Hired By the Alien Dad (Single Alien Dads in Space #2)

Chapter 1

Dani

My thumb hovered over the submit button on the recruitment ad I’d stared at for hours.

Nanny needed. Remote location. Room, board, and passage off-world included. Experience preferred, but not required. Immediate start. Inquire within.

How much longer could I live here? Every breath felt suffocating, and had for years.

“Danielle?” My mother’s voice reached me through the thin walls. “Have you reviewed the contract details?” She cracked the door open. “The Fitzsimmons family expects an answer by Friday.”

My stomach clenched. Of course she’d mention the stupid contract.

Unbeknownst to me, my parents negotiated a marriage arrangement with Anthony Louis Fitzsimmons’s family as if I were cargo instead of their daughter.

My father used the term ‘advancing age’ and found who he thought was an appropriate suitor for me.

Heir to the Fitzsimmons pharmaceutical dynasty, Anthony Louis, as he preferred to be called, was twice my age and possessed all the warmth and charm of a tax audit.

I’d met him once, and in that single meeting, he’d looked through me, not at me, as if he were planning how I’d fit into his life like a decorative object he could rearrange at will.

“I’m reviewing them,” I called back, which wasn’t a lie, more of an omission of facts. I was reviewing my options, and they all felt like variations of the same cage.

Except this one. A strange little ad appeared in my feed three days ago, bounced through encrypted networks that technically weren’t legal but that everyone used anyway.

Off-world. The words alone made my heart race.

I’d never been beyond Earth’s atmosphere.

Few people in my economic bracket left. Space travel was for those with extreme wealth, the corporate elite, and the military.

It wasn’t for girls from mid-tier housing blocks with liberal arts degrees that qualified them for menial jobs, which, in our society, meant nothing.

But a nanny position with room and board included?

I bit my lip hard enough to hurt and opened the application form, smiling at the first line.

Name. Easy enough. Danielle Slater, I typed.

Age. Twenty-six.

Relevant experience?

My cursor blinked, the red appearing to glare at me in accusation.

Whatever I put down would be a lie, or a dramatic stretching of the truth.

Thanks to my position as a citizen in the lower end of the middle-class, I had the fortunate experience to babysit twice in my life.

Once for a neighbor when I was fourteen, which ended with the kid crying and me calling his mother home early.

The second time was for a cousin’s toddler.

They’d bitten me hard enough to leave a scar.

Growing up as the sole child of my parents, I had no experience navigating sibling relationships, and I had no maternal instincts that I’d ever discovered.

I leaned back and tried to remember any childhood memories involving dolls or pretending to parent.

This ad was my only shot at escape that didn’t involve Anthony Louis’s icy hands, and the even colder contract.

Five years of childcare experience, I typed; the lie formed easier than I expected. Specializing in infants and early development. References available upon request. I could probably find a friend or two to fudge a reference if push came to shove.

My hands shook as I filled in the rest of the application.

The education and health records were easy to answer and upload, but it took me four tries to take a profile photo where I looked both competent and approachable.

The background check would show nothing interesting.

I was what my friends called a ‘goody-goody.’ I never even received so much as a parking violation.

To the world, I was invisible and unremarkable.

No one ever looked at me twice. Maybe my anonymity would work in my favor.

I hit submit before I could talk myself out of it.

The confirmation screen appeared immediately. Application received. If selected, we will contact you via your preferred method within 24 hours.

Twenty-four hours.

If I could talk my mother into giving me a bit more time, I had maybe forty-eight hours before my parents expected my signature on the marriage contract. Sure. No pressure.

I shut down the data pad and pressed it against my chest, closing my eyes. “Please,” I whispered to whatever gods or algorithms might be listening. “Please let this work.”

That night, long after our traditional family dinner, I brushed my teeth, changed into comfortable pajamas, and crawled under the covers of my childhood bed.

It took forever to fall asleep, and when my eyes finally grew heavy, I dozed fitfully; dreaming of red drone eyes that followed me through endless gray corridors, of Anthony Louis’s thin smile, of my mother’s disappointed face when I failed to meet another expectation.

My data pad chimed at 3 AM, I jolted awake so fast I had to grab onto the headboard to keep from falling off my narrow bed.

Application approved. Passage secured on transport shuttle TSD-222, departing Terminal 9, 0700 hours. Bring essentials only. Your employer will provide anything else you need. Luggage allowance: 20kg. Congratulations and welcome to your new position.

I got the job! Tomorrow. As in, less than twenty-seven hours from now.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I read the message three more times, searching for the catch, the fine print; the reveal that this was some kind of scam or worse.

The attachment included legitimate transport credentials, encoded with security markers I recognized from news broadcasts.

This was real. This was a real shuttle to a real off-world location.

The destination line read: Frontier Colony 8-Beta.

I’d never heard of it, but that didn’t surprise me.

My knowledge of off-Earth places was minimal.

I grabbed my data pad with trembling fingers and searched for the colony name.

Results were sparse. Frontier Colony 8 was a newer settlement, established only fifteen years ago, located in what the map designated as “remote territory” in the Outer Rim.

Population: approximately 50,000. Species diversity: high.

Primary industries: mining, agriculture, trading hub.

