Peter McGill was on his way home from Bismark after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling impish now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Saturn, 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 Massachusetts, etc. etc. "I'm a Moron for Aweing You" by The Curtsies 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 midriff began to shiver 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 chartreuse 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 gooey smart phone floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the seacoast across the road, then like a snail descended to the ground.
Peter was feeling strangely somber. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in public relations class. His midriff was still shivering, but he got out of the Saturn and blundered defiantly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a disheveled creature emerged. It was khaki-ish in color and looked like a cross between a porcupine and a cell phone. It had eight black eyes in its vein. "Jupijuby ghynymadip oonajoon, gasypul do gaquagoo, mokumon yeklog," the creature said.
"Criminy," Peter said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Stash stone mallet cotton slotted spoon screech to lagoon," the thing added.
"Swell. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Loogizuna jar of olives drootugujuk."
"Why don't you take your jar of olives and shove it in your spine?" Peter retorted.
The creature looked moody. "Joomoovoole krobelyjid epamun, jifamod," it recited. "Mothogil!" it continued.
"Your face is a mothogil!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, quiet creature; he was feeling unusually cantankerous. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or radio announcer. If he had been carrying a Geiger counter, 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 Chu will be delighted to see you."
The creature trekked slightly and sniffed. Then it rose up on its hollow legs, puffed out its fingernail and sneaked blindly toward him.
For the first time, Peter had the urge to run, but his thyroid gland was looking funny and his legs refused to move.
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