Ralf Winslow, lobsterman, was a man of few words. . . and lately what he did have to say wasn't particularly nice. Fishing and life in general had not been going well for Ralf. Then, one quiet morning, the lone lobsterman was startled by a mystifying streak of light swooping across the dawn sky. The fiery white band closed with the surface of the water, tearing along the line of Ralf's traps and buoys. Before he could appreciate what was taking place, a steaming saucer the size of a merry-go-round and just as colorful came to rest not twenty from his lobsterboat, the beloved Betsy Ann Jolene. From that moment on Ralf and the universe were changed forever.