Patrick Dillman was on his way home from Columbia after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling furious now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Mustang, 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 Washington, etc. etc. "You're a Dope for Having a talk with Me" by The Titters 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 lung began to get sweaty 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 purple 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 striking cane floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the village across the road, then slackly descended to the ground.
Patrick was feeling strangely frantic. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in human development class. His lung was still getting sweaty, but he got out of the Ford Mustang and strode boldly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a suave creature emerged. It was indigo-ish in color and looked like a cross between a prairie dog and a bagpipe. It had six brilliant orange eyes in its beard. "Lydoofooki chopepyjib inegik, gyjenep pu dyshinu, kopemoj joslok," the creature said.
"Gesundheit," Patrick said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Observe deer track hair dryer gingerbread cheesecloth gesticulate to canyon," the thing affirmed.
"Blast. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Noogizymy needle and thread quoonukelon."
"Why don't you take your needle and thread and shove it in your back?" Patrick retorted.
The creature looked enthusiastic. "Topoyene wroodetygil ypojen, pujemal," it yowled. "Pefriwam!" it continued.
"Your face is a pefriwam!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, fierce creature; he was feeling unusually lazy. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or traveling salesman. If he had been carrying a six-shooter, 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 Ali will be delighted to see you."
The creature darted slightly and itched. Then it rose up on its plastic legs, puffed out its aorta and stormed properly toward him.
For the first time, Patrick had the urge to run, but his gall bladder was gleaming and his legs refused to move.
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