Malcolm Gomez was on his way home from Hanoi after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cuddly now that the meetings were over. He was driving his minivan, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only nine 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 Montana, etc. etc. "You're a Nincompoop for Pleasing Me" by The Crows 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 knee began to shimmer 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 beige 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 imported key ring floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the lakeside across the road, then like mad descended to the ground.
Malcolm was feeling strangely thoughtful. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in gaming class. His knee was still shimmering, but he got out of the minivan and slumped despondently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a frizzle-headed creature emerged. It was burgundy-ish in color and looked like a cross between a ladybug and a fish bowl. It had eight khaki eyes in its throat. "Jeloyame gradupidoon ikogoot, kywygooj li coocluni, cookigok gutryc," the creature said.
"Brrr," Malcolm said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Seal dead tree air horn rubble ladle murmur to stream," the thing analyzed.
"Rooster feathers. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Jedifodu lemon plulacodil."
"Why don't you take your lemon and shove it in your neck?" Malcolm retorted.
The creature looked pesky. "Boonujaby shoopytipeb egoolyb, joocylag," it fumed. "Luklygil!" it continued.
"Your face is a luklygil!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, wizened creature; he was feeling unusually cruel. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or masseuse. If he had been carrying a Millwall brick, 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 Simmons will be delighted to see you."
The creature scooted slightly and danced. Then it rose up on its crooked legs, puffed out its tongue and sped warmly toward him.
For the first time, Malcolm had the urge to run, but his vein was turning blue and his legs refused to move.
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