Xtery wasn't surprised when the old man called Miles
appeared immediately in front of him.  The infinite
possibilities had been calculated and this particular
situation had been high on the list of probabilities.

He stared at Miles momentarily and with what he hoped
was an accusing glare, as if to put the old man in his
place.  Suddenly, however, he realized the humor in
the situation and burst into laughter.

He exclaimed, "I thought so!"

The laughter, too, was calculated to dramatize to the
old vagrant or alien or whatever he really was that
Xtery considered him virtually harmless.

But Xtery was again astonished with himself.  True,
the old man was more than likely an alien.  However,
Xtery realized that, more and more, he considered
himself something more than just another alien.  Had
he "gone native?"  Was he slowly becoming more of an
earthling than a Tarrmellian?  He'd calculated the
possibilities on that, too, and they were
astonishingly high!

"This where you live?" Miles asked in a curious tone. 
He reached out and touched a stunted pine tree that
grew from between the rocks.  Then the bone-chilling
night air hit him and he rubbed his hands together
against the cold.

"No," Xtery said.  "This is high in the El Capitan
mountains and you're standing on the edge of a cliff. 
Take one step back and you're history, as they say
here on earth.  Unless, of course, your particular
species is able to fly."

Slowly, Miles looked down.  He did not seem to be
fazed by the vast, dark chasm almost at his heels. 
Carefully, he stepped forward away from the edge of
the cliff.  However, he kept one hand on a branch of
the gnarled pine as if afraid he might stumble and
fall.

"You don't give a feller much space in which to
operate," Miles said.  He looked up and grinned.

"None whatsoever," agreed Xtery.  He also tried to
grin, wondering if the old vagrant could see his grin
in the weak light of a distant moon.

Miles canted his head and looked down at his feet,
afraid they might not be planted on firm ground.

"You wouldn't have let me fall," he said.

"You don't know that for sure," Xtery pointed out.

"Right," said Miles.  "I didn't know that for sure,
but I'm pretty sure that I know it now.  What time are
we supposed to be at the old church tomorrow?"

"I said 11 a.m.  But I've changed my mind.  Meet me
early.  At sunrise."

"Church won't be open."

"Yes, it will," insisted Xtery.  "But you're to meet
me by the large door on the north side of the Our Lady
of Guadeloupe.  And be on time or you might get left
behind."

"Oh, I don't think I'm gonna get left behind much,"
Miles said.  He wagged his head and grinned again,
this time in a sly way.

"Be there," insisted Xtery.

Miles nodded his head.  "I'll be there if you're
there.  Guarantee you that.  But could you explain to
me something?  How'd we get out here?"

"Teleportation," Xtery said. 

The old vagrant still held tightly onto the stunted
tree with one hand; the other hand he waved around in
the air when he talked.

"Beats hell out of taxis," said Miles.  "I've heard
about it.  We gonna get back the same way?"

"I am.  How you get back is your own concern."

"Too far to walk," Miles said.

Xtery was immediately suspicious.  "You can't teleport
on your own?"

"Nyah!   I tagged along."  He placed special emphasis
on the world tagged.  "Might be something like
teleportation.  I don't know for sure.  I guess I got
here by that snake on a pig's back stuff.  Probably."

"Tomorrow," said Xtery.  He popped Miles to a side
street near the same El Paso alley where he'd
discovered the strange old man.  Then, with no place
else to go and nothing else to do, he popped himself
home.

Xtery was surprised when Miles showed up immediately
in his study deep in the rock beneath his home on the
outskirts of Juarez.

"Told you," said Miles.

Then two voices, almost in unison, demanded, 
"What's he doing here?"

Xtery shrugged.

"Something to do with a pig's back, I think," Xtery
told the two Verdidiuns, Muduud and Bdudd.

"Even pigs take baths," Bdudd said.

"I'm quite aware of that," said Xtery.

"Aware of what?" asked Miles.

"You have an odor," said Bdudd.

"Sorry about that," said Miles.  "Comes with the
turf."

"What does he mean?" Bdudd asked Xtery.

"I found him living in an alley way over in El Paso. 
He was pretending to be a vagrant.  Homeless.  We'll
get him a bath shortly."

"Won't do much good," Miles said.  "I meant to tell
you earlier, but just didn't get around to it.  When I
said it comes with the turf, I meant it comes with the
turf.  I've smelled better.  But not right now.  I
don't exactly know why."

Xtery grinned at Bdudd.  "Not even I can figure out
what he means by that," he told the Verdidiun.

"This man raises an awful lot of questions," said
Muduud.

"Careful what you say in his presence," warned Xtery. 
"I'm not yet sure that he's actually a human."

"Me!" explained Miles.  "What about you two funny
little things?  Giant bugs with wings."

"We are definitely not bugs," said Bdudd in a huffy
tone.

"Well, I ain't never seen anything like you two flying
varmints before," Miles said.

"Never?" asked Xtery.

"Never ever," insisted Miles.

"I thought you said some little creatures had scrawled
those signs near your alleyway," said Xtery.

"But not these little creatures.  They were different.
 Not like these things at all.  Smaller, I think."

"We are not little creatures.  Nor bugs!" screamed
Bdudd.  "And not things, either!"

"I apologize," said Miles.  "It was a poor choice of
words.  I used to be able to talk and think better.  I
don't really know what you are.  Just things, I guess.
 Definitely things of some kind or other.  A bit like
birds, I guess.  Odd birds, though."

"We are from Verdidiun," said Bdudd.  "We are
Verdidiuns."  She fluttered her wings and sped around
his head so fast that Miles instinctively ducked
beneath the shelter of his arms.

"Help!" screamed Miles.

"Leave him alone," ordered Xtery, not exactly sure the
little Verdidiun would obey him.  But she immediately
backed off from her wild circling and went over to sit
on his desk by Muduud, refusing to look at them.  She
was really irritated.  Xtery had never seen the little
Verdidiun so mad.

With a sigh, just like a real earthman, Xtery went
over and sat in his desk chair, barely beating Miles
to the seat.

"This is my chair," Xtery said.

"Well, I got to sit somewhere," said Miles.

"Not as far as I'm concerned," said Xtery.

