For years, Timothy kept the rare Scottish berm fowl in a smart, iron cage in his den. One day, the fowl escaped through an open hatch, stole two credit cards and bought a ticket to Santa Fe. To his horror, Timothy realized he had been living with a bad bird – a very bad bird.

At age 10, Martin learned that his superb taste was a gift, not a curse, a special power he could use to help mankind and bring peace and balance to the universe. His mother was right: He was no ordinary lad. “Enough!” Doctor Lexor sneered. “Activate the lasers!”

“And so when you hear thunder, it’s just the angels rolling a strike,” Father Gallagher said, grinning through his red mustache. Sally felt sad. She knew he meant well and loved him for it. But a heaven full of gutters and bowling balls gave her little comfort.

After the Bixtons’ voir dire, Edward felt silly. Standing in the atrium in his olive-colored Derbyshire, he could feel their eyes bore into him like diamond-tipped daggers. He looked for Emily, hoping she would join him for a prompt bolt through the parlor door.

His fingernails were black with polish, dirt and nicotine. He tapped them on the table again, took a long drag from his Rothman’s and exhaled a sickly cloud. He repeated what, by now, had become his mantra. “Simon LeBon,” he said, “took everything from me.”

He’d beaten cancer once and the IRS twice. The hell if Steele Murray was going another year without beating Highland Tech. “Boys, I had a dream last night,” he shouted from the front of the locker room. “Big dog walked into the little dog’s yard. Little dog ran him out. Ran him right out!”

As their pod floated into the cool light of the docking bay, Captain Ray thought of all the galaxies and dreams he’d left behind. Suddenly, the universe seemed like a small place. “We’re home, son,” he said, swiveling around to face his young co-pilot. “We’re home.”