Max and Isabel looked at the attractive, black waitress who was turning in an order at the kitchen window.

"She looks harmless enough," said Isabel.

"So did Topolsky," said Michael. Topolsky had passed herself off as a guidance counselor at their high school but had turned out to be an undercover FBI agent.

"I think we're getting pretty paranoid. What are we going to do? Investigate everyone in Roswell?" said the beautiful, blond alien from outer space.

"Michael's right," said Max. "We have to be careful."

Isabel's school books were on the table in front of her along with her new digital camera. When Cindy came over to take their order, the camera's shutter activated without being touched. Cindy never knew her picture had been taken.

That night Isabel clicked the mouse on her computer and the digital photo of Cindy printed out. She shut down the computer and got into bed. She concentrated on the photograph of the Crashdown waitress. The photo was still in her hand when she fell asleep.

She was standing in a huge building with towering glass walls. There was a mob of people in the place and Isabel could see jet airliners parked in a row outside. Various people announced the departure of flights from St. Louis over the PA system. The hard floor of the terminal felt cold against her bare feet.

She saw a room with fancy doors and a sign that said The Aviator's Club. She went inside and sat down at a table in the bar. Most of the people in the bar were men. The waitresses were hustling to keep up with the drink orders. Cindy was working. Nobody took any notice of Isabel.

"Waitress," said Isabel as Cindy passed her table.

Cindy immediately turned and said, "Can I get you something?"

She didn't seem to notice that Isabel was wearing pajamas. For that matter Cindy wasn't wearing very much herself. The waitress costumes were low-cut and all of the waitresses were well-endowed. Cindy seemed to have grown a couple of cup sizes. The front of her costume was cutout to reveal a well-toned, bare belly. The waitresses were wearing g-strings. When they bent over to serve drinks, the backs of their micro-skirts rode up to give the customers a glimpse of their cute little bottoms.

"I'll have a Coke," said Isabel.

Cindy brought the order then went to wait on her other customers. Isabel waited for a while but nothing out of the ordinary happened. She concentrated on money and found a twenty dollar bill in her hand. She put it on the table to pay for the drink and tip and then left the bar. She could afford to be generous. It was only dream money.

"So, what did you find out," asked Max the next morning.

"She's a waitress from St. Louis."

"That's it?"

"Sometimes a waitress is just a waitress," said Isabel.

Kyle was curled up on the sofa in the living room when his foster sister Tess came in and plopped down beside him.

"Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," she read from the cover of the book Kyle was holding. "I didn't know you were into motorcycles."

"It's more Zen than motorcycle," said Kyle.

"Good book?"

"One of the best ever written."

"You're getting pretty far into this eastern philosophy thing," she said. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under herself. She was very pretty but Kyle's tastes ran more to humans.

"It helps me hang on to what little sanity I have left," said Kyle. "When you find out there really are aliens among us it turns your world view upside down and shakes it up."

"Just be glad you aren't an alien," said Tess. "At least you have a home and know who you are."

Tess was the fourth alien. She had been raised by Nasedo, another alien who had been killed by the skins. Apparently there was some kind of galactic war going on but Kyle wasn't quite sure. Star Wars was as close as he wanted to get to the real thing. He worried he might be killed in the crossfire between warring alien factions. Getting killed in a war he didn't understand and had nothing to do with would be the supreme irony. Buddhism gave him the perspective to deal with supreme ironies.

"They're here," she said. Her hearing was much better than Kyle's or any human's.

Their father had told them he was going to bring his new girlfriend home to meet them. They hadn't seen her before.

A moment later Valenti came in with Cindy. They were holding hands.

"Cindy, this is my son Kyle and this is my daughter Tess. This is Cindy Talmadge."

They exchanged pleasantries and chatted for a few minutes. Maybe it was just Kyle's imagination or maybe his new Buddhist faith had increased his sensitivity, but he sensed Tess' negative reaction to Cindy. His father didn't seem to notice.

"Let's go back to the bedroom," said Tess. "We need to give these lovebirds some space."

Valenti and Cindy left to go out to dinner two hours later. They had dated every night since she had arrived in Roswell.

The next day Kyle and Tess were eating lunch in the courtyard of West Roswell High School when Max and Isabel joined them.

"Have you met the new waitress in town yet?" asked Max.

"We saw her yesterday," said Kyle. "It looks like it's getting serious."

"What did you think of her?" asked Isabel.

"I don't like her," said Tess. She poured more tabasco sauce on her hot dog. The school cafeteria didn't supply it. They had to bring their own.

"Why not?" asked Max.

"I don't know. Bad vibes I guess."

"Is it a racial thing?" he said.