Some moments are golden, is what I'm saying, and what Noah had just pulled off was one of those, somebody playing above himself. It made me feel awed and happy and grateful. Callahan's Place had done me proud, serving up some magic for me just as I brought Mary in the door to meet it. After the inevitable storm of gla.s.ses bad shattered in the fireplace, I joined the throng of people who wanted to buy Noah and Long-Drink a drink. We were all disappointed, as Callahan had caught the act and announced that the boys' tab was covered for the night-but I was mildly annoyed to notice that Mary too bad offered the pair a drink ... from a flask. She had insisted on coming down here, putting off our getting to know each other (other than in the biblical sense, I mean), because she wanted a drink-which she'd had with her. We could have sat up there on the roof and killed the flask, talked for hours before coming downstairs ...

Hush, I told myself sensibly. s.e.xual intercourse vests no property rights. And how could I resent any combination of circ.u.mstances which had allowed me to witness the triumph of Noah and the McGonnigle? All around the room, people whose attention had been elsewhere were getting the tale secondhand and kicking themselves. Let it go, Jake- "That was special," Mary told me, grinning and taking my hand.

"Yes, indeed. Noah claims he's working up a routine with live chainsaws, and now I think I believe him. What'll you have?"

She sniffed the air. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Jamaican Blue Mountain. Mike has friends in Tokyo. And, antic.i.p.ating your next question, he also has Old Bushmill's, distilled in Ireland, and fresh whipped cream, and he knows how. Come on."

Callahan was working up a sweat behind the bar when we got there, but he stopped short as he came past us with twelve drafts in his big hands and said to Mary, gesturing in my direction, "Mary, if your tastes are as simple as this, you might be interested in dating me sometime."

"What can I do?" she said. "He's got the negatives. But thanks."

Callahan wrinkled his big broken nose and grimaced.

"d.a.m.n. Jake, what'll you charge me for a print?"

"Sorry. The rights are tied up. Mike, you sure picked a good staircase-putter-inner. You do know where that thing came from?"

"Sure do," Callahan said. "I made a point of asking Sally for it when I heard she was closing. Yeah, Mary does good work. What'll you folks have?'

"G.o.d's Blessing on us both, Mike," I told him. He nodded and went off with his dozen overdue beers.

Mary was smiling broadly. "I like this place, Jake."

"I already knew you had good taste. Pun intended."

"Ouch. You did warn me."

"Around here we don't even wait for straightlines."

"Well," she said, absolutely pokerfaced, "the shortest distance between two puns is a straightline," and helped herself to some peanuts from the free lunch.

I felt like I had the time I was coming on just a little to a stranger about what a hot guitarist I was, and discovered too late that I was talking to Mr. Amos Garrett. (Remember the demonic guitar break in Maria Muldaur's "Midnight At the Oasis"? That Amos Garrett...) "And the success of any pun," I tried to riposte, "is in-"

"-the oy of the beholder," she finished for me.

Hmmm ...

Mike returned with a pair of Irish coffees. "Two G.o.d's Blessings," he announced. "I could swear I still hear rain- but you two are bone-dry, and I don't see a brolly."

"Finn's doing," I explained, and he nodded. "Say, Mike, where do you know Mary from? And how come you never invited her around before?'

"Long story. Excuse me, will you? It's time to get the evening started."

He emptied a gla.s.s that Shorty Steinitz had foolishly left unattended and banged it on the bartop. "All right, folks. Tall Tales Night is now in session. Who's first?'

Ralph Von Wau Wau was pushed forward by the crowd. "I do have a mildly interesting story for you all," he said, and I glanced at Mary to see how she would take it. I mean, I suppose it's a subjective thing, but I find a talking dog to be more intrinsically startling than a seven-foot flying cyborg. But she didn't blink. Well, I had warned her.

In that charming German accent of his (he is a Shepherd), Ralph told a fairly complex story about a demonically possessed lady of his acquaintance whom he had exorcised after even a bishop had failed; the yarn built inexorably, to the line, "Possession is nine points of the paw," and produced some very canine howls of agony from the innocent bystanders.

Which of course only inspired Doc Webster. "d.a.m.ned if I'll be outpunned by a genuine son of a b.i.t.c.h," he boomed, and folks made way grinning for him as he stepped forward. Physically the Doc resembles a Sumo wrestler gone to fat. He is the All-time Punday Night Champion and probably always will be; only Long-Drink and I still cherish a hope of supplanting him anymore.

