She knew what was happening, knew that not even her mother could help her now. She screamed pleadingly at Father Aranjez, but even he was forced to turn from the Eye of God as it penetrated directly to the heart of her evil, jealous feelings. It was time for her to pay for what she’d been thinking, time for her to burn, not even waiting for her to grow up and die, burning her now where she stood.…

She screamed.

There were so many people in the bar and so much ambient noise from the crowd and blaring televisions that only those patrons in her immediate vicinity took any notice of the outburst. Seeing that she was standing and in control of herself, they quickly stopped paying attention.

One who did notice her backing wide-eyed away from the doll shape was Ross Ed. He’s started forward as soon as he’d noticed her behind the bar. Having touched Jed, she’d quickly drawn her hand back as if she’d been singed.

“Hey there, miss,” he called out as he negotiated a path between bar and counter, “what are you doing? You’re not allowed back here.”

She gripped her right wrist in her left hand, the nails digging into the fine skin. “I … I think I burned myself.” When she held up her hand Ross saw that it was red but not swollen. Whatever had happened to her wasn’t bad enough to raise blisters.

Her eyes were very wide, as if she’d seen a ghost. Or something worse. His gaze shifted to Jed, who sat propped in innocent immobility exactly as Ross Ed had left him. The woman was beautiful, though Ross didn’t approve of her attire, a style well known to regular patrons of bars and honky-tonks as Southwestern slut.

Bartenders were not paid to render moral judgments. “We’ll put some ice on it,” he told her, “but you have to move. Employees only allowed behind the bar.”

She bumped up against the drop leaf. Turning, she needed three tries to lift it, letting it slam roughly shut behind her. Before he could call out to her a second time, she was gone, shoving her way through the crowd, a vanishing flicker of silver-and-gray-encased flesh. Her black hair streamed out behind her in sudden and inexplicable disarray.

What had happened? He queried the two men seated nearby.

“Hey, man, I didn’t see nothin’,” one replied. “Didn’t pay no attention when she went behind the bar. I thought she belonged back there. Thought she was one of the waitresses.”

“None of the waitresses here that pretty.” His companion peered up at Ross Ed. “Me, I was watching the game, man. Turned around when she screamed, though. She looked okay, so I didn’t think nothin’ of it.”

“You didn’t see her touch anything?”

“No, man.” The first speaker snubbed out his cigarette. “She just squealed and grabbed her hand. You got an espresso machine or something back there? Hot plate?”

“Not at this end of the bar,” Ross Ed replied.

“Go figure.” The two men returned their attention to the crowd and the game.

Ross considered for a moment before turning to confront his silent companion. Deliberately, he reached out and ran his fingers down the front of the faceplate, feeling of the slightly roughened but perfectly transparent surface. His hand continued down the keellike chest ridge to grasp the middle arm. Faceplate and fabric were pleasantly mild to the touch. Room temperature.

“Hey, big guy,” one of the two men was saying, “you ever play any ball?”

“High school.” Ross Ed looked back over a shoulder. “Couldn’t get out of it. The coaches nagged me unmercifully.”

“Yeah, I bet.” The man sipped at his drink. “You any good?”

“Not really interested. Kind of slow; did okay, I guess.”

“Right.” The man gestured at his friend’s glass. “Couple of fresh ones, okay?”

“Coming up.” Moving down the bar, he drew two clean glasses and set them beneath the tap, filling each one carefully so as to minimize the head. Placing them before the disinterested pair, he collected his tip and returned his attention to his enigmatic companion.

“I don’t know what you’re doing or how you’re doing it,” he found himself muttering tersely to the alien figure. “I know you’re dead, but if it’s just the suit that’s doing these things, how come it only affects people once?”

As expected, there was no reply. What did others see when they made contact with Jed? First the maid, then this woman. Had there been more? He couldn’t keep an eye on Jed all the time. Not would it be a good idea to question everyone in the alien’s vicinity. Draw too much attention to himself.

A blustery, red-faced businessman reached out to intercept him as he turned away. With his other hand the man pointed, none too steadily, in Jed’s direction.

“Hey, bartender! What is that thing, anyway?”

“Ain’t you heard?” volunteered a nearby regular, a machinist at one of the many manufacturing plants that encircled the airport. “It’s a dead alien. Name’s Jed.” He winked at the big man behind the bar. “Ain’t that right, Ross Ed?”

“That’s right.” The bartender shook free and resumed his work.

“That a fact?” The traveler sat back on his stool. “Look’s like a damn ventriloquist’s dummy to me.” Hefting his beer, he shoved the half-full glass in Ross Ed’s direction. “Considering how popular that futuristic stuff is these days, I think that’s a helluva good idea. You can’t get away from it. It’s all over the TV and the theaters. Bookstores are full of that science-fiction crap! Perfect idea for a ventriloquist, perfect.”

The regular blinked and turned back toward the bar. “Yea-h-h-h. Hey, Ross Ed, how come you never mentioned that before?”

Ross thought fast. Unexpectedly, the half-drunk visitor had inadvertently supplied an all-in-one disguise and rationale for Jed’s existence.

“Actually, I’m the dummy and he’s the smart one. You know; the brilliant alien from outer space come here to save our civilization? ’Cept he’s dead, of course.”

Laughter rippled along the bar front as this explanation made the rounds among the knowledgeable.

“Okay,” shouted someone farther down the line, “so make him talk, why don’t you?”

“I’m not the talker. Jed is.” Somewhat to his surprise, Ross Ed found himself entering into the spirit of the moment. He resurrected a mild falsetto he’d once employed on the occasion of a school play. It seemed to please those in attendance. He tried to throw his words toward Jed the way he thought a real ventriloquist might do it.

“I have come,” he announced in the artificially high-pitched voice, “to save the Earth from the greatest menace it has ever faced!”

“The president!” someone barked boisterously.

“Naw, just the Democrats,” his companion insisted. The laughter turned raucous.

Not only was he surprised at the extent of the response to his modest effort, Ross Ed found that he was enjoying it. As he stood there contemplating his initial unplanned excursion into show business, others standing near the bar urged him on.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah! What’s the threat?”

“It comes,” Ross Ed found himself saying, “from those who would destroy America’s saviors.”

“The Republicans! Man, I told you!”

“Aw, shut up!” advised a listener of dissimilar political persuasion.

Other suggestions to fill the void came fast and furious. They ranged from the Sierra Club to Rush Limbaugh.

“You are all wrong,” Ross Ed found himself explaining as he served up a Scotch to an appreciative middle-aged woman in severe business dress. ‘The danger is to that great bastion’—Bastion? a part of him thought. Where had he encountered a word like that—“of American culture, the Dallas Coyboys!”

Whoops and roars of amusement vibrated the crowd, punctuated by a few choice remarks from a trio of vociferous supporters of the San Francisco 49ers. This led to the usual loud arguments over the merits of respective home teams.

“It is the Dallas Cowboys who are the true and secret masters of the universe.” While declaiming in his high alien voice, Ross Ed effortlessly drew forth beers both draft and bottled. The tips were piling up, and not all in recompense for supplied laughs. Several patrons were showing their appreciation for his deadpan performance.

“My kids think it’s the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers.” Halfway down the bar, a construction worker hunkered low over his brew.