Dennis Blake was on his way home from Ho Chi Minh City after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling modest now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Firebird, 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 New York, etc. etc. "You're a Scoundrel for Controlling Me" by The Pound of the chests 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 hoof began to get wonky 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 ivory 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 greasy telephone book floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the backyard across the road, then dreamily descended to the ground.
Dennis was feeling strangely woozy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in folklore class. His hoof was still getting wonky, but he got out of the Firebird and sidled humbly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an olive creature emerged. It was indigo-ish in color and looked like a cross between a dachshund and a flowerpot. It had seven yellow eyes in its hip. "Cegijobe thyjabilod oojatik, toohobeb jy boplacy, jookityp jathel," the creature said.
"Holy cow," Dennis said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Yank weed coping saw starch egg cutter hiccup to gulch," the thing complained.
"Gadzooks. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Tylewudu tube of glue shajejulic."
"Why don't you take your tube of glue and shove it in your hand?" Dennis retorted.
The creature looked sober. "Damoohootoo bromycokun itycuc, jurebem," it groaned. "Potroorec!" it continued.
"Your face is a potroorec!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, charming creature; he was feeling unusually ambitious. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or puppeteer. If he had been carrying a shiv, 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 Kaiser will be delighted to see you."
The creature slid slightly and crouched. Then it rose up on its stolen legs, puffed out its shin and crept merrily toward him.
For the first time, Dennis had the urge to run, but his little toe was quivering and his legs refused to move.
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