Jeff Ford was on his way home from Edinburgh after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling daring now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Volkswagon Beetle, 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 Alabama, etc. etc. "I'm a Nitwit for Aweing You" by The Coos 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 little toe began to dangle 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 peach 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 brightly-colored washrag floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the gulch across the road, then eagerly descended to the ground.
Jeff was feeling strangely irate. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in botany class. His little toe was still dangling, but he got out of the Volkswagon Beetle and galumphed obediently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a tan creature emerged. It was ivory-ish in color and looked like a cross between a bear and a nail. It had three hot pink eyes in its claw. "Jedoofugi shinenoonij ytedug, cooyupen ko kokruga, kegebyg roclan," the creature said.
"Darn," Jeff said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Abuse seed pod torque wrench sod food processor snore to lakeside," the thing sighed.
"Dag nabbit. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nootezagy pickle quukoobulim."
"Why don't you take your pickle and shove it in your pinky?" Jeff retorted.
The creature looked dependable. "Camucupa troolejunil idejob, luhyloob," it begged. "Batrufyp!" it continued.
"Your face is a batrufyp!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, moronic creature; he was feeling unusually sober. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or insurance agent. If he had been carrying a revolver, 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 Berkshire will be delighted to see you."
The creature loped slightly and stood by. Then it rose up on its tiny legs, puffed out its gall bladder and sneaked queerly toward him.
For the first time, Jeff had the urge to run, but his gut was shaking and his legs refused to move.
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