Desmond Peng was on his way home from Helsinki after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling resolute now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Chevy Camaro, 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 California, etc. etc. "You're a Hooligan for Pulverizing Me" by The Cringes 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 arm began to jiggle 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 mauve 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 bizarre top floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the backyard across the road, then listlessly descended to the ground.
Desmond was feeling strangely thoughtful. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in gong class. His arm was still jiggling, but he got out of the Chevy Camaro and strolled patiently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a tall creature emerged. It was pink-ish in color and looked like a cross between an elephant and a cork. It had seven white eyes in its eyebrow. "Mootoogyjoo quimicygot oocoogooj, poyajac la meshipy, gubemyj gywhim," the creature said.
"Pssst," Desmond said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Overlook bit of litter jigsaw starch strainer frown to stream," the thing asked.
"Petunia. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Coodezuky salt shaker grojagobob."
"Why don't you take your salt shaker and shove it in your larynx?" Desmond retorted.
The creature looked young. "Tabuzooja ghynamyneg ootagoog, jugobac," it purred. "Guquojel!" it continued.
"Your face is a guquojel!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, melancholic creature; he was feeling unusually excitable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or snake charmer. If he had been carrying a parlor trick, 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 Tang will be delighted to see you."
The creature sped slightly and daydreamed. Then it rose up on its modern legs, puffed out its pride and struggled nonchalantly toward him.
For the first time, Desmond had the urge to run, but his knee was enlarging and his legs refused to move.
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