“Frontier,” I whispered the word out loud, and smiled. It tasted like freedom.

In the pre-dawn darkness, I took my pre-prepared go bag and began repacking, moving as quietly as possible.

I stared at the row of fancy clothes my mother purchased for my future role as Mrs. Fitzsimmons.

She stated I needed the structured elegance of silk dresses and too-high thread count power suits.

I left those hanging in the closet like ghost versions of a future I was abandoning.

Instead, I took synth-fiber pants, comfortable shirts, my favorite house slippers, and a thermal jacket I bought two years ago for a hiking trip I’d never taken.

Bring the essentials. I moved around the room, touching everything for what could be the last time.

What else? I slid my data pad between a pair of pants to protect the screen on the journey.

I hesitated over a rarity in our world, my photo album, before I decided on four.

One of my parents and me on a family vacation to the mountains last year, and one of my grandmothers who died when I was twelve were my immediate picks.

She’d been the only person who ever asked me what I wanted instead of telling me what I should want.

The other two were photos of my parents and I all smiles at my college graduation, one of the happiest days of my life.

I packed a small bag of toiletries, with minimal makeup - enough so any replicator could replace my favorites.

I packed an actual paper book my best friend gave me about a woman who sailed around the world alone.

My favorite stuffed animal rested on top

When I zipped the bag closed, it barely weighed ten kilos.

Twenty-six years of life, and I could fit everything that mattered in half of my luggage allowance. Wow. Guess I really am starting over.

I sat on the bed thinking about what I wanted to write in a note to my parents.

Leaving a note and not telling them in person might be the coward’s way out, but it was all I could do.

There was so much I wanted to say. I tried to explain my reasoning and to apologize in order for them to understand, but nothing seemed to flow right.

Before my parents woke for the day, I settled for a simple, succinct paragraph.

Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. I can’t live the life you chose for me. I need to find my own way. Please don’t try to find me. I know what I’m doing, and I’ll be okay. Love you. ~ Dani

The lie in that last sentence felt heavier than my bag.

Terminal 9 was on the far side of the city, which meant two rail transfers and a security checkpoint.

I moved through the crowds with purpose, head held high as if I belonged.

I held the small data pad showing my transit permissions to the bored guards who barely glanced at my face.

At 5:30 AM, the terminal was already chaotic with traders hauling cargo, military personnel in crisp uniforms, and families saying tearful goodbyes to loved ones heading off-world for work contracts.

I had no one to say goodbye to. The realization should have hurt more than it did.

“Transport TSD-222 to Frontier Colony 8, now boarding at Gate 23 in Terminal 9,” the automated voice announced. “All passengers must present credentials for final verification.”

My legs felt as though they might give out as I approached the gate. The verification officer was a Gelhari, a lizard-like species that looked more intimidating than they were. His green-scaled face remained impassive as he scanned my data pad. His secondary eyelids flicked across his eyes once.

“First time off-world?” he asked, his voice light.

“Is it that obvious?”

His mouth stretched in what might have been a smile. “You have the look. Excited and terrified in equal measure.” He handed me back my pad. “Colony 8-Beta is a good colony. It’s quiet and safe. You’ll do fine.” He gestured toward the boarding tunnel. “Hurry. Gate closes in ten minutes.”

"Thank you," I managed.

I walked down the boarding tunnel on shaking legs, the metal walls closing around me, the sounds of Earth growing distant.

Other passengers jostled past. I was the only human in this group.

A family of four-armed Ferfarmi laughed together, their children chirping in happiness.

Two Avix traders argued in their clicking language about cargo manifests.

A tall being I didn’t recognize, with skin like living crystals, read from a holographic display.

The shuttle’s interior was utilitarian but clean. I found my assigned seat, 25A, a window seat, and strapped in with trembling hands. As other passengers settled around me, I pressed my face against the small porthole and looked out at Earth.

All I saw were towers and throngs of people with their rules and expectations laid out like tracks I was supposed to follow without question. I wouldn’t let them win. This was my life, and I chose my path.

“First time?” The voice beside me made me jump. A Gelhari woman in the next seat gestured to my white-knuckled grip on the armrest. “Flying, I mean.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little bit.” She smiled, putting me at ease. “I’m Seri. Heading back to Colony 8. I spent a month here visiting family. You?”

“I’m Dani. I’m starting a new job there.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

“Childcare. I’m a nanny.” To my surprise, I didn’t choke on the lie, because it was now the truth.

“Oh, wonderful! We always need more childcare workers on the colony. There are children everywhere.” She settled back in her seat. “You’ll love Colony 8.”

“What’s it like?”

“There are open skies and plenty of fresh air. Well, fresh for a terraformed colony. The people are good and kind. It’s a real community, you know? Not like this.” She gestured vaguely toward the porthole and Earth beyond.

“Attention passengers,” the pilot’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“We are beginning our departure sequence. Please secure all safety restraints. Flight time to Colony 8-Beta will take approximately forty-two hours, including one jump through hyperspace. If this is your first jump, please note that some passengers experience disorientation or nausea. Medical assistance is available if needed.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. In forty-two hours, I would be somewhere my parents couldn’t find me, somewhere a marriage contