"So this is where you used to work?" Adrian inquired as he and Disher entered the main Philadelphia police station.

"Yep," the lieutenant said proudly, "Some of the happiest years of my life were spent here."

"Too bad they couldn't afford to add more space to the halls," Adrian winced as they had to force their way through a large crowd of cops milling about in the hallway. He then grimaced again as a hoodlum with a thick beard and many tattoos on his face growled in the detective's face as the officer holding lead him by. "So, you were in love with this Cathy Trumbull?" he asked Disher.

"We dated for about a year and a half," Disher recalled, "There was a time I considered marrying her, but then I decided to move out west in the end. Sometimes, Monk, I do wonder how things might have turned out if I had stayed, if I had proposed..."

A wistful expression crossed his face. It disappeared just as quickly as they reached the front desk. "Excuse me, I'd like to see Cathy Trumbull, they said she was being held here?" he asked the receptionist.

"Name?" the receptionist asked in a bored, mechanical tone.

"Randall Disher, and this is Adrian Monk," the lieutenant gestured towards Adrian. The receptionist did a double take. "The defective detective?" she asked.

"That's, that's me," Adrian said, "You, you only have nine pens there."

He pointed at the coffee mug on her desk which her pens were resting in. "While we're here, could you run out a get one more to make it even?" he had to ask.

"With the shift I have to do here? Forget it, pal," she shook her head, "Meeting room's down the hall to the right; leave any metal objects outside; I'll tell them you're coming."

"I could go pick up that pen if you can't..." Adrian started to tell her.

"Next," she called out to anyone else standing around. The detective shrugged and followed Disher toward the meeting room. The officer inside was on the phone, nodding. "Cathy Trumbull?" the lieutenant asked him.

"Arms outwards," the officer picked up a metal detector and waved him down. He then attempted to do the same with Adrian, but the detective leaned backwards away from the wand. "Sir, you'll have to hold still if you want to stay here," the officer said, frustrated.

"Here, here's the thing, I can't...what about if I swear I don't have anything dangerous on me?" Adrian asked. The officer shook his head and extended the wand toward him again, prompting the detective to jump away. The officer growled. "Ah, the hell with it," he muttered, "Seat Number Two, I'll be out with her in a few minutes."

"But there's five seats in here, and no one else is in right now," Adrian told him, "It would make more sense to have the middle seat; we'll be nice and centered with..."

The officer pushed him down into Seat #2 and stormed off. Adrian pulled at the phone cord attached to the booth. "Whoever, whoever was here last didn't seem to care to put it back right," he fretted, "It's too wrinkled."

"Monk, I don't mean to sound rough, but could you keep it a little under control this time?" Disher asked him with a hopeful look. The door to the other side of the room slowly opened, and the officer led in a rather attractive young woman with long brown hair. Her eyes went wide at the sight of her guests. "Oh my God, Randy," she breathed, "It's...I..."

"Cathy," Disher put a hand against the glass, "When I heard I had to come. This is Adrian Monk, he's..."

"I know, ."the great detective," Cathy admitted, "I've read the papers. I'm glad you were able to bring him." She gave Adrian an imploring look. "Please, Monk, get me out of here, I didn't do anything wrong, I swear."

"Well I...could we move to the middle seat, it just doesn't feel right sitting here," Adrian asked. He looked at the officer, who was shaking his head. "Well, it was just a thought," he shrugged, "Well, uh, Cathy," he fiddled with the phone cord again, "I've seen that they're charging you with theft from the Mint and the murder of your supervisor, a Mr. Bert Nyquist."

"And it's all some horrible lie!" Cathy sobbed, "I respected Bert as a boss, even if I have no idea why he fired me last week! I would never have killed him for it"

"So you were terminated from your job?" Adrian produced a wipe and started on the glass between them, "Was there anything unusual about that?"

