Grissom and Lorne stood on the spot in the lobby where Lorne had agreed to meet Andreas. Grissom had just gotten off his cell phone, warning Captain Brass that Oswald was probably going to rob Caesars tonight. Lorne had not really listened. He finally had on his own clothes, which meant a conservative (for Lorne), shiny blue suit. Now he looked at his Rolodex. "He's way late," he said.

"Is he usually?" asked Grissom, putting away his cell phone.

"I don't know. I just met him."

"Which way did he go?"

Lorne showed Grissom through the concourse. "I don't see how we can find him," Lorne said. "Like looking for a needle in a haystack, not to coin a phrase."

"Just a moment," said Grissom. He went up to a well-coifed, middle-aged man in a sportcoat, whom Lorne took to be a tourist. "Hello, Mike," said Grissom. "I want you to meet a friend of mine, Lorne. We're looking for a friend of his who might have come this way an hour or so ago. Lorne, why don't you describe Andreas to Mike?"

"Well, he's tall, thin, but with wide shoulders. He's casually dressed in a brown leather vest, has long, dark brown hair...."

"And piercing dark eyes," Mike stated.

"You remember him?"

"Mike doesn't miss much," said Grissom with a little smile.

"I couldn't forget," continued Mike. "I thought to myself, 'That egg is a smooth operator with the ladies', if you know what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

�Why that fella came in here alone, but he went in that gift shop there and came out ten minutes later with a beautiful brunette on his arm. And they were pretty hot �n� heavy.�

�Where�d they go?� asked Grissom.

�Over toward the casino,� replied Mike.

�Notice anything else?� asked Lorne uneasily.

�Like what?�

�Anything.�

�Well, your friend don�t carry a billfold,� said Mike.

�So?� asked Lorne.

�It�s just a professional observation,� Explained Mike.

�I don�t understand,� said Lorne. �What profession is that?�

Mike paid Lorne a side-long glance before turning to Grissom. �Your friend ain�t too swift on the uptake, is he?�

�Mike is one of our city�s strolling ombudsmen who make sure people don�t lose all of their money gambling.�

�Hey, Mr. Grissom, �I like that one,� Mike chuckled. He eyed Lorne for a brief moment before turning earnestly to Grissom. �So, do I get a reward for helping you out?�

�In a way, Mike, yes. I�m going to tell you something, but I want you to keep it under your hat.�

�Sure thing.�

�Something may be going down here tonight. I can�t tell you what. If it happens you�ll hear all about it tomorrow." Grissom glanced at Lorne before continuing. "Within the hour, this place will probably be crawling with police, both plainclothes and uniformed. You probably don�t want to be here for that.�

�Geez, thanks for the tip. I think I�ll bid you gentlemen good evening and be on my way. Wasn�t that good a night anyway.� The pickpocket briskly walked away.

�Gil, should we be checking to see if we still have our personal effects?�

�Don�t bother. Mike is the last of a dying breed. He would never take from someone who had seen his face.�

For a moment, Lorne wondered whether that was supposed to be virtuous or merely canny, but he had something else on his mind. �Gil, I�ve got to tell you something that I�m sure you�re going to hate to hear as much as I�m going to hate telling you. Andreas is a, uh, well, he�s a kind of alien, too.� Grissom raised an eyebrow. �Andreas isn�t like me.�

�You mean, he isn�t here for the music?�

"You could say that.�

�Spit it out Lorne, I won�t bite.�

�Well, it�s funny you should use that particular expression, because, you see, Andreas does bite. He bites people. In fact, you could say that Andreas comes from a whole species of Hannibal Lectors.�

Grissom�s eyes went wide. �You mean a serial killer is loose in this hotel? That brunette could be his next victim�or his most recent. I wish you�d mentioned this to me before.�

�Well, I guess I was hoping that he would control his impulses since he said he was here to look for Oswald.�

�Looks like he got side tracked. Come on.�

�Where to?�

�To follow the only trail we have.�

As they approach the casino the constant sound of bells going off became deafening. Grissom had to shout into the ear of a liveried casino employee in order to be heard. He showed the man his badge at the same time.

�No,� the man said, �I haven�t seen a tall man with long dark hair in here today. To tell the truth, I thought somebody must�ve called you here because of the commotion on the upper tier about twenty minutes ago.�

�Commotion?� Grissom said. �Can somebody show me where?�

�Sure, come with me.� The man, an off-duty black jack dealer named Phil, led them up a staircase. The noise of the casino diminished a little as they moved past shops in the direction of the hotel lobby. They did not go far before the tremendous crack in the balcony became obvious.

