Norman De Luca was on his way home from Salt Lake City after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling brash now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Firebird, 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 Connecticut, etc. etc. "You're a Laggard for Recoiling from Me" by The Sneers 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 midriff began to spin 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 azure 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 queer tube of toothpaste floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the landfill across the road, then like a snail descended to the ground.
Norman was feeling strangely confident. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in interior design class. His midriff was still spinning, but he got out of the Firebird and sneaked humbly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a youthful creature emerged. It was polka dotted-ish in color and looked like a cross between a crab and a battery. It had two hot pink eyes in its hoof. "Nucigapu shyninejap odudeb, jiyibam me tooclami, gujanam cooquon," the creature said.
"Really," Norman said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Balance wolf track hole punch balsa spoon flinch to crime scene," the thing informed.
"Ten-four. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Bynuwooky clarinet glopuladal."
"Why don't you take your clarinet and shove it in your liver?" Norman retorted.
The creature looked prickly. "Janoogyne pladejunyp ulugug, dysoocuj," it observed. "Puclifat!" it continued.
"Your face is a puclifat!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, nervous creature; he was feeling unusually stubborn. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or guitarist. If he had been carrying a shiv, 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 Scott will be delighted to see you."
The creature dashed slightly and exhaled. Then it rose up on its golden legs, puffed out its beard and marched gently toward him.
For the first time, Norman had the urge to run, but his chin was aggravating and his legs refused to move.
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