"Coins have been disappearing from the Mint for the last few weeks," Cathy related to him, "But only in very small amounts; what happened this morning was the first sizeable theft. At first we thought it was simply a production mistake. Bert was looking into the whole thing as if it were criminal, though. Then last Thursday, when I was coming in for my shift, he walked up and said he'd caught me red-handed, and I was fired. I've been trying to call him to find out what had happened since then; that's not the Bert I know who would accuse me. The strangest thing was, when he did fire me, he seemed like he was in some kind of trance, like he was under a spell of some kind."

"You don't suppose he managed to hypnotise himself beforehand?" Disher suggested, "I've seen some books in stores where you can teach yourself to..."

"Randy please, this is my life at stake!" his former love cried at him.

"It was just a theory," Disher shrugged.

"So, um, Cathy, where, where were you this morning when they found him dead?" Adrian couldn't take it anymore. He jumped over into the middle chair and leaned far to his left to keep her in his sight.

"At home in bed, wondering how my life had taken such a cruel turn," she told him, "Unfortunately, there's no way I can prove it, since I've been living alone after I threw Mike out."

"Mike?"

"My now ex-husband," Cathy said with a tormented sigh. "For three years that I wish I could have back now."

"He didn't abuse you, did he?" Disher asked, looking a bit deflated that she had married.

"No, thank God, but he did cheat on me with everyone else I know," she mumbled bitterly, "We had a couple of brutal arguments before I decided enough was enough. He swore he'd get at me for what he said was my fault before he left; I wouldn't be surprised if he somehow framed me up for this. But I don't know how he could have possibly gotten into the Mint; I never told him my security codes, and he doesn't know anyone else who works there."

"That's, that's very interesting," Adrian wiped away at the center booth's glass, "Where might we find him now, might you know, so we can check his wherabouts?"

"He's worked as a tour guide at Independence Hall for the last five years," Cathy informed him, "He's probably still at that. Just promise me that you can get me out of this, please; I've never been so scared...I'm not a murderer or a thief. You know that, right, Randy?"

She gave him a deep, imploring look of hope. "Of course I do," Disher put his hand back to the glass, this time directly across from hers, "And we will clear your name for this, won't we Monk?"

The only answer he got was a louder scraping as the detective kicked his campaign against the glass into overdrive. "That's a yes," the lieutenant said. He stared at her with a certain amount of affection. "You know, there are times I wish that things, well, had turned out a little differently," he told her.

"As do I," she nodded softly, "Especially now. If this..."

"I'm afraid your time's up," the officer announced, "And I think it's clean enough."

He pried Adrian away from the glass. "You, you should have a professional look at that," he informed the officer as they left the room, "That's a major problem there."

"Tell me, who's assigned to her case?" Disher inquired over his shoulder at the officer.

"Lieutenant Colton, if it's really that important," their associate told him.

"Wonderful," Disher snapped his fingers.

"Old friend?" Adrian asked.

"Luckily for us," Disher was now tiptoing across the bullpen. Adrian's wondering of why was answered--sort of--as he stopped behind a heavyset African-American cop doing paperwork at his desk and stuck a finger into his back. "Reach for the sky, Danny boy," he whispered.

The man turned around. "Randy Disher!" he exclaimed, giving the lieutenant's hand a vigorous pumping, "Fancy seeing you around here again. And Adrian Monk, the famous Adrian Monk," he shook the detective's hand hard, "You know, my wife got hooked on that show about you from the first episode. And I told her, 'I happened to know the real Lieutenant Disher from a few years ago.' That guy's pretty accurate playing you, too."

"So you and Randy are old friends, I take it?" Adrian wiped his hands down hard with another wipe.

"Joined the same day. Lieutenant Daniel Colton," Colton extended his arm again, but stopped. "Oh yeah, I forgot, you've got that thing with shaking...why are you looking away from me?"

"Your, your tie, it doesn't match at all," Adrian stared at the floor, too distraught by the tie to look at Colton, "I, don't take this the wrong way, but it just doesn't seem like..."

"Tell you what, we'll just take the tie right out of the equation," Colton said. Adrian heard the sound of the cop's collar shuffling. He dared to look up and saw Colton take off the tie and place it in his desk drawer. "Is that better?" the Philadelphia cop asked.

