1
Riley
“You know this agency is nothing more than a front for you to sign beings up for indentured servitude, right?”
My “client representative” at the employment agency lowers her hand-held glass tablet and narrows her bulbous eyes at me. She’s completely fed up with my smart-ass comments. “Rrrriley,” she hisses my name on purpose. “What do you care? Our business practices are no longer any of your concern. You’re almost done.”
I clench my jaw and glance around the busy office. Yes, I’m one heartbeat away from freedom. Today is my last day working for these tricksters. My bags are packed. I have a ticket off planet. Why rock the boat? But boat-rocking is my specialty. I might be quiet most of the time, but when I see wrongs to be righted, I fucking speak up. Therefore, I lean forward. “I signed up with your agency thinking I’d be here for a year and instead you’ve taken the last five years of my life.”
The Creekan behind the desk lets out the long-suffering sigh of a bureaucrat who knows exactly what’s happening but doesn’t give one shit. Plus, she’s heard me bitch about this subject countless times already. “Here,” she grits, trying to pass me the hand-held screen, “just sign and authorize the damn exit documents and we’ll both go our separate ways.”
Oh, wouldn’t she like that? Huh. The moment I get myself set up in my new quarters on Omega 9 and have some extra currency padding my account, I’m going to class-action lawsuit the hell outta this place. “I’ve been working for this agency for five years,” I repeat, “and I remain pissed off because none of you ever had the decency to apologize for what’s happened to me.”
“Apologize? Apologize for what? It’s my fault you signed a contract without reading it? The contract you signed clearly stated that…”
My chin hits my chest. I can’t even listen to this crap.
The moment humans became citizens of the four sectors, this “Intergalactic Employment Agency” swooped down to New Earth and opened a pop-up office in the busiest town square in Singapore. I was so young and desperate I’d squealed with delight when I heard their pitch and signed up on the spot. They promised if I gave them one year of “honest work,” they’d give me a nice bonus and free passage to anywhere I wanted in the four sectors. This sounded fabulous. I was an orphan with zero prospects—what was one year when I could leave my backwater planet behind and start over elsewhere? Everyone knew all the best jobs were off planet. I was all “sign me up.” Of course, it turned out to be a total con.
I forgot the number one rule in life: If it sounds too good to be true—it is.
At least these beings weren’t sex traffickers; I give them credit for that. The agency really did provide me with honest work. Their specialty is hiring hard-to-fill domestic help positions in the far, distant reaches of the four sectors—nannies, assistants, home health care, home hospice, house cleaners, home chefs, etc., etc.
And it turns out I really like the job I’ve been given. The job has never been my issue. My complaint is that they’re paying me a pittance for all of my hard work and pocketing the rest. I’m getting totally screwed. This agency is bleeding me dry. I do all the hard work out in the field and they get most of my currency. And that’s not fucking right. This is exactly why I say it’s nothing more than indentured servitude.
I discovered their con after the end of my first placement. I worked my ass off caring for the elderly patriarch of a Surrelian family, making sure his care was coordinated and that he was as happy and comfortable as possible. It was a good job and I discovered I took pride in knowing I was befriending and helping someone who clearly needed my help. And a year later, when the position sadly ended because my client had passed away, I thought that was the end of my contract. But then, because the family I’d worked for liked me so much, (which was so, so sweet of them) they left a five-star rating on my agency profile along with a long-ass letter of thanks. And suddenly I was the agency’s number one requested employee. Uh oh. And then the fine print I hadn’t known existed in my contract kicked in. Apparently, I’m only released from my contractual obligations if I’m not requested. If I’m requested then they can continue to place me. Indefinitely.
Fuck.
Like I’d known?
And to be truthful, knowing wouldn’t have changed my work anyways. My friend Chloe says it’s a fault of mine, this blind loyalty I have towards my clients, but I can’t stop who I am. I care for my clients and I want them to have the best. So, this pattern continues again and again. I do a good job, there’s a glowing review, I get requested and I’m placed in a new position. Every time I complain to the main office about the fact that they keep slapping extension after extension on my time frame, I get a variation on the same line, “You signed the contract. It’s not our fault you don’t read fine print. Next time, have a lawyer review before you sign.” Yeah, like I have a lawyer on retainer. And they always look so pained when they say it, like their hands are tied and they wish they could help but, “you signed the contract.”
I finally wised up to their tricks. It isn’t my client’s fault that I’m bound by a crappy contract. I’ve never complained about it to them, they didn’t need to hear my woe-is-me stories. I always do my best for my patient and give them my all. I save up my anger and resentment for the main office.
But I did form a genuine friendship with the awesome adult daughter of my most recent client, the patriarch of a noble Xylan family. And when it was time for me to leave, I asked her if she could please give me a terrible review and post it on my agency profile. After she got over her shock and horror at my bizarre request, she hesitantly did as asked, and the weight of her “bad review” worked like a charm. That was it, no one wanted the human who’d been given a one-star rating by House Ulmath.