For some reason, he was relieved.  Perhaps the two
little Verdidiuns weren't behind the graffiti after
all!  Without question, he liked the two little
gold-winged creatures--things--more than he would ever
admit.  To them or to anyone else.  If they had
scrawled the graffiti about lizards, why?  He'd never
been able to calculate the possibilities on that.

However, if they hadn't written the graffiti, who had?
 Here, the possibilities were enormous!

Miles began striding violently around the room,
searching.

"I'm hungry," said Miles.  "I need a place to sit and
I need something to eat."

"Why doesn't he go get something to eat?" asked
Muduud.

"I don't know," said Xtery.

"And why did you bring him here?" asked Bdudd.  "I'm
serious this time."

"I don't know that either," said Xtery.  "Let's all go
upstairs.  There's food in the kitchen."

"Are you sure?" asked Bdudd.

"I sincerely doubt that things could get much worse so
we might as well."

"What if he doesn't eat food," Muduud pointed out.  He
gestured toward Miles.

"I eat food," said Miles.  "Better believe that!  It's
just that I haven't had much food to eat lately.  I
don't even remember when I last ate.  How do we get
upstairs?  And why ain't we there already?"

"Up those stairs," said Xtery.  "Everyone follow me."

"I'd rather pop," said Bdudd.  "Flying up some stairs
is tricky."

"Anyone who can do Immelmann turns," said Xtery, "at
almost 300 miles an hour can certainly navigate some
steps.  Anyway, you could walk."

"Immelmann turns at 300 miles an hour!" remarked
Miles.  "I'm impressed."

"Thanks," said Bdudd.

Xtery paused.  "You know what an Immelmann turn is and
yet you don't remember your real name?"

"A pure case of selective memory, I think," said
Miles.  "And I'd like to point out that I don't
remember when I last ate either except that it must
have been a long, long time ago.  My stomach is
growling something fierce!"

"Sure," said Xtery.  "I don't doubt that part at all."

He led the way up the narrow flight of steps that
opened at the inside of the huge fireplace in the
kitchen.  A normal man could stand in the center of
the fireplace.  Because he was tall, Xtery found it
necessary to duck his head as he stepped into the
kitchen and walked over to the refrigerator near the
door into the living room.

"Eggs?" he asked.

"Sounds good to me," said Miles.

"I hate eggs," said Bdudd.

"You would," said Miles.  "But I make a heck of a
peanut butter sandwich and I'll bet you'd like that.

"I've never had a peanut butter sandwich," said Bdudd.

"Great stuff," insisted Miles.  He turned to Xtery. 
"Got any peanut butter? 
"Everything's in the cupboard over there," Xtery said.
 "And the bread box is on the kitchen counter."

"You're gonna love my peanut butter sandwich," Miles
told Bdudd as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

"Oh, my god!" screamed Starr Laidlaw-Smith from the
doorway.  "Fairies!"

Hearing her voice, Xtery turned to face her.  Then,
realizing that he had nothing to say, pulled out a
chair from the table that occupied the center of the
kitchen and sat down.  One elbow rested on the table. 
His head rested in his hand.  He shrugged, but was
aware that no one noticed.

Both Bdudd and Muduud moved back and forth in
indecision.  For an instant, Bdudd became invisible
and then realized that it was much too late for that
and fluttered aimlessly, seemingly moving in unison
with her husband.

"Hey, no bread," Miles said, glancing into the bread
box.

Xtery solved the problem.

Miles, instead of being surprised at the sudden
appearance of a fresh loaf of bread, merely nodded his
head and lifted the loaf out of the bread box onto the
kitchen counter.  Then he went over to Starr and said
something that Xtery didn't quite catch before
returning to the counter to continue his chore.  Starr
seemed to relax slightly.  The tension ebbed from her
arms and forehead.

"What are fairies?" asked Bdudd, stopping to hover in
the air near the kitchen counter, golden wings rapidly
fluttering, as she carefully watched Miles spread a
gob of peanut butter onto a slice of dark wheat bread.

"Cute little creatures with wings," said Miles without
looking up.  "Just like you."

"Well, I guess that's better than being called a bug,"
said Bdudd.  He, too,  now watched the construction of
the sandwiches.

Both of the winged creatures now seemed to ignore
Starr.  And Miles concentrated all of his attention on
the sandwiches he was making.

"Sure is," said Miles.  "That's a fact."

"Actually," said Muduud, whirring suddenly over to
face Starr, "we're Verdidiuns."

"From outer space?" demanded Starr.  She stood in the
arch of the doorway, poised ready for flight.

"No.  From Verdidiun," said Muduud.  "Would you like
to join us in a peanut butter sandwich?  We don't know
if they're any good or not, but I sort of like the
odor."

"I'm thinking about cooking some eggs," said Xtery.

"Forget the eggs," said Miles.  "Everyone is having
peanut butter sandwiches.  Really good stuff! 
Especially if you're hungry."  He turned suddenly to
face Starr.  "You hungry?"

"Are you from outer space, too?" she asked.

"Nyah.  Alabama," Miles said.  "What about a sandwich?
 Beats dying of hunger."

Miles searched a couple of cabinets before finding
plates.  He sat five on the table.  Then scrounged a
knife from a drawer and cut one of the sandwiches
neatly in half, corner to corner, and placed a half on
two of the plates.  "That's for you two fairies," he
said.  "I hope you can stop flying about long enough
to sit and eat."

"I can sit very well," said Bdudd.  She sat down on
one of the chairs, her face just level with the
surface of the table.  Muduud immediately sat in his
chair and took the half of the sandwich on his plate
and began eating.

"Not bad," Muduud said.  He grinned.

"Whata ya mean, not bad?  These are great," said Miles
and sat in the remaining chair and began eating.  He
glanced up at Xtery.  "You got any milk."

"The refrigerator," said Xtery.

Starr stayed in the doorway.

"Are all of you prisoners, too?"

"Not me," said Miles, bringing a half gallon of milk
from the refrigerator and finding glasses and pouring
all of them a glass.  "Gotta have milk with peanut
butter sandwiches.  It's a law or something."

"Definitely not a prisoner," said Bdudd with a huffy
tone of voice.  "Not me."