"Just one more thing," Adrian set about rearranging the items on Colton's desk until they were all lined up properly. "Much better," he proclaimed when he was done, "So, anyway, we were told that you were assigned to Cathy Trumbull's case?"

"You've got that right," Colton shook his head sadly, "I didn't want to believe it--Cathy always was a very nice lady, I met her a few times when Randy was still here--but I'm afraid it looks like an airtight case here. Every bit of evidence points at her. Take a look."

He pulled a file from his desk. "She had motive and opportunity," he told them, "And only someone who worked at the Mint would have been able to get in and disarm the alarms and security cameras. And her fingerprints were the only ones we found at the scene. Plus, when we searched her house afterwards, we found several boxes of coins in her closet. Mint officials confirmed they came from their processing lines."

He held up a photograph of Cathy's closet. "Oh yes, I can see," Adrian squinted at it, "The coins do have the Mint's P stamped on them; this is the only processing center in the country that would give them that. How was this Bert Nyquist killed?"

"His neck was broken," Colton informed him, "We found him by the storage room that was cleaned out this morning. Coroner says he died in seconds."

"Something does not make sense here," Adrian remarked as he stared at the photos of Nyquist's body, "If Cathy had been stealing coins on a small scale before and had been fired for it, why would she risk coming back and stealing a larger amount? It would be complete suicide."

"Were there any witnesses at all?" Disher asked Colton.

"That's the strangest thing," Colton told him, "The night watchmen were found unconscious outside the control center. They're still out cold as we speak, so they couldn't tell us anything, but the door to the room was ripped clean off it's hinges. A solid steel door, mind you. I would never have never thought anyone could do something like that, including Cathy, but we found her prints on the handles, too. You have to wonder..."

"I can tell you right now she didn't do it," Adrian announced.

"You do?" Colton looked hard at him, "How can you be sure, Monk?"

"Take a good look at Nyquist's neck here," Adrian held the photo toward him, "The wounds have a radius of close to thirty-five inches. Cathy Trumbull's hand only has a radius of twenty-four inches. Plus look at the way his body fell. It's almost as if his attacker lifted him off the ground as he killed him. Nyquist was almost a hundred pounds heavier than Cathy; I doubt she could have picked him up while strangling him."

"You noticed her hand radius when we were with her, Monk?" Disher was impressed.

"It's a blessing and a curse," Adrian told him. "The real strange thing is," his face grew thoughtful, "These wounds look too even for an ordianry hand, almost as if something mechanical caused his death."

"Maybe the killer put his throat in a vise and crushed it," Disher proposed.

"A vise, Randy?" Colton raised his eyebrows at his former associate.

"A big vise," Disher said. Seeing the doubtful expressions from both Colton and Adrian, he added, "A really, really, really big vise."

Colton shook his head. "Some thing's never change," he confided in Adrian, "Your friend here once suggested a runaway elephant killed a hit and run victim on Spring Garden Street. That's how I know those TV guys are doing an accurate job on him, whenever they have him make some outlandish suggestion. "But yeah, now that you point that out, Monk, that is rather strange now that I look at it. Won't be enough to clear, Cathy, though, not with her prints all over the place. I don't suppose you've got an answer for that, do you?"

"No, not yet," Adrian stared at the photo of Nyquist again, "But she's definitely not the guy."


"...justice was handed down today to the so-called Magic Kingdom Killer," the WTXF Ten O'Clock News achor was reporting later that evening, "Former Walt Disney Company COO Roger Chalmers was sentenced by a California court to life without parole for two murders committed to cover up his embezzling actions. Chalmers's attorneys have stated they will appeal the verdict. Chalmers was already convicted on two counts of fraud and embezzling and received a ten year sentence for those crimes. In another high profile case, damaging testimony was read in the trial of a former San Francisco financial mogul. Film director Karen Stottlemeyer today told another California court that she personally saw Nicolas Hallett of the former Schmidt and Hallett Financial House murder his partner Arthur Schmidt, and that Hallett attempted to blackmail her to keep it covered up."

