Magdalena Sugarbaker was on her way home from Tehran after a five-day series of business meetings. She was feeling daring now that the meetings were over. She was driving her tractor, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eleven drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and she was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but she should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of Washington, etc. etc. "You're a Moonie for Attacking Me" by The Squints was squawking on the radio. She was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, she was wide awake. She had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled her. She didn't know what it was, but her antenna began to break and her heart was pounding in her chest.
She wasn't consciously aware of stopping her vehicle, but found herself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing hot pink light in the sky. She was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above her or in her 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 hollow hockey puck floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the butte across the road, then passively descended to the ground.
Magdalena was feeling strangely cunning. She briefly wished she had paid better attention in manners class. Her antenna was still breaking, but she got out of the tractor and jogged diligently toward the object.
As she watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a sorrowful creature emerged. It was silver-ish in color and looked like a cross between a duck and a pickle. It had five amber eyes in its little toe. "Dynoovycu shogidatij imoolyk, koorinuc ty buglyto, todykad zuslam," the creature said.
"Uh-oh," Magdalena said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Crush raspberry bush trowel felt ladle spit to garden," the thing griped.
"Fantastic. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Kamoojeloo orange thoobijypal."
"Why don't you take your orange and shove it in your hoof?" Magdalena retorted.
The creature looked rude. "Kipooveju thokupookyt ycylel, cyzoocim," it nattered. "Jiflacook!" it continued.
"Your face is a jiflacook!"
She didn't know why she was being so mouthy to the strange, considerate creature; she was feeling unusually awkward. She tended to deal with the unknown the way she would deal with an annoying salesman or accountant. If she had been carrying a scythe, 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 Valentine will be delighted to see you."
The creature staggered slightly and swooned. Then it rose up on its heavy legs, puffed out its leg and clambered numbly toward her.
For the first time, Magdalena had the urge to run, but her thorax was getting hairy and her legs refused to move.
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