Muerto Cheng was on his way home from Podunk Hollow after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling woozy now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Pontiac Firebird, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only twelve 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. "I'm a Scamp for Calling You" by The Smacks 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 intestine began to flex 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 silver 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 ruined hot potato floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the range across the road, then double-time descended to the ground.
Muerto was feeling strangely brave. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in cartography class. His intestine was still flexing, but he got out of the Pontiac Firebird and inched arrogantly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an alert creature emerged. It was metallic red-ish in color and looked like a cross between a hedgehog and a shovel. It had five amber eyes in its tongue. "Kytiseby klejojokok itudin, dyzocin ku totrika, cilookil focryg," the creature said.
"Sure," Muerto said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Feel bear track heat gun ice chopstick crouch to crime scene," the thing blathered.
"Very interesting. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Mookaroonoo brochure trepydadel."
"Why don't you take your brochure and shove it in your ankle?" Muerto retorted.
The creature looked yappy. "Cenyrepa drugotomyl apypad, kycyloob," it blathered. "Pythurik!" it continued.
"Your face is a pythurik!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, quiet creature; he was feeling unusually cautious. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or physicist. If he had been carrying a Molotov cocktail, 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 Case will be delighted to see you."
The creature flew slightly and scratched. Then it rose up on its hollow legs, puffed out its tummy and bounded madly toward him.
For the first time, Muerto had the urge to run, but his front tooth was dribbling and his legs refused to move.
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