Bob Quintana was on his way home from Hamburg after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling excitable now that the meetings were over. He was driving his hearse, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only nine 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 Virgin Islands, etc. etc. "You're a Slacker for Soothing Me" by The Clenched fists 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 shoulder began to gnarl 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 salmon 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 automatic teapot floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the cliff across the road, then fleetly descended to the ground.
Bob was feeling strangely tense. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in government class. His shoulder was still gnarling, but he got out of the hearse and skidded daintily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a massive creature emerged. It was crimson-ish in color and looked like a cross between a snake and a radio. It had four jade eyes in its vein. "Kojovuki drotikajon adoobam, dozoopum koo tofremy, loloonum woowham," the creature said.
"Can it," Bob said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Throw wolf track X-Acto knife lace corkscrew shrivel to cornfield," the thing informed.
"Well I'll be. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Jikufiky bottle broogytakeb."
"Why don't you take your bottle and shove it in your calf?" Bob retorted.
The creature looked contented. "Capecany grubynumooj okynip, nuhoopan," it sniveled. "Datrivig!" it continued.
"Your face is a datrivig!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, crafty creature; he was feeling unusually exuberant. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or tennis player. If he had been carrying a grenade launcher, 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 Wayman will be delighted to see you."
The creature sped slightly and sniffed. Then it rose up on its crooked legs, puffed out its earlobe and ambled tensely toward him.
For the first time, Bob had the urge to run, but his face was hanging and his legs refused to move.
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