        As stressed as he was, his wilderness skills had not left him, and in a few minutes, he had started a new fire on the banked coals of the old one.  He opened his cooler and pulled out a beer, popped the cap and idly flicked it into the fire, and then took a long drink.  Sighing, he grabbed a stick and began poking at the fire, watching the sparks drift upwards.  He followed them into the sky, watching the stars twinkling above, and wondered if there was a spaceship there, slowly floating above his head, somehow cloaked so that the government didn’t know it was there, filled with aliens watching his every move.  Quadrupeds in lab coats, holding clipboards, jotting down notes.  ‘Here we see the subject poking a stick in a fire.  Possibly aggressive.  Recommend immediate termination of subject.’  He sighed.  He couldn’t decide if he was getting worked up over nothing, or if the next day would bring the moment that would change everything.  Did John Paul stay up all night, tossing and turning, before the day he ascended to the papal throne?  Or did he sleep a contented night’s sleep, knowing that all his hard work and sacrifice had paid off?  Such thoughts were too deep for a retired machinist, he decided.  Whatever happened tomorrow happened.