"They say that if you wish on a falling star, your wish will come true."

Naturally, Bryan didn't believe in that stuff, especially since reality packed such a punch for a 15-year-old. Still, he always wished that after running away from Juvenile Hall, he'd never have to go back. But, the scenario played out the same way every time. They'll find him and take him back.

Maybe they wouldn't zero in on him so fast this time. He made it to the Big Bend Texas State Park with its trees, mountains, lakes, and streams. The authorities would have to wait until morning to continue their search for him.

The shooting star disappeared among the tops of the trees. From its general direction, Bryan heard sizzling and gurgling noises. Being from the city, he didn't know if they belonged or not.

The sounds pressed closer with a crackling and burping. A blue flash and red sparks warned of a silver streak dashing through the woods. Bryan followed it, first with his eyes, and then on foot. An object that bore through the forest like a garden hoe, left behind a silky dust that glittered gold.

When it finally came to an abrupt stop, Bryan gaped at what looked like an upside down cup and saucer. With movement and mumbling coming from the crash site, Bryan decided to edge closer.

"I guess I beeped when I should have bopped." English? thought Bryan. Was this a trick to get him to go back to Juvenile Hall?

The person who picked himself up from the rubble look about 5 years older than Bryan. He was dressed in jeans and a white Tee-shirt, a la James Dean. He yanked on the saucer part of his apparatus, and turned it right side up. Other gadgets that Bryan mistook for debris started rolling around on their own.

"Come on out, Kid. I know you're there. Tell me your name straight off, and help me with my rig."

Bryan came out with his wide-eyed youth. "Bryan. My name is Bryan. How come you speak English?"

"I'm outfitted with a Uni-com. I hear my language and you hear yours. I need to get this thing under wraps before anyone else sees me." Bryan shook himself out of his daze to come to the aid of the visitor. He moved to collect the gears and pyramids and buttons that were strewn all over the grass and in the trees.

"What is this stuff?"

"My navigation counsel. It's rigged to shatter on impact so none of the components suffer severe concussion. Just set them inside the cup. They'll meld together after a while."

When they were finished, Bryan asked, "Who are you?"

"I heard you were a curious lot. The Earth name I made up for myself is Ragalinovskioni. But you can call me Rags."

"Where are you from?"

"No where, I'm a Drifter. It's a genetic thing. My parents were Drifters, and their parents before them. I was born on the S. S. Drifter Kaz, my mom's from the S.S. Drifter Bron, my father--." He broke off and looked at Bryan. "You sure you want to hear all this or do you want to get back to asking questions?"

"Why are you here?"

"He-heee! Well, that's a little embarrassing. It's a good thing the inhabitants on this planet wear fiber layers over their carbon layers or you'd be seeing some color bumps that'd send you home to mama. Anyway--. What was the question?"

"Why are you here?"

"I did what no Drifter should do at the helm of his saucer. I got side-tracked while my fuel gauge was low on paper."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Never mind. You're too young. Before I knew it, I was out of fuel. Now I need paper."

"Paper?"

"Yeah." Rags went to the back of his vehicle to what resembled the handle of a tea cup and pulled it down from the top. "Yeah, this baby runs on anything that the gauge is set on. See? I'm almost out."

Bryan looked. All he saw emitting from the hole was moonglow.

"So I orbited this joint for about 12 of your hours to do a bit of reconnaissance. I wasn't about to jump from the saucer into the frying pan." He chuckled to himself.

"So, you've got a plan for getting the paper you need?"

"Of course. Can I take just a second to ask a question? It won't be a long one. I know you people don't care for questions as much as you like asking them, but I gotta know."

"Know what?"

"You even answer with a question. That's amazing. According to my Info Grid, those your age should be confined within the family circle of a domicile at this time of night. Why aren't you?"

"I ran away."

"A Drifter! That was an exclamation not a question. Can you believe my luck? That's rhetorical, you don't have to answer those kind, right? Oh, there I go again. Sorry. Proceed with your questions."

"How are you going to get your paper?"

"I figure to hang out on this planet for a while, do some sight-seeing, and stuff. I noticed that this section of the globe pays in paper for services rendered. All I have to do is earn some of it."

"How?"

"By answering some of the questions that have never been answered in this here States United."

"What questions?"

"Well, the assassinations for one thing. Not one was solved correctly. In fact, a number of accidents were really assassinations."

"How do you know?"

Rags lowered his voice. "This planet has been under video surveillance since the Big Flood. Just look up there. That bright star above that tallest tree is one of them. The Drifters did that."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, technology's my passion."

"Can I help you?"

"I guess you could, since you're a Drifter, too. But I have got to stop and record this." Directing his face toward the moon, Rags seized sections of his hair with his thumb and forefinger. With each pull, a static noise like a TV unplugged from Cable came from his mouth. When he finished, he shook his head vigorously. "It always tickles when I do that."

