'Martin! Yoo-hoo . . . Uncle Martin!'

          'Yes, Tim?'

          'Where are you,  Unk? I can hear you loud 'n' clear, but . .
          . hey, I  know  you  popped up those antennas on the back of
          your head and turned invisible - right?'

          'Ugh! Antennas?! Antennas?!  When are you going to learn how
          to speak your  own language, Tim? The word 'antennas' is the
          plural of radio  or  television aerials - I've got antennae.
          Anyway, the reason  you  can't see me is - I'm testing a new
          system for a  flight  I  plan to take in my spaceship when I
          finally get it  fixed.  I'm enclosed in a bubble of what you
          might call 'exotic  matter'. The gravitational field in here
          is so powerful that the light rays coming in get bent into a
          circle and can't  get  back  out.  Since nothing can be seen
          unless light reflects  off  it and into the observer's eyes,
          I'm invisible to you.'

          'Wow! What a neat way to spy on girls.'

          'Tim, really! How can you be so frivolous?'

          'Can you eat in there?' .

          'Can I .  . ? Of course I can eat. The exotic matter is made
          of WIMPs (weakly interacting massive particles) which almost
          never interact with  ordinary matter. So I can reach outside
          the bubble and  pull  in,  say,  an  apple.  The  WIMPs have
          negative mass and  generate  an  antigravity  field -combine
          this with the intense gravity already present and I have the
          same freedom of movement as I do outside.'

          'That's terrific, Uncle  Martin.  Cause  it's lunchtime. You
          wait right there  while I race upstairs and get the plate of
          sandwiches I made for you.'

          With an inward  sigh  Martin  despairs:  'That boy! I try to
          explain about exotic matter, and what happens? When he hears
          the word 'exotic',  he  thinks of girls - 'matter', and it's
          lunchtime.'

          Bounding down the  stairs  outside his apartment, Tim nearly
          collided with Detective  Sergeant  Bill  Brennan, who'd been
          next door visiting Mrs. Lorelei Brown, Tim's landlady.

          'Morning, Tim. I  was  just  coming  up  to see you. Is that
          uncle of yours  home?'  Looking down, he added: 'By the way,
          where are you going with those sandwiches?'

          'Ah, hi, Sergeant  Brennan.  Uh, nowhere - I mean, would you
          like one? Egg  or ham? And I can honestly say I haven't seen
          Uncle Martin all morning.'

          Peering sideways at  Tim,  Brennan  helped  himself  to  two
          sandwiches and growled:  'Hmmm.  All  right.  Tell  him I'll
          return tomorrow.'

          'Boy, am I  glad  he's  gone, Uncle Martin. I don't know why
          but he gives me the creeps. Here are your sandwiches.'

          'Who's  Uncle  Martin   ?'   reverberated  from  within  the
          enclosure of exotic  material.  'My  name's  Gordon - Gordon
          Shumway. But you  can  call  me Alf.' To the tune of 'Thanks
          for the eats',  a  hand  covered in orange fur appeared from
          seemingly  nowhere  and   withdrew   the   plate   into  the
          invisibility of the bubble.

          'Alf! What are you doing in there? Where's Uncle Martin?'

          'Don't  worry -  he's  perfectly  safe.  We  simply  changed
          places. Beats me  how  it  happened,  though.  There  I was,
          happily looping the  loop  a  few  hundred  feet  above  the
          surface of my  home  planet Melmac . . . then I spotted this
          button in my  spaceship  I'd never noticed before. I pressed
          it to see what would happen, and here I am!'

          As these words  left Alf's lips, Martin found himself gazing
          down at a world he'd never seen before. He had no idea where
          he was, but realised what had occurred.

          'Who was that  guy  I swapped places with? I glimpsed him as
          we passed -  he  was only a metre or so in height, had a big
          snout and oversized feet, and was sporting a coat of reddish
          brown fur on  90%  of  his  body  . . . maybe his Mum was an
          aardvark, and his Dad a kangaroo.'

          Meanwhile, on Melmac's surface -

          'Di! Di, come here . . . quick!'

          'Just a minute.'

          'No, now. Hurry - before it flies away.'

          'OK, little sister, I'm coming. But this better be good!' Di
          threatened as she  found  the  doorway  without shifting her
          gaze from the TV.

          'Janelle, how many  times  must I tell you? Don't call me Di
          it's Dianne . I start high school next year, you know.'

