked through the café before turning her wristband off.

“Well I thought it was a perfectly reasonable question,” Arthur grumbled, taking another sip of his coffee.

He looked over the menu. He couldn’t read the language, but they had pictures – images of traditional English pub fare that looked like it had been morphed through a Beatles’ video from their more psychedelic era. Luckily, the café seemed to take intergalactic credit, which Arthur had a card for. The card wasn’t exactly his money, or linked to his Earth account, but Ford had assured him that it would take at least a millennia for anyone to notice the card was being used. He had just used it the night before to buy the Clyiorian the first drink.

Arthur pursed his lips and tried to find the closest item on the menu to traditional fish ’n’ chips. A commotion stirred near the entrance to the café, causing several patrons to yell at whom-or-whatever was causing the ruckus. Arthur glanced up, but, in a strange café on a distant planet, he, quite logically, assumed that the commotion had nothing to do with him.

In fact, he was quite incorrect.

Arthur looked up to notice an aging dwarf, clad in a tattered navy admiral’s uniform and oversized blue hat, running through the café with something outstretched in his hand. He cocked an eyebrow, but tried not to pay the dwarf any mind. The back of his mind tickled with the realization that the dwarf quite looked like the mascot for the American cereal, Cap’n Crunch, if the Captain were real and had been through a hundred years of naval warfare.

In that moment of glancing up, the admiral had caught Arthur’s eye and began walking toward him. Arthur quickly averted his eyes and brought the menu closer to his face, but it was no use. The man was at Arthur’s table, barking at him in a language that Arthur did not understand. He held a holo-communicator in his hand and shoved it angrily at Arthur.

Arthur held his hands up. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The admiral yelled at him a few more times in this strange language before the holo-com turned itself on and projected in front of them the image of Arthur’s best friend, Ford.

“Arthur!” Ford said, throwing his hands up with a grin. He clasped them back together. “I’m so glad we found you. I see you’ve met Sgrindlork. Now pay attention!” Arthur took the telecom from the dwarf, whose name was apparently Sgrindlork.

All around him, the ancient brick building began to shiver and crumble. Patrons gasped and looked up. Many screamed, or made similar noises of distress and began running out of the building.

“They’re coming for you.”

“Who?”

Arthur turned his head round. In every direction, people were running around and calling out. He would have rather liked to be doing the same, but this dwarf and the holo-com with Ford’s face were preventing him.

“Just stay where you are,” Ford was saying. Ford turned his head in the projection and the hologram flickered off.

“Ford?” Arthur shook the telecom.

Ford’s face flickered back on. “Sorry, accidentally hung up. Anyway, the plan will only work if you allow them to capture you. We’ll get you out of this, just don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic? Don't panic?!” Arthur screamed at the holo-com.

Ford winked and said, “See you in a few,” and hung up again.

In that moment, Arthur felt himself lose control of his own body. In fact, the whole building was covered in a glowing light. He could no longer feel the seat pressed against his bum.

“Oh, here we go,” he said. The dwarf with the admiral’s hat shrugged at him.