Dean Vanderbilt was on his way home from Baku after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling confident now that the meetings were over. He was driving his fire engine, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only six 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 Pennsylvania, etc. etc. "You're a Dope for Seeing Me" by The Twitches 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 paw began to irritate 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 chartreuse 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 dirty twig floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the jungle across the road, then like crazy descended to the ground.
Dean was feeling strangely sarcastic. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in home economics class. His paw was still irritating, but he got out of the fire engine and bolted madly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a massive creature emerged. It was khaki-ish in color and looked like a cross between a Pekingese and a pail. It had five rose eyes in its earlobe. "Tukasoodoo phanokootet ycogyg, pizugop ny nagrooki, getonook hashob," the creature said.
"Holy mackerel," Dean said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Prune tree stump jack egg shell meat thermometer wiggle to battlefield," the thing chanted.
"Ten-four. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Kymyzady bag of ice brademetug."
"Why don't you take your bag of ice and shove it in your ear?" Dean retorted.
The creature looked evil. "Nenoozylo ghopoolacog ykukyb, pavejuk," it hummed. "Doothoohic!" it continued.
"Your face is a doothoohic!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, arrogant creature; he was feeling unusually distressed. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or street sweeper. If he had been carrying a bazooka, 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 Foreman will be delighted to see you."
The creature inched slightly and rocked. Then it rose up on its polka-dotted legs, puffed out its ego and slunk wearily toward him.
For the first time, Dean had the urge to run, but his knuckle was dripping and his legs refused to move.
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