She straightened the seams on her stockings, stood up a little taller in her black practical pumps, and checked her ruby red lipstick and perfectly styled hair. After all, it wasn't every day that the President called to ask for the most skilled translator in the free world, and Ruby Fletcher was the "It" girl. She smoothed her form-fitting business skirt, gave herself one last check for anything out of place, then strode out of the Nevada air base ladies' room with external confidence and internal nerves.
The war had ended three years prior, and the former Mrs. Fletcher had lost her husband on Omaha beach, although that was hardly on her mind at that moment. The President had been somewhat cryptic, only saying that it was an unknown language that she would have to try and pick up on the fly, as far as anyone knew. The leather briefcase containing the bulk of her translation and de-encryption notes seemed heavier than usual as she was helped into the waiting staff car by a particularly handsome MP officer.
"All right, so you've got me," she said to the general who was riding in the back seat of the Buick with her through the gates of the remote desert military base. The leather upholstery was yellowed from the constant cigarette smoke, and today was no exception: General Todd smoked like a freight train. Ruby coughed, waiting for a response.
"As you no doubt have been briefed, this is unlike any situation we've ever encountered," he began.
"I wasn't briefed at all. They called me up, and I got here as soon as I could. What's this all about?"
Todd was rendered momentarily speechless at this surprising bit of news. "Haven't been briefed? Well that's... highly irregular, but considering the circumstances..."
"What circumstances? All the President said was that it was a language nobody had ever heard before. How is that even possible? It's not like he's an alien from space."
General Todd took an overly long drag on his cigarette and simply looked at her. Ruby's face fell and stomach sank onto the floorboards.
"You can't be saying..." she began, just as the staff car rounded the tall barriers, behind which a very alien saucer-shaped space craft was resting neatly on three spindly metallic legs like a modernistic coffee table.
She gripped the armrest of the car's door and felt her heart leap into her throat, choking her even more than the general's smoke had.
"Your job," he said into her ear, "is to talk to it."
"Talk to... what?" she gasped, unable to see any non-human life form in the area, just the ominous, silvery shape towering above the military personnel standing there, and the ridiculous red carpet someone had rolled out toward what was probably an exit ramp coming from the underbelly of the ship.
"You'll see," he muttered as another MP opened Mrs. Fletcher's door and offered a white-gloved hand to help her out of the vehicle. She was grateful for the help -- her right ankle and left knee folded up, the first unhappy with the sandy terrain, the second unhappy with the entire situation. The leather briefcase felt as though someone had packed it full of rocks as a gag.
She walked slowly and unsteadily toward the small group of men standing at the human end of the red carpet, her gaze locked on the strange saucer. It was only when the MP let go of her hand and elbow that she realized she had stopped moving.
"Well?" said General Todd, making her jump.
"Well what?" she managed.
"How do we talk to it?"
"Talk to... what? The ship? I don't..."
Just then, something moved at the top of the ramp, making every hair on her body stand on end. It looked like a shifting shadow at first, but as it slowly poured itself down the ramp, she could see that it was some kind of animated purple-brown blob. Suspended inside the shapeless shape were various other shapes, suggesting internal organs, but since they were also moving blobs, it was hard to tell. Perhaps they were the aliens inside some kind of rover vehicle...
It reached the end of the ramp and stood upright, if it could be called that, and sent out a pseudopod to delicately touch the red carpet. Everyone held their breath. Did the creature need to breathe?
An odd collection of squelches and clicks suddenly came from the ship, amplified somehow. Ruby jumped again as Todd elbowed her in the ribs.
"There. Translate it."
"Translate...? You have to be kidding me!" But Mrs. Fletcher did as she was told, laying the heavy case on the ground and rifling through it for anything that could possibly be of any help. She knew it was likely hopeless, but had to at least make a good attempt. Curiosity was starting to counteract the fear and repulsion.
She pulled out a paper on the African click languages and stood up, only to find that the thing had moved silently up the red carpet to within five feet of her. Stunned, eyes huge, throat spasming shut, she clutched the paper tighter in her hand, crumpling it.
The alien blob now towered over her, moving gracefully this way and that, examining this new specimen of humanity that was so different than the clumsy men, blustering in their uniforms covered with medals. It extended a slender pseudopod toward her. The MPs raised their guns, but General Todd ordered them to hold their fire. The thin tendril of purple-brown touched her ankle and she flinched.
It wasn't cold and clammy as she had expected. Instead, it was warm and soft, millions of tiny hairs on the surface of the amoeba-like alien examining her stockings higher and higher. Frozen, she wanted to scream, to tell it to stop, to order the men to fire, but nothing would come out. At some point, perhaps when the tendril had moved up her skirt and touched her thighs, the urge to scream disappeared.
