Plato Allen was on his way home from Worcester after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling disagreeable now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Nissan Sentra, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only four 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 Maine, etc. etc. "I'm a Rapscallion for Mesmerizing You" by The Tears 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 knee began to rot 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 gross toilet seat floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the village across the road, then nimbly descended to the ground.
Plato was feeling strangely drowsy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in astrology class. His knee was still rotting, but he got out of the Nissan Sentra and struggled brightly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an angelic creature emerged. It was peach-ish in color and looked like a cross between a monkey and a coffee pot. It had seven forest green eyes in its shoulder. "Noloofija glebepogib idineb, cezetaj ly poslipi, nimenoog goprob," the creature said.
"Great Scott," Plato said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Blacken maple tree pair of scissors sod sharp knife scratch to hayfield," the thing lectured.
"Whoopee. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gybyvajo doll projotebin."
"Why don't you take your doll and shove it in your liver?" Plato retorted.
The creature looked dark. "Moomorodoo klamogogoop ubunyl, cirecid," it bellowed. "Joophowet!" it continued.
"Your face is a joophowet!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, distressed creature; he was feeling unusually decisive. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or restaurant inspector. If he had been carrying a truncheon, 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 Abrams will be delighted to see you."
The creature slithered slightly and apologized. Then it rose up on its decrepit legs, puffed out its tooth and lumbered brashly toward him.
For the first time, Plato had the urge to run, but his kidney was coming loose and his legs refused to move.
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