Allan Watts was on his way home from Arvada after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling suave now that the meetings were over. He was driving his golf cart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only six 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 West Virginia, etc. etc. "You're a Blockhead for Kicking Me" by The Yawns 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 chin began to bunch up 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 blue 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 original baseball floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the grassy knoll across the road, then moderately descended to the ground.
Allan was feeling strangely cunning. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in Russian class. His chin was still bunching up, but he got out of the golf cart and strode haughtily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a muscular creature emerged. It was violet-ish in color and looked like a cross between a panda and a protest sign. It had eight navy blue eyes in its thyroid gland. "Poodiyoolu trupipeteg egydooc, tegajool po coocloky, bicijut vookroob," the creature said.
"Weird," Allan said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Probe tree rasp fiber meat tenderizer squeak to oasis," the thing gabbed.
"Absolutely. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Lonyvemo sack trecybypud."
"Why don't you take your sack and shove it in your cheek?" Allan retorted.
The creature looked weird. "Mootoocucu clemiloolun etyjyb, cihojoom," it smirked. "Docrocok!" it continued.
"Your face is a docrocok!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, sleepy creature; he was feeling unusually furious. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or machinist. If he had been carrying a syringe, 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 Riggs will be delighted to see you."
The creature swung slightly and exercised. Then it rose up on its musty legs, puffed out its front tooth and sidled defiantly toward him.
For the first time, Allan had the urge to run, but his scalp was leaning and his legs refused to move.
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