“Hew-man, just sign here and you’re free,” the Creekan sighs. I reach forward and then suddenly a red light starts blaring on her screen. “Uh oh.” The bureaucrat’s scaly brow furrows and she yanks the tablet back and examines the alert.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, as dread hits my stomach. A flashing red light is never a good thing.
She looks up with a grimace. “You’re being requested again.”
I burst out of my chair. “No!” There’s no fucking way. Not after all my careful planning and hard work. How is this possible?
The spines on her shoulders slump. “Yes. There’s an immediate need for a hew-man, and…” Her claw swipes across the screen as she desperately searches for someone other than me to fill this position. “You’re the only hew-man available right now.”
What the actual fuck? This can’t be happening. “No. Change it, give the job to someone else.”
“I can’t change it. The screen is locked. I don’t have Admin rights.”
“But I have my bags packed,” I whimper as I sit down again in my chair and glance at the red suitcase I bought and packed this morning. “I put a deposit on an apartment…”
“I’m sorry, Riley, but the contract is clear.”
I grind my teeth. A huge Green-horn security guard arrives and quietly positions himself in the doorway. Yeah, they’d better call for backup. This is bullshit. I lift my chin. “What kind of position is it?”
“A nanny.”
I burst out of my chair again. “A nanny? I don’t do babies, I do geriatrics.” They know this. I specialize in taking care of the elderly. I coordinate care, making sure appointments are kept and a schedule is followed, and the correct medicines or therapy are administered. I always know the big picture and I make sure my client is happy and comfortable. I’m good at what I do, and families are always relieved to know their relative is receiving excellent care. In fact, I’m planning on making a career out of this—I’m about to further my
education at the coveted Geriatrics Institute on Omega 9.
The Creekan shrugs. “There is no major difference between this new assignment versus your former positions. You are still fully qualified. Hew-mans are well-known for their skills in providing compassion and care toward both the young as well as the old. It seems to come naturally to your species.”
My jaw drops. “But I—"
And right then a wild-eyed office manager blows past the guard and rushes inside the cubicle. She’s out of breath and stumbling in her haste as she runs straight for the Creekan’s desk. “We need a hew-man to fill a nanny position immediately,” she pants. “Do we have a hew-man in the office right now?”
My Creekan representative points a claw at me.
Oh hell.
The manager turns around with a charming smile pasted on her face and then sees it’s me and her expression falls flat. She grabs the end of the desk and literally looks like she’s about to cry.
I try not to smirk, but it’s hard. Oh yeah, they all know me here. I’ve tangled with this female many times in the past. I sit down and cross my legs.
Her scaly lips thin, her nostrils flare and she turns to meet the gaze of my resolute representative. “Whatever it takes,” she grits out. “We need Riley Anderson in this position. A rich Hyrrokin just requested an immediate need for a hewww-man nanny. If we act quick, we can be the first to secure the contract.”
The Creekan sucks in air and her large eyes sparkle with avarice. “A Hyrrokin?” she breathes, like she can already envision her bonus.
“Yes. All the wealthy beings in the four sectors want only hew-mans caring for their offspring. Hew-man nannies are hot right now.”
They both roll their bulbous eyes at the crazy demands of the rich and spoiled.
Hey!
Then they both turn to look at me again.
The manager crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “What will it take for you to accept this one last position?” she asks.
“I don’t work with babies,” I point out. “I’ve never changed a diaper in my life. Maybe I’m not even good with kids. Have you thought of that?”
She shrugs, as equally unconcerned as the representative. “You’ll do fine. Your skills will transfer to the new position.”
I let out a huff of agitation.
“What do you want?” she asks.
What do I want? Oh wow. She wants me to make an offer? They never talk to me like this. I blink and lean back in my seat. This is like winning the lottery. Maybe I should take this a little more seriously. “I do this one last job and that’s it?” I question. “No more jerking me around and extending my contract?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” I think about it for a sec. Maybe I should go ahead and take this one last position. Not for them, but for me…and for Chloe. I’ve been trying to find a way to bring my best friend over with me to Omega 9 for months now, but it’s been financially out of my reach. Maybe this will finally do the trick. But I’m not even a nanny and I’ll be having to lose a semester or two at the Institute to take this job… I narrow my eyes. If they want me, they’ll have to pay. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it if you triple my exit bonus.”
“Triple?” she squeaks.
“Yes, triple,” I answer with a firm voice. “And I want you to pay for transporter travel to and from my next assignment, no more of this ‘cheapest berth you can find’ crap you’ve been putting me through. And I want an apartment upgrade on Omega 9 to family quarters. If you do all three of those things”—I count them off on my fingers—“triple my bonus, transporter travel, and upgrade my quarters, then I’ll do this job for you. In fact, I can start right now if you want.”
The manager swallows hard, sweat beading on her brow. “It’s a deal.”
Wow, I’m kinda surprised that she went for all of that. Even I thought it was a bit much. The transporter travel alone is freakishly expensive. But what do I have to lose? If they say no then my contract is up right now and I’m free. But if I do this one last job, I can sponsor Chloe. I’m already imagining the two-bedroom garden-view apartment with my best friend as my roommate. It’ll be lovely.
