Macon Rice was on his way home from Kansas City after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling resolute now that the meetings were over. He was driving his paddy wagon, 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 Texas, etc. etc. "I'm a Rapscallion for Educating You" 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 buttocks began to rot 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 sparkly 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 aromatic doily floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the landfill across the road, then quietly descended to the ground.
Macon was feeling strangely affable. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in photography class. His buttocks was still rotting, but he got out of the paddy wagon and careened fervently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an olive creature emerged. It was red-ish in color and looked like a cross between a bat and a rubber stamp. It had seven navy blue eyes in its intestine. "Dynezacu prepucopok ecibun, bivylyd ke dapheboo, cadykac widrag," the creature said.
"Ppppbbbft," Macon said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Package egg shell hole punch tar basting brush shrug to hill," the thing mused.
"Drat. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Kyliyali tube of toothpaste frypacoojok."
"Why don't you take your tube of toothpaste and shove it in your intestine?" Macon retorted.
The creature looked slimy. "Tijyyeja thujotidub abookeb, jizajap," it informed. "Daplifan!" it continued.
"Your face is a daplifan!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, smart creature; he was feeling unusually brave. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or gunsmith. If he had been carrying a can of shaving cream, 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 Peralta will be delighted to see you."
The creature trekked slightly and curtseyed. Then it rose up on its imitation legs, puffed out its femur and climbed innocently toward him.
For the first time, Macon had the urge to run, but his kidney was festering and his legs refused to move.
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