"Me either," said Muduud.  "But we know all about you
being held here against your will and Bdudd and I
think your husband is a dirty villain."

"I am not a villain," protested Xtery.

"That your name, Bdudd?" asked Miles between bites of
his sandwich.

"Yes.  And that's Muduud."

"Glad to meet you guys.  What do you do around here?"
Miles asked, draining almost half a glass of milk in
one swoop.

"Nothing except get into trouble," said Xtery.

"That's not true," said Muduud.

"I was talking about Bdudd," said Xtery.

"Uh...what kind of trouble?" asked Miles.  He seemed
slightly cautious about asking the question and
glanced quickly at Xtery as if afraid Xtery might
object.  Xtery, however, had already realized he'd
lost control of the situation and just shrugged.

"You heard about the flying saucer incident a few
weeks back?" asked Muduud.  "That was Bdudd.  Ran into
the path of a radar."

"Nyah!" said Miles.  "It was a real saucer.  Not a
fairy.  Believe you me!"

"How do you really know?" asked Bdudd very quickly.

"I heard it around.  You hear a lot of things when
you're lying drunk in an alleyway."

"I'll bet!" scoffed Xtery.

"It's true," said Miles.  "Especially if the alleyway
is next to a bar.  People in bars talk a lot and they
always have an opinion on everything or have done just
about everything and if they didn't do it they
probably know who did.  True."

Starr had taken a step further into the kitchen, but
still appeared ready to flee.  She reminded Xtery of a
deer poised beside the road in the headlights of a
car.  He watched her carefully, but tried to avoid the
appearance of watching her.

"Do you...mean it was a real flying saucer?" she
asked.

"Ain't no other kind," Miles told her.  He took her
hand and held onto it for a moment before letting go. 
"Except, of course, those you see in movies.  Them
movie guys didn't know what a real flying saucer
looked like and so they made them up and missed. 
Missed by a lot, I'll tell you."

"Was it your flying saucer?" she asked Xtery.

"I don't have a flying saucer," Xtery said.

"Us neither," Bdudd said.

Starr looked pointedly at Miles.

"Hey, if I had a flying saucer, do you think I'd be
here eating peanut butter sandwiches with a dumb
blonde, two fairies, and a lizard?"  Then he glanced
at Xtery.  "Does she know about the lizard stuff?"

"This blonde may not be as dumb as you think," Starr
said.  Some more of the tension flowed away.

"She's insulted," said Muduud.  "And I sure hope being
a fairy is something good or I'm going to get
insulted, too."

"I am not a lizard," Xtery said patiently, "and she's
definitely not a dumb blonde."

"She's a brunette anyway," said Bdudd.

"What?" said Xtery.

"Women often dye their hair here on earth," said
Bdudd.

"Do you dye your hair?" asked Muduud.

"No.  Of course, not," said Bdudd.

"Forget the hair," said Miles.  He turned to Bdudd and
Muduud and pointed his hand, still filled with a
partially eaten peanut butter sandwich.  "Is he or is
he ain't?"

"Just a little bit, we think," said Muduud.  "But
things are pretty mixed up on his planet and we don't
really know for sure.  Not really a lizard.  It's just
that some of his ancestors were pretty strange.  But
if you think that's strange, how would you like to
have a monkey for a great grand father."

"Not me," said Miles.  "It's him they're writing
things about all over town."

"That graffiti didn't have anything to do with me, I
tell you."

"What graffiti?" Bdudd and Muduud demanded of Xtery
almost in unison.

"Lots of it," said Xtery.  "In green paint."

"Some things...bugs, I think," said Miles.  "Stuff is
all over El Paso.  You know, like lizard go home.  Not
very creative stuff, but making a point.  Everywhere. 
At least in some of the alleyways that I frequent upon
occasion."

"And on the wall outside here," said Xtery.  "Perhaps
not everywhere, but everywhere enough.  I must assume
that they know where I live."

"You do anything recently to tee anyone off at you?"
asked Miles.

"How should I know?"

"Just checking," said Miles.

Starr finally gave in to her hunger and walked over
and took the remaining sandwich off the plate on the
counter.  She began to nibble at it.

"I'm really confused," she said.

"You're confused?" scoffed Miles.  "Heck, lady, just a
couple of hours ago I was resting real comfortable in
a nice alley over in El Paso drunk as a skunk.  I
don't understand how I got here.  And I've been on the
top of some mountain, too, but I don't know if I was
really there or it was just some kind of illusion like
those magician fellers cook up."

Bdudd and Muduud glanced questioningly at Xtery.

"El Capitan," explained Xtery.  "I was trying to get
rid of him.  But he seems to be stuck in some way I
haven't figured out yet and he follows me around."

"Right!" said Miles.  "Like a pig on a snake's back."

"Earlier, you said snake on a pig's back," Xtery
pointed out.

"That's what I said."

"This time, you reversed it."

"I did?"

"Why argue about it?" demanded Bdudd.  "Doesn't make
any sense one way or the other."

"And I'm also very curious about how you know what a
real flying saucer looks like," said Xtery.  "I've
never even seen one of those things before."

"When you're drunk," said Miles after a moment, "you
see a lot of things."

Xtery nodded.  "I calculated that's what you would
say.  But it doesn't exactly answer the question. 
Where are you really from?"

"Alabama, I told you."

"I'm curious, too," said Bdudd.  "What star system is
that in?"

"Alabama is a state," said Starr.  She still stood by
the kitchen counter as she nibbled on her sandwich
with tiny, almost afraid, bites.  Now and then she
paused to examine her sandwich, but each time with
just a casual glance.

"More than likely, in this particular case, a state of
mind," said Xtery.

"I'm in a menagerie," said Starr over her sandwich.

"What?" said Miles, looking up.

"A menagerie," she repeated.

"More like a zoo," said Xtery.

"Right!  A zoo."

"Well, if that's really the case, young lady, and I'm
not saying it is and I'm not saying it ain't, then
it's always been that way.  Not only in America, but
in other countries as well.  Here, you got blacks and
yellows, and gringos and people with freckles
and...well, it's all mixed up."

"But I used to think we were all earth people and now
I find that I'm one of the few earth people around,"
she said.  "Or that's the way it seems to me."