"Well, I think we did good," Adrian confided to Trudy's picture as he reclined on his bed back at the hotel. It always was good to see the murderers he caught face justice for their actions. (life in prison was always his preferred sentence for them; it wouldn't be good, he felt, to essentially do the same things to them that they did to their victims. Trudy had shared this sentiment, writing several columns during her brief career arguing against the death penalty) "Now if I could only make progress in other cases..."

He stroked her photo lovingly. Colton had been kind enough to make unofficial copies of Cathy's case for his benefit now that the detective had convinced him there was more to it than met the eye. He had examined it for several hours, but had not been able to find anything new yet.

In the meantime, he and his party had explored the area around the hotel once he and Disher had gotten back--except for Ambrose, who, much to his father's disappointment, had made it clear he had little plans for leaving his hotel room for the rest of the trip (fortunately, the instruction manual writer had discussed this with the rest of the group before they'd left for Philadelphia, and an agreement had been reached wherein he would still get to see the sights of the city. Julie had given him one of her spare cell phones, which had one of those cameras inside, and would set her regular one to camera mode as well so that Ambrose could see whatever she was capturing). They had all had dinner in the hotel's lounge--although Adrian hadn't been able to stay till the end of the meal, for the manager had tossed him out after the detective had lodged too many complaints about how out of order the restaurant was. While he had been there, though, he'd learned that Sharona had transferred out of New York City to a hospital in Bloomfield and was still managing to make essentially the same amount of money there as in the city. She also didn't mind being a minor celebrity now, for many of her co-workers had started watching the show as well.

Now they were all settling in for the first night in what was shaping up to be a very enjoyable week. Adrian had taken care to memorize where all the fire escapes in the building were, and what the quickest ways out in case of an emergency would be. He'd also made specific arrangements with the hotel's santiation staff (of which they hadn't been completely receptive) on the exact details of how he wanted his room cleaned while he was out seeing the sights. It had taken five pieces of paper for them to carefully note every little detail of this plan. But as they seemed to be professionals, Adrian wasn't too concerned.

There abruptly came a loud blast of music from down the hall. Adrian's hands went over his ears. It had to have been Hinkley's students; he'd definitely noticed that cases containing musical instruments had been among their luggage. He rose to his feet and hustled down the hall to their room two doors down from his. "What in God's name are you doing in there!?" he demanded as he pounded on the door.

"Hey, hey, Detective M, you're just in time," Tony led the now puzzled detective into their room, "How'd you like to jam with L.A. Freeway?"

"J-Jam? Well, as long as we put it back in the jars afterwards, I guess..."

"Hey Rodriguez, let him have your guitar," Tony instructed his classmate.

"First, first let me go get a few things," Adrian scurried back to his room to get as many wipes as he could. Once he returned, he gave what was to be his guitar a thorough scrubbing down. "You'll thank me later," he told the amazed Rodriguez, "So, what, what are we playing?"

"It's a newer one we just came up with," Rhonda told him, "We're going to be playing it in the lounge tomorrow night. Just start in C and follow along."

"I've, I've got a better idea," Adrian proposed, "Why don't we start in A and go from there?"

"Because this song was written to start in C, man, that's why," Cyler pointed out.

"But starting in A makes a lot more sense," the detective said, "Anyone with a taste of music can tell...one minute."

He walked over to the portable speakers and twisted the dials until there were all at 50. "There, all nice and even in the middle," he proclaimed, "So let's get this show going."

Tony gave him a strange look. "OK guys, one and two and three, take it," he told the band. Adrian plucked away at the guitar lightly--no reason taking chances in case he missed any germs on the strings--and launched into a song that was surprisingly less strident than he'd intially expected. Even so, Hinkley came in through the door within a minute. "Come on you guys, could you please keep it down?" he asked them, "Kevin's trying to sleep, and the manager just called up. And are you bothering Mr. Monk?"

"No we ain't botherin' him, Mr. H, he came in on his own," Tony protested, "Didn't ya, Detective M?"

