Peter Carson was on his way home from Chicago after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling brave now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Audi, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only twelve 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 New York, etc. etc. "I'm a Drip for Grabbing You" by The Sighs 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 funny bone began to wobble 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 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 big stuffed owl floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the oasis across the road, then double-time descended to the ground.
Peter was feeling strangely irate. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in drama class. His funny bone was still wobbling, but he got out of the Audi and struggled blindly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a spry creature emerged. It was blue-ish in color and looked like a cross between a colt and a cowbell. It had five rose eyes in its kneecap. "Doocoohoobe ghynotyjym umegic, leralod de boowrika, macodep seghad," the creature said.
"Drat," Peter said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Slam egg shell circular saw slime sharp knife snarl to island," the thing vowed.
"Buzzards. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Jinooryby battery britycupib."
"Why don't you take your battery and shove it in your beard?" Peter retorted.
The creature looked cowardly. "Gapafiboo whujoobonek ejonol, basydot," it rebutted. "Kabruyik!" it continued.
"Your face is a kabruyik!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, sanguine creature; he was feeling unusually confident. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or cheesemaker. If he had been carrying a rubber band, 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 Tuckerman will be delighted to see you."
The creature jumped slightly and snorted. Then it rose up on its stuffed legs, puffed out its leg and skittered shyly toward him.
For the first time, Peter had the urge to run, but his lung was gurgling and his legs refused to move.
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