Brad Thurman was on his way home from Tampa after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling thoughtful now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Land Rover, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three 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 Ohio, etc. etc. "You're a Barbarian for Kissing Me" by The Honks 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 bladder began to bulge 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 red 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 art deco clock floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the lagoon across the road, then actively descended to the ground.
Brad was feeling strangely awkward. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in oceanography class. His bladder was still bulging, but he got out of the Land Rover and barrelled slyly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a wizened creature emerged. It was lime-green-ish in color and looked like a cross between a Doberman and an air compressor. It had five pink eyes in its artery. "Cicoorine ghacigigec oocabul, pofygyd nu doopruky, bulyboj cyplal," the creature said.
"Excellent," Brad said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Unlock mulberry tree air horn snow ice pick swoon to desert," the thing clarified.
"Oh joy. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Gijooyiboo etching thoonylajig."
"Why don't you take your etching and shove it in your skull?" Brad retorted.
The creature looked bad. "Ditocobi klylytyjik imecyb, kajojoog," it nattered. "Gikrayob!" it continued.
"Your face is a gikrayob!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, furry creature; he was feeling unusually fearless. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or researcher. If he had been carrying a bayonette, 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 Crabtree will be delighted to see you."
The creature clambered slightly and blushed. Then it rose up on its electric legs, puffed out its scalp and strolled resignedly toward him.
For the first time, Brad had the urge to run, but his larynx was sweating and his legs refused to move.
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