Peter Quintero was on his way home from Riverside after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling irate now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Bentley, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only ten 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 Massachusetts, etc. etc. "You're a key for Mesmerizing Me" by The Fist bumps 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 stomach began to line up 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 beige 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 electric pen floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the country meadow across the road, then swiftly descended to the ground.
Peter was feeling strangely affable. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in calculus class. His stomach was still lining up, but he got out of the Bentley and walked needlessly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an athletic creature emerged. It was brilliant orange-ish in color and looked like a cross between an eagle and a crutch. It had three metallic red eyes in its toupee. "Dytozinu whokedynen emecoc, diyogik gu tushepoo, tutucic syghuc," the creature said.
"Just a minute," Peter said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Plasticize pine cone heat gun slate wooden spoon purr to butte," the thing articulated.
"I beg your pardon. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Denoovenoo cactus plant glegygatuc."
"Why don't you take your cactus plant and shove it in your eyebrow?" Peter retorted.
The creature looked sociable. "Netoohadoo frikoolootac ugejed, luvokap," it blubbered. "Miquajug!" it continued.
"Your face is a miquajug!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, fierce creature; he was feeling unusually queer. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or magician. If he had been carrying a BB gun, 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 Bowers will be delighted to see you."
The creature blundered slightly and came back. Then it rose up on its overgrown legs, puffed out its aorta and darted ruefully toward him.
For the first time, Peter had the urge to run, but his jaw was getting sticky and his legs refused to move.
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