Hope

“Daddy?”

I gently shush him, pushing his face into my chest before slumping further down in the backseat of the rusted car. The windows are coated in a thin layer of ice, but I’m not willing to risk that the layer is completely opaque.

“Why are we hiding?” he whispers, little hands clutching at my coat.

I tug him impossibly closer, tucking him under the worn fabric. If the local guard walks past the car and finds us, they’ll take us to a shelter. They’ll separate us, and there is no way I’m going back there. Not when I have my little boy to look out for. Not when I’m finally making a life for us. Not when we’ve both already suffered so much under the government’s hand.

“Shh, sit tight. We’ll go home soon.”

~~~

“Sit,” the little blue-eyed alien demands.

I look at him and look back to the bubble currently hovering above the pavement. It’s similar to the voomer, only smaller, and the top half is made of glass. The inside looks to have cushioned seats, which was an improvement, but there doesn’t seem to be a way to steer the vehicle. No steering wheel or controls.

Caster tugs on my shirt, pulling me over to the floating bubble and repeating his command. I do as he says, the memory of his sharp fangs from moments before a reminder to not anger the little creature.

“Who’s going to drive this thing?” I can’t but ask as I slide into the seat, eyes wandering over the soft blue interior.

Caster blinks as he climbs in to perch beside me. “Drive?”

Oh boy.

Caster presses a button that makes the door slide closed, the small vehicle humming to life as it begins to move. I tense, fingers clutching at the seat as the world around us begins to move. Other bubble contraptions move along the road, passing by us with various alien creatures inside, none of which seem to be concerned over the fact that these transportation vehicles have no driver.

Why did they have to replace cars? Cars were good, safe. They had brakes, seatbelts, and airbags in case you crashed into anything. Why did the aliens have to change all of that?

My thoughts come to a grinding holt as the bubble stops, it’s humming cutting out. The door hisses open, and Caster is quick to drag me from its confinement. I let out a noise of protest, but Caster doesn’t seem to notice.

“This is Master Mirker’s house,” he chirps, pulling me towards a large mansion. “It was created to look like a human house!”

To call this place a house was a bit of an understatement. Even a mansion was pushing it. It’s massive! Made of white stone, the ‘house’ is two stories high with stone pillars holding up the front balcony. Large windows stretch up into the sky. Everything about it looks expensive and immaculate. It looks like a modern castle with how high it stretches up into the sky.

We walk towards the large mansion, the cream coloured pebbles crunching under our feet. Trimmed hedges line the pathway coming up to the house, a green lawn spreading out across the rest of the front yard.

Caster continues to pull me along as I gawk, little clicks escaping his mouth as he eagerly tugs me up the three steps and opens one of the large wooden front doors.

“Mr. Mirker will be in study. He waiting long time for a human,” Caster pipes up, his grip on my shirt unrelenting as he pulls me through the front foyer.

“Can I ask why?”

“Did officers not tell you?” He frowns up at me, confused.

I frown as well, shaking my head no. I didn’t think I was supposed to know why I was sent here.

When we pass through the foyer, my eyes widen at the luxury that surrounds me. The walls are white, the floors a white and marbled grey stretching throughout the house as far as I can see. Slightly to the left a large white carpeted staircase curls around to the second story. Black metal handrails intricately follow the curve of the stairs, ending in elaborate scrolls.

The right-hand side opens up to a large dining room with a glass tabletop, the front windows filtering in the morning light. A door can be seen in the dining room as we walk further into the house, no doubt leading to an even more extravagant kitchen.

On the left, the marble floor cuts off into plush carpet, where I suspect the lounge room sits.

“This way!” Caster smiles, guiding me up the stairs.

The upstairs hallway is the same plush cream carpet as the stairs, only there are high skirting boards running along the bottom, polished a dark brown. Doors line the hallway, all shut tight. At the end of the hallway a pair of double doors sit, black metal lever handles keeping the room shut away from prying eyes.

I’ve never stepped foot in a place so extravagant and so large. My whole life, I’ve been living on the streets, behind dumpsters, or huddled away in closet sized apartments. This whole place feels surreal!

Caster leads me to the end of the hall, knocking hard on a door to the left with a grin on his face. He bounces on his toes in what looks like excitement. A rumble of a noise makes its way through the closed door, causing Caster to push it open with a smile.

“I have the human for you, Aliston!” he sings.

That doesn’t sound as positive as Caster is making it out to be.

Once we enter, Caster shuts the door behind me and skips over the the large rose-stained desk placed in the middle of the room. He rocks gently on his feet, handles folded behind his back.

