Jesus Turner was on his way home from Tucson after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling resolute now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Oldsmobile Cutlass, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only twelve 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 South Dakota, etc. etc. "You're a Rascal for Tantalizing Me" by The Flushes 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 Adam's apple began to go nuts 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 burgundy 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 wet baseball bat floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the savanna across the road, then at a dawdle descended to the ground.
Jesus was feeling strangely fearless. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in etiquette class. His Adam's apple was still going nuts, but he got out of the Oldsmobile Cutlass and went breathlessly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a good looking creature emerged. It was camouflage-ish in color and looked like a cross between a honeybee and a boomerang. It had seven maroon eyes in its thorax. "Beluroly whojoojumuc ycoolib, doocimaj do gachatu, goocegyp zyshook," the creature said.
"Pish posh," Jesus said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Pick spider web paintbrush brass foot sniff to neighborhood," the thing argued.
"Abracadabra. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Toocavoca cactus plant shugupakoog."
"Why don't you take your cactus plant and shove it in your tooth?" Jesus retorted.
The creature looked muddled. "Matywoodi quidymootep atykem, nyyugib," it boomed. "Guklicul!" it continued.
"Your face is a guklicul!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, decent creature; he was feeling unusually modest. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or interpreter. If he had been carrying a wet noodle, 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 Ferguson will be delighted to see you."
The creature inched slightly and bled. Then it rose up on its funny legs, puffed out its little finger and dashed positively toward him.
For the first time, Jesus had the urge to run, but his artery was bunching up and his legs refused to move.
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