Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
"How can I help you?" Custodian Sinath (according to his name plate) inquires.
I pull up my contract on my data pad and hold it out to him so they can sync. "Completed work. I need a sign off."
"Of course."
I hold my hand out so he can check my identification chip against my records, and watch as he flicks through my contract. "I don't suppose that you're hiring? Here in the custodian office?"
He looks up at me in surprise. "We're actually stationed here by Homeworld."
"Ah." Figures. Explains why they're all mesakkah, too.
"You're looking for more work? I'm afraid I don't know of any construction companies on any of the stations—"
"I actually would rather stay here," I interrupt. "I kinda love this planet."
He grins at me with understanding. "Beats station life, doesn't it?"
"By a parsec," I agree. He seems to be on the same page as me at least. "I don't suppose there's any way I could stay? Maybe work odd jobs? I won't cause trouble."
Sinath shakes his head. "I'm sorry. This is a human refugee planet only, by orders of Lord va'Rin. You could stay if someone married you, but unfortunately we don't have any postings for a husband at the moment."
The women here post for a husband? Human courtships are strange. I don't know that I could do that anyhow. Not when my thoughts are still filled with the star-watching blonde. "I see."
He taps at his data pad and brightens. "There is a posting for a farm worker, though. I don't suppose you know anything about farming?"
I'm tempted to lie. "I do not..."
"Ah." Sinath's expression falls, as if he truly does want to help me.
"...but I'm good with bots and repairs. I've seen the farms here and most of them are ran by bots, right? Because the humans are not as sturdy as other aliens?"
He studies me thoughtfully and then picks up his data pad again. "This request is for someone— male or female, no preference—to assist with running a farm. The owner has a stable of young meat-stock and planted fields and needs help with daily chores and maintenance. She offers room and board and a small portion of the profits in exchange for work. Does that sound like you?"
I try not to get too excited. "It does. I can do all of that. I don't care where I sleep as long as I can see the stars."
"The profits might not come in for months yet and you might be sleeping in a barn," he warns. When I shrug, Sinath holds his data pad out again. "All right, I'm going to go over your records for vetting, as the farmer requested. Once we've established that you're not a criminal, I'll give you the coordinates and you can head over and meet your new boss. If she's not happy with you as an employee, though, your work pass will be revoked and you'll have to leave the planet, though. Those are the rules."
I hold my hand out again so he can scan it. "I'm a hard worker and can handle anything they throw at me. Whoever it is, I'll make them happy."
An hour later, I'm following my data pad's chirping directions as I walk the fields on the outskirts of Port. The farm is surprisingly close to town, no more than a brisk half-hour walk away. Which is good for me, as I don't own an air-sled. I'd happily walk a road four times as long if I got to stay, though.
As I approach, it's obvious to me which of the farms is the one in need of assistance. I've been studying each farm as I pass by, and there's a cozy sameness to them. The plot of land is fenced off, with crops in one very large field and meat-stock wandering a second field near a uniform-sized barn. Each house is the same—a triad of domes clustered together to make a small dwelling with a path leading to the barn and an air-sled parked nearby. Most of the farms are tidy and neat, with bots patrolling the rows of crops.
Then I get to one farm that has knee-high weeds in the yard. The crops look ragged and spindly. I can see no bots. As I approach, I do see the meat-stock are in the pasture, but the pasture itself is churned and muddy, the water in the trough sludgy. There's a whirring sound I follow and find a bot stuck against a fence, one of its propellers broken. It bangs against the fencing over and over until I pull it free, and then look around a bit more. It's clear this farm is suffering from neglect, and it makes me wonder why. Is the owner sick? Wounded? Or do they simply not want to farm?
Does it even matter? They're offering me an opportunity to stay.