"Yes, well as you are no doubt aware, he is a little enthusiastic about his ideas. I'm afraid he's got himself into trouble on more than one occasion, and is on parole, as it were, from a corrective psychiatric unit. If he gets into trouble again, I fear they might lock him up for good."

"Oh, he's not dangerous, is he?"
"Not physically, no. But he is very forceful with some extremely radical ideas. I'd hate you to become involved. College professors are not supposed to throw whole sections of books out of expensive libraries."
"He did that?"
"That, and much more. He has disrupted ecclesiastical gatherings all over the country, and has been arrested on many occasions for literally throwing books out of public libraries. His academic career is over, and if he continues, his freedom too, will be a thing of the past."

"Thank you father, for the warning. I'll see he goes home okay."

"Have you been to Machu Picchu?" Pete just tossed it in the air as if testing the wind.

"No need to go to Machu Picchu. Go to Tiahuanaco instead. Tiahuanaco is around seventeen thousand years old. Machu Picchu? Around five hundred. Gotta be a copy. Got the same stuff. 'Course the archaeologists label everything temples and sacrifice stones, or astrological observation sites or calendars. Anything but what they were. Fucking solar devices is what they were. Sun gods featured strongly.

'Course they did. The fucking sun was everything - still is. Fucking still is."

"Do you have to keep shouting? Can't you converse in a level tone." Myra was enjoying his observations, but his hysterical outbursts were an embarrassment - especially inside a cab.

They were nearing his home in Brentwood. "Cummon, we're here. I'll show you some stuff. Boy can I show you some fucking stuff."

Inside his modest single bedroom apartment there was the all pervasive smell of cat food and litter boxes. A sleek black cat greeted them with an instant demand for attention. "That's BC. Needs a lot of maintenance does BC. Give his tummy a rub and you're his friend for life. More like a dog is BC."

Another cat emerged from the kitchen, again black, but with a white vest and a white patch on her back that spilled down one side. "That's Fat Emma. She keeps a bit more to herself. She'll let you know if she wants you to touch her." He focused on Fat Emma. "Hey baby, how's my fat girl?"

"She doesn't look fat to me."

"She ain't. Cummon inside." She followed him to the living room where the walls were literally lined with bookshelves with not one inch of space upon them. In the centre of the room was a large kitchen table with a generous seventeen inch plasma computer panel, a keyboard, and countless files and sheets of paper. Three upright computers stood on the floor below the table, two of which were alive with green and red lights, and a small printer balanced on top of the third. Overhead a long fluorescent light burned brilliant white, while darkened standard lamps stood either side of the table. The curtains were drawn on two sides. Daylight was excluded. He settled at his table, his fingers instantly busy on the keyboard.

"You ever go to the pyramid in Memphis? Tennessee Memphis. Fucking Egyptians were here long before the Spaniards." The screen went charcoal grey, then burst into blue and white. "Let's go to the stone circle in the Santa Cruz mountains," he said without taking his eyes from the screen. "We got one. 'Course we got fucking thousands, only we ain't uncovered them. Fucking thousands, just like Europe. Just like Scanda-fucking-navia. Stone circles every fucking where. Why? Why? Because that's where people lived, that's fucking why.

'Temples! Such crap. Observatories! Horseshit! Calendars - how many fucking calendars did they need? Fucking houses, that's what. Solar efficient fucking houses and meeting rooms - maybe palaces. Maybe.

Continued . . .