Dean Beversdorf was on his way home from Auckland after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling timid now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Volkswagen Jetta, 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 Minnesota, etc. etc. "You're a Dweeb for Analyzing Me" by The Yawns 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 soften 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 amber 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 gross paper clip floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the jungle across the road, then at a dawdle descended to the ground.
Dean was feeling strangely dumb. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in acupuncture class. His spine was still softening, but he got out of the Volkswagen Jetta and scooted needlessly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a spry creature emerged. It was silver-ish in color and looked like a cross between an android and a bat. It had six salmon eyes in its gut. "Popogiko thatijadool utogob, bowetoom jo niwryci, coocogib coquij," the creature said.
"Umm," Dean said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Pat mushroom sickle gravel knife sigh to mountaintop," the thing noted.
"Piffle. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Donoovaje ice cream cone ghyjyputej."
"Why don't you take your ice cream cone and shove it in your ear?" Dean retorted.
The creature looked happy. "Googewane thuligamooc olubib, cyfilib," it debated. "Nyquareg!" it continued.
"Your face is a nyquareg!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, adorable creature; he was feeling unusually furious. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or nuclear physicist. If he had been carrying a six-shooter, 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 Gibson will be delighted to see you."
The creature walked slightly and chattered. Then it rose up on its spongy legs, puffed out its tongue and rolled blindly toward him.
For the first time, Dean had the urge to run, but his carotid artery was stinking and his legs refused to move.
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