�This just happened twenty minutes ago?� asked Grissom. �It must have made a tremendous noise.�

�Loud enough to distract the people down below, and that�s hard to do.�

�Did you see anyone come down afterward?� Grissom asked.

�Not me.�

�One more thing. You said you didn't see anyone who fit the description today. See anybody like that before today?"

"Thanks for your help, Phil. Take my card, and please don�t hesitate to call me anytime if you remember anything or see anything else suspicious. It doesn�t have to be related to this or even make any sense.�

After Phil left them, Grissom took in the scene. He got down on the floor to examine the apron in front of the shop door. He inspected the crack in the balcony. Using his own stride, he measured the distance from it to the potted plant. He studied scuffmarks on the floor. Finally, he hunkered down at a spot in the middle of the walkway, took out a glassine baggy and a small paper envelope. Using the stiff lip of the envelope, he scooped a small amount of something dark from the floor and deposited it in the baggy. He carefully sealed the baggy and pocketed it.

When Grissom briefly looked at Lorne, the Pylean saw a deeply furrowed brow above an equally deep frown; but Lorne realized that Grissom was far from unhappy. This was a man who lived to solve puzzles, and this was a monumental riddle for him. Lorne was not sure what had happened, but he knew it would crack Grissom�s weltanschauung wide open�if he ever figured it out.

In the next moment, Grissom went for the potted plant. He climbed onto the rim of the pot so he could reach its thicket of leaves near the top. He seemed to be feeling or pulling on something.

�What�s up with the palm tree?� asked Lorne.

�Actually,� said Grissom, grunting as he pulled with his right hand, �it�s not a palm tree, it�s a cycad�a Cycas revoluta, to be exact. Some people call it a Sago Palm, but it isn�t related to the palm at all.� When he climbed down he was holding the sharpened wooden dart that had flown wildly from Justine�s crossbow.

Lorne let out an involuntary gasp as he realized the significance. �Oh, my God, Gil. I think I know what might have happened.� Lorne looked at Grissom expecting him to ask a question, but the criminalist only cocked his head attentively. �I think Oswald must have killed Andreas with a crossbow�with a wooden dart. That�s one of the few ways that, uh, people from Andreas's planet can be killed.�

�With a sharp wooden dart?�

�Yes.�

�But not beheading.�

�Well, actually, that would work on Andreas. Just not on me.�

"Do you have an idea about where to start, partner?" asked Grissom when they were back in the lobby.

"I have one or two," Lorne said, grabbing a phone book and handing it to Grissom. "Look up any businesses called 'Abracadabra'."

Grissom opened the book and ran his finger down and up the columns of the white pages. Before long, he gave a start, and his finger stopped on the page. "There are two of them: 'Abracadabra Hotel and Casino' and 'Abracadabra Magic Shop and Occult Bookshop'. Of course, it's the book shop--'The Book of Celerus'."

"Can I help you gentlemen?" asked the proprietor in a soft European accent.

"I hope you can," said Grissom. "I'm looking for a particular book. I wonder if you've ever heard of the 'Book of Celerus'."

Grissom flashed his badge in the man's face. "What is your name?" he demanded.

"Alois Stoffel," he stammered, "but I've done nothing wrong. I'm only a bookseller--und a law-abiding taxpayer."

"Then you won't mind telling us about a customer who has broken the law: Orlando Oswald."

"I am afraid I don't know the name of every one of my customers."

"But you couldn't forget this one. He bought the 'Book of Celerus', and that title, alone, seems to make you nervous."

"I did nothing wrong in selling a book," Stoffel protested.

"Then you won't mind confirming that Oswald purchased a copy from you," pressed Grissom.

Stoffel hung his head for a moment before nodding slowly. "I sold him the book, yes, but you must believe me--I had no idea before hand of what he meant to do with it."

"So when did you realize what he was doing?"

"I could not stop him," Stoffel pleaded. "Don't you see? He is very powerful. No one could oppose him lightly. Just for talking to you now, my life is in danger!" Stoffel's eyes flashed with fear as his voice rose. "Don't you see? He could be anywhere--even here, now!" Breaking off, the old man looked wildly from side to side.

