The only way I can be sure it’s derision is because one of his eyeball stalks flops downward—a sure sign of the Oolasag’s displeasure.
Also, gross. Gross. My entire life is gross. Despair fills me. I just had to end up on this space station, where humans are a second-class species, not considered smart enough to do any of the jobs I’d really want. At least we’re not considered sexy here, which some of my friends from Earth have also had to deal with.
“You aren’t paying us enough for us not to chitchat,” Bridget says tartly. “Besides, we are capable of multitasking.”
“You are primates,” our bossy says, his second eyeball stalk flopping downward, too. “You are incapable of doing more than one task at once.”
Shit. He’s really pissed.
“Our opposable thumbs are really helpful, though,” I say with a smile, trying to smooth things over.
“You’re in trouble,” the brain’s mechanized voice says. “Monkey thumbs.”
“Rude,” Bridget says on a gasp. “Rude.”
“Enough.” The word pops and crackles out of the Oolasag.
I flinch at the force of it.
“No more. I am done with trying to help you humans out. Done. You are the most impolite, inconsiderate—”
“But our opposable thumbs,” I say, my voice squeaky and high-pitched even to my ears. “You need us.”
“I pity-hired you,” the slug/snake alien seethes. His eyeball stalks are wobbling ferociously.
“We quit!” Bridget yells at him. The tentacle falls off her, landing on the floor with a wet smack of despair. “Come on, Aileen,” she says. “We’re outta here.”
“Bridget,” I say in a low voice, “we need this job.”
“No, we don’t.” She straightens up, her dual space buns bobbing. The tentacle bunches like an inchworm, slowly climbing up her calf. “I was coming here to tell you that we’ve both been accepted to the Starlight Lottery.”
I stare at her. She stares at me, her lower lip jutting out as if daring me to call her on her bullshit.
“No.”
“Yes,” she insists.
“Did we really?” I ask, holding one hand up in our boss’s squishy face. He burbles in irritation.
It’s too good to be true.
She nods, beaming at me. “We don’t need this job. We’re getting off this horrible space station.”
“We quit,” I yell at him. His eye stalks blow back from the force of it.
Ick. Blech.
“Yeah, suck it!” Bridget joins in, peeling off the tentacle and placing it back on its display column. “We’ve been selected for the Starlight Lottery, and you can get salty all you want.”
The Oolasag puffs its cheeks out in dismay at the insult, and Bridget winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s a human saying. I didn’t mean the salt thing,” she backtracks. “I love the mucin. Great for the skin. No salt necessary.”
Horrified, I watch as Bridget scoops a hand over the Oolasag’s skin, pulling off a handful and smacking it on to her cheeks. “Love it. See? No salt.”
I grab Bridget’s elbow as she lets out a hysterical laugh, eager to get out of here before our boss truly erupts. Some of the green Oolasag mucin plops off her face onto the ground.
“Bye, thanks for everything,” I yell over one shoulder as I rush us out of the room.
“You will never match with a job, not if I have anything to say about it,” the Oolasag roars after us.
The door closes on him, and on the wretched brain and the sad tentacle. The stale, recycled air of the space station rushes over us as we practically sprint through the narrow alleys to our shared quarters.
“Starlight Lottery,” I finally breathe, my brain catching up to the events of the last twenty minutes or so. “We really got in.”
“We really got in,” Bridget squeals, throwing her arms around my neck. “We got in.”
“Never in a million years did I think we’d get in,” I breathe. “Humans are, like, everyone’s last resort.”
“Well, we did,” Bridget says, clapping her hands in glee. “We got in. Fuck you, Oolasag!”
A bit more green goo slides down her face.
“You still have, uh, some slug mucin on your face.”
“Oh. That was a dramatic exit, don’t you think? I’m like a heroine from one of those old Earth vids.”
“Was there one that put mucin on her face?” I ask, poking at one of the bigger blobs on her jaw. “I don’t remember that.”
“I didn’t mean it literally, Aileen. Sheesh.” She’s grinning at me, though, doing the little happy dance and shimmy she does when her body can’t quite contain all her excitement.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
“Tonight.” She takes my hands, guiding me around in a celebratory spin as I digest that.
“Tonight?” I repeat. My feet are suddenly leaden, the gravity of what we’re about to undertake settling in, some of the sparkling newness wearing off.
“Tonight,” she affirms.
“That’s really soon.”
“Yeah, which means we can get off this fucking station and get on with our damned lives.”
Suddenly, my throat goes tight, and I fight the urge to cry. “Right.”
“Oh, no. Aileen, don’t. Don’t cry.”
“I’m scared.” It comes out hushed, a whispered admission that fills me with sudden shame.
Bridget pulls me into a hug, and I rest my cheek on her shoulder.
“You’re the only family I have left,” I tell her. “You’re pretty much my only friend.”
“Oh, come on, now. That’s not true. That would hurt Tentacle’s feelings.” She rubs my shoulders, and I can’t help but let out a sniffly laugh. It would hurt his feelings.
“His feelings are always hurt,” I manage, tears finally flowing.
“We will stay in touch, okay? With all the money we’ll be making, I’m sure we can meet up at one of the resort planets. Imagine that. Sun, sand, salt water, and no Oolasag to yell at us. The dream.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I tell her, squeezing her tight.
“You’re going to make new friends. I am going to miss you, too, but we can’t let this opportunity pass us by, right?”
“I know,” I say.
And I do. I do know.
“I’m just going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” Bridget tells me. “But listen. There is no life here for us. None at all. So we’re going to miss each other, but we can comm every day, right? I heard all the Starlight Jobs hires get a cutting-edge data pad. Plus, we’ll be making good money. And we’ll be off this damned station. We can talk every day. I’m never going to stop being your friend.” The last part comes out gently.
I cling to her for another minute, letting my tears run their course.
She’s right. Of course she’s right, and we said as much to each other when we signed up for the Starlight Jobs Lottery as soon as we were of age.
It’s a bizarre feeling, to hope so hard for something, then be terrified once it happens.
“Okay,” I finally say, pulling away with a watery smile. “Okay. Let’s get packed and get on the transport so we can get the hell out of here.”
Bridget yelps in excitement, stamping her little feet and chattering away as she always does when she’s hyper.
“Maybe we’ll even fall in love. Can you imagine? A whole new life, new rooms, new friends… a new adventure.”
I make an agreeable noise in the back of my throat, but I’ve never been a romantic like Bridget. I do what I have to do to take care of me, and romance has never once crossed my mind.
Surviving’s always taken precedence.
With any luck, this Starlight Lottery might just make that a little easier.