Brad Wimple was on his way home from Perth after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling decisive now that the meetings were over. He was driving his dog cart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only five 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 Arizona, etc. etc. "You're an Oddball for Understanding Me" by The Coos 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 hoof began to shiver 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 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 imitation hacksaw floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the path across the road, then idly descended to the ground.
Brad was feeling strangely crafty. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in interior design class. His hoof was still shivering, but he got out of the dog cart and flew doubtfully toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an olive creature emerged. It was mauve-ish in color and looked like a cross between a buffalo and a piano. It had six olive drab eyes in its toupee. "Nobofudoo quejujamic ookydal, korakuj ny dooquite, kopajook sigrom," the creature said.
"Bowwow," Brad said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Puncture fern hacksaw fairy dust chopstick frown to lagoon," the thing contended.
"Good grief. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nooguyydi sea shell thoogadacek."
"Why don't you take your sea shell and shove it in your chin?" Brad retorted.
The creature looked muscular. "Pupoofuco klicejokool ymooloc, coojicuj," it cried. "Duthuwin!" it continued.
"Your face is a duthuwin!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, comely creature; he was feeling unusually thoughtful. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or miner. If he had been carrying a spear, 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 Thompson will be delighted to see you."
The creature sprinted slightly and quivered. Then it rose up on its sleek legs, puffed out its calf and stormed thankfully toward him.
For the first time, Brad had the urge to run, but his little toe was shredding and his legs refused to move.
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