It was well after nine when Patrick and Natalie finally arrived. As I spotted her getting out of his car, I felt a momentary twinge of jealousy, followed immediately by shame. I’d been off at college for the last couple of years, leaving her behind with an ailing father to support and no prospect of a way out. Since I’d been back, I had avoided her, even to the extent of not answering her texts. I certainly had no claim on her, and honestly, I was amazed she was still talking to me.

Patrick stopped just inside the door and said, “Hey, you moved that freezer all by yourself?”

“Yeah, with the pallet jack.”

As we talked, we walked around the old hay bales to the back of the barn, where the freezer sat in semi-darkness. An extension cord stretched off into the dimness. Natalie opened the lid for a moment and gazed down at the alien corpse. Frost now covered the fur. “That’s still just completely unreal. Have you taken vids of everything?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do,” Patrick replied. “Deep fakes are becoming so convincing these days that a video on its own means nothing. What we really need is a light saber or a blaster. Cut a car in half right in front of a bunch of reporters, and you bet people will start paying attention.”

“Or even better, we could produce a flying saucer,” I replied.

Patrick snickered. “One that actually flies.”

“Fine. I’m not trying to back out.” Natalie made a face and gestured at the corpse. “But there are probably a whole lot of ethical and legal questions being raised here.”

“I know, Nat. And we’ll turn it over in a day or two, even if we don’t find a spaceship.” I looked at her with a frown. “And we’ll accept that we’ll never learn anything more about it.”

Natalie’s lips tightened. “Hey, don’t lecture me, buster. You have your engineering degree to look forward to, more or less, and Patrick will take over his family business. I’m the one who’s going to rot in this town and eventually die of terminal mediocrity.”

Natalie had always planned to get her MBA. Her mother’s death and father’s descent into Alzheimer’s had put an end to any career plans. Yet another reason for me to feel shame for the way I’d been treating her.

Patrick, trying to smooth things over, interjected, “And I’m sure someone will want to autopsy it. Maybe we can sell it to the highest bidder.”

“I think that comes under the heading of ethical questions,” I said. “Maybe instead we’ll sell the spaceship and throw in the alien corpse.”

“Whatever, man. As long as there’s a pile of money involved.”