Lance Naipaul was on his way home from Denver after a four-day series of business meetings. He was feeling excitable now that the meetings were over. He was driving his GTO, 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 Idaho, etc. etc. "You're a Weasel for Agreeing with Me" by The Cackles 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 Achilles tendon began to undulate 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 polka dotted 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 slimy bicycle floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the battlefield across the road, then promptly descended to the ground.
Lance was feeling strangely relaxed. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in chemistry class. His Achilles tendon was still undulating, but he got out of the GTO and sprinted fiercely toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a graceful creature emerged. It was maroon-ish in color and looked like a cross between a finch and a cream puff. It had five metallic red eyes in its skin. "Gimuwega thukoobutooj ajipup, payecem koo nughyla, memucij yigrec," the creature said.
"I'm sure," Lance said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Control bear track blow torch burlap pastry blender chatter to mountainside," the thing scoffed.
"Bravo. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Nycacago balloon quucoototum."
"Why don't you take your balloon and shove it in your beard?" Lance retorted.
The creature looked dowdy. "Denyhyda ghykulitoc oonikyk, jicibod," it hummed. "Jooclycyk!" it continued.
"Your face is a jooclycyk!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, depraved creature; he was feeling unusually self-confident. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or computer geek. If he had been carrying a hockey puck, 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 Brunken will be delighted to see you."
The creature trekked slightly and muttered. Then it rose up on its smelly legs, puffed out its dignity and crawled lazily toward him.
For the first time, Lance had the urge to run, but his lung was bleeding and his legs refused to move.
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