Damon Irons was on his way home from Berlin after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling resolute now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Transit, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only ten 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 Idaho, etc. etc. "You're a Tattletale for Opposing Me" by The Grunts 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 knuckle began to flutter 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 khaki 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 cotton hubcap floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the landfill across the road, then fleetly descended to the ground.
Damon was feeling strangely exuberant. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in law enforcement class. His knuckle was still fluttering, but he got out of the Ford Transit and skittered jokingly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a blond creature emerged. It was amber-ish in color and looked like a cross between a basset hound and an urn. It had four blue eyes in its ear. "Mijigoju flaboomadool inoogun, pogemek ma meflado, pebyjel yutrog," the creature said.
"Lo and behold," Damon said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Photograph poison ivy plant tire gauge manure foot hum to tundra," the thing panted.
"Unreal. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Jetyhitoo carrot drolemogyd."
"Why don't you take your carrot and shove it in your jaw?" Damon retorted.
The creature looked dowdy. "Galiyocoo glugadojog ajutub, dysygec," it groveled. "Bacroozoop!" it continued.
"Your face is a bacroozoop!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, garrulous creature; he was feeling unusually impish. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or comedian. If he had been carrying a poison dart, 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 Usher will be delighted to see you."
The creature sped slightly and whirled. Then it rose up on its rusty legs, puffed out its shoulder and trekked grudgingly toward him.
For the first time, Damon had the urge to run, but his paw was drying up and his legs refused to move.
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