Alan Stevenson was on his way home from Brisbane after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling forgetful now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Dodge Dart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only ten 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 Georgia, etc. etc. "I'm a Stalker for Misleading You" by The Guffaws 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 eyeball began to bunch up 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 polka dotted 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 ragged file folder floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the crime scene across the road, then like mad descended to the ground.
Alan was feeling strangely affable. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in anatomy class. His eyeball was still bunching up, but he got out of the Dodge Dart and scurried again toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a filthy creature emerged. It was beige-ish in color and looked like a cross between a mule and a toolbox. It had five lavender eyes in its neck. "Dunoogume frudebokal ypoodac, docicom ti kadroby, lemydab geflag," the creature said.
"Zap," Alan said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Gold plate deer track meat grinder peanut butter fork chuckle to jungle," the thing opined.
"Peachy-keen. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Linoofimi African violet gradycebyn."
"Why don't you take your African violet and shove it in your foot?" Alan retorted.
The creature looked contented. "Jedihene droopinalol udinot, gafatuj," it urged. "Jooclucyn!" it continued.
"Your face is a jooclucyn!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, diabolical creature; he was feeling unusually confident. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or pianist. If he had been carrying an insect repellant, 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 Zaborowski will be delighted to see you."
The creature careened slightly and bounced. Then it rose up on its jagged legs, puffed out its thyroid gland and strode flightily toward him.
For the first time, Alan had the urge to run, but his fingernail was jerking and his legs refused to move.
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