Sinclair Orman was on his way home from Joliet after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cuddly now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Suzuki Wagon, 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 Mississippi, etc. etc. "I'm a Ding dong for Staring at You" by The Blushes 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 fingernail began to ossify 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 pea green 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 greasy campaign sign floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the moonscape across the road, then swiftly descended to the ground.
Sinclair was feeling strangely furious. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in dance class. His fingernail was still ossifying, but he got out of the Suzuki Wagon and proceeded awkwardly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a fair creature emerged. It was brilliant orange-ish in color and looked like a cross between a musk-ox and a twig. It had eight khaki eyes in its little toe. "Pipoosope drytukumib ygucog, dyhymim mo kiprelu, letookip juwroot," the creature said.
"Eureka," Sinclair said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Disguise feather woodworker's clamp plastic cheesecloth yelp to grassy knoll," the thing moaned.
"Blaak. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nykoozoopy can of sardines chocibootat."
"Why don't you take your can of sardines and shove it in your leg?" Sinclair retorted.
The creature looked serious. "Dydirume glinojejuj amajil, bagekad," it spoke up. "Puglafad!" it continued.
"Your face is a puglafad!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, melancholic creature; he was feeling unusually excitable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or slave. If he had been carrying a bomb, 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 King will be delighted to see you."
The creature zipped slightly and wept. Then it rose up on its important legs, puffed out its cheek and galloped crazily toward him.
For the first time, Sinclair had the urge to run, but his back was gurgling and his legs refused to move.
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