Unauthorized ship arriving at Bay 30.
Ako sat straighter. The ship’s origin was Tremulos, a system inhabited by clonal aliens. His pin badge collection hung on the wall beside him, one for each port he’d visited; he hadn’t been to Tremulos yet. He hoped to get that promotion soon and visit systems farther out, like Tremulos, while he trained other spaceport controllers.
“What’s the deal?” Cara asked beside him.
“Dunno,” Ako said. He opened comms with the ship. “Identify yourself, Tremulos origin.”
Nothing.
Alarming scenarios rushed into Ako’s mind and he notified security as he kept trying to raise the pilot.
Security swarmed Bay 30, weapons ready. When the ship docked but didn’t open or respond to security’s commands, Ako sent a hangar robot to open the door, and security entered the ship. Ako sat forward, staring at the gaping ship door, hardly breathing.
“Ever seen a Tremulo?” Cara asked.
“Never,” Ako said. “You?”
“Once. You know how aspen groves look like individual trees but are really one organism?”
He nodded.
“That’s a Tremulo. But they’re tall and thin and sort of humanoid.”
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A security guard emerged, helmet removed, and looked up to where Ako and Cara sat safely in their controller’s office. “Get down here,” she said. She looked annoyed and not at all alarmed.
Moments later Ako stood inside the ship, staring at what appeared to be dozens of small aliens but was really one Tremulo. A child, according to security, with development equivalent to a human preschooler, and no alien adult on board.
The Tremulo was all knobbly knees and elbows and skinny bodies connected by thin filaments. Each one had a pair of large eyes staring up at Ako.
“We just spoke to their parents,” the security guard said. “They’re on their way, but it’ll be a while.”
“How’d they end up on a ship alone?” Ako asked. “And how’d they get here?”
“Their parent had the ship ready for launch,” she said. “Then realized they forgot something, and they were so distracted when they left the ship that they left it primed for launch. All the kid here had to do was push a button and, boom, unauthorized joy ride. At any rate, keep an eye on them until the parent gets here.”
Panic spiked in Ako’s gut. “Why can’t you watch them?”
“I’ve got a whole shift to finish. And I checked the schedule. No more ships arriving until the parent gets here. You’ve got the time.” She replaced her helmet, eyes hidden by dark reflective armour.
Ako whirled on Cara. “Can you —”
“Oh, no,” she said, backing up. “Just ’cause I’ve got a uterus doesn’t mean I’m automatically the babysitter.”
“But I don’t know a thing about young Tremulos.”
“Neither do I. As no one has an advantage, you’re as good a babysitter as anyone else.”
“But what do I do with them?” Ako asked, trying not to squirm under the heavy stare of 80 pairs of eyes.
“Entertain them.”
Ako checked the parent’s ETA. He would have to keep an eye on this alien child for several hours. In the meantime, the child was wandering everywhere and touching everything.
“Stop that,” he said via the translator device. “Don’t touch that. Don’t climb that. Come here. No, stay out of there.” He glanced at his watch. Only 15 minutes had passed? He wanted to sit on the bay floor and cry.
One pair of Tremulo eyes looked up, then they all snapped in the direction of the controller’s office. “Shiny,” they said.
They were looking at Ako’s pin badge collection, winking in the bright lights from the bay. It was the first time they’d stood still. Ako didn’t want those grubby hands anywhere near his hard-earned collection, but he didn’t think he could spend the next few hours chasing this kid around and keeping them from pressing some crucial button and accidentally, say, exposing him to the vacuum of space.
Ako bolted up the stairs, muttering the whole way about the sacrifices he was making. He snatched the board and ran back down.