"You're forgetting, of course, that I'm from Alabama. 
To us people down in Alabama, you're some kinda
strange animal," Miles said.  "All of you."

"I'm not strange," said Bdudd.

"Definitely not," said Muduud.  "I should know.  I've
known her just about all of my life.  She's not any
more strange than I am."

"I can see that," said Miles.  "Would you guys like
another sandwich?"

"Yes, please," said Bdudd.

Xtery stared at her.  She'd never said "please" around
him.  Not one time!

"Try some milk with that sandwich," Miles advised
Starr.  "Peanut butter will stick to the roof of your
mouth and gum up your words when you talk without
milk.  Believe me, I know.  Learned that sort of thing
the hard way."

The old man got up and patiently began making two more
sandwiches.  Bdudd flew up and sat on the kitchen
counter to observe the process.  That was when Xtery
remembered the mission on which he'd sent the two
little Verdidiuns.

"Speaking of flying saucers," Xtery said.

"I wasn't talking about no flying saucers," Miles said
quickly.

"But I was," said Xtery.  "Muduud, what happened at
that meeting you and Bdudd were supposed to observe?"

"They had a bunch of experts there, but none of them
knew anything and they talked about what they didn't
know at length."

"It really got boring," Bdudd added.

"We stayed as long as we could stand it," said Muduud.

"Longer, even," said Bdudd.

Miles cut one of the sandwiches again from corner to
corner and placed them on the plates of the two
Verdidiuns.

"So you two fellers are like a bunch of spies?" he
asked.

"Not me," said Bdudd.

"My job description reads gizmo hunter," said Muduud.

"Gismo hunter?"

"Right," said Muduud.

"Never heard of no job like that," said Miles.  He
glanced at Xtery.  "What does he really do?"

"I don't know," said Xtery.  "Matter of fact, this is
the first I've heard about him being a gizmo hunter,
whatever that is.  What's your job description,
Bdudd?"

"I plead the Fifth Amendment," she said quickly.

"You don't even know what the Fifth Amendment really
is," Xtery pointed out.

"Whatever it is, that's me," she insisted.

"She couldn't be a spy," Miles finally said, returning
immediately to his peanut butter sandwich.  "She's too
dumb."

"I've been insulted," said Bdudd to Muduud.  "Hit
him."

"What with?" asked Muduud.  "There's nothing handy."

"The chair," she said sharply.

She spun into the air and flashed past the face of
Miles.

"I can't lift anything that heavy," Muduud said as he
furiously fought to dodge the draft of wind created by
her passage.  He flew over and tried to lift the chair
and, of course, couldn't.

"I've been insulted.  You must redeem my honor."

"What if I just get him to apologize?"

"Okay," she said without even thinking about it.

"I apologize," Miles said just as quickly.

Starr sat down in the chair recently vacated by Bdudd.

"What a bunch of loonies," she said as she sipped at
her milk.

"I've been insulted again!" screamed Bdudd.  She flew
over and sat on the shoulder of Xtery.  It was the
first time she'd expressed this kind of intimacy and
he was surprised at how heavy the small winged
creature was.

"I'm sorry," said Muduud.  "If you've actually been
insulted and you want somebody hit, you'll just have
to hit them yourself."

"Atta boy!" said Miles.  "Us men have to stand up
against these women who're always trying to boss us
men around.  Anybody want another sandwich?"

"Might as well," said Starr.  "I didn't realize I was
so hungry."

"Have Xtery get you a steak," said Bdudd.

"Xtery?"

"Your husband.  He can get you a steak with French
fried potatoes as quick as that."  She tried to snap
her fingers, but couldn't get the hang of it and
stopped.  "Well, he can!"

"She's right, good lady," said Miles.  "Some kind of
magic trick that he does."

"What is your real name?" Starr asked Xtery.  "The one
you use wherever you're from?"

"Xtery Xudd," said Bdudd and patted him on the head.

"Strange name," said Miles.  He was already up at the
kitchen counter assembling another sandwich for Starr.

"You should talk," said Xtery.

"I'll remember my real name one of these days," said
Miles without pausing in his work on the sandwich.  He
finished it and placed it on a plate in front of
Starr.  He told her: "You don't need a steak.  These
things have a lot of protein and other good stuff. 
Healthy for you."

"Don't you know your own name?" Starr asked.

"Naw.  I don't.  Don't know why I don't.  I think it
musta had something to do with my drinking."

"You an alcoholic?"

"I was until I met your husband.  That's a fact.  Now
I don't know what I am.  I'm certainly not an
alcoholic anymore.  And I don't have cancer anymore. 
But I don't know who I am nor why I'm here with all of
us loonies, as you say."

"Must be a reason," said Bdudd.

"I sure hope so," Miles said.

"Are you really from Alabama?"

"So far as I know," said Miles.  "At least I seem to
know an awful lot about Alabama.  At least, I know
more about Alabama than I know about this place.  At
least...."

"You're not from Alabama," said Xtery.  "So forget all
of that pretense."

"Not pretending," insisted Miles.

"I believe him," said Bdudd.

"You would," Xtery said.

"I know the town where I was raised in Alabama. 
Birmingham," said Miles.  "And I know the school and I
remember where we lived when I was a kid.  A lot of
the other stuff, I forgot.  For instance, I don't
guess I had a mother because I don't remember none. 
But I remember at least that much."

Muduud had evidently been quiet for about as long as
he could stand.

"Is this all we're going to do?  Sit around and
discuss where we've been or where we haven't been and
eat sandwiches?  Bdudd and I would like to know what
we're going to do next."

Muduud stared purposely at Xtery who merely shrugged
his shoulders.

"Ask Miles," Xtery said.  "He seems to be in charge of
this situation, not me."

After he said that, Xtery realized that it was
actually true.  Once the old vagrant--or alien--had
started making the sandwiches, he'd been more or less
pushed aside.  He tried to analyze how it felt now to
no longer be "the boss," per se.  Strangely enough,
his first impression was that he enjoyed his new role.
 He hadn't been doing so well before anyway.

"How can I be in charge?" demanded Miles.  "I don't
know what the problems are."

