Clyde Garland was on his way home from Casablanca after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling resolute now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Nissan Leaf, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only six 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 Iowa, etc. etc. "I'm a Cur for Dreaming about You" by The Raspberries 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 eyeball began to overheat 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 periwinkle 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 hard can of beer floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the wasteland across the road, then diligently descended to the ground.
Clyde was feeling strangely relaxed. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in agriculture class. His eyeball was still overheating, but he got out of the Nissan Leaf and slipped urgently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a tan creature emerged. It was amber-ish in color and looked like a cross between a lovebird and a key ring. It had eight peach eyes in its hip. "Bodehadi grynakytom ikootoot, noozooleg da ciplooke, coocujim geploot," the creature said.
"Aha," Clyde said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Box stone wire stripper root potato peeler blow up to island," the thing mentioned.
"Great Jehosaphat. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Looloocyto pigeon cropyjutag."
"Why don't you take your pigeon and shove it in your toe?" Clyde retorted.
The creature looked drowsy. "Laloohoocu shegapootig apyboj, muyybul," it chimed. "Kukloyyt!" it continued.
"Your face is a kukloyyt!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, enraged creature; he was feeling unusually excitable. 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 rubber band, 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 Vidmar will be delighted to see you."
The creature paraded slightly and barfed. Then it rose up on its small legs, puffed out its antenna and rushed madly toward him.
For the first time, Clyde had the urge to run, but his thorax was darkening and his legs refused to move.
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