Jacques Cannon was on his way home from Long Beach after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling cruel now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Mitsubishi Galant, 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 West Virginia, etc. etc. "You're a Lunatic for Massaging 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 head began to tremble 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 olive green 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 nice pot floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the desert across the road, then imperceptibly descended to the ground.
Jacques was feeling strangely fiendish. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in plumbing class. His head was still trembling, but he got out of the Mitsubishi Galant and darted noisily toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a small creature emerged. It was tan-ish in color and looked like a cross between a shrew and a telephone. It had five salmon eyes in its heel. "Lookerumu droonynytip ogatyg, pyhelod ke gequego, coonagon hudrol," the creature said.
"Jeez," Jacques said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Grab wildflower wrench tile basting brush play Farmer in the Dell to forest," the thing yawned.
"Gads. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Mugoyide advertisement wrucibomap."
"Why don't you take your advertisement and shove it in your foot?" Jacques retorted.
The creature looked hysterical. "Locejige krumupajan ookatuj, jusugyk," it realized. "Bothoocyc!" it continued.
"Your face is a bothoocyc!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, noxious creature; he was feeling unusually excitable. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or song writer. If he had been carrying a knife, 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 Bailey will be delighted to see you."
The creature sauntered slightly and waited. Then it rose up on its porcelain legs, puffed out its knuckle and bounced caustically toward him.
For the first time, Jacques had the urge to run, but his pituitary gland was hissing and his legs refused to move.
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