"I'm the major problem," said Starr.  Her voice was
sharp and penetrating.  Xtery winced from it.

"We voted to let you go, me and Muduud," said Bdudd.

"You did not," said Xtery.

"We did, too.  Didn't we Muduud?"

But Muduud had his back turned to the fray at the
moment and wisely decided not to turn around.

Xtery, however, found the incident interesting.  So,
it appeared as if the little winged creature could lie
and had very few qualms about telling one.

"We just wanted Xtery to erase your memory first," she
explained.

Xtery sighed.  Scratch that observation.  Bdudd hadn't
told a lie after all.  Not quite, anyway.  But he
decided that he would have to pay closer attention to
her.  Suddenly, he felt the possibility was there.

But, perhaps they were all changing.  Maybe it was
earth changing them all to earthlings of one kind or
another!

Starr seemed appalled at the idea that her memory
could be erased.  She glanced at Xtery, but quickly
jerked her eyes away; her face was pensive.

"What makes you think you're some kind of problem,
girl?" Miles asked Starr.

"Very simple," she said.  "I know your secret now."

"Big deal," said Miles.  He got up from the table and
began to rinse off the plates at the kitchen sink,
placing the plates to dry in a rack near the sink. 
"Fairies have been the subject of myth and story for
generations.  As for people from Mars--lizards or
whatever you want to call 'em--I guess they've been
the subject of stories for a long, long time.  I
remember reading about them in Thrilling Wonder
Stories."

"Ah, hah," said Xtery.

"Just a pulp magazine," said Miles.  "They used to
have 'em things back when I was a kid.  Great reading
stuff.  Not many around anymore because of
television."

"I only said ah hah because it's another piece to the
puzzle of your background," said Xtery.

"Ain't no puzzle about it," protested Miles.  "Just a
magazine that I read once.  No, make that several
times, along with Startling Stories, Amazing Stories,
Planet Stories.  I really liked Planet Stories best of
all.  Good reading stuff."

"About aliens?" asked Starr.

"Yeah.  Lots of 'em.  And bug-eyed monsters.  Whole
bunch of 'em.  Mostly, bug-eyed monsters were the bad
guys."

"Yes, but magazines such as those might explain, at
least partially, why you think I'm a lizard," said
Xtery.

"Not in the slightest," said Miles.  He stared at
Xtery.  "No way."

"I'm not a lizard," Xtery told Starr, "I don't care
what this guy tries to tell you.  Yes, I am from
another planet.  A planet called Tarrmell."

"Where's it at?"

"How should I know?  I'm not an astronavigator.  It's
way off.  But still in this galaxy, I think."

Miles finished up the plates and turned.  "Appears as
if you're just as lost as I am," he said.

"At least I know who I really am," said Xtery and was
immediately disappointed that he'd allowed himself to
participate in a discussion of this nature.

"Yes," said Starr, "a lizard who associates with
bug-eyed monsters."

"He does, does he?" asked Miles, nodding gleefully at
the information.  "Well, well...who's learning what
about whom, if I may venture to ask."

"That's none of your business," said Xtery.  He
slumped in his chair.  "And I wish she hadn't
mentioned it."

"Big round eyes," Starr told Miles.  "Like the size of
those plates on the counter.  Maybe just a little
larger.  And short little stubby hands that flapped
about in the air."

"That's because she scared him," Xtery told Miles.

"I scared him!"

"What you've described," said Miles, "is exactly like
'em bug-eyed monsters on the cover of Amazing Stories
back in the old days.  Lord, but those were good
reading stuff.  It's a pity there ain't no one writing
'em kinda stories anymore."

"Indeed, a pity," said Xtery. 

"Exactly where did you see this bug-eyed monster,
young lady?" asked Miles.

"In the living room," Starr said.

The second that Miles started to leave the kitchen,
Xtery popped him in front of a bar on a downtown
street Juarez.  The old vagrant immediately appeared
again in the kitchen, standing awkwardly about to take
a step, but now undetermined which direction he really
wanted to go.

Xtery popped him off to the bank of the Rio Grande
just below the edge of town and, just as fast, the old
man appeared again in the kitchen.  He appeared quite
confused.

"Had enough?" asked Xtery.  "Because I could keep
sending you away all night.  It's no bother to me. 
Perhaps to some places you might not like even if you
stayed just a moment."

"Sure," Miles said quickly as if afraid he was about
to be transported somewhere else again.  "I didn't
want to see no bug-eyed monster anyway.  Well, maybe
just a little.  But I don't have to see 'em.  Not a
big deal.  Per se.  You know what I mean?"

"Well, I would like to see him...it...again," said
Starr.

"I'm afraid, however," said Xtery, "that Xtarso
Divhuud thinks he's seen more than enough of you.  You
scared him out of a century of growth."

"I scared him!"

"He wasn't expecting you," said Xtery.  "You simply
can't imagine the explaining I've had to do.  And
forget explaining to him that we're married.  He quite
sagely pointed out to me that no Tarrmellian ever
married an alien before in the history of the planet."

"An alien!"

"That's right," Xtery told her, "you're an alien."

"Who is this Divhuud character?" asked Miles.  "Maybe
I can help get him off your back."

"That's the one with the bug eyes," said Starr.  "He's
absolutely scary."

"I'm afraid you couldn't help much in this case,"
Xtery told the old vagrant.

"I like to know why not?  At least I could give it a
shot."

"No," said Xtery.  "And that's a final no."

"He really means it when it's a final no," said 
Bdudd.  "I know that from experience."

"Maybe I'll just make one more attempt to check this
bug-eyed monster out," said Miles and he started for
the other room and just as quickly disappeared.  This
time, it took a few seconds longer before he
reappeared in the kitchen.  And he was looking a bit
more grim.  He shook some sand out of his hair.

"Did you have to do that?" he demanded of Xtery.

"Just trying to impress you," said Xtery without
either a frown nor a smile.

"I'm impressed.  Must have been the desert because I
certainly went ka-plop!"

"A far desert," said Xtery.  "In fact, it was so far
that I'm slightly amazed you found your way back."

"Like I told you a while ago...that snake on a pig's
back stuff."

"Not this time," said Xtery.  "You might say that I
removed the hex.  But actually it was a psychological
attachment syndrome you placed on me, wasn't it?"

