"Bobby Joe! Breakfast is ready!" Ma called up the stairs.

Bobby Joe awoke hunched over his desk in a pool of his own drool. Not even during final exams had Bobby Joe been so interested in a subject he had studied until he fell asleep at his desk. Still wearing his clothes from the night before, Bobby Joe had the notion to change before heading downstairs.

"Okay. Be there in a minute," he called back.

Bobby Joe stumbled into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet. Susie Mae giggled with a mouth full of scrambled eggs.

"Late night?" Pa asked Bobby Joe.

"Couldn't sleep. Ya know how it is. I was all excited thinkin' 'bout that ship," Bobby Joe said.

Ma rolled her eyes. She had heard enough about that thing with Pa's ranting. Even as he got into bed, Pa muttered under his breath about the government not cleaning up their own messes.

"You know, son, I've been thinkin' about what you said last night," Pa said.

"What's that?"

Pa hesitated, not knowing what size can of worms he was about to open with his proposition. He asked, "Do you still want that thing?"

"Do I?!" Bobby Joe said, excitement replacing his drowsy insomnia.

"Alright. I'll make you a deal," Pa said, "After breakfast, if you can get that thing out of my corn, you can keep it."

Bobby Joe leapt up, gave his old man a hug, and turned to go upstairs to get his shoes.

"I said, after breakfast," Pa said.

Bobby Joe sat at the kitchen table and gobbled down his breakfast. Susie Mae made quiet pig noises from across the table.

"Slow down, Bobby Joe. If you get yerself sick, you won't be goin' anywhere," Ma said. Bobby Joe ate at a more reasonable pace.

"Is that really a spaceship?" Susie Mae asked.

"Yeah," Bobby Joe said, "They came here to figure out how ice cream's made. See, they don't have ice cream where they're from. They come to Earth and slaughter our cows tryin' to learn how to make it!"

Susie Mae's fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

"Uh uh! Ma!" Susie Mae said.

"Bobby! Quit teasin' your sister," Ma said.

Bobby Joe grinned the rest of breakfast, partly for teasing his sister, but more for thoughts of his new cruiser.

After breakfast, Bobby Joe fashioned a sled out a length of rope and an old canvas cover. He carefully pulled the cruiser into the barn. He watched Susie Mae out in the pasture counting cows, making sure all were safe.

By lunchtime, the ship was removed and the damaged portion of the cornfield was plowed. Pa was so impressed with his son's initiative and efficiency, not only did he keep his promise and allow his son to have the crashed ship, he doubled his allowance.

Bobby Joe used the rope and canvas to cover the ship. He shut the barn door behind him, as he and Pa walked to the house for lunch.

"What are you goin' to do with that thing?" his Pa asked him.

"Maybe fix it up and fly it," Bobby Joe said, still grinning since breakfast. That grin said more than his father realized.

"Alright. If you say so," Pa said, admiring his son's imagination.

After lunch, Bobby Joe was back in his room reading more about his new Nyolar cruiser. There was a knock at the front door. It was unusual to have unexpected guests in rural areas.

Pa answered the door. A man in a dark suit with dark sunglasses stood on the porch. Ma had the brief notion something terrible might have happened to one of the neighbors. Bobby Joe was nervous it was someone coming to take his fun away.

"Howdy. Can I help you?" Pa asked.

"Yes, sir," said the man in black, "I'm here to follow up on a report about a fallen bogey. In other words, a UFO crash."

"Funny. The man on the phone last night said there ain't no such thing as flyin' saucers."

"That's right, sir. Flying saucers don't exist. May I ask you another question?"

"Yup."

"May I ask what happened to your corn field?"

"Don't know. Somethin' must a got into the corn."

The man stared at Pa. Pa stared at the man in black. Bobby Joe stared from the stairs at both of them.

The man smiled.

"Thank you for your time, sir. Sorry to trouble you," he said. He walked down the porch steps, back to his car, and drove away.

Pa shook his head, and muttered, "Pfft. Government employees."

Bobby Joe sighed with relief. His Nyolar cruiser was safe.

Bobby Joe made plans for his new cruiser. Big plans. All afternoon, Bobby Joe added modifications to the Nyolar. He found an old can of spray paint in the storage shed and added blue flames down each side of the cruiser. He took speakers from his room and improved the cruiser's stereo. He stopped by the local junkyard to get a rear spoiler and a musical car horn, too.

His final modification was what he called a "rumbler." The Nyolar did not make as much as a hum while running. When he flew his new cruiser, he wanted the world to know. He took an old lawnmower engine and amplified it. It wasn't quite what he was hoping for, but it would do for now.

Tonight, Bobby Joe was dining in style with Ema Jean. He told her on the phone he got a new cruiser and he'd pick her up at seven. Ema Jean was excited and asked Bobby Joe dozens of questions about his new "wheels." Bobby Joe refused to answer, and repeated it was a surprise. She was surprised at what he drove up in. She had not expected a sleek, silver craft (with blue flames down the sides) hovering inches above the driveway.

"Be back later!" Ema Jean called. The screen door squeeked closed behind her.

"Have fun," her father said, not looking up from the evening paper.

Ema Jean cautiously climbed into the cruiser. No sooner had she sat down and fastened her seatbelt, when Bobby Joe had the Nyolar accelerating and ascending at a nauseating speed.

"Bobby Joe! You put this space ship down this instant!" she cried, clutching what she assumed was the dashboard.

"Relax, Ema Jean," he said with sly smile, "B'sides… It's not a spaceship, it's a cruiser."

Staring at the floating dice below the rearview mirror, Ema Jean asked him, "Is this really yours?"

"Sure, baby. You think Pa would own somethin' like this?"

Ema Jean couldn't argue with that.

"Whose spaceship is this?" she asked.

"I told you. It's not a spaceship. It's a cruiser."

"Whose cruiser is this?"

"It's Kraun's"

"Who's Kraun?"

"Kraun's gone, baby. Kraun's gone."

At that moment, several hundred miles away, Quentin Tarantino winced in discomfort, shook it off, and continued his conversation only skipping one beat.