          'Yes, Di. Whatever you say, Di.'

          Some might call  Janelle's  attitude at this moment a trifle
          sarcastic, but she  was merely amused and made no attempt to
          conceal the fact.  After  all,  only two years separated the
          girls'  birthdays. Spinning  round,  Janelle  pointed  to  a
          bright light spiralling  down  the  eastern  sky towards the
          stream which split  their  parents'  bush  property in half.
          (Having spent the year completing a seemingly endless row of
          tax files, vacuuming and dusting day after day, and studying
          hard for exams that didn't appear to do anything except give
          the teachers a  sense  of  power; the Flach family had opted
          for a relaxing end-of-year vacation on their property in the
          country.)

          'What do you suppose that is, Di...anne?'

          'Don't know. Jan.  We're  too  far  away.  Let's  run to the
          stream for a better look. Bet I can beat you there!'

          For several minutes  the  girls  almost forgot why they were
          racing to the  rivulet,  as lungs panted for breath and feet
          pounded the earth  in  an  effort  to carry their respective
          owners to the goal ahead of the competition

          The younger girl  then  glanced up and what she saw startled
          her to a complete halt.

          'Di! Over here! Get behind this bush!'

          'Janelle, have you flipped? What's wrong?'

          'Shh. Not so  loud',  Janelle  whispered  as she grabbed her
          sister's arm and  pulled  her  down so the shrubbery covered
          them.

          'Look! That light's  a  lot  closer now. And it's not just a
          light, Di. It's  some  kind  of  aeroplane,  with  a  row of
          windows right around the top.'

          Dianne let her  gaze  drift  upwards, then exclaimed 'You're
          right. Is that why we're hiding?'

          'No. When I  stopped,  I  saw  a  man standing next to those
          windows, and he was watching us.'

          'There's no one there now.'

          'He must have gone back inside the plane. Why is it so close
          now- we weren't  running for very long. And why can't I hear
          its engines?'


          'It must be  one  of  those  UFOs  the  kids  at school were
          talking about. Some  of  them  make  no noise at all, Jan, I
          guess it must  have  seen us racing, and flown closer to see
          what we were doing.'

          Sobbing now, Janelle cried 'Dianne, I'm scared . . .'

          'So am I, little sister, so am I. We've got to find some way
          back to the house.'

          Through her tears,  Janelle  managed  to wail 'But he'll see
          us. . .'

          'We'll wait a  few  minutes. He might go back to whatever he
          was doing before.'

          No sooner had these words been spoken than the strange craft
          darted back to  the  stream  at  impossibly  high speed. The
          girls watched it  for a couple of seconds, just to make sure
          it wouldn't return,  then  bolted  out of their hiding place
          and ran to the house as fast as their legs would carry them.

          'Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!'  they  both  started  screaming  when
          still a hundred yards from the house.

          Hearing his daughters'  desperate  cries,  Mr  Flach  rushed
          outside. Pouring themselves into his protective embrace, the
          girls recounted every detail of their intriguing adventure.

          'You poor darlings!'  consoled Di's and Jan's Dad. 'You must
          be frightened out  of  your wits. I'd like to have a look at
          this craft. You  don't  feel up to showing me where it is, I
          suppose?'

          'Oh no. Daddy.  we  couldn't  return to that place - we just
          couldn't! Please don't make us!'

          'Shh - it's  all  right.  You  only have to tell me where it
          is.'

          'Last time we  saw the UFO, it was hovering above the stream
          near Big Joe.'  ('Big  Joe'  is  the name of a large boulder
          which marks the exact centre of the Flach property.)

          'But Daddy . . .' began Janelle, a little apprehensively. 'I
          don't want you to go. It might be dangerous.'

          'Don't worry, honey.  I won't get too close to the ship, and
          I won't let  anybody  see me. You two go inside and wait for
          Mummy she should  be home from her trip into town any minute
          now.'

          Mr Flach stood  watching  until  the  girls  had entered the
          house and closed  the  door.  Nevertheless, a small voice in
          his head said  he  still shouldn't leave them alone. Then he
          felt reassured when  he  glanced  up  and saw his wife's car
          approaching,  so  he   set   off  to  find  this  mysterious
          Unidentified Flying Object and its strange occupant.

