I was finishing my second martini, sitting in a booth with my feet propped on the seat opposite me and catching snatches of a conversation between an Earth girl and a Vega VI Romeo at a nearby table. It was pretty unsavory conversation, and I guess I was shaking my head sternly when a shadow fell over me. "Another of the same," I said, looking up--but it wasn't the waiter. It was an enormous, red-skinned, balloon-chested, white-togaed Martian, and his little wrinkled face was smiling like I was long-lost Uncle Eddie whom he hadn't seen for forty years. When he threw open his long, spindly arms and screeched a loud, "Ahh!" I was beginning to think maybe I was. "Mr. Langston!" he shrilled. "How gladly to see you! Where been? We missing you colossal!" Then he slapped one fragile hand against his protruding chest, looked up at the ceiling and squeaked: "Clean living and Suns-Rays Incorporated!" He looked at me again, smiling. "Huh?" I said. "Oh, yeah. Sure as hell. Clean living and Suns-Rays etcetera. Damn right. Pull up a chair, Blek, old boy." * * * * * As far as I'm concerned, one Martian looks pretty much like another; but now I recognized this one. There was only one extraterrestrial in the little screwball health-cult with which I had become rather loosely acquainted in the past two weeks, and this was him. I moved my feet and Zan Matl Blekeke sat down, exuding sunshine and clean living all over the place. We ordered drinks. He was elated as blazes about something, and I decided I might as well let him tell me about it--and knowing the typical Martian's haphazard use of the English language, I regarded the prospect as something of a challenge. Zan Blekeke started right in telling me about it in his shrill, piping tones: "Ah, Mr. Langston, wrong time go. Where been? Should have been meeting. I derelicted resident. Ha! Expected, yups?" I replied, "Nups. Let's start over again. Something pretty damn important?" He nodded. "SRI meeting? Yesterday?" He nodded again, smiling to beat hell. I thought for a moment, then tried a shot in the dark, illogical as it was. "You lost your home? Derelicted resident?" He looked like I'd stepped on his sore corn. I tried again. "You don't mean you were kicked out of the group?" He winced. "Oohhh, nooo! Opposition. Opposition." "You mean there was too much opposition to your being kicked out, so you weren't?" He slumped in his seat and regarded me balefully. With the pathos of a squeaky hinge, he said: "Head man. Top dog. Derelicted resident. Boss. Wheel. Me. Zan Blekeke." And if I didn't get it now, I just didn't deserve to know. But I got it. "You were elected president?" I said. Zan Blekeke nodded gratefully. "Yus and so. Undeserving awful, but...." He heaved his chest in resignation. "No. Not at all," I protested. "Why, I think that's wonderful. You're just the man for the job! Have another drink." * * * * *