They came from outer space and they drove Daihatsu Charades of any year, 1980 Honda Civics and 1989 Ford Escorts. Six of them pulled into a gas station in Tonopah one night and they got out to stretch their legs. A lone youth tended the station.
``Any good hotels around?'' the driver alien asked.
``They're all OK,'' the kid said.
The aliens all glowed pale green in the white neon light. ``Thanks,'' one said.
``Whatever,'' the kid answered.
The aliens surrounded him. The driver alien grabbed the alien next to him and flung the creature straight at the kid. The flying alien splatted against the kid and disappeared into him. The alien did not enter through any particular orifice. He just absorbed straight through the boy's skin and clothes.
``Wow!'' said the kid, ``why did you do that? That's ten dollars for the gas.''
He could not know that eons of work had gone into the moment. The aliens, with few resources, found themselves forced from their ancestral home. Earth was their last best hope, but they knew they could not co-exist with earthlings. They had to find a way to infiltrate and their plan was to inject a clone of their finest being into an earthling. Surely the superior intelligence created could subvert and conquer these earth beings with their puny attainments.
``You want to come with us?'' the driver asked.
``Whatever,'' the boy said.
He was enrolled at Stanford University. His alien IQ should have enabled him to walk off with any honor, but he did not go to class, he did not complete assignments. He was expelled in no time.
``Whatever,'' the boy/alien said.
A military academy seemed like an idea. With counterfeited requisites he showed up with all the others and in less than a week he was out on his ear.
``Whatever,'' he said.
The aliens racked their brains. ``What can we do with him?'' they asked each other. They had no idea.
``Let's leave him,'' one said. They climbed into their Daihatsu and dematerialised somewhere south of Boise.
The driver alien looked wistfully back at the boy who was making for the lone tavern at Grasmere. ``The others may have better luck,'' he said.