"Why don't you calm down and tell us just what the 'Book of Celerus' is and why Orlando wanted it."

Stoffel's eyes narrowed. "You mean you don't know?"

"He may not, but I have a pretty good idea," said Lorne, stepping up to the counter. "Why don't you just start confirming my suspicions before I get testy."

"What are you," asked Stoffel, fully appreciating Lorne's green and horny aspect for the first time.

"Never you mind," said Lorne. "Just keep in mind that there are two ways to spill your guts: one is metaphorical and the other isn't."

"You are with the police," said Stoffel to Grissom. "You must protect me from this demon."

"Give me a reason," said Grissom.

With a sigh of defeat, Stoffel began. "Celerus was a Renaissance sorcerer. No one knows his real name or where he came from. Some say that he was already hundreds of years old when he appeared in my native Vienna. He was very powerful and inspired great fear among some noblemen, but he ingratiated himself with the Emperor and was welcomed at court. He is said to have cast spells that insured victory over the Turks in many battles.

"The trick that made him most famous was the assassination of the Turk's greatest general. Celerus somehow crept past the finest bodyguards on two continents and cut off this general's head while he slept. The secret behind his feat was never revealed except that Celerus was said to have written it in a book--in code.

"The Emperor soon became afraid that if Celerus could assassinate a Turkish general, he could kill the Emperor as well, so he ordered Celerus arrested; but Celerus found out about the warrant and fled, never to be heard from again. The book also vanished until early in the twentieth century. It has had several owners, but none of them has been able to break the code."

"How did you get the book?" asked Grissom.

"Oswald came to me with the knowledge that the last owner had recently died, and he offered any amount of money I would need to buy it from the estate. This proved to be easy enough. The executor had no idea of the book's true value."

"And just what is the value," asked Lorne, "assuming someone could break the code and read it?"

"Oh, make no mistake," said Stoffel. "Orlando Oswald...."

Suddenly, Lorne's vision blurred and he felt as if he had been spun around in a circle until dizzy. The next that he knew, he felt his arms constricted and he looked down to see a rope wound around his arms and chest. His hands were bound to each other with a separate cord. He looked up just in time to see Orlando Oswald admiring this handiwork. They were so close to each other, Lorne could see the few specks of lint on Oswald's black wool sport coat. The comic's latex-gloved hands stretched toward Lorne as if Oswald's touch had somehow awakened the Pylean from a mystical sleep.

Lorne looked down and saw that Stoffel lay on the floor, grasping with his fingertips at a cord around his neck. His face had turned purple. His eyes bulged. His tongue lolled from his mouth. He seemed a portrait of impotent struggle--yet he was perfectly still. With horror, Lorne realized that he was witnessing a man's moment of death--only it was frozen as if in eternity. Lorne looked around again and realized that Gil Grissom was nowhere to be seen.

�Pardon the clich�, but I really don�t think you can get away with this,� said Lorne. �The police are waiting for you at Caesars.�

�I�ll be in and out before they know it,� said Oswald. �While I escape, you�ll be answering questions like, what are your fingerprints doing all over the scene of Mr. Stoffel�s murder, and what did you do with Mr. Grissom?� Oswald absently picked at the dwindling lint on his coat while he talked.�

�What happened to Grissom?�Lorne demanded.

Oswald smiled. �I�ll show you.�

He got behind Lorne and pushed him out the door. The street seemed utterly silent; the traffic light was green, yet cars and pedestrians alike seemed stock-still. The air did not move at all. Lorne had the eerie impression of being enclosed, as if on a Hollywood soundstage instead of in the real outdoors.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" said Oswald, not really asking a question. "The first time I experienced the speed, I gawked at my surroundings, too, but we don't have time." He laughed as if at a joke he had made. "Well, time is relative," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Still, even with the spell of Celerus, there are certain limits." The car was parked in front of the shop where they had left it, but it was empty. Grissom was nowhere in sight. Lorne looked at Oswald curiously. Oswald smiled again.

�I brought him, ah, up to speed�ha ha, that�s a good one�and I put him in the trunk before I came back for you. If you value your friend�s welfare, you�ll keep your mouth shut until I�ve released him.� Oswald brought Lorne over to the trunk and rapped on it twice. Lorne heard a panicky voice from inside. It belonged to a man, and it sounded like a muffled �Help!� Lorne understood that Grissom probably was not only bound like himself, but gagged as well.