But…I don’t trust these beings as far as I can throw them. And I can’t even pick them up. “How do I know you won’t screw me over?” I ask.
“We’ll sign a new contract.”
I lean back in my chair and smirk. “Only after it’s been reviewed by my lawyer first.”
I don’t think to ask about who the Hyrrokin are and what their home planet is like until after I’m shipped off to my next assignment.
That’s how flustered I am.
Really, how bad can it be? I’m used to working with a variety of different species. In my five years with the agency I’ve worked with Creekans, Xylan, Surrelian, Green-horns and even a Hurlian family. I’ve learned that just because a being looks different from me doesn’t mean we don’t have things in common. All beings live, laugh, work, hate, love, eat and sleep. Everyone wants the same things—to be loved and understood. I take care of each client as I’d want someone to care for my own grandparent, or how I’d hope to be cared for someday if I happen to require care. I take a deep breath and realize caring for this Hyrrokin baby won’t be so different. I’ll tend to this baby as I’d want a child of my own to be cared for. The same rule I’ve used before still applies, and this is strangely comforting.
I walk through the echoing Transporter station, trying to act as if I belong. My heels click on the shiny floors and I try not to gawk at all the self-possessed celebrities in designer fashions and the other VIPs passing by with their entourage of security. Wow. I quietly move over and walk along the side of the hallway as I make my way to my own loading area.
At least for once I actually took some time with my appearance.
I’m in a cute halter top, stylish crop jeans and strappy sandals. I treated myself to a spa treatment yesterday, which I’ve never, ever done before in my entire life. I had a facial, a wax treatment, scrub/exfoliation as well as a full body massage. It was pretty darn nice. I even got a haircut and color and my nails are a new shiny pink. My clothes are form-fitting, leaving my ample curves and plump arms exposed. I’m strutting down the hall, trying to look “cool” like I’m from the original planet. I normally don’t bother with all this; I live in scrubs and comfy shoes. But I decided yesterday I needed a change. Time for the larva to burst out of its shell and fly free on Omega 9.
I sent a text to my student counselor at the Geriatrics Institute and she said no problem, I could delay my start date and join at the beginning of next semester, or even the year after if need be. And I was able to get back my deposit on my apartment and join the waiting list for family quarters. Whew. I have a whole career, and a real life lined up for myself. A place where I can finally take the time to find a boyfriend to help rid me of this pesky virginity.
Although first, there’s this one last job to contend with.
I tap on my glass tablet. Hmm. The agency hasn’t sent me the normal educational info they supply prior to all my assignments. Oh well, at least I’ve gone through med bay and the appropriate language translator is implanted in my brain, and they gave me the correct inoculations, so I’m ready. Well, as ready as possible for a job I feel completely unprepared for.
I snort.
Babies?
I’ve never changed a diaper in my life. This is going to be tricky as hell.
A guard checks my ticket and I’m ushered into a fancy transporter room. It’s plush, with nice seats and smiling staff members. Someone takes my suitcase and sets it next to me, while another being starts explaining the procedures. I stand on the light disk as they nicely list what to expect during this transport, reassuring me of their perfect safety record and the miracles of instantaneous travel. I let them know I’m ready and soon a countdown starts, and when it ends a tickle forms in my belly and the next thing I know I’m painlessly dissolved into a scatter of atoms, flying across deep space
, and reassembled on another light disk on the opposite side of the four sectors. In the blink of an eye I’m standing in a completely different transporter room on the other side of the universe.
It worked. Wow, I could get addicted to that.
In a matter of seconds I’m reasonably alert. I concentrate on my grip on my red suitcase, somehow needing the comfort of knowing I still have all my stuff. I take a deep breath. What happens next? Do I need to wait to be told to step off the disk, or do I just step off when I’m ready?
I hear sounds. My vision still isn’t perfect. I wait patiently for it to return; the staff member told me to expect a few seconds’ delay in sensory input. There must be workers here in this room too as there were in the other room, right?
And when do I meet up with my new employer? Usually in past assignments whenever I step off the ship, I see someone in the crowd holding a personal blinking vid screen with my name on it. Sometimes it’s my actual boss—a family member of my client, but usually it’s another employee on staff. Someone is always there, though, to meet me, but this time I’m working for a mated couple. Would they both be here, or would they send someone else to pick me up? Would the baby be here too? It’s so confusing. Also, what if I do a terrible job? This couple who hired me thinks humans make the best nannies, but what if I’m the one bad human nanny? I might actually turn out to be a complete embarrassment to my entire species and profession.
I bite my lip and take another deep breath.
“Hew-man?” a deep voice questions, “Riley Anderson?”
I turn toward the being who said my name. I like this voice. The timber is pleasant and comforting. And as my vision finally clears, I can see everything around me with crystal clarity. My eyes narrow on the enormous shape standing in front of me. I blink and focus.
Choking sounds emit from my throat.
And I’m having serious heart palpitations. Or am I hyperventilating?
A gruesome blood-red face with glittering black eyes and pointy horns on its forehead is in front of me. Dagger-like fangs poke past its black lips and a barbed tail flicks in the air behind it.
His Human Nanny Page 1