"What did you report?" "I need to report my findings to other Drifters. It's the code among us. You see, up until now, we didn't know to what extent your kind likes to ask questions. I just reported that you talk in questions. Drifters have to know these things, you know."

"You think we talk in questions?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'm asking questions 'cause I've never seen you before. Naturally, I wonder who you are, and why you're here, and where you come from."

"So your questions come from a large hill of curiosity."

"Where else would they come from?"

"Another question. My report stands. Now, you need to--. What is that?" Bryan followed his attention to the placid lake about 100 yards out.

"What do you think it is?"

"Water."

"It's water."

Rags' eyes grew lidless, his breathing deep. "You mean like as in... like... wet?"

"Now who's asking all the questions?"

"Excuse me." Suddenly, Rags leaped into the air and down into the water leaving only a flash of blue residue behind. Bryan began to worry about him after the passage of 5... 10 minutes. Then, with a whosh, Rags zoomed out of the water and landed softly in front of Bryan. He shook off like a St. Bernard. The action left him completely dry, and Bryan wet.

"What's so special about a lake?"

"First things first. I inquire to obtain information for my Info Grid. You talk in questions. There is a difference. Now, 'what's so special about a lake?'. It's full of water. Look!" He searched the ground until he found a rock that fit into his hand. "This is what Drifters have to do to get water for drinking, bathing, and fishing."

With one hand he squeezed the rock until a precious stream flowed from it to his mouth. "Ahh, that was good." He tossed the rock back to the ground. "You try to get that much water without the rock going to pieces in your hand. My parents taught me all the survival lessons of a Drifter, but I've perfected that one during my travels. But enough about me. We need to start for the newspaper offices I've picked out. It's their job to ask questions, and they get paid for it. You do well to take a lesson in that, Bryan m'lad." He grabbed Bryan by the back of his neck. "Let's go."

Bryan suddenly found himself skimming the tree tops. Surprised, he clutched Rags' arm with both hands, and turned to wrap his legs around Rags' legs.

"A... Bryan-boy. Uhm. You're restricting my movement here. I can't keep us at this attitude if you insist on--. Oh, too late."

The two of them landed on top of a barn with a loud thud. Lights came on in the nearby farm house. A man rushed out of his front door in a dressing gown and shotgun.

"Who goes there?"

Rags rallied. "Oops, another question. We don't have time to answer this one, especially since I've noticed that the answers only breed more questions." He reached for Bryan's neck again, leaped into the air, and took him high above the rooftops of the nearby town.

"Could you warn a person when you do that?"

"You've never been flying before, this I can see. Though you've got everything it takes. Just remember, whenever I grab your neck, you associate that with flying."

"Where are we going?"

"I told you. To the newspaper office. Bryan, pay attention."

"Which one?"

"San Antonio Express."

"How long will it take us?"

"Five of your minutes."

"Who are you going to talk to?"

"My Info Grid contacted their computer to let them know I was on my way."

"What did you... it say?"

"That they are supposed to have someone meet me out front if they wanted to know about the most recent airplane crash off Cape Cod and where Hitler is hiding."

"You know all that?"

"Yes. There's the building." They landed in front of the door. "It's suppose to be open." Rags pulled on the handle. "Maybe they didn't get my message. Their computer was a little stand-offish." He shrugged and grabbed Bryan's neck.

"Where to now?"

"To the Houston Chronicle. I told them I'd be dropping by to explain Amelia Earhart's disappearance in the Bermuda Triangle, and how the sinking of the Titanic was really the start of World War I."

"It was?"

"Here it is."

"Already?"

Rags lightly touched down on the sidewalk, and again tried the door. "Locked." He jiggled the door, making quite a bit of racket. "I don't understand. There are lights on in the building. Why isn't anyone here to meet me? You'll have to explain your people to me."

"Maybe they think it's just a prank."

"Prank?" Just then, pictures starting flashing in his eyes like a Las Vegas slot machine. Then, the lids lowered over the pictures. "Prank: a mischievous trick. No, it's not a prank. Let me in!"

"Hey, you kids, what are you doing there?"

Rags latched onto Bryan's neck and did a vertical zoom into the air. "Sorry, kid. I didn't like the sound of that question. Next stop."

"Where's that?"

"The Milwaukee Journal."

"Won't that take kinda long to get there?"

"Just 15 minutes."

"Well, in that 15 minutes can I tell you something?"

"Sure, go 'head on."

"Remember the lake you saw back at the park and your reaction to it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you do that to every lake?"

"What?! I have a reputation now?"

"Rages, Milwaukee is a port. It's situated on the shores of Lake Michigan, and it's a zillion times bigger."

"Interesting," he said, quietly. The hand on Bryan's neck began to tremble.

