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Mentally, she was counting the credits she knew were in her pouch. She didn’t have many. The adoption agency had told her that her initial stipend payment was in an account waiting for her at the bank in Rothbart. But if she had to pay for an expensive ticket to get there…
“You okay?” Rafe asked, stopping in his tracks, as if he had read her mind.
“Do you know the price of passage?” she asked as lightly as she could, pretty sure her worries were probably clear on her face.
“The agency paid in advance,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away from her.
Had the big dragon warrior figured out why she asked? Was he allowing her to save face?
She didn’t know, and she was so relieved that she didn’t have to beg for coins outside the train station during her first day as a mother, that she couldn’t bring herself to care.
She watched as he strode up to the bot in the window.
“Two adults, one whelp, and a deer and sleigh,” he said. “Alien Adoption Agency.”
“Very good, sir,” the bot replied. “Thumbprint.”
Rafe managed to get his whole thumb onto the tiny scanner, barely.
There was a reassuring tone, and then the bot was holding out a tagger.
Jade moved to the window as well and watched as the bot tagged both their bracelets, and then handed them an ear tag for the deer and a bolt for the sleigh.
“View the scans,” it said, scanning each item so that they could verify.
Jade’s heart gave a little squeeze when her name popped up and child.
“Your bracelets entitle you to food and drink in the dining car,” the bot told them. “Be sure to listen for your stop.”
There are only two, Jade thought to herself, but she didn’t say it out loud. Everyone wanted to feel their job was important, even the ticket bot.
Rafe nodded to it and moved to the platform.
“Thank you,” Jade told it quietly.
“It is my pleasure to serve,” it said, the lights on its chest panel intensifying for a moment.
She jogged to catch up with Rafe.
“Terrans,” he said, shaking his head as he glanced down at her.
“What?” she asked.
“I swear I just heard you thanking a ticket bot,” he said.
“Good manners are never out of fashion,” she said, automatically quoting her grandmother.
“It’s not biological,” he scoffed. “It doesn’t care about manners.”
“How do you know?” she asked. “Besides, it’s not about the bot. It’s about me.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When someone serves me, I’m grateful,” she said simply. “And he didn’t choose to serve. There’s something sinister about an entity that can speak and reason being assigned to serve forever, without choice or payment.”
“At least you didn’t tip it,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him. Though in all honesty, if she could afford to tip, she probably would have.
