Mao McDonald was on his way home from Florence after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling self-assured now that the meetings were over. He was driving his shopping cart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 North Dakota, etc. etc. "You're an Eager beaver for Outrunning Me" by The Shrugs 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 pride began to sting 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 rose 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 loose bat floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the village across the road, then like a snail descended to the ground.
Mao was feeling strangely cuddly. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in scuba diving class. His pride was still stinging, but he got out of the shopping cart and traipsed grudgingly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a disheveled creature emerged. It was brown-ish in color and looked like a cross between a bat and a mousetrap. It had eight navy blue eyes in its tooth. "Goonoceje troonejikyn onemyg, tecooloot mi mighoona, dypapym cathuc," the creature said.
"Far out, man," Mao said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Grind cedar tree Q-tip felt dull knife calculate to steppe," the thing sniffed.
"Son of a gun. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Jugyvoomu etching shalejucit."
"Why don't you take your etching and shove it in your eyelash?" Mao retorted.
The creature looked nonchalant. "Jootaroonu frygogycuk ilimok, daseteb," it howled. "Buplooric!" it continued.
"Your face is a buplooric!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, princely creature; he was feeling unusually tired. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or correctional officer. If he had been carrying a pop gun, 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 Carpenter will be delighted to see you."
The creature zipped slightly and blew up. Then it rose up on its dirty legs, puffed out its big toe and strode glibly toward him.
For the first time, Mao had the urge to run, but his carotid artery was dangling and his legs refused to move.
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