Briefly looking around, I struggle to make out the room in the dull light. The walls are painted a dark blue, dark wood panelling skirting the edges. It’s a small room. Much smaller than I expected for such a large house, but maybe that was to do with the towering bookcases stuffed to the brim with books and files.

Turning away from my inspection of the room, my eyes settle on the man sitting behind the desk. I can’t help but stare. He’s tall, even as he’s sitting down with perfect posture. His skin is coloured in various tones of grey and blue, long grey-white hair cascading down his shoulders like silk. Like Caster, pointed ears poke through from his hair, only they look longer and sharper.

I turn my attention to his face, blinking in surprise. His eyes are much bigger than a human, his dark irises taking up much more than a normal eye. He has the same angular face as Caster, the same sharp cheek bones and smooth skin, but there’s something more dangerous about this alien. Maybe it’s how stoic he looks, but there’s just something about the look in his eye that’s predatory.

“The human was supposed to be a female. Is this a female?” he asks Caster in a deep voice, a lyrical undertone sweeping through.

Caster chews his lip. “No. This is Emery Lowence. He is male.”

He chances a glance my way, looking as if he’s not so sure of his answer, even though I told him before that I am in fact, a male.

Aliston sighs to himself, shuffling files on his desk before laying his hands flat on the desk. “It will do. Thank you, Caster, you may leave.”

Caster does as he’s told, practically skipping out of the room, softly closing the door behind him.

“Please, take a seat.” Mr. Mirker gestures to the chair in front of his desk.

Gingerly I do as he’s asked, moving to take a seat on the plush armchair. I sink into the soft seat, hands running over the vibrant blue velvet. I’ve never felt something so soft or seen something so blue.

Aliston spares me a smile as he notices my wandering hands. “Do you like it?”

I turn to look back up at him. “Uh, yeah. It’s very soft.”

“It is made from Kurziten.” I frown at the unfamiliar word. “A pelt from one of the creatures back on my home planet.”

Immediately I retract my hands, sitting a little straighter in the chair. I don’t respond to this new information, instead I just wait with bated breath. I’ve never been a fan of animal pelts.

“Now. I believe we must talk about your residence here. I had been given your file in advance, which is why you have ended up in my care, and not in the hands of a farmer or manufacturer.”

Right. So, I should be thanking him for letting me stay here in his home? When I don’t even know why I’m here? Speaking of which, what files is he talking about? I have a file?

He continues, “According to your transcript, you have worked as a baker, waiter, and have had some experience in child rearing. Is this correct?”

I swallow harshly, my hands coming to a folded position in my lap. How does he know this? How does anyone know this? It’s not like businesses keep track of their employees anymore.

“Yes,” I murmur quietly.

I never actually took a job as a babysitter. Those kinds of jobs required you to own a clean pair of clothes and have a nice set of shoes. To have identification and certificates. None of which I have. So how does this creature know that I’ve been taking care of orphaned children? Who’s been keeping these tabs on me?

He stares at me for a moment, making me squirm in my seat. He doesn’t ask me anything else, my confirmation apparently enough for him. Instead, he reaches across the desk with one of those glass tablets, another contract typed up in small letters.

“Here is your contract. You will be working under my supervision for five terms.”

Five? I thought the lady at the Department said eight months?

“I was told I’d only be working for three,” I say softly.

He frowns at this, a low growl building in his chest that makes my muscles freeze in fear. “I told the Department I would need a human for more than the delegated time period. You should have been notified before you arrived in Darcne.”

I shake my head no. No one told me anything. I thought it was normal for the humans to be left in the dark. We are, after all, the lesser species.

He sighs, “Five terms is equivalent to thirteen months and two weeks. This misunderstanding should not matter. The Department is at fault, and I will call them about the situation in the morning. Are you happy to sign the contract?”

He looks expectantly at me as I sit there with a dumbfounded expression on my face.

“Uh, yes,” I say, quickly looking down and scrolling through the words, my brain struggling to understand what’s written before me. “Yeah, yes, this will be fine.”

“Very well. Please sign at the bottom.”

I scroll to the end, the little blue line the same as the one back at the Department. Hesitating, I lift my finger, letting it hover. This would be it. I would be signing away the next year of my life to do whatever it is the contract bids me to do. There’s really no other option. Stay here and hope for the best, or leave and be beaten to death by anti-human protesters. Either way, I’m willing to take a chance working here than struggle to find food on the streets of Vercnaye.