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sure,” Stein said, still peering at the X-Ray.
    â€œIt’s not a puzzle, it’s a miracle,” Alex said. “It’s magic, is what it is. It’s messing with my head.”
    â€œâ€˜Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,’” Stein said, setting down the X-Ray.
    â€œWhat?” Alex said.
    â€œIt’s a quote,” Stein said. “From Arthur C. Clarke.”
    â€œThe 2001 guy,” Alex said.
    â€œYes, the 2001 guy,” Stein said, slightly mockingly. “I take it you’re not a big science fiction reader.”
    â€œWell, what does that mean, for those of us who aren’t proud to be nerds?” Alex said.
    â€œThat would be ‘geeks,’ and I would take it to mean that before you throw your hands up and declare a miracle, you might consider the slightly more rational approach of assuming it’s some sort of technology,” Stein said.
    â€œBrain-stealing technology?” Alex said. “Seems an awfully specific sort of technology.”
    â€œI’d guess it’s not specifically brain-stealing technology, it’s just what this technology is being used for in this case,” Stein said.
    â€œThen, what?” Alex said. “Some sort of transporter technology, like in Star Trek? Maybe that would get the brain out of someone’s skull, but it doesn’t explain how the brain is still functioning. That is, if I believed this was transporter technology, which I don’t.”
    Stein smiled and tapped the X-Ray. “Let me remind you that what you have here—or more accurately, what you don’t have here—is a missing yet fully functional brain,” he said. “Alex, this is one case where the most ridiculous explanation you could come up with for how this is happening probably isn’t going to be ridiculous enough.”
    â€œThis is what I get for not being a geek in high school, is what you’re saying,” Alex said.
    â€œI suspect you were a geek, all right,” Stein said. “You’ve got all the hallmarks of a Model UN dweeb about you.”
    â€œThanks,” Alex said, wryly.
    â€œBut if you want my suggestion, you need to start thinking like a science-fiction geek. Because this,” Stein pointed at the folder, “is some first class X-Files material right here. Good luck with it.” He smiled and exited Alex’s office.
    Alex stared at the space where Brad Stein used to be for several minutes and then picked up the phone.

    â€œYou’re fatter than you were at the reunion,” said Ezra Jefferson to Alex, shaking his hand on the steps of the Air and Space Museum.
    â€œYou’re not, Captain,” Alex said.
    â€œThat’s because the Air Force doesn’t believe in fat officers,” Jefferson said, and then pointed to his shoulderboard. “Also, that’s Major now.”
    â€œWhen did that happen?” Alex asked.
    â€œWhen I transferred to the Pentagon,” Jefferson said. “Which you would know if you’d ever bothered to call before now. I’ve been in DC for four months, Alex. And I haven’t seen you since our 10 year reunion. That’s just wrong.”
    â€œWell, I’m making it up to you now,” Alex said, and motioned toward the museum. “Come on, let’s go in. I’m paying.”
    â€œIt’s free admission,” Jefferson said.
    â€œIt’s just like you to point that out,” Alex said.
    â€œYou still owe me for drinks at the reunion,” Jefferson pointed out, as they went in.
    â€œSpeaking of the reunion,” Alex said, after the two of them had wandered around the museum for a half hour, catching up, “I remember you telling me that you’d been stationed at Nellis Air Force Base right out of Yale.”
    â€œYeah,” Jefferson said. “Nellis for a year and then Edwards for a couple of years after that.”
    â€œI