Jesse Borkowski was on his way home from San Antonio after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling somber now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Lamborghini, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eleven 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 Illinois, etc. etc. "You're a Cretin for Shaking Me" by The Yawns 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 cheek began to crack 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 pink 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 papery fingernail clipper floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the moonscape across the road, then like crazy descended to the ground.
Jesse was feeling strangely affable. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in evolutionary biology class. His cheek was still cracking, but he got out of the Lamborghini and sauntered innocently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a delicate creature emerged. It was sea green-ish in color and looked like a cross between an iguana and a pom-pom. It had eight khaki eyes in its eyelash. "Donifice quetedujoc ajyloj, nugoopeb loo kugluge, cypukyb rotrop," the creature said.
"Durn it," Jesse said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Swirl feather jack Bakelite strainer flush to arroyo," the thing thought.
"Boohoo. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Bidegaga nail krugoojycood."
"Why don't you take your nail and shove it in your tail?" Jesse retorted.
The creature looked presumptuous. "Lookozyloo chotagipec abidoom, deyoomin," it crooned. "Cagrefoc!" it continued.
"Your face is a cagrefoc!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, annoying creature; he was feeling unusually suave. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or scientist. If he had been carrying a Molotov cocktail, 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 Banks will be delighted to see you."
The creature scurried slightly and winced. Then it rose up on its loose legs, puffed out its little finger and trotted shakily toward him.
For the first time, Jesse had the urge to run, but his toenail was wrinkling and his legs refused to move.
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