"Hex sounds a lot better to me," said Miles.  He
didn't seem fazed that Xtery had solved the problem
and removed it.  Nor that his lie about not being able
to teleport had been discovered.

"Have you ever actually been to Alabama?" Xtery asked.

"Once," said Miles.  "A long time ago.  Sorta passing
through."

"What's going on?" demanded  Bdudd.  She flapped her
wings, a sign that meant she was furious.  Muduud
flapped his wings rapidly, but Xtery knew that the
little Verdidiun probably was never upset much about
anything; he was just showing support for his mate.

"Nothing you'd understand," said Miles.

This made the little winged creature even more
furious.  Her wings created a small storm of air in
the room.

"It's just that our friend here is definitely not from
Alabama," said Xtery.  "What system, I don't know, but
probably a different arm of the galaxy."

"Not another one!" Starr moaned.  "Doesn't earth have
any earth people anymore?"

"It was the pig's back stuff, eh?"

"I suppose I already knew," Xtery told him.  "But that
was the proof, yes."

"Well, to be honest with you, I've had a suspicion for
many years that I was from Mars or somewhere."

"Nobody is from Mars," said Bdudd.

"She's right.  There's no life on Mars and never has
been."

"Figure of speech."

"Then...."

"I don't know," said Miles.  "And that's the truth. 
It's just that I've always been a little bit different
and could do lots of things nobody else could do and
so I've known that I had to be from some place else. 
But where is the big question."

"That's even more weird," Bdudd said.

Miles went over to the kitchen sink and put the jar of
peaut butter and the bread away.

"What happens now?"

"I'm just as confused as you are about that," said
Xtery.

"I can probably help you with this Divhuud feller, you
know."

"It's not him I'm worried about at the moment," said
Xtery.  "All he can do is order me home for messing up
on a perfectly ordinary assignment.  I'm concerned
about the graffiti and what it may indicate."

"Wasn't me," insisted Miles.

"Tell me what you saw in the alleyway and tell me all
you know about flying saucers," said Xtery.

(continued next week)

Those of us in "the game," whether the game was
creating the music or bringing it to the world via
radio, loved it.  We loved radio and we loved the
music.  There were stories of Cousin Brucie going home
from his job at WABC (then a Top 40 format station) in
New York and playing classical music, but the greater
majority of people in all aspects of radio and
regardless of the format were deeply involved and
often on a personal basic with both music and radio,
whether we worked in radio or whether we worked in
music.

I, of course, had virtually a perfect job.  In
essence, because of my job on Billboard magazine, I
delved in both fields.  Believe it or not, I had one
of the first FM network shows; it was produced and
distributed by ABC.  I also reviewed records as well
as reviewed live performances for the magazine.  So,
while I was officially radio-TV editor of Billboard, I
was involved in just about all aspects of the music
side of the magazine as well.  This included writing
business stories about the music industry.  I
understand that after I left Billboard, they ended up
hiring at least four people just to replace my
workload.  And I believe this is true, although some
of the things that I did virtually ended with my
leaving...such as the radio programming conventions.

As well, many of the radio people that I knew loved
music and, in fact, knew a great many of the artists.
I have a picture of a young Jonathan Fricke in
Lubbock, for example, on stage with a young Willie
Nelson.  Scotty Brink, a veteran radio personality and
program director and radio executive, has remained
friends with Bobby Vee ("Take Good Care of My Baby")
more than two decades.  The late Bill Ward, who
managed Gene Autry's last radio property, knew and was
friends with a great number of recording artists over
his multifaceted radio career and this included
legends such as Bob Nolan and Stu Hamblin.  But Ted
Atkins, Ken Reeth, Johnny Holliday, Reggie Lavong knew
the music side of radio quite well--the performers and
their songs.  Murray the K told me that Bobby Darin
wrote "Splish, Splash" on his piano at his New York
apartment and while I may have doubted the
contribution to the song Murray claimed, I believe
that Murray the K knew Darin and Darin did write the
song on his piano as Murray claimed.

The opposite was equally true.  Many of the successful
recording artists knew a great number of radio people.
 This was especially so in the country music field
where a Sonny James or a Tex Ritter and many others
knew a great many disc jockeys and program directors.
Some of those in music had actually been in radio, a
la Jim Reeves, a la Slim Willet.  Charlie Walker was
once a disc jockey in San Antonio.  And, yes, even
Elvis Presley played disc jockey once or twice on
KWKH, Shreveport.  But the list is extensive,
regardless of the format.

Without question, many of us loved music as much as we
loved radio.  We were, in effect, participants in both
genres.  At one r&b disc jockey meeting, I recall an
artist who was about to perform inviting onto the
stage all of the disc jockeys he knew that played an
instrument and he performed that evening with a band
comprised on disc jockeys and program directors.
Great evening of music!  Enormous vibes!  Just wish
someone had recorded the evening.

This merely indicates what I've always thought of as
the symbiosis nature of music and radio.  And also one
of the reasons that I think MTV was, indeed,
detrimental to the music industry to some extent.  And
why radio conglomerates are to blame in many ways for
the continued downfall of music.  The heart wasn't
there any longer.  The symbiosis was eroded.

With the condition of the music industry these days, I
believe the time is coming when some people will once
again carry portable recording equipment (digital, of
course) in their car trunks and whip them out upon
occasion.  And some artists are already selling
concert CDs and will eventually sell audiences a CD of
the concert that they've just attended.  As they exit
the concert.  Lou Dorren's Xytar system can do this
even now as you read this.  And he has a system that
can burn multiple CDs.

Music wasn't just a part of our lives in the long ago;
it was vital to us.  As necessary as eating and
sleeping.  Literally, we sought music out.  In the
corners of our lives and the corners of the world.
This was no more true for Frank Peer who tracked down
and recorded such as the Carter Family than you and
me.  Or Moses Asch with his straying tape machine.
Music is and always has been quite personal.  Of
necessity, it requires more and more that the person
who really loves music seek it out.

