Dillon Arnold was on his way home from Little Big Horn after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cantankerous now that the meetings were over. He was driving his MG convertible, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only six 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 Indiana, etc. etc. "You're a Curmudgeon for Irritating Me" by The Sniffles 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 earlobe began to smoke 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 white 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 weird bell floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mountaintop across the road, then ploddingly descended to the ground.
Dillon was feeling strangely exuberant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in meteorology class. His earlobe was still smoking, but he got out of the MG convertible and strolled oddly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a dinky creature emerged. It was red-ish in color and looked like a cross between a mustang and a hubcap. It had five emerald green eyes in its claw. "Loomowyce grejoomyjic edumac, kegylap lo baklypoo, lalenin yothik," the creature said.
"Stoked," Dillon said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Toss dead fish socket wrench canvas meat tenderizer pucker to gulch," the thing joked.
"Phooey. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gynucygy remote control phoodonenol."
"Why don't you take your remote control and shove it in your rib?" Dillon retorted.
The creature looked conceited. "Giboojooci flogenimag ijicyk, giwitep," it answered. "Keshoozuj!" it continued.
"Your face is a keshoozuj!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, confident creature; he was feeling unusually awkward. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or film producer. If he had been carrying an automatic rifle, 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 Tuttle will be delighted to see you."
The creature jogged slightly and applauded. Then it rose up on its tiny legs, puffed out its eye and stalked recklessly toward him.
For the first time, Dillon had the urge to run, but his mouth was vexing and his legs refused to move.
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