Page 82 of An Alien for the Future

The journey to the Youngling Center takes nearly three hours by hover-transport. I spend most of it with my gaze out the window, watching the landscape change from our rural farmlands to the bustling outskirts of a city. Tovan uses one claw to steer, the other resting on my thigh. Now and then, he squeezes gently, his eyes flicking to the side, to where I sit with my hands clenched in my lap.

“Tell me again what Nia said.”

Tovan squeezes my thigh again, sending reassurance my way. “She said that when they went to adopt their youngling, they too, were nervous. But the moment they saw her, everything else faded away. The core-beat will know.”

I nod, twisting my hands in my lap. God, I’ve never been more nervous. “And the bounty hunter’s contact at the Center? They’re expecting us?”

“Yes, lira’an. Everything is arranged.”

The Youngling Center rises before us, a sprawling complex of interconnected domes. Unlike the stark government buildings we’ve become familiar with in this process, this place is painted in soft colors—blues and greens that remind me of the ocean. Gardens surround the building, and I can see small figures darting between the plants, their laughter carried away by the wind.

My throat tightens as Tovan lands the transport. Children. So many children, all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some purple and pink like Tovan, others with different hues entirely. Somewith extra limbs, others with fewer than expected. All of them precious. All of them waiting for someone to choose them.

“Ready?” Tovan asks, his claw finding mine again.

I squeeze his fingers as I look at him. I’ve never been more sure about the person I want to share this with. Through the entire process, Tovan’s made me feel like I will be the best mother. But after giving up on that idea so long, it’s now the scariest thing I will face. “Ready.”

The entrance hall is bright and welcoming, with murals depicting various species living in harmony. A tall, willowy being with iridescent skin greets us, their movements fluid like water. “Welcome to the Youngling Center. I am Caretaker Zyl’a. You must be the Kamesh unit?”

“Yes,” Tovan confirms, his professional tone barely masking his own nervousness. “We have an appointment.”

Zyl’a’s face ripples with what might be a smile. “Of course. Ka’Cit Urgmental spoke highly of you both. Please, follow me.”

We’re led through corridors that echo with distant chatter and laughter. Everywhere I look, there are signs of life and love—artwork pinned to walls, tiny handprints in rainbow colors, toys tucked into corners. This isn’t an institution; it’s a home.

For a moment, I wonder if the child will even like it on my farm out in the middle of nowhere.

“We have thirty-seven younglings in our care,” Zyl’a explains as we walk. “Ages range from infancy to twelve orbit cycles. Some are here temporarily while their families navigate difficult circumstances. Others…” They pause, something sad flickering across their features. “Others are waiting to find a new family unit.”

We stop at a large window overlooking an indoor play area. My breath catches. Below us, children of various species play together, their differences forgotten in the universal language of childhood joy. A small blue girl helps a younger child withtentacles build a tower. Two identical furry children chase each other around climbing frames. A tiny being that seems to be made entirely of glass reads a book to a group of what looks like mesmerized toddlers.

I swallow hard and Tovan pulls me into his side in that way he always does. Reminding me he’s there. Grounding me. Reminding me I’m no longer alone. On my chest, the kahl sigils thrum with his proximity and I release some of the tension with a smooth breath.

“Would you like to meet some of them?” Zyl’a asks gently.

It’s only then that I realize I’m pressed against the glass like an eager child myself. Stepping back, I smooth my dress. “Yes. Yes, please.”

The playroom is warm and filled with the kind of controlled chaos only children can create. As we enter, several little ones look up. A few of the older children whisper among themselves, pointing at me—probably because they’ve never seen a human before.

“Younglings,” Zyl’a calls out, their voice carrying easily across the room. “We have visitors today. This is Tovan and Donna Kamesh.”

A chorus of greetings rings out, some in Standard, others in languages my translator doesn’t quite catch. I lift my hand in a nervous wave, my heart already melting at their eager faces. Glancing at Tovan, his warm eyes are on me. They crinkle the moment I look back at him.

“Let’s go find our chid,” he whispers.

My heart warms and swells so much it feels like I might combust.

As we enter the play area, several children rush over. It catches me by surprise. I thought they’d be cautious, distrustful, shy—or maybe that’s just my own experiences on Earth coloring my outlook. These children are different. They’re full ofquestions about who I am and where I’m from. I try to answer as nicely as possible, leaving out the whole abduction and hardship part. I tell them about my farm instead. They’re beautiful, all of them, with their different colors and forms and ways of moving.

We spend the next half hour walking among them, watching them play. A group of green willowy children invite us to see their art project—splashes of color that catch and reflect light. The two furry siblings show off their climbing abilities on the play structure. A small aquatic child demonstrates how she can create bubble shapes in her water tank.

But as time passes, something begins to gnaw at me. These children are wonderful, creative, full of life and joy. I smile and nod and participate, but with each interaction, the feeling grows stronger. That spark, that instant connection I was so sure would happen…it…it isn’t there.

My steps slow as I watch a caretaker help a young one with their meal. Shouldn’t I feel something more? That overwhelming sense of rightness I felt when I first met Tovan? These children deserve someone who feels that way about them. Someone who knows, deep in their soul, that this is their child.

I glance at Tovan, who’s letting a tiny reptilian child examine his claws with scientific curiosity. What if I don’t connect with any of them? What if this whole idea was a mistake? The thought sits heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Zyl’a must notice something in my expression because she touches my arm gently. “Would you like to see another part of the center?” she asks softly.

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