[TheRaisin]

Awright, next dedication is to Reptile, my second real replier (I'm excluding the guy who made the comment about the word "erect").


Tak didn't know it as he and the two others cruised down the road, but he was rapidly running out of time. Jarha grinned to himself as he scanned the computer readout: approximately six days left to go until the ship had recharged sufficiently for a lifesweep volley. The gleaming silver metal, designed for camouflage in the blackness of space, hummed and crackled as the batteries were refilled with power picked up and stored from the planet's magnetic field and from the two stars of the Alpha Centauri system. It was all too easy. The natives who had seen the object fall from the sky were too timid to investigate for themselves, as they had never encountered such an object. Their elders sat in meditation still, trying to figure out what to do. Their indecisiveness had saved individual lives so far, as they would have been killed instantly if encountered by the Ket. But if they didn't do something soon, the entire race would be destroyed by the very beings who had made them what they were.

As if sensing the Ket's thoughts, Tak suddenly felt chill and uneasy. He involuntary sped up a little. Though the day was bright and warm, there was a sinister feel about it. Shaking off the feeling, he focused on the road ahead.

Meanwhile, the village convoy was rolling at top speed in the same direction, though they were still many times slower than the roadrunners. A few trading carts now followed as well, their owners having been informed of Tak's experience by the villagers. At midday they came to the first town, a tiny but prosperous community that served as a trading post and rest stop in this wilderness, a tiny oasis miles away from any other civilization. The lead cart pulled to the side of the road, the others reigning in behind it. Oak leaped down from the supply cart, still nimble in his later years, and organized the other D'naathi.
"Right, let's do this quick. You..." he pointed at one section of the group, "will stay here and guard the convoy and help the newcomers. The rest of us will fan out and get as many people as we can to follow us. When you find a person or a group who wants to come along, bring them here, then keep searching. We need to get everyone to the city, every last person. Better get cracking."
They spread out and began mingling with the crowd, trying to inform them of the danger they were in. A few youths were willing to come along, but most seemed indifferent to the far-fetched claims.
"This isn't working," said a youth named Dunth when he bumped into Oak after fifteen minutes of trying to convince people of the impending danger.
"I noticed," Oak replied. "They just aren't going to believe a bunch of strangers. They probably think we're just a traveling band of lunatics or vagrants. One of them tried to offer me some bread crusts." He scowled. Then, slowly, one of those "I-have-an-idea" smiles spread across his face. "I have an idea. Stay here and watch."
He inconspicuously sidled up to a member of the crowd.
"So, did you hear those strangers talking about the aliens?" he asked conversationally, pretending to be eyeing produce.
"Yeah, and how they created us and now want to destroy the planet." The stranger paused. "Do I know you?"
Oak smiled innocently.
"Of course! It's me, Flint! I live down the street... next to the weaver's house... what, don't you recognize me?" he asked, pretending to be hurt.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry there Flint. So, what a bunch of crackpots those guys are, eh?" he said, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Oak feigned surprisement. "Crackpots? Hell no! I saw the things with my own two eyes! So did the weaver, and his young daughter."
"Oh," the stranger said. "So I assume they're both going with these people? The weaver and his daughter?"
"Well, I expect so. Most of the village is. So am I."
The stranger changed his tune.
"Y'know, maybe there is something to that idea. I think I'll check her--er-- check it out." He began walking in the direction of the convoy.
Oak walked back to where Dunth was standing, both of them wearing devious grins.
"That was incredible. How'd you do that? And how did you know about the weaver and his daughter?"
Oak smiled even more.
"Well, most people hate being the minority. I just play on the old 'I live down the street' scheme, act like I'm an old friend, most people assume they've just forgotten my face, I tell them I've seen it myself and that everyone else is going along too, they buy it, and they go with the flow. As for the weaver and his daughter, I was just snowing him, I had no idea. Every one of these villages has a weaver, and practically all of them have a beautiful young daughter that all the men and boys in the village would follow to the ends of the earth. Now go. Use that technique and pass it along. We have some people to help, whether they know it or not."
Dunth scrambled to obey.


I would also like to dedicate this chapter to authors Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett, whose bizarre humor and gullible book characters helped inspire the whole "I live down the street" thing. As I was writing it, I thought to myself,
"Hey. This sounds like something from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or Discworld, except those are much better written." So... yeah. Kay. Bye.