�How do I know you won�t kill him anyway?� asked Lorne.

�You don�t, but if I have to kill him I certainly will.�

Oswald opened the car door on the passenger's side with surprising difficulty. He put Lorne in and gagged him before making him lie on his side on the wide front seat and covering him with a blanket. Before starting the car, Oswald chanted in order to remove the spell. When he had finished and put his hands on the wheel, the world outside of the car suddenly burst into noisy motion. Other cars honked their horns. Oswald's car lurched into traffic but soon came to a halt. The traffic light must have turned red, Lorne thought. The cars around them screeched to a halt and chattering pedestrians began crossing the street in front of Oswald and Lorne.

�When we arrive at Caesars,� explained Oswald, �I�ll recast the spell, but you and Mr. Grissom won�t be in on it this time.�

Lorne struggled with his bonds as surreptitiously as possible. He made some progress, but, especially if he remained on his side, he knew it would take too much time to free himself--and time was something he wouldn�t have once the spell was cast again.

Finally, Oswald stopped the car. With a piece of good luck, Lorne found himself being lifted into a sitting position. Through the window, he saw Caesars Palace across the boulevard. Oswald closed his eyes and began chanting in what sounded to Lorne like Latin�seemingly the favorite language for casting spells in this dimension. Again, as surreptitiously as he could, Lorne tried to free his hands and loosen the ropes around his arms and torso. At the same time, recalling that Oswald touched him to bring him �up to speed,� Lorne tried sliding closer and leaning toward the sorcerer. Suddenly, the world lurched forward but just as abruptly seemed to come up short. Lorne, unsure of what had just happened, leaned away from Oswald and tried to be still.

Oswald looked around and smiled at Lorne. He checked his watch and then brushed lint off the arms of his coat and said, �Sometimes the magic works; sometimes it doesn�t. I do have to be careful not to use the spell too many times a day or it becomes more difficult to cast. Don�t worry, though. I have enough juice left for one more go.� Closing his eyes again, he went back to the beginning of the spell. As Oswald came to its end, Lorne leaned close enough to touch his coattail. With a whoosh, the world around them seemed to shift to a slower speed. Lorne felt as if gravity were dragging down the car and all of its contents with the exception of Oswald and Lorne. Outside the window beside him, the speeding cars had come to a dead halt.

Lorne tried to pretend to be part of this heavy, frozen world. He looked straight ahead and sat stock-still. Oswald turned toward him, staring a long time�or so it seemed to the Pylean who held his breath. Oswald at last reached over and flicked a speck of lint from Lorne�s lapel. The sorcerer then forced open the driver's-side door and got out.

While he tried to free his hands, Lorne let his eyes follow Oswald across the boulevard. The traffic light ahead was green and the teeming traffic was so still that the sorcerer ambled between cars at leisure. When Oswald reached the other side, Lorne turned his head to get a good look. As he watched the socerer disappear into the hotel, Lorne struggled in earnest and at last loosened the ropes. He ungagged himself, slid over to the driver�s side, and reached for the lever that would pop the trunk open. The lever gave with a little difficulty, but there was no sound of the trunk opening. Lorne opened the door with such difficulty that he thought it had gained a ton�or, perhaps, its hinges had accumulated an inch of solid rust in a very short time. After struggling out of the car, he walked to the rear and tried opening the trunk. It hardly gave at all. While taking a breath between efforts, Lorne noticed a continuous noise that sounded like metal sliding over metal. It came from the trunk. Lorne realized that the latch of the trunk had not finished popping. How long would he have to wait until the trunk opened? he thought. He then wondered how Oswald could possibly open a vault under these conditions. It then struck him that Oswald could not open the vault himself; his plan obviously depended upon knowing what time the vault was opened for the daily count. He intended to slip in and out while the door was open.

Finally, the latch stopped sliding, and Lorne was able to open the trunk, though it felt as if he were trying to lift the whole car. Inside, Grissom was bound and gagged just as Lorne had expected. He lay on his side in the fetal position, his clothes rumpled and beads of sweat standing out on his face. He was as motionless as a wax statue. Lorne soon abandoned all efforts to lift Grissom�s dead weight from the trunk, but he found a folding knife in Grissom�s pocket and was at least able to cut away the bonds and remove the gag.

