Angelo Peters was on his way home from Boulder after a three-day series of business meetings. He was feeling sassy now that the meetings were over. He was driving his covered wagon, 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 North Dakota, etc. etc. "I'm a Hothead for Massaging You" by The Death glares 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 heel began to enlarge 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 peach 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 electric flag floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the tundra across the road, then deliberately descended to the ground.
Angelo was feeling strangely ambitious. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in folklore class. His heel was still enlarging, but he got out of the covered wagon and dove boldly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a heavyset creature emerged. It was khaki-ish in color and looked like a cross between a polar bear and a spider. It had four brilliant orange eyes in its lip. "Jylezoola flabanutun umooleg, cisucic co cicreji, lepooneb wywhot," the creature said.
"Blecch," Angelo said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Pierce sea shell scythe styrofoam strainer gesticulate to dump," the thing sniveled.
"Arrrgh. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Macujaju contract wrykigitam."
"Why don't you take your contract and shove it in your big toe?" Angelo retorted.
The creature looked earnest. "Domuzygu thytobidid yjutyd, jorelam," it accused. "Mikloohyl!" it continued.
"Your face is a mikloohyl!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, loving creature; he was feeling unusually frantic. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or court reporter. If he had been carrying a street sweeper, 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 Sagan will be delighted to see you."
The creature ambled slightly and preached. Then it rose up on its aromatic legs, puffed out its finger and leapt demurely toward him.
For the first time, Angelo had the urge to run, but his face was heaving and his legs refused to move.
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