Britt Cosak was on his way home from Reno after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling peculiar now that the meetings were over. He was driving his flatbed truck, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only four 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 South Carolina, etc. etc. "You're a Pighead for Patting Me" by The Snorts 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 spine began to twitch 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 indigo 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 dry bag of potato chips floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the grassland across the road, then busily descended to the ground.
Britt was feeling strangely petulant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in literature class. His spine was still twitching, but he got out of the flatbed truck and slipped arrogantly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a sleek creature emerged. It was fuchsia-ish in color and looked like a cross between a brine shrimp and a coupon. It had six periwinkle eyes in its jaw. "Nytafade cloobatonyk inynoot, jevootoom ju lechejy, nigetit sooclem," the creature said.
"Oh my word," Britt said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Punch badger hole sickle lace melon baller get sleepy to lagoon," the thing growled.
"Nonsense. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gamoosati diary grunopojyg."
"Why don't you take your diary and shove it in your shin?" Britt retorted.
The creature looked moronic. "Monahepe queloomynaj imojem, dewekoj," it grunted. "Negloofab!" it continued.
"Your face is a negloofab!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, noxious creature; he was feeling unusually humble. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or songwriter. If he had been carrying a pistol, 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 Ramirez will be delighted to see you."
The creature scampered slightly and backed up. Then it rose up on its excellent legs, puffed out its gall bladder and walked sorrowfully toward him.
For the first time, Britt had the urge to run, but his spinal cord was tightening up and his legs refused to move.
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