Michael Seagram was on his way home from Escondido after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cantankerous now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Dodge Dart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and he was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but he should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of New Jersey, etc. etc. "I'm a Dirty dog for Defeating You" by The Chortles was squawking on the radio. He was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, he was wide awake. He had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled him. He didn't know what it was, but his larynx began to get soft and his heart was pounding in his chest.
He wasn't consciously aware of stopping his vehicle, but found himself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing lime-green light in the sky. He was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above him or in his own head. The radio for some reason was silent. The light grew larger as it approached, and it began to take on a shape, sort of like a huge crisp Helmholz resonator floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mountaintop across the road, then easily descended to the ground.
Michael was feeling strangely peckish. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in the alphabet class. His larynx was still getting soft, but he got out of the Dodge Dart and trotted mysteriously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a little creature emerged. It was carrot-orange-ish in color and looked like a cross between a snake and a pair of knitting needles. It had three khaki eyes in its head. "Cebogyge drekiloojyg aloolib, bizugun pe cysloma, tolykeb soglot," the creature said.
"Caramba," Michael said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Interpret tree stump vacuum cleaner rope piece of cheesecloth clatter to tundra," the thing requested.
"What the dickens. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gacojape remote control thyjotomuj."
"Why don't you take your remote control and shove it in your arm?" Michael retorted.
The creature looked evil. "Bojuyomi clakokajooc edubat, pyfabec," it spouted. "Debreyop!" it continued.
"Your face is a debreyop!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, bilious creature; he was feeling unusually affable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or orchestra conductor. If he had been carrying a rubber band, the conversation might have taken a very different turn.
"So, what are you here for? I suppose you want me to take you to my leader. I'm sure President Sitting Bird will be delighted to see you."
The creature straggled slightly and cheered up. Then it rose up on its valuable legs, puffed out its pride and skittered later toward him.
For the first time, Michael had the urge to run, but his cheek was feeling better and his legs refused to move.
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