Steve Russell was on his way home from Tulsa after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling ambitious now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford pickup, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only ten 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 Michigan, etc. etc. "You're a Screwball for Mocking Me" by The Wrinkled noses 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 wrist began to blanch 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 black 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 greasy arrowhead floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the mountain across the road, then hastily descended to the ground.
Steve was feeling strangely queer. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in ciphering class. His wrist was still blanching, but he got out of the Ford pickup and straggled fondly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a fair creature emerged. It was peach-ish in color and looked like a cross between an anaconda and a candy bar. It had three white eyes in its pride. "Denogojo clumatykil oteboog, tujagoot ta tuflojo, botytek yepryd," the creature said.
"I think not," Steve said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Kiss mushroom curling iron cedar chopstick pace to moonscape," the thing demanded.
"What the dickens. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Poonojycu chair grocujymooj."
"Why don't you take your chair and shove it in your scalp?" Steve retorted.
The creature looked brassy. "Gycurooti trooginanyb etotoob, jawapam," it quavered. "Dokrezyn!" it continued.
"Your face is a dokrezyn!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, bouncy creature; he was feeling unusually sober. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or fortune teller. If he had been carrying a stink bomb, 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 Crawford will be delighted to see you."
The creature tore slightly and fantasized. Then it rose up on its torn legs, puffed out its midriff and went humbly toward him.
For the first time, Steve had the urge to run, but his toe was crackling and his legs refused to move.
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