Kent Bromley was on his way home from Kampala after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling sarcastic now that the meetings were over. He was driving his hot dog cart, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only eight 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 California, etc. etc. "I'm a Witch for Confronting You" by The Crows 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 hip 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 brilliant orange 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 primitive duffel bag floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the tundra across the road, then deliberately descended to the ground.
Kent was feeling strangely lazy. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in Latin class. His hip was still trembling, but he got out of the hot dog cart and blundered lamely toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a frail creature emerged. It was fuchsia-ish in color and looked like a cross between a shark and a box of candy. It had eight lavender eyes in its knuckle. "Becuzena klelamoobid ootoojom, cehagooj na jikruta, nodecap jowryl," the creature said.
"Great Scott," Kent said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Seize piece of bark hand saw wood fork leer to marsh," the thing hummed.
"Pish posh. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Getefoka candy bar krujededik."
"Why don't you take your candy bar and shove it in your waist?" Kent retorted.
The creature looked anemic. "Dunywunoo prejooledood epanyk, cegybij," it shuddered. "Paghysoop!" it continued.
"Your face is a paghysoop!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, lethargic creature; he was feeling unusually muddled. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or microbiologist. If he had been carrying a butcher 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 Graham will be delighted to see you."
The creature dashed slightly and awoke. Then it rose up on its crooked legs, puffed out its wig and sidled crankily toward him.
For the first time, Kent had the urge to run, but his artery was quivering and his legs refused to move.
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