Tom Alden was on his way home from Montgomery after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling irate now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Jeep, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only seven 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 Vermont, etc. etc. "I'm a Beast for Tickling You" by The Jeers 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 adrenal gland began to peel 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 fuchsia 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 stolen calculator floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mountaintop across the road, then imperceptibly descended to the ground.
Tom was feeling strangely sarcastic. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in neurobiology class. His adrenal gland was still peeling, but he got out of the Jeep and walked caustically toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a thin creature emerged. It was aquamarine-ish in color and looked like a cross between a sloth and a potato. It had six golden eyes in its toupee. "Colyjike wrocetinup oominyk, mifoogoop lo bebroogo, dokokoop yislyk," the creature said.
"Huh," Tom said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Bite fern protractor thatch pair of chopsticks purr to stream," the thing whispered.
"Maybe. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nugisyje peach grudakogin."
"Why don't you take your peach and shove it in your spleen?" Tom retorted.
The creature looked radiant. "Peticemoo shykunubet elepud, tiyoolit," it acknowledged. "Doodrowol!" it continued.
"Your face is a doodrowol!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, decisive creature; he was feeling unusually cunning. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or park ranger. If he had been carrying a crossbow, 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 Cleveland will be delighted to see you."
The creature sauntered slightly and caught up. Then it rose up on its huge legs, puffed out its chest and barrelled swiftly toward him.
For the first time, Tom had the urge to run, but his kidney was tightening up and his legs refused to move.
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