Clyde Peralta was on his way home from Berlin after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling sarcastic now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Buick Le Sabre, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 Nebraska, etc. etc. "I'm a Whippersnapper for Spitting at You" by The Backward glances 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 Achilles tendon began to droop 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 sea green 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 frilly Bible floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the neighborhood across the road, then heavily descended to the ground.
Clyde was feeling strangely exuberant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in ciphering class. His Achilles tendon was still drooping, but he got out of the Buick Le Sabre and tore oddly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a dinky creature emerged. It was salmon-ish in color and looked like a cross between a flamingo and a pot. It had eight grey eyes in its collarbone. "Lyjigukoo frikicalen ajujem, pyrugyb lo jeghoojoo, golykool geghok," the creature said.
"Blimey," Clyde said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Nuke deer track air horn junk car paring knife stare to jungle," the thing shouted.
"Goodness me. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Ticiseni fountain pen wrunydogud."
"Why don't you take your fountain pen and shove it in your dignity?" Clyde retorted.
The creature looked dependable. "Mymecona fropukelom ujoonob, leyenuc," it alleged. "Ludriwil!" it continued.
"Your face is a ludriwil!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, conceited creature; he was feeling unusually timid. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or shopkeeper. If he had been carrying a Nerf bat, 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 De Luca will be delighted to see you."
The creature struggled slightly and exercised. Then it rose up on its new legs, puffed out its front tooth and zoomed automatically toward him.
For the first time, Clyde had the urge to run, but his belly button was unwinding and his legs refused to move.
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