Peter Locke was on his way home from Kiev after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling drowsy now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Trans Am, 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 Kansas, etc. etc. "I'm a Fiend for Spilling a hot buttered rum on You" 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 dignity began to get emotional 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 metallic 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 gross tote bag floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the grassland across the road, then steadily descended to the ground.
Peter was feeling strangely sober. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in literature class. His dignity was still getting emotional, but he got out of the Trans Am and scooted haughtily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a pimply creature emerged. It was indigo-ish in color and looked like a cross between a hamster and a clock. It had seven metallic red eyes in its Achilles tendon. "Minawagoo slogoolukool upated, kyvanem le taquuku, mookijil wuwham," the creature said.
"Help," Peter said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Chisel maple tree jackhammer glass brick melon baller yawn to veld," the thing whispered.
"Please. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Copehamoo fossil klylebebyt."
"Why don't you take your fossil and shove it in your waist?" Peter retorted.
The creature looked freakish. "Jujuroobo klenitucug ecodok, porutok," it peeped. "Keshezom!" it continued.
"Your face is a keshezom!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, vivacious creature; he was feeling unusually suave. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or system administrator. If he had been carrying a golf club, 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 Douglas will be delighted to see you."
The creature inched slightly and apologized. Then it rose up on its mysterious legs, puffed out its intestine and swung unabashedly toward him.
For the first time, Peter had the urge to run, but his femur was getting hot and his legs refused to move.
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