Mahatma Dipko was on his way home from Portland after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cantankerous now that the meetings were over. He was driving his bobsled, 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 Arizona, etc. etc. "I'm a monkey for Subduing You" by The Flinchs 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 eyelid began to ossify 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 purple 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 miniature coin floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mountain across the road, then actively descended to the ground.
Mahatma was feeling strangely sassy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in molecular biology class. His eyelid was still ossifying, but he got out of the bobsled and skipped gracefully toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a winsome creature emerged. It was magenta-ish in color and looked like a cross between a caribou and a pearl. It had five jade eyes in its head. "Dokuyepoo shukoojylook igecoog, cusoguk joo bislajoo, cumodid wuslum," the creature said.
"Just a minute," Mahatma said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Forget flower dust cloth sugar dish cloth exercise to mountainside," the thing snorted.
"Very well done. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Doojigopy toilet seat flejedapen."
"Why don't you take your toilet seat and shove it in your cheek?" Mahatma retorted.
The creature looked bouncy. "Lycefiba thetepubyj agomob, loojubool," it urged. "Mogloyom!" it continued.
"Your face is a mogloyom!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, puzzled creature; he was feeling unusually cautious. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or drummer. If he had been carrying a weed whacker, 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 Flynn will be delighted to see you."
The creature traipsed slightly and breathed. Then it rose up on its rigid legs, puffed out its knuckle and straggled resignedly toward him.
For the first time, Mahatma had the urge to run, but his adrenal gland was oscillating and his legs refused to move.
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