"Uh, sort of, we're, we're just, just jamming," Adrian proclaimed, "But I don't think anyone brought the peanut butter."

"All right, I hate to break up the fun, but I suggest it's time to hit the sack, because we've got a very busy day tomorrow," Hinkley told his students to groans, "I'd like to be at Independence Hall by ten at the latest. Don't complain, you're going to like it, trust me."

"And remember, starting in A works much better," Adrian told them as he exited into the hall. "Nice, nice kids," he told te teacher, "A little wild, but decent."

"Sometimes it seems I'm the only one who cares about them," Hinkley mused, "They need something in their lives to get them interested in things, and this trip seemed like a good idea. By the way, if your and your group would like to join us on the tour, you're more than welcome to."

"Actually, Mr. Hinkley..."

"You can call me Ralph, actually."

"Well, Ralph, I was hoping to go to Independence Hall anyway, I'd like to meet someone there," Adrian told him. Cathy's ex-husband was his top suspect in Bert Nyquist's murder until he saw stronger evidence otherwise. "So you'll probably see me anyway. Not my brother, though; he's determined not to leave his hotel room; too much going outside can be hazardous to his health, it seems."

"Yes, "I was wondering why he had put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door so early," Ralph explained, "Anyway, I also met Natalie in the hotel coffee shop earlier while you were away, once she got up from her nap. When did you hire her?"

"It was about three years ago or so," Adrian related to the teacher all the relevant events in his life since the current point in the TV series. Ralph nodded softly at various points. "Well, you can't really be too upset," he stated at the end, "Everyone should be free to follow their own choices in life, Sharona included. But at least she's doing good, now that Benjy's written the show. When did you know he had it in mind?"

"Oh, he always wanted to be a writer," Adrian told him, "Then about two Christmases ago when he and his mother came back for the holidays, he'd written a film script about me. When I caught the Magic Kingdom Killer, I convinced Disney to buy it, and to make a long story short, it evolved into the series you watch every Friday. I'm as proud of him as Sharona is."

"As well you should be," Ralph smiled, "It is very well-written; better than most shows out there today, I think. And let me say, I hope you do end up finding whoever killed your wife. It's easy to imagine the horrible pain you must live in without her."

"It's like every little bit of happiness got sucked out of the world," Adrian admitted with a dismal expression, "A good part of me died with her. You should never have to go through it with your wife."

"I pray every day nothing like that ever happens to Pam," Ralph told him, "There have been a few close calls, but luckily nothing ever..."

It was then that the sound of the television from Adrian's room went unexpectedly up behind them. "...this late breaking bulletin, Ralph's star admirers would like to see him again soon," the anchor could be heard saying. Adrian jerked around. "Huh?" he exclaimed, rushing back into the room, "That's very strange, I thought I heard..."

"Yes, you heard correctly," the anchor said, "Ralph's heavenly friends would like to see him on the roof in five minutes. In other news, city officials are questioning the mayor's proposed zoning plan, saying it..."

The volume on the set went back to normal. Adrian stared at Ralph. "What was that all about?" he asked increduously.

"Um, I would have no idea," Ralph shrugged quickly, "Probably just some interference with the signal or something. Um, listen, it's been nice talking with you, I'd better head off to bed myself, so good night."

There was definitely something evasive in his expression, Adrian thought. After Ralph had run out the door, the detective pushed the door almost all the way closed and stuck his ear to the crack. "...message from them," he could make out Ralph saying from up the hall, "They want to meet us."

"And they gave you that message in Monk's room?" it was Pam, "Wasn't that a bit risky on their part?"

"Maybe they found Ralph had his turned off and decided they'd be better off using the nearest available TV," Maxwell argued, "Did they say the roof, Ralph?"

"In five minutes," teacher said.

"All right; Counselor, get the suit ready; Ralph, let's go see what the green guys want this time," the FBI agent said. Adrian frowned deeply. Green guys? Something was definitely going on here. Could it somehow be related to Cathy Trumbull's case, he wondered? Could the clean-cut teacher perhaps be a spy of some sort, or worse?