Lorne turned toward the hotel and began weaving among the cars that seemed to be planted in rows, facing south on one side of boulevard and north on the other. He tried to avoid the eerie, unseeing eyes of the drivers and passengers as he passed them. Once on the opposite sidewalk, he hurried into the hotel. Then he made his way toward the casino.

Along the way, he saw people frozen in every imaginable position. Waiters offered drinks to patrons who reached but never touched the glass. Some lovers seemed eternally about to kiss while others were stuck in statue-like embrace. Gamblers sat immobile in front of slot machines and card tables, which seemed usual except that the machines did not spin their drums, and each black jack dealer was caught in the act of dealing to only one player.

Lorne also noticed an odd clicking sound that grew louder as he moved through the hotel toward the casino. There were long spaces between the sounds. He concluded that these clicks were people�s voices forming consonants. He then began to notice the low, rushing, white noise of vowel sounds in between the clicks. As he reached the casino, however, these clicks were overwhelmed by long bell tones. No sooner did one begin to die away than another rose in a continuous drone. Lorne looked for the way to the vault. It was not difficult to find. He followed a trail of armed security officers, Las Vegas police officers and sheriff�s deputies accompanying liveried employees who were pushing carts laden with metal boxes and canvas sacks. As these people strained with their burdens, the security and law officers seemed to watch every approach, but from Lorne�s point of view they saw nothing. On the way, he passed another team of three maintenance people, a man and two women, who were on their way in the opposite direction. They pushed a cart with plaster, lumber, tools and a large can of glue. Lorne glanced at the clipboard of one of the women and saw that they had a work order to repair the balustrade that had been broken during the fight in which Andreas had been slain.

Lorne reached the open vault and stealthily peered inside to find Oswald happily collecting money and other valuables, filling two large suitcases. Lorne backed away just before Oswald turned to glance in his direction.

Looking around, Lorne noticed the distant maintenance team, seemingly on an endless journey toward the service elevators. Lorne ran as quietly as he could toward them.

It was, of course, no time at all before Oswald emerged from the vault with his loot-filled suitcases weighing down each arm; but it seemed like ten minutes had passed from Oswald and Lorne�s perspective. The sorcerer took only two steps before he stopped and looked down at his feet. With each step, each shoe sole lifted several long strings of translucent glue off the floor. He was wading through a large patch where Lorne, using a wooden lathe as a tool, had spread out the glue in front of the vault. Oswald looked up and saw Lorne admiring the result of his own handiwork.

�You miserable tower of lime Jell-O!� Oswald cried out. At the same time, he was losing his grip on his suitcases, dropping one into the glue so that he had to set down the other in order to pull the first one out. �When I get my hands on you, I�ll send you to a dimension where they�ll roast you over a spit for eternity!�

�Gee,� said Lorne. �Isn�t that a long-winded way of telling me to go to hell?� With that, he turned and went away. He did not want to explain his own presence to the police when the spell wore off.

Outside, Lorne started toward the car, where he could see that the trunk was still open. He reached the halfway point in crossing the boulevard when the world around him seemed to lurch as if an earthquake had struck. Lorne put out his arm to brace himself against the hood of a car, but it moved rapidly by so that he nearly spun around and toppled over. He managed to draw back just before he fell into the path of the now speeding traffic.

�Hey! What�s the matter with you? You drunk?� called a motorist. Lorne regained his bearings, focusing on the sedan across the street.

Lorne managed to jaywalk across the southbound traffic and reach the car just in time to see Gil Grissom climbing wearily out of the trunk. The human sat on the rear bumper and rubbed the perspiration from his face before looking up to see Lorne standing in front of him.

�What the hell happened?� asked Grissom.

�Why don�t we go inside the casino so I can show you?� said Lorne.

Back at the station, Grissom smoothed things over with everyone including Brass and Dr. Robbins. They accepted that when someone has a near-death experience they can be excused for stealing the coroner's badge, car and camel hair coat. He also vouched for Lorne's innocence in the Stoffel murder and convinced everyone that Oswald had done it. Lorne sat quietly on a thinly padded, metal frame couch and tried blending into the rest of the institutional furniture while he listened to Grissom and Brass.

"Oswald can't get far," said Brass. "I put out a state and federal APB on him."

"He's a clever man, though," said Grissom, "even if he did leave a bit of a trail at the crime scene."

