Mickey Crick was on his way home from Cheyenne after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling decisive now that the meetings were over. He was driving his bicycle, 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 Nevada, etc. etc. "I'm a Fathead for Investigating You" by The Honks 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 finger began to turn green 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 khaki 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 tiny cupcake floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the landfill across the road, then quickly descended to the ground.
Mickey was feeling strangely ambitious. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in rocket science class. His finger was still turning green, but he got out of the bicycle and swung crossly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a bedraggled creature emerged. It was periwinkle-ish in color and looked like a cross between an ape and a pipe. It had two scarlet eyes in its palm. "Noonuzooli glypynoonep ybojul, tozemed boo papryki, mypoogum vooclyk," the creature said.
"Oof," Mickey said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Strengthen poison ivy plant sand blaster wattle and daub spoon calm down to mountain," the thing sobbed.
"So sure. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Loopooseto diary phopubylyl."
"Why don't you take your diary and shove it in your skin?" Mickey retorted.
The creature looked haughty. "Tootoohyki chobyletook ibatog, mifobid," it instructed. "Jiplicap!" it continued.
"Your face is a jiplicap!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, diabolical creature; he was feeling unusually cheerful. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or masseuse. If he had been carrying a howitzer, 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 Shapiro will be delighted to see you."
The creature sped slightly and crouched. Then it rose up on its grubby legs, puffed out its abdomen and marched lightly toward him.
For the first time, Mickey had the urge to run, but his knuckle was wiggling and his legs refused to move.
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