In the old days, you ran into music in a lot of places
and as I sit here now I think that the Cafe au Go Go
in Greenwich Village in New York City was my favorite
place of the 60s.  Great ice cream.  Great music.
Here, I heard the Cream on their first venture into
the states.  Here, I heard the Paupers wipe out the
Jefferson Airplane.  The Airplane became legendary.
The Paupers never made it on records; someone should
have recorded them that night at the Cafe au Go Go.
Here, I heard Fred Neil with that great bass voice;
much, much better than the LP "Sessions" on Capitol
Records.  Here, Richie Havens.  Here, the Paul
Butterfield Blues Band.  Here, Al Kooper and the first
Blood, Sweat and Tears and the second version with
David Clayton Thomas.  Other places displayed rock
music.  The Bitter End was just down the street, a
famous place even then.  But none matched the Cafe au
Go Go for happening music during those mid-to-late
60s.  There.  Gone as soon as the guitar string ceased
viberating!

After Billboard moved its headquarters in 1971 to Los
Angeles--and me and Barbara and Popsie and kids with
it--I enjoyed a lot of evenings at the Palomino in the
San Fernando Valley.  At least two major movies
featured the Pal, one with Bert Reynolds ("Hooper," I
think) and another with Clint Eastwood, one of those
"Which Way" films.  But Neil Diamond taped a special
there one night.  The Pal was a big music place.
Owner Tommy Thomas told me once that Hoyt Axton was
the biggest draw and Hoyt played there a lot because
the place always sold a lot of beer and was always
crowded when he was there.  One night, Linda Ronstadt
performed there.  Maybe she played there other nights,
but that night when I was there she went on in print
dress and barefooted and some pretty heavy acts were
in the audience.  But just about everyone in country
played the Pal.  Marty Robbins, you name them.

I remember the foot-high stage in the front corner.  I
recall some of the Cliffie Stone boys playing in the
house band.  I remember the quite funky atmosphere.  I
remember being treated almost like a god when I went
there.  Once, though the house was jammed with Hoyt
Axton fans, Tommy Thomas had another table set up for
me and my guests, the Kramers from New York City.  But
I'd like to point out that Tommy treated just about
everyone in the music business with these same graces.

The reason I mention the Pal here and now is because I
miss the place.  It may be gone, but the memories are
still there.

Another place that I liked for music in Los Angeles
was McCabe's Guitar Shop in the Santa Monica area.  I
think it's still there.  I had forgotten about the
McCabe.  But the memory came back like thunder
tonight.  My son John loaned me a CD by Linda
Ronstadt.  "Greatest Hits."  And one of the songs on
the CD is "Long, Long Time," a tune written by Gary
White.  Barbara and I caught Gary's act there one
evening and he mentioned being on tour with Linda and
having written a song she'd recorded.  Now, almost 30
years later, I hear the song and Linda's version is
quite good and memories flood back.

McCabe's was actually a guitar shop.  There was a
small "theater" in back.  Price of admission in those
days was only a couple of bucks.  Real guitars hung on
the walls.  Small stage.  Maybe a hundred seats.  You
really got the music good.  Doc Watson played at
McCabe's a lot.

One other place I will mention--because it's part of
music history and deserves deification--was a place
that looked like a former movie house from the front.
It was in Huntington Beach and on the road that ran
along the beach.  Golden Bear, I think was the name.
Always intended to get down there.  But a married man
with kids doesn't go down to those places too much;
doesn't have the time.  I do remember seeing the
marquee many times because Barbara and I were always
driving down to Seal Beach for chowder and wading in
the surf.  Saturday and Sunday afternoons.  Taking the
kids.  Paul Butterfield and His Blues Band, I remember
reading on the marquee.

I suppose I should mention El Gato.  On Sepulvada
about halfway over the San Fernando Valley in Los
Angeles.  Gone now.  It wasn't famous for its music.
Mariachi.  It was better known for its food.  Mexican.
 The music was good and it was free.  And the food was
reasonable.  Barbara and I ventured there on occasion.
 I think of El Gato now because my son Andy brought in
one of his CDs for me to hear.  "Los Super Seven."
That's the title and the act.  On RCA or BMG Records.
Hard to tell.  But the music grabs my soul.  And when
you notice who, precisely, are the super seven, you
can understand why.  Joe Ely, Freddie Fender, David
Hidalgo and Cesar Rosas of Los Lobos, Flaco Jimenez,
Rick Trevino.  A lot of other musicians tossed in bits
and pieces, including Doug Sahm.  Real Mex-Tex stuff.
I found myself moving around in my chair and patting
my hands, quietly but enthusiastically.  You listen to
"La Morena" or "PIensa en Mi," you'll know why.  Great
CD.  Yes, I love Johnny Cash and Linda Ronstadt and
Roy Orbison and some of Jerry Garcia (especially his
bluegrass), but now and then I need a Mex fix.  Once
years ago, I had a two-hour tape of different versions
of "La Bamba."  Does that tell you where I stand?  No
"La Bamba" here, but thank you, Los Super Seven. 

OTHER MATTERS
Ron Jacobs, whodaguy@lava.net, is producing a "KHJ
40th Anniversary Print" for those who are collectors
and those who remember what it was all about in 60s
and 70s radio in Los Angeles.  $193 plus $7 S&H.
Limited edition giclée prints on matte paper,
numbered 1 through 93.  (Number 93 has been
purchased.)  He has to place the initial print order
5/21.  Prices go up thereafter.  You can check out the
Streetscape at:
http://www.lava.net/~whodaguy/Boss-Angeles-Color-Sample-3.jpg.
 KHJ RADIO, BOSS ANGELES, 1965 Commemorative 40th
Anniversary Streetscape.  The actual print dimensions
are approximately 24" by  39".  Here is the BOSS
OPTION:  The print is available on canvas with a
hand-applied glossy finish that transforms the piece
so it appears to be an ORIGINAL painting. $293 plus $7
S&H.  Contact Jacobs at his email or at  (808)
247-9090 with any questions.  

