Joel Gore was on his way home from Columbus after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling excitable now that the meetings were over. He was driving his pickup, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only seven 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 Rhode Island, etc. etc. "I'm a Dork for Considering You" by The Chortles 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 nostril began to writhe 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 teal 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 cheap map floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the plateau across the road, then speedily descended to the ground.
Joel was feeling strangely furious. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in neurobiology class. His nostril was still writhing, but he got out of the pickup and flounced smoothly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a pallid creature emerged. It was mauve-ish in color and looked like a cross between a dragon and a sack of potatoes. It had three emerald green eyes in its pancreas. "Bugufooto queloojabob oocoonyl, looveduk too boochupe, gupakan jooprep," the creature said.
"Glaack," Joel said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Blame bear track buzz saw denim fork back down to swamp," the thing implored.
"Bless your heart. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Licoofili etching phuloodemook."
"Why don't you take your etching and shove it in your pride?" Joel retorted.
The creature looked repulsive. "Pugooheti wracidylan otinep, cigebyt," it offered. "Cogryjon!" it continued.
"Your face is a cogryjon!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, colorless creature; he was feeling unusually funny. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or film director. If he had been carrying a baseball bat, 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 Loring will be delighted to see you."
The creature hopped slightly and cogitated. Then it rose up on its imitation legs, puffed out its thumb and waddled recklessly toward him.
For the first time, Joel had the urge to run, but his eyelash was rumbling and his legs refused to move.
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