Max glanced over at him. "A couple more years of this, and you'll have half of New Mexico colored in."

"Not quite," Michael answered. They had covered a lot of ground over the years. But Michael wanted to do more. He wished he could search all day every day instead of once a week.

"It's been a while since we've found anything. Maybe we're getting too far away from the crash site," Max said.

"We might be too far to find debris, but I still think the ship is stashed somewhere in the desert, not more than a few hours' drive from the site," Michael answered. "They wouldn't want to risk taking it farther. Too many people would have to be involved. There would be too many questions."

Max gave a noncommittal grunt. Michael knew that Max doubted they would ever find the ship. And Isabel kept saying they were fools to keep looking. She'd given up the search a long time ago. But Michael was never going to give up. And Max would keep coming out to the desert with him every week as long as Michael wanted him to. Michael could count on Max. Always could, always would.

Michael clicked on the radio. He didn't really feel like talking, and it didn't seem as if Max did, either. He was probably thinking about Liz.

Michael didn't know what that girl had said to Max when they were alone in his room. But whatever it was, it had totally annihilated him. After she left, Max told Michael and Isabel that Liz would keep their secret. He promised them they weren't in any danger. But Max hadn't sounded happy or even relieved, and he looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

Liz couldn't handle the truth. Michael was sure of that. She probably treated Max like some kind of freak.

We just don't belong, he thought. We're never going to fit in. It's never going to feel right living here. And that's why he had to find a way out. He would make it back to his home planet, his real home, no matter what it took. Maybe he even had some relatives there.

Michael watched the sun sink lower and lower, turning the sky pink and orange. Slowly the colors faded, then turned to black, and stars began to appear.

He wished it could be night all the time. At night somehow it felt like his home planet was closer, almost in reach, up there behind the stars somewhere. At night he felt positive that he would find the ship, positive that he would somehow find his way back.

During the day… sometimes during the day it seemed hopeless. It felt like there was nothing up there at all. No home to go back to.

"We're coming up to the arroyo," Max said. "Do you want to drive or hike?"

"Hike." Michael needed to cool off. He figured after a long hike he might be ready to go back and see Mr. Hughes without wanting to punch his face in.

Max parked the Jeep. Michael sprang out and half slid, half climbed down the side of the arroyo. He could hear Max right behind him.

When Michael reached the bottom, he turned in a slow circle, scanning the walls and floor of the arroyo. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly, just something that didn't belong.

One of the other things Michael liked about night was how clearly he could see. His vision was better in the dark than it was during the day. It made the weekly nighttime searches easier. Having the advantage over any curious humans who happened by was a bonus, too.

"I'll go south, you go north?" Max asked.

Michael nodded and set off. We're due to find something, he thought. It's been way too long. It had been almost a year since Max found the strip of thin, flexible metal that they both figured was part of their parents' ship. It had to be. It was like nothing they'd ever seen before. If you crumpled it up, it immediately straightened itself out. It was indestructible. Michael had tried cutting it with pruning shears. He'd even taken a blowtorch to it once. But the metal, if that's what it was, always returned to its original shape, undamaged.

The sound of a bunch of sheep baaing interrupted Michael's thoughts. He stood still and listened. Was someone out there? Someone who had spooked the sheep?

The sheep quieted down again. Now all Michael could hear was the sound of his own breathing and the tiny scratch, scratch, scratch of a blue belly lizard's claws as it darted across a rock. Guess it was nothing, he decided.

He pulled a plastic bottle out of his backpack and took a swig of the grape soda laced with hot sauce. He knew it would make humans gag, but he figured his taste buds worked differently because he could drink it all day. He hiked forward.

When he was a kid, every time they came out to the desert, he'd been positive they would find the ship. He thought he would just hop in and fly himself and Michael and Isabel home. He was sure that somehow he'd just know exactly how all the controls worked.

Then when he was a couple of years older, he saw that old Superman movie on TV There was a scene where Superman found a crystal that showed a hologram of his dead father, and he got to have all these conversations with him.

For a long time Michael hoped he'd find something like that crystal. Something that would show him his father's face, at least.

But he grew up. And he never found anything to tell him who he really was. Now all Michael wanted was a clue, a hint. Anything that would lead him to the next place to look. Anything to keep him hoping.

He walked on and on, studying every rock, every crevice. He hadn't even found a gum wrapper when he heard Max's shrill whistle, the signal that it was time to head back.

Max was already in the driver's seat when Michael climbed back up to the top of the arroyo. Michael didn't ask him if he'd found anything. He already knew the answer.

"Drop me off at the cave on the way back, okay?" Michael asked as he swung into the Jeep. "I think I'm going to sack out there."

Max nodded and turned the Jeep toward town. The cave was about twenty miles outside Roswell, much closer to town than to the crash site.

Michael had spent more time in the cave than he had in any of his foster homes. It was a special place-the first place he had seen when he broke free of his incubation pod. He'd been about seven years old-at least he looked about the same as a seven-year-old human child, although he must have been incubating for about forty years.

He'd wanted to stay in the cave forever. The desert outside seemed too big and bright to him. He felt safer in the dim light with the solid limestone walls all around him.

Michael had spent days huddled next to the unopened pod-it was the one Max and Isabel shared, but he didn't know that then-pressing himself against its warm surface. The tiny rustling sounds he heard inside it kept him company.

Finally thirst and hunger drove him into the desert. A local rancher found him drinking from the same stream the guy's sheep used. The man took him into town, and Michael was placed in the orphanage. From there he went to his very first foster home.

It took him only a week to learn English. Less than that for math. The social services people had figured he was at a fifth-grade level when they started him at Roswell Elementary. They never could figure out why he didn't remember his parents or where he came from.

Michael still remembered the day Max brought in a piece of amethyst to show the class. He had said he liked it because it was the same color as the ring of light around their teacher, Mr. Tollifson. All the other kids laughed. Mr. Tollifson said it was nice that Max had such a good imagination.

And Michael had the amazing, joy-inducing realization that he wasn't alone anymore. Someone else could see what he saw.

"Mr. Cuddihy isn't going to be happy if the Hugheses complain that you've been staying out all night again," Max commented as they drove down the empty highway.

"Mr. Cuddihy is never happy," Michael answered. His social worker would have to deal. And if the Hugheses made too big a stink about it, Mr. Cuddihy would probably have to start looking for foster home number eleven. His social worker would just have to deal with that, too.