"As many of you know," the Doc began, "I just got back from visiting Juan Oitiz, an obstetrician friend of mine in Los Angeles. He was nominally on vacation, but one day there was an emergency delivery he just had to attend, so he deputized his brother-in-law Obie Stihl-honest to G.o.d, that's his name, I'd never make up a name like that-deputized Obie to show me around town. We went to Disneyland. Obie turned out to be a dedicated Star Wars freak, with a sense of humor even more depraved than my own- we pa.s.sed by three sailors on the way in, for instance, and when he noticed they were all Chief Petty Officers, he made sure to point out the 'Three C.P.O.s' (sounds of gagging and dismay from the audience). "So he took me to Adventureland, where you go on a Jungle Boat Ride. Robot hippos come up out of the water and spit at you and so forth." ("Maybe they were relatives of yours," Long-Drink murmured, and Callahan shushed him.) "But the worst part was the d.a.m.ned boat captain. Through the whole voyage he kept up a running monologue that had shin splints: bad jokes, worse puns, mother-in-law jokes even. I was in severe pain; fella thought he was a real hot dog. But the wurst was yet to come." (Gasps.) "As we got back to the wharf, just as I was stepping off the boat, Obie leaned over and whispered in my ear, 'Now you're getting to see the dock side of the farce.'"

A roar of collective anguish went up, and gla.s.ses began to fly toward the hearth. "Rest of us might as well fold up," Tommy Janssen said. "That's a winner."

"Strictly speaking," Callahan said with some reluctance, "I'm afraid it ain't. That story'd probably take the honors if this was Punday Night-but I don't really see it as a Tall Tale."

"He's right," Long-Drink said. "It's nice if the Tall Tale ends with a crime like that, but the Tale itself has to have fantastic elements to it. Sorry, Doc: syntax error."

The Doc frowned, but what could he say? They were right. And then divine fire touched me, as it had Noah a while earlier.

I wanted to impress my new love, and I wanted to help Doc Webster, and it just slipped out before I knew I was going to speak: "I'm surprised at you boys. The fantastic element in that story is staring you all right in the face."

Even the Doc looked puzzled. "How's that, Jake?" Callahan asked.

"Well, how many of you have ever toured Disneyland, or anyplace else, with a fictional character?"

The Doc was the only one who saw it coming; his frown left.

"Doc told you who his guide was: O.B. Juan's kin, Obie."

A frozen silence. Group catatonic shock. And then Ralph began to howl, and was joined by the rest. Every gla.s.s in the room, full or empty, began a journey whose terminus was the fireplace; Eddie tried to play the Star Wars theme but was laughing so hard he couldn't get his hands to agree on a key; Callahan reached threateningly for a seltzer bottle; Doc Webster shook my hand respectfully.

I glanced around for Mary to see if she was suitably impressed, and found her staring across the room. I followed her gaze, realized she was staring at Finn-and realized that Finn was in some kind of trouble.

He was sitting bolt upright in his chair, which he hardly ever does, being so tall, and he was paying no attention to the proceedings around him, and tears were running down his face. The last time I'd seen tears on Finn's face, years before, the planet Earth had been in serious jeopardy ...

He got up and walked stiffly to the bar, and Mary and I moved wordlessly to where we could see what Finn was doing.

He was offering Mike Callahan ten singles. He wanted ten of something. Callahan was looking him over. "How much effect will that have on him?" Mary asked in a whisper.

"About like you or I gulping a double."

"Oh." She relaxed slightly.

"But it is extremely out of character for Finn. The last time I saw him order ten drinks was the first night he came here, years ago."

Many others at or near the bar knew the story; an audience was developing as Callahan reached his decision - "What'll it be, Mickey?"

"Rye, Michael." Just like that night.

"You want to talk about it?" Callahan asked.

"First the toast."

Callahan nodded at that, and set to work. He builds drinks the way Baryshnikov dances. Ten shots of rye soon sat before Finn. One after another the tall alien downed them. That first night he had thrown each individual empty into the fireplace and made the same toast ten times; this time he didn't bother. When he was done, some of the empties weren't even touching-but he picked the last one up and the rest came with it. He walked to the chalk line, faced the hearth. By now he had our attention.

"To my people," he said clearly and tonelessly, and flung the cl.u.s.ter of gla.s.ses. I hadn't known even Finn could throw that hard: there was a violent explosion in the fireplace. It is designed like a parabolic reflector, so that it is nearly impossible to make gla.s.s spray out of it; nonetheless, that bursting should have littered the room with shards. It did not for the same reason that my clothes were dry.

"Jesus, big fella," Long-Drink said. "What can we do?" There was a vigorous rumble of agreement on all sides.

Mickey Finn came back to Earth-an expression perhaps uniquely appropriate here-and looked around at us gravely. His composed features were at odds with the droplets running down them; I had the crazy thought that these were the raindrops that had failed to fall on him, time-shifted somehow to now. But of course it was just that Finn's still not used to hanging human expressions on his pan, and tends to forget in times of crisis: he truly was hurting.

"My Friends," he told us, "if I could think of anything you could do, I would surely tell you. Would surely have to1d you before now."

"Then tell us the problem," Tommy Janssen said. "Maybe we'll come up with something."

Finn tried a smile, a poor job. "I doubt it, Tommy. I have been thinking about this particular problem since I first came here, years ago, and I do not think there is a solution."

Callahan cleared his throat, a sound like a speeding truck being thrown suddenly into reverse. "Mickey, as you know, I don't hold with pryin' in my joint. If you don't feel like telling us your troubles, I'll coldc.o.c.k the first guy that asks a leading question. But I strongly recommend that you unload. Little thing you might not know, having spent so many centuries alone- out in deep s.p.a.ce: sometimes, just naming your burden helps. But it's up to you, pal."

