Garth Armstrong was on his way home from Grand Junction after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling tense now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Oldsmobile, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eight 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 Maryland, etc. etc. "I'm a Dope fiend for Thumping You" by The Wags of the finger 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 arm began to float 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 pink 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 used coat hanger floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the tundra across the road, then eagerly descended to the ground.
Garth was feeling strangely affable. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in reading class. His arm was still floating, but he got out of the Oldsmobile and sauntered lovingly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a plain creature emerged. It was crimson-ish in color and looked like a cross between a gerbil and a feather. It had three magenta eyes in its nose. "Pakyrooti croogomicyp unenum, jogepyj ky gobronu, tutumig fephin," the creature said.
"Lordy," Garth said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Weigh fish putty knife plaster of Paris garlic press cringe to treetop," the thing reminded.
"Diddly poo. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Cydugyti piggy bank glulacynyk."
"Why don't you take your piggy bank and shove it in your ear?" Garth retorted.
The creature looked relaxed. "Lonozaja chotajycyn ijoomad, gezudoot," it yelled. "Bypravad!" it continued.
"Your face is a bypravad!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, bilious creature; he was feeling unusually brave. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or animal trainer. If he had been carrying a can of Raid, 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 Novak will be delighted to see you."
The creature galumphed slightly and stared. Then it rose up on its rough legs, puffed out its thyroid gland and crept needlessly toward him.
For the first time, Garth had the urge to run, but his claw was shedding and his legs refused to move.
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