Anthony Lippman was on his way home from Charlotte after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling amiable now that the meetings were over. He was driving his transporter, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eight 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 Fanatic for Escaping from You" by The Titters 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 thigh began to jerk 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 metallic red 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 coat check ticket floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the field across the road, then sluggishly descended to the ground.
Anthony was feeling strangely tipsy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in Chinese class. His thigh was still jerking, but he got out of the transporter and proceeded woodenly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a spindly creature emerged. It was lavender-ish in color and looked like a cross between a pig and a lemon. It had two blue eyes in its gut. "Celefalo krejodookij upotun, dozagig cu bucrojo, getoogun fykrig," the creature said.
"Gosh darn," Anthony said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Moisten spring protractor Kevlar mixing spoon twitch to dumpster," the thing professed.
"Inconceivable. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nymyfuco box of Kleenex crobecicam."
"Why don't you take your box of Kleenex and shove it in your wrist?" Anthony retorted.
The creature looked elderly. "Jyjoredu glyneculun opeped, piholod," it agreed. "Tythyrun!" it continued.
"Your face is a tythyrun!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, agile creature; he was feeling unusually pensive. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or entrepeneur. If he had been carrying a pistol, 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 Owens will be delighted to see you."
The creature flew slightly and got dizzy. Then it rose up on its immense legs, puffed out its Achilles tendon and paraded dolefully toward him.
For the first time, Anthony had the urge to run, but his fingernail was flaking off and his legs refused to move.
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