Finn thought it over. "You may be right, Michael. You always have been so far. In fact, you have stated my problem. I am alone. I have been alone for centuries. I shall always be alone, until my death comes."

"The h.e.l.l you say," Long-Drink burst out. "Why, counting the regulars that ain't in tonight, I make it about a hundred and fifty close friends you've got. You can stay at my crib anytime, for as long as you like, and the same goes for the rest of us, ain't that right?"

There were universal shouts of agreement. Finn smiled a pained smile. "Thank you all," he said. "You are true Mends. But your generous offer does not speak to my problem. I did not say I was lonely. I said I was alone."

"Mickey," Josie Bauer began silkily, "I told you once already-"

"Again, thanks," he said, sketching a gallant bow. "But it would, forgive me, hurt more than it would help."

"Hurt how?" she asked, not in the least offended.

"Physically, for one thing, it would hurt you. You recall the Niven story you lent me once, about Superman's s.e.x life?"

"'Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex', sure," she said.

"Yes," Finn said sadly. "o.r.g.a.s.m involves involuntary muscle spasm-and while I am not as strong as Superman, I am much stronger than a Terran man. And you are slightly built."

There was something peculiar about Finn's face. The eyes, that was it. His eyes hadn't looked like that since the first night he'd come here. Hollow, burnt out, empty of all hope. Why hadn't they looked like that up on the roof? Or had I just failed to notice in the dark, distracted by l.u.s.t? "It would hurt me, too," he went on. "Not physically-spiritually. Human females often become angry when I try to explain this, Josie, please do not be offended, but would it not be fair to say that what you were just about to offer me was a transient s.e.xual relationship?"

"Now, hold on a G.o.ddam-"

"I said, 'Please', Josie."

"-uh ... dammit, Finn, I didn't mean a purely s.e.xual-"

"Of course not; I do not believe myself that there is any such thing. No doubt it would have involved friendship and laughter and kindness and several other wonderful qualities for which you Terrans do not yet have words. But is not the key word 'transient'?"

"Well, for crying out-"

"I am wrong? You were proposing marriage?"

Josie shut very quickly up.

"Perhaps your subconscious intent was a liaison of days, or weeks, or even months. But I am sure that you were not offering to become my mate. No human ever would."

"Christ, Mickey, don't run yourself down. I don't happen to be the marrying kind, but I'm sure that some nice g-"

"Look at me," he roared suddenly, and everyone in the Place jumped a foot in the air. Deliberately, he pulled open his black sports coat, pulled open his shirt, pulled open his chest ...

I tried to look away, could not. I tried to fit words around what I was seeing, could not. I tried not to be horrified, could not. A strange sound filled the room: many people sucking air through their teeth. I can't describe it, even now: take my word for it, whatever was inside Finn's chest, human beings aren't supposed to see things like that. Ever.

Finn closed up his chest.

A collective sigh went up.

"I have shown you my heart," Finn said softly. "Will you marry me?" Josie began to whimper.

"Josie, I am sorry," he said at once, but it was too late- she was out the door and gone. He said a word then which I've never heard before and hope never to hear again, something in his native tongue that hurt him worse than it did us. Josie's a real nice lady, and Finn knew it.

Callahan cleared his throat.

"Mickey," he rumbled, "you're alone, we get it now. It's a hard thing to be alone. Everyone in here has been alone, some of us are now-"

"Not as I am," Finn stated. "Even the most unfortunate of you is less alone. Now matter how remote the chance of your finding a mate ... there is always the chance. Always you have hope, even as you despair. No human will ever pair-bond with me-and I dare not leave your planet. My Masters believe me dead; if they ever learned otherwise-"

"-they'd kill you," Long-Drink finished.

"Worse."

"They'd punish you."

"Worse."

"What's worse?" Shorty Steinitz asked.

"They would put me back to work, unpunished. They are not like humans, who sometimes kick a machine that is not working. They would simply restore the machine to service. And, as an afterthought, they would exterminate the organisms which caused the machine to malfunction."

"Us, you mean," Callahan said.

"Yes."

Mary and Callahan exchanged a look I didn't understand.

"There's no chance you could sneak back to your home planet without these Master clowns catching on?" she asked Finn.

"None whatsoever," Finn said expressionlessly. "To begin with, my home planet no longer exists. It has not existed for several centuries, and I am the last of my people." Mary winced. "What happened?"

"The Masters found us."

"Jesus-and killed everybody but you."

"They killed everybody including me. But the Masters are a prudent and tidy race; they always keep file copies of what they destroy, each etched on a molecule of its own. Like all of my people, I was slain, and reduced to a single encoded molecule. Some time after my death they felt need of a new scout, fashioned this body, and caused to be decanted into it a large fraction of my former awareness- withholding the parts that did not suit them, of course."

Mary gasped; she was horrified. "G.o.d, you must hate them."