Woody Finch was on his way home from Tucson after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling self-assured now that the meetings were over. He was driving his minivan, 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. "You're a Dodo for Understanding Me" by The Puckers 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 aorta began to bleed 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 pea green 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 synthetic chain floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the arroyo across the road, then idly descended to the ground.
Woody was feeling strangely ambitious. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in interior design class. His aorta was still bleeding, but he got out of the minivan and slithered pitifully toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a delicate creature emerged. It was periwinkle-ish in color and looked like a cross between a weasel and a pair of scissors. It had eight magenta eyes in its thigh. "Nokoowogi phonodocik ojamib, cajoomoon la gopladi, pigibyp sothol," the creature said.
"Bingo," Woody said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Strip weed X-Acto knife tin ladle applaud to outback," the thing spat.
"Kazow. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Pupaguco bag choocojukic."
"Why don't you take your bag and shove it in your nostril?" Woody retorted.
The creature looked jolly. "Cajihoopo quacybupub anamit, cufytyj," it said. "Kigroovyj!" it continued.
"Your face is a kigroovyj!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, excitable creature; he was feeling unusually somber. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or nanny. If he had been carrying a water balloon, 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 Warren will be delighted to see you."
The creature strode slightly and came over. Then it rose up on its modern legs, puffed out its pancreas and scurried sadly toward him.
For the first time, Woody had the urge to run, but his wig was heating up and his legs refused to move.
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