T.J. Morrissey was on his way home from Victoria after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cheerful now that the meetings were over. He was driving his fire truck, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only two 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 North Dakota, etc. etc. "I'm a Donkey for Speaking to You" by The Smiles 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 horn began to overheat 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 teal 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 cotton handkerchief floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the circus tent across the road, then actively descended to the ground.
T.J. was feeling strangely self-assured. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in arithmetic class. His horn was still overheating, but he got out of the fire truck and staggered lamely toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a smallish creature emerged. It was jet black-ish in color and looked like a cross between a whale and a horseshoe. It had three green eyes in its head. "Batezeno klapadygup oonalyg, luvinul ko tuthypa, tutomoob yuthig," the creature said.
"Now we're talking," T.J. said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Hit twig putty knife uranium whisk show up to grassland," the thing amended.
"As if. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Pipihygu clock pridyjopem."
"Why don't you take your clock and shove it in your little finger?" T.J. retorted.
The creature looked depraved. "Tookeruci gheginymel aponyd, bofojuj," it yammered. "Myklyfib!" it continued.
"Your face is a myklyfib!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, pigeon-toed creature; he was feeling unusually distressed. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or clockmaker. If he had been carrying a fishing pole, 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 Prince will be delighted to see you."
The creature slithered slightly and jerked. Then it rose up on its plain legs, puffed out its tummy and skidded threateningly toward him.
For the first time, T.J. had the urge to run, but his shin was wandering and his legs refused to move.
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