“Is this really the best you could do?”

“He needs to eat enough to convert it into a full-size copy of my dad. Running the food synthesizer over and over was the only thing I could think of.”

“Yeah, but did you have to make cheese with it? Couldn’t you have picked something more sturdy, like breadsticks or shnorb sprouts?”

“Could have used those suggestions about an hour ago, Spotcho. I guess we’ll just have to be extra careful.”

It looks like we’re as ready as we’re going to be, so Spotch gets into position behind Lightyear.

“Remember, you have to make sure he’s looking at my dad when he starts eating,” I remind him.

“Got it,” Spotch replies, and places his hands on either side of Lightyear’s head.

“Hey, Dad!” I yell so he can hear me through the closed door. “Can you come in here for a minute?”

And now I hear music playing. It’s a little muffled, but I’m pretty sure it sounds like…

“Oh, I see you’re in your disco outfit again.”

“Yes sir!” Dad’s forehead is dripping with sweat. “Thought I’d get a little more practice in before I hit the floor for real tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you out there.”

I know he wouldn’t want to, but I really don’t see any way around it. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now I’ve got to keep him occupied long enough for Lightyear to scarf down that food pile.

“Actually, Dad, I changed my mind and was wondering if maybe you could teach me a move I could use tomorrow?” Did I really just say that?

“Sure! I knew once you saw a little more of what I can do, you wouldn’t be able to resist. Let’s see now, how about we bust a sweet John Travolta move?”

Wow. He’s really going to town. I want to laugh. Or maybe cry. Or gouge my eyes out with a fork. But Lightyear isn’t done eating yet, so I do my best to act impressed. Like Mom and Dad do when Bula brings home her latest work of art from preschool. We need Dad to stay in the room for a while yet.

During one of his more flamboyant finger points, Dad spots Lightyear. “Whoa. Is that cheese that he’s wolfing down? Whatever he comes up with, you better get rid of it pronto, Tonto. We don’t want the smell of ralphed-up cheese covering up the glorious scent of my sweaty disco boots, now do we? HAR!”

Uh-oh!

“Okay, Dad. I think I’ve got it.”

“Already? Well, aren’t you the fast learner. A chip off the old boogying block! Maybe we should try a few more—”

“No, really, I’m good.” I grab Dad’s disco finger and lead him toward the door. “I’ll practice some more by myself. Thanks for the help!”

No sooner do I manage to get him out the door than Lightyear starts to work his magic.

Sometimes I wish his magic was guessing which card I pulled out of the deck. This is gross.

“Yuck. Are you sure he can do this?”

“Seriously? He made a Grimnee copy out of rock when we were back on that planetoid two months ago. This should be a breeze.”

Another few seconds and he’s finished. Spotch and I stand Cheese Dad up to get a good look.

“I have to admit, that’s a pretty amazing likeness. I bet he’s not as funny as your real dad, though.”

“And I bet he’s funnier. C’mon, let’s cover him up and get him down to the lab. It’s almost eight o’clock, and Rand-El and Brian should be meeting us there with the Shrink Ray in a few minutes.”

“Watcha got there, son?”

“It’s just the cheese that Lightyear spit out. We’re going to toss it into the trash compactor on level three.”

“Good thinking. And I’ll tell you what—I don’t want to see what’s under that sheet, but I’ll bet it isn’t pretty.”

You said it, not me.