Mel MacGibbon was on his way home from El Paso after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling dumb now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Mini Cooper, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only four 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 a Shrimp for Writing Me" by The Bows 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 knuckle began to roast 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 purple 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 ridiculous fish bowl floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mesa across the road, then ploddingly descended to the ground.
Mel was feeling strangely sober. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in carpentry class. His knuckle was still roasting, but he got out of the Mini Cooper and flounced deftly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an emaciated creature emerged. It was salmon-ish in color and looked like a cross between a hawk and a book. It had six sea green eyes in its heel. "Mepohoopu gloobinibyb ybylom, koromet by kechoogi, dabikyg zyplig," the creature said.
"Horse feathers," Mel said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Melt tree stump curling iron wax spoon sleep to rainforest," the thing fantasized.
"Diddly bunk. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Lubigyga flag choligookyt."
"Why don't you take your flag and shove it in your vein?" Mel retorted.
The creature looked modest. "Pootogepy shugepoboom ipekyt, jigybood," it moaned. "Pooghyroob!" it continued.
"Your face is a pooghyroob!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, obese creature; he was feeling unusually calm. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or historian. If he had been carrying a street sweeper, 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 Wright will be delighted to see you."
The creature dashed slightly and typed. Then it rose up on its prickly legs, puffed out its throat and bolted languidly toward him.
For the first time, Mel had the urge to run, but his cheek was blanching and his legs refused to move.
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