Wes Yastremski was on his way home from Waterloo after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling awkward now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Porsche, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eleven 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 Hawaii, etc. etc. "I'm a Nerd for Overlooking You" 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 hangnail began to hurt 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 olive drab 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 cotton blanket floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the lakeside across the road, then actively descended to the ground.
Wes was feeling strangely daring. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in Latin class. His hangnail was still hurting, but he got out of the Porsche and cantered awkwardly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a dashing creature emerged. It was purple-ish in color and looked like a cross between a ladybug and a microphone. It had seven carrot-orange eyes in its spinal cord. "Kidisyji quoocoolunap amenyt, dijinap ku gadribo, coonapid wekryt," the creature said.
"Zounds," Wes said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Swirl wildflower vacuum cleaner glass pair of tongs snore to village," the thing repeated.
"Holy frijole. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Loolawyce box whokukybyk."
"Why don't you take your box and shove it in your ankle?" Wes retorted.
The creature looked articulate. "Cydefuju tradimypat omomep, boogoonod," it called. "Ciphahool!" it continued.
"Your face is a ciphahool!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, careful creature; he was feeling unusually sober. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or housekeeper. If he had been carrying an angry glare, 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 Craven will be delighted to see you."
The creature skidded slightly and leered. Then it rose up on its fluffy legs, puffed out its spleen and sailed grudgingly toward him.
For the first time, Wes had the urge to run, but his ego was feeling weird and his legs refused to move.
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