Joey Reynolds, G1boney@aol.com, says "last week I was
in LA for Tim Laine's funeral, he was Irish and
requested his wake to be held in a bar in the valley
where his wife said he spent more time than at home.
She, of course, was joking cause he did raise four
fine boys and had a movie career as an extra-vert in
the last years before death from cancer. You probably
remember him as Jan Chamberlin's manager (Mickey
Rooney's wife).  He was a good friend and a good
promotion man from Atlantic during the John Fisher
days. I also emceed the yoga competition and Bikram's
birthday dinner at the Hyatt Regency in downtown LA;
it was smashing and so is the architecture in LA these
days, It rained a lot.  Tonite I had on the air a
rock drummer who was got sober and has recorded his
journey from dark to the light with the same power of
Pink Floyd's 'The Wall'. I will send you the cd and
more info on him; it was exciting to hear his story.
Jeff Daniels (dumb &dumber, winn-dixie) was on last
night singing funny folk songs and a woman who
inspired him Christine Lavin was also very clever;
live talent on the radio is fun."

Tom Noonan, Tenoonan8@aol.com, forwarded an item about
the recording studio in Muscle Shoals, AL, shutting
down.  Historic place.  Pity.  Me and Paul Ackerman of
Billboard Magazine interviewed Jerry Wexler of
Atlantic Records shortly after he produced Aretha
Franklin there.  "First Time Ever I Saw Your Face."
First story about the place.  Rick Hall wasn't
mentioned in the story about the closing of the
studio.  As I recall, he built the original place.
Remember Jerry stating soundproofing was via cardboard
from egg crates nailed to the inside walls.

Dene Hallam, DENEHALLAM@aol.com, wrote me about the
death of a friend of his...Carl Schulz.  And then we
swapped a couple of notes.  Hallam: "He was a member
of a class that was rare then...and is getting rarer
and rarer! I wasn't sure if You knew Him, but I
decided to send You that piece, because it was a
tribute to Him, and I TRULY think that there should be
some sort of 'Hall Of Fame' for 'the best of the
best.' Even if it wasn't a 'physical' one. There are
Artist Hall Of Fames and DJs, Songwriters, Musicians
etc....but what about Record Label Heads, Producers,
Radio Executives, Journalists, etc? Other greats like
Bill Drake, Paul Drew, Herb McCord, Jimmy Bowen,
Rosalee, Ray Free, Matty Mathews, Jerry Clifton, Steve
Leeds, etc., etc. Visionaries.  What is Your opinion?
You could NEVER know how proud I was when You included
My name in Vox Jox, circa 1975. I was 21, and it was
a dream come true. I don't think that some 21 year
old would get that same feeling to be in Billboard,
today.  By the way, another great thrilling experience
was talking with you while standing in waist-deep
water in the pool at the Fountainbleu in Miami Beach
at a Billboard Convention circa, early 80s? Who the
hell remembers, any more?  I soaked up every word of
Your wisdom!!!  Now, I'm 51...been out of work two out
of the last three years. Consolidation has really
hurt the Radio Business.  Go figure. You read the
obit. He was SCREWED so badly by Capitol. And in the
end: He had a heart attack in his office at a new,
humiliating job. 55. He deserved BETTER.  How do YOU
feel about that?"

Agree with you, Dene, regarding the Hall of Fame for
those who belong to no specific category...or were
simply overlooked by the powers that be.  I would put
you in there for persevering in spite of what is
obviously a pisspoor industry situation at the moment.
 I would put Bruce Miller Earle, a radio engineer
without peer, the All-Star Hall of Fame.  Lou Dorren
as an acoustic engineer.  Jim Gabbert as a pathblazer
in FM radio.  Lord, but I could name so many more.
Burt Sherwood for the work he's doing now in low-power
TV.  Men and women who will ordinarily go
unrecognized.  Anyone wish to add to the list? How
about Gary Stevens for building the value of FM?  Bob
Pittman for creating MTV.  Ron Jacobs for KHJ and
format development.  Ernie Farrell, a great record
promotion person, for sure!  The list goes on!
History is not going to remember us.  We may have to
do all of the remembering ourselves.

Regarding the job scene, I was once out of work
several months.  Rough on the guts!  Barbara and I
were just on the verge of applying for welfare.  One
of my lowest emotional points was when I received a
phone call from Lee Zhito, publisher of Billboard
magazine, and he invited me to lunch at Scandia not
far from the 9000 Sunset office of the magazine.  I
went to lunch only to hear Zhito describe in detail
why he wasn't going to hire me back at the magazine.
Said everyone on the staff had voted against me.  I'm
thinking:  No one on the staff liked me?  I told him
thanks and paid my own bill and left.  Funny thing was
that I hadn't even asked to be hired back.  Always
supposed he just wanted to stick some needles in my
ego.  But I suppose I didn't lose as much as
Billboard.  When I was there, the magazine alone was
worth $70 million.  I had personally brought in profit
centers worth about a million a year.  When the entire
publishing company was later sold, it was only worth
$41 million, I was told.  When I finally got a
job--doing public relations at Phillips University in
Enid, OK, I had to borrow money to even rent a U-Haul
to get there.  Jack Thayer and L. David Moorhead and
another friend loaned me the money.  Still had two
years of dues to pay because the salary wasn't much.
But I took courses at night and on Saturday and earned
a master's degree and was then able to get a full-time
teaching position at the State University of New York
at Brockport.  In retrospect, perhaps Zhito did me a
favor.  I certainly enjoyed my years as a college
professor.  However, because of the above and some
other things I won't describe here, I find it
difficult to feel kindly toward the man.

One of the aspects of radio that I least liked about
my job on Billboard magazine was the nebulousness of
the disc jockey and programming jobs.  Yes, I soon
realized that it was no stigma to get fired from a
radio job.  The entire radio world was very
chaotic...even for guys at the top.  A great station
in a great market with great ratings.  Chaotic!  I
knew guys who didn't mind it...figured it came with
the turf, so to speak.  But I was never comfortable
with the scene.  This was true back when I was more or
less of an employment center.  It is true now.

Once, after consulting with the late Bill Gavin, I
sought to form an association of disc jockeys.  It
didn't take.  Bill pointed out to me that he had more
or less tried the same tactic a few years previously
and it had failed.

Today, became of the conglomerates, I surmise that the
situation is even worse.

What a pity!  I still love radio and I still love
music.  But I regret what has been done to these
artforms.  Oft nebulous, yes, and generally chaotic.
Still, art in more ways than not.