          He wondered why  a  UFO  would  hover  over a body of water.
          'Those theories that  I've  read about must be correct - the
          ones that believe UFOs need this liquid as an energy source.
          I've read of  methods for obtaining non-polluting power from
          water by first  separating  it into hydrogen and oxygen with
          electricity. How is the water sucked into the ship, though?'

          Walking  along  in  a  daydream,  Mr  Flach  had  completely
          forgotten his promise  to  Janelle  that  he'd  stay  out of
          sight. Fortunately there  was  no-one  around.  However, his
          reverie did prove  worthwhile  -  he  thought  of a possible
          solution to his question.

          'UFOs can emit energy beams which excite electrons in a body
          of water, raising  the water's energy level. If matter is an
          extension of the  electromagnetic  spectrum  (that  range of
          wavelengths  to  which  every  type  of  radiation  belongs:
          including X-rays, UV or ultraviolet light, visible light and
          radio waves), increasing  the water's energy potential could
          give it an  identical frequency to the beam's radiation. The
          lenses and mirrors of the optical system generating the beam
          are so arranged  that  they  can,  at the press of a button,
          re-focus the beam  inside the UFO. This draws the water into
          the craftt where  it's  stored  in  its energetic form until
          required for powering the lighting, air conditioning, radar,
          propulsion units, etc.  Stored  thus,  voluminous quantities
          can be taken  aboard  (in material form, the molecules would
          occupy far too much space).'

          'Whew! This is  exhausting'  Mr  Flach  proclaimed as he lay
          down in the  cool  shade of a clump of waist-high shrubbery.
          'That sun's hotter  than  I thought. When you've been inside
          reading all morning,  those  clouds  half-covering  the wild
          blue yonder leave  you  with  the impression that the day is
          slightly on the cool side. But when you get out and walk for
          ten minutes, you  soon  realise how hot it really is. Add to
          that all the things which have been occupying my mind during
          this walk, and you have the perfect ingredients for a nap. .
          .'

          Almost before his  lids  had  closed,  our  great Ufo hunter
          found himself in  another world (Martin could telepathically
          communicate with him  now  that Mr. Flach was in a dreamlike
          state  and,  as   a   means   of  introducing  himself,  was
          transmitting images of  Tim  and  Alf  and the 'alien' world
          Martin had Just departed).

          'Listen carefully Sean  Flach,  for I have a message for YOU
          which  was logged  on  the  Interdimensional  Internet.  The
          communication takes the form of a poem and reads thus:

          T H E T I M E H A S C O M E

          The actions of President against the Sad One in B'dad

          Helped ensure defeat by good of bad.

          Though many were concerned and protested,

          The fact is: the times these acts well suited.

          They said they must free those in Kwaiti;

          Maybe ...........  maybe  not  .....  but what will be, will
          be.


          There is, under heaven, a time to every purpose

          In the infinite space of this and that cosmos.

          A time for love and a time for war;

          And a time for the world, that deserves more.

          Clintpres and Aldan and Sad - the world needs new order

          That can never see any more war.



          As for now, times are not ripe

          For growth of United Europe.

          There's strife and bloodshed in Ulster:

          Europe can't unite the brother and sister.

          E-land (and the world) will soon see the light;

          In cooperation everyone and thing must unite.

          Like children learning to walk, divided lands will fall -

          But from mistakes we learn, and unite the world.



          In his dreams,  Sean  Flach  nodded  gravely and stroked his
          chin. Then he  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  uttered that
          immortal word:

          'Huh?'

          Uncle Martin was amazed, and dismayed, and confused!


          'Oops, sorry, Mr  Flach.  That  was  the wrong message. YOUR
          poem is entitled

          "I Can Hear Music".'



          Oh, to be able to SING, SING, SING

          A bit like J. O'K

          But more like MENTAL AS ANYTHING



          Longin' to be WORKIN' FOR THE MAN

          I also long to say

          Something our BIG O can't: LIVE IT UP



          Just give me that ROCK N ROLL MUSIC

          And let me shout YAHOO

          Then I'll keep my DATE WITH DESTINY



          Oops! What happened? My SPIRIT GOT LOST

          How the shrill sound of 'boo!'

          Greets the return of LITTLE BOY LOST



          Is this poem meant for GREEDY SMITH

          Or for MARTIN PLAZA

          Or could it be BANANARAMA?



          'Tis the time of APOCALYPSO

          Wiping the smile off Santa's face

          Amidst all this change, what can I know?