Warrick Brown began laughing again. He was trying to tell everyone who came into the room about the scene at the casino. The image of Oswald's shoes stuck to the floor next to one of the suitcases full of loot--which was lying on its side and also stuck to the floor--sent him into paroxysms every time. "And what really gets me," said Brown, hoarse with laughter, "are the socks stuck to the edge of the pool of glue. Ha, ha! Not that I'm complaining, Lorne, but if you'd made that pool of glue just a little wider, he never would have made it."

As Warrick continued laughing, Catherine Willows, the latest victim of Warrick's recounting, smiled gently at Lorne. Lorne smiled back at her. He imagined that she rarely had occassion to exchange looks of any kind with a person whose murder she had been investigating the previous day.

�I can�t see how this case could get any stranger,� said Brass.

Just then, a young man wearing a lab smock came up to them.

�Mr. Grissom, I analyzed that sample you gave me.�

�What did you find, Greg?�

�I hope you can come up with a better explanation than I can,� began Greg. �The sample contains human ashes. You found these at a casino?�

�Yes.�

�Because it�s as if somebody took a very old corpse--preserved probably for a century or more--and then they burned it within the past twenty-four hours."

"Thanks, Greg," said Grissom. Lorne was surprised by how calmly Grissom was taking all of this.

"What's that about?" asked Brass.

"Just one of the many bizarre aspects of the case," Grissom answered. "Did you find out anything about that dancer at the Kitty Box?"

"Justine? Yeah, she doesn't work there anymore."

Lorne jumped off of the couch. "What? I saw her there last night!" he protested.

"She was there to pick up her paycheck."

"Present whereabouts unknown?" asked Grissom.

"As a matter of fact, last evening, a woman fitting her description but using the name--" Brass consulted his notepad--"'Constance Holtz' got on a bus with a ticket for Denver."

"That's incredible," said Lorne.

"You think she's in on the robbery?" Brass asked Grissom.

"No, I'm beginning to realize that what's going on around here is a lot more complicated than that."

Just then, a man in the uniform of a U.S. Air Force officer entered the room. His compact body moved briskly and deliberately. "I'm here to see Gil Grissom," he announced.

Grissom and Lorne exchanged glances. "Ah, Colonel McNutt," said Grissom, stepping forward to offer his hand.

McNutt shook hands as he asked, "Can we talk in front of these people?"

Grissom glanced at everyone. "They already know about every aspect of this case."

McNutt frowned, but went on. "Where is the alien?"

Grissom turned to look at a worried Lorne before answering. "I'm afraid the evidence of alien life slipped through our fingers."

"Slipped through your fingers?" cried McNutt. "How did that happen? In the Air Force, we don't let things like this just slip through our fingers."

"I suppose not," said Grissom, "but we're civilians, not military. When we civilians find evidence of alien life, it always gets away from us in one way or another. We just can't nail it down the way you guys do."

"That's true," said McNutt, swelling with pride.

"Sorry to have wasted you time," said Grissom.

"Well," said McNutt, "I always wanted to see this forensics unit anyway. I've heard so much about it. Could you introduce me to your people?"

The colonel was introduced to Brass, Willows, Warrick and Greg. "And this," said Grissom, "is Mr. Lorne, a special consultant who has just helped us break an important case."

"Likewise, I'm sure," replied Lorne.

As Grissom walked Lorne out of the building, he said, "I hope your second visit to the CSI unit has been more pleasant than your first."

"A definite improvement," replied Lorne.

Grissom walked in silence for a moment. "Just one thing is nagging me," he said at last. "Are all of the people from Andreas's planet vampires?"

"You know about vampires?" Lorne asked in surprise.

"Shhh," said Grissom. He glanced left and right. "Every criminalist worth his salt has seen the fang marks, but I'd never seen the dust of a slain vampire before--only read about it."

"What can I say?" Lorne sighed. "You got me." But Grissom was not finished surprising him.

"And you aren't an alien either, are you?"

"No," said Lorne.

"'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophies'," Grissom quoted. The two paused while Lorne thought about how much he should tell.

"Pylea exists," Lorne said finally. "But it is not a planet. It's one of many parallel dimensions."

"And you really came here because you like the music?"

"That's true. And I really do sing," said Lorne.

"And you're good?"

"At least as good as you are, Gil. In fact, we should sing a duet sometime."

"Why not now?" asked Grissom.

"Why not," Lorne conceded.

And the two new friends walked along the street singing "Danny Boy" in unison as the dawn dimmed the last of the glittering lights of Las Vegas.