There was only one way to find out. He waited until he heard footsteps pass by his room, and the door to the stairs being swung open down the hall. Once the door clicked shut, he opened his door, checked to make sure no one else was around (since his party had already retired for the night, their doors were shut tight), then made a beeline for the stairs himself. He followed the footsteps up the stairs to the very top of hotel (making sure he stayed against the railing on the wall and didn't look at the inner railing; the view down the gap in the middle of the stairwell at more than two stories was vertigo-inducing), bursting through the roof door with a loud clatter. "All right, what's going on here?" he called to Ralph and Maxwell, who wheeled in surprise. "You!?" the FBI agent exclaimed.

"You're both up to something, "Adrian advanced toward him, "Would you like to tell me...?"

And then something caught his attention in the sky. At first he thought it was merely the lights from a passing jet. Then he realized it definitely wasn't a jet...in fact it seemed to be about the size of a large blimp. He blinked hard. It was still coming toward them on the roof. "It's not possible," he whispered, "It can't be..."

"Oh yes it most certainly can," Ralph looked awestruck as well. Seconds later, the object settled directly overhead, revealing clearly that it was a humungous glowing spaceship. Adrian's hand went for his wrist. His pulse was still there, sped up significantly but still functioning, so he wasn't dying. But what other explanation could there be for a large extraterrestrial vehicle having descended upon them?

The next thing the detective knew, a bright light shot down from the spaceship's undercarriage, bathing them in a strange light. It made such a whooshing noise that Adrian couldn't hear the scream he was giving at the top of his lungs. And then everything went blank for him.

When he came to, he was lying on his back, staring at a blank ceiling. He jolted upwards and took note that he was on an operating table in a white room. A low humming noise was audible coming from...somewhere. Adrian rubbed his eyes hard. Ordinarily such a sparse and clearly sterilized room would have been a godsend to be in, but now he was panicked beyond belief.

"Oh not again!" came Maxwell's voice from his left. The FBI agent and Ralph were on tables of their own on either side of the detective, looking like they were familiar with whatever was going on.

"May, may I please ask what's going on here!?" Adrian lept to his feet, "If this supposed to be some kind of joke, let me..."

The steel doors to the room abruptly slid open. Adrian's eyes went wide as saucers as he saw see a greenish...creature coming toward them. It looked like some kind of Tiki statue with an anglerfish reel on its head, and it was looking straight at...him. He felt for his pulse again. Still there. He pinched himself several times for good measure. Yes, he was alive, but that was about all he understood. The creature extended it's hand--or what passed for a hand--toward him, prompting Adrian to lean as far back as he could. "I, I, I...here, here, here's...I can't shake...shake..shake," he stammered nervously.

"It's a listening device," Ralph pointed to the round object in the creature's hand, "You have to put it in your ear to understand what they'll be saying."

"In my EAR!!??" Adrian blanched, "Oh no, no, no, I won't, not...do you even know if these things are sanitized!? If he wants to communicate, why doesn't he use hand signals like everyone...what am I even saying, this can't be happening!"

"Let me," Ralph took the device out of the creature's hand and fit it into Adrian's ear before he could continue. Adrian started to take a swipe at it, but his hand stopped in midair as another creature entered the room. This one looked more human--but that was a relative term, since it was definitely as alien as its associate. "Mr. Hinkley, Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Monk, come this way," it said, gesturing out the door.

"Will someone PLEASE explain what's going on here!!??" Adrian found himself shrieking.

"They want to tell us something," the teacher informed him, "But why they would bring you up too, I don't know, they don't usually..."

"Mr. Monk's assistance will be vital to this special assignment as well," the bigger alien said, "We must hurry."

"Oh well," Maxwell shrugged, "might as well get this over with while we're here. Come on, Monk, this won't be too long...I don't think."

Adrian hesitantly followed the two of them out the door. He found himself in what was a large control room, with blinking equipment everywhere. Several monitors filled the wall in the front of the room, and one thing on them stood out to the detective: they were apparently now off the earth itself and sailing toward Mars. He jerked about in place, a severe case of acrophobia kicking in. "What is it?" the larger alien asked him.

"Do you really have to bring us up this high!?" Adrian walked over to the nearest console and flicked several switches with his elbow so they were all in the up position. He regretted this immediately, for this caused the ship to start rocking from side to side. The smaller alien threw the switches back to their regular positions and made irritated chattering noises at him. "What is so wrong with you coming down to meet us on the ground?" the detective continued protesting, "And why couldn't you have made all these dials the same color; it would have been so much easier on the eyes."

"Mr. Monk, this is a serious matter," the larger alien informed him, "Your planet faces imminent danger. The menace seeking to destroy it is more powerful and horrible than you or anyone else can imagine."

"He's got herpes AND ebola?" Adrian gasped.

"What is this menace?" Ralph asked the alien, apparently familiar with him.

"There are others like ourselves," the alien explained, "With purposes less enlightened. Years ago, they too came to this planet and gave a gift to another like you."

"You mean...there's others out there with a suit like this?" the teacher was intrigued.

"Not like that," the alien shook its head, "More powerful, and suited for evil. The time has come for him to serve their purposes. Within five days, he will carry out their plans for your planet."

"That, that won't involve dumping garbage on every major city on the planet?" Adrian raised his hand.

"If the shadows of the future are not changed, this will be your planet's fate," the alien turned toward the central viewscreen on the wall in front of them. His smaller companion flicked several switches. A new image popped up on the screen: that of a vast desert with no signs of life anywhere. Adrian stared intently at the image. Even though the destruction of civilization--if that was what his hosts were supposed to be insinuating--would likely mean the end of germs and disorganization on Earth, the images were still chilling. "Nothing will remain," the larger alien said softly, "Yours is but one in billions among planets; very few garden worlds remain. You must stop this no matter what the cost. Hurry."

The smaller alien through a few more switches. Another blinding light flashed, and the next thing Adrian knew, he was back on the hotel roof, staring at the spaceship as it receded away into the heavens and disappeared from sight. He did one more pulse check: normal. On instinct, he reached for his ear. There was nothing there. Had it all been some bizarre fantasy?

"Ralph!" Pam approached them, snapping the detective out of his funk, "Ralph, what happened this time?"

"Pam, it was terrible," the teacher explained grimly, "There's someone else out there with another suit; he's going to destroy the world if we don't do something."

"Counselor, give him the jammies," Maxwell ordered, "We've got to get cracking now if we want to bring this loser down, whoever he is."

Pam handed something to Ralph. Adrian recognized it as the red object he'd noticed fall out of the teacher's suticase earlier. "You know, Bill, why now?" Ralph started griping as he walked behind a generator, "Why choose now when if he's had the suit for so long?"

"Who knows, Ralph, maybe these other green guys he's working for were off destroying some other world; I don't know," Maxwell shrugged. Adrian grimaced as he heard the sound of a zipper being undone behind the generator. He stared hard at the ground; the last thing he wanted to do was be on the roof with a naked man, but his legs had somehow lost the ability to move.

"Well I'll tell you one thing, it's not the least bit fair," Ralph continued complaining. Apparenlt both he and his associates had forgotten Adrian's presence with them. "I'll tell you both right now, even with this happening, I am NOT missing any time with Kevin this time, so just so you know, Bill, except under the extremest of cases, I'll only do the work after ten o'clock. Well, here goes nothing."

Adrian dared to look up from the ground, and saw that Ralph was now clothed in a ridiculous superhero-type outfit with a long cape and insignia on the chest. His eyes went even wider, however, when Ralph ran forward and took off FLYING into the air, spinning head over heels and screaming as he went. The detective did one more pulse check; it was still going strong, so SOMETHING had to be wrong with him this time. Flying men and aliens?

The whole thing had become too much to bear, and he had only one thought in mind on how to handle it. He turned and barreled back down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him until he found himself in front of the door to the room Dr. Kroger and his father were sharing. He began pounding hard on the door. "DR. KROOOGERRRR!" he shrieked loud enough to wake the whole hotel.