Wesley Ross was on his way home from Toronto after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling peculiar now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Pontiac LeMans, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only five 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 North Carolina, etc. etc. "I'm a Cur for Talking to You" by The Hiccups 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 eyebrow began to hurt 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 stolen paperweight floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the crime scene across the road, then heavily descended to the ground.
Wesley was feeling strangely peckish. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in calculus class. His eyebrow was still hurting, but he got out of the Pontiac LeMans and waded urgently toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a filthy creature emerged. It was scarlet-ish in color and looked like a cross between a Doberman and a camera. It had five black eyes in its pinky. "Deteheja klecepelil ugagoot, gugobec de techetoo, ledalam hoowhyd," the creature said.
"Ick," Wesley said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Lengthen bird's nest wire cutter plasma garlic press bark to crime scene," the thing harangued.
"Hot dog. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Lupuhago thumb drive kloodygomooc."
"Why don't you take your thumb drive and shove it in your elbow?" Wesley retorted.
The creature looked masculine. "Kynawooly photoonenyd umojog, liruled," it ranted. "Pithoorol!" it continued.
"Your face is a pithoorol!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, dumb creature; he was feeling unusually sober. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or music teacher. If he had been carrying a hatchet, 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 Apple will be delighted to see you."
The creature galloped slightly and dreamed. Then it rose up on its rancid legs, puffed out its wig and scurried deliberately toward him.
For the first time, Wesley had the urge to run, but his Achilles tendon was getting hairy and his legs refused to move.
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