"All I ask is that you put me down first. There it is, Rags. Rags? Rags, stop!"

Rags' eyes became lidless, and he plunged, taking Bryan with him. Bryan screamed underwater as his guide zipped and zapped through Lake Michigan. It seemed like a long time, but Bryan found himself supplied with all the oxygen he needed. Just as he started to enjoy the swim, Rags headed for land. He shook off and by extension, so did Bryan.

"How could I stay under the water so long, Rags?"

"You breath oxygen. By picking up speed, your body automatically sucks the oxygen out of the water." Then, he reached for a hand-sized rock, held it above his mouth, and crushed the water out of it. "Of course, You can't get enough speed by yourself in the condition you're in. And we can't do it too long, 'cause we gotta leave some oxygen for the fish. Then there's always the possibility of oxygen poisoning... But let's get back to the matter at hand. The Milwaukee Journal."

"What did you tell them?"

Rags answered Bryan once they were settled in the air. "I told them that if they wanted to know the truth about the Roswell Landings and where the Lindberg baby grew up, that someone was to meet me outside the building."

But when they landed in front of the building, desertion coated the sidewalk. They peered inside and saw no one.

"Do you want me to pick the lock, Rags?" Bryan took a packet out of his pocket.

"Pick? Pick... a lock." His eyes did the Las Vegas Slot Machine thing again. "I've always had trouble with my P's. Pick... a lock. Why, that's..." He glanced at the building, then at Bryan. "This is not your building. And you will not break your own laws just to accommodate me, young man."

"Yes, sir."

Rags sighed. "No, I gave them clear instructions. They obviously don't want to pay for what I have to say."

"How much did you ask for?"

"A million rallod-s."

"How much is a rallod in U. S.?

"I can't remember. Rallod is universal. Everyone should know what--. Never heard of it, though, huh!"

"No, could it be that they didn't understand your message?"

Rags checked the stars. "Probably not. But the stars will be disappearing soon. So we don't have time for any more messages. Only one more thing to try." He grabbed Bryan's neck and headed east above the buildings of Milwaukee. Gallantly, he resisted lake lure.

"Where to now?"

"Well, Kid. We can't operate in the daylight hours. Millenniums of Drifter experience forbids this practice. We've only got time for one more stop. Let's go to the top."

"Where is that?"

"Washington White House."

"What will you tell them?"

"That your leader's unemployment package was already tried on Xara 6, and it failed."

"There are a few things you should know before we get there. Would like to here them?"

"I bet you want to tell me that there's a lake there, too. That's fine. As long as I'm warned, I can resist."

"Also Washington's air space is restricted."

Suddenly, a siren wailed and beams of light searched. "Halt. You are in direct violation of this air space. Set your vehicle down, and show yourselves with your hands up."

Rags put his hands above his head.

"Rags, don't let go of me."

"If you do not land your vehicle, we will be authorized to shoot you down."

"Shoot me--!"

"Us...." Bryan wailed.

"--Us down!? Does that mean--?"

Whizz. Zing.

"Bryan, they are tossing brass projectiles at high velocity. Do they know the lethality of such things?"

Ping.

"Yes."

"Forget this!" He zipped out of Washington so fast that only a flash of blue residue hovered in its air space.

Within two travel seconds, they touched ground next to the space saucer. Rags rounded his vehicle, turned the rudder-cuphandle to its horizontal position, and flicked a switch. A whir blended with the night noise of frogs and crickets.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting out of here. You live in a world of crazy people. Look at me, I'm drooling." He jumped on the saucer, grabbed a couple of small hooks on the opposite side of the handle. The vehicle moved toward a small grove of trees. The handle sawed through the trunks and fed the wood into the hole of moonglow. "I didn't want to do this, take your nation's resource, I mean. And trees are a bit unrefined, but, after all, this is an emergency. They'll be here in a minute, Kid. Got any last words?"

"What are you doing?"

"Asking questions to the last. Sorry to leave you like this, I love this place of Many Waters. But I love life more. They'll turn me into an Morph Experiment if I stay. You could try hiding in the lake."

When the vehicle fed itself on 6 trees, it quieted to a whir. Rags jumped off the saucer to turn the handle back to its vertical position. Then, he leaped into his cup. "See ya." The clear bubble started to rise and cover the cup.

"Wait." Bryan called to Rags. "Can I come with you?" As Rags hesitated, Bryan glanced back at the long shafts of light sifting through the forest. "Please, Rags. There's nothing for me here."

Rags smiled. "It'll do me good to have some company on my long journeys. Yeah, come aboard. The bubble closed. Rags clinked the counsel, and they headed for the stars. "This will be a first... We'll call ourselves The Drifters. Everyone will know it's you and me. Yee..haa."

Anyone catching sight of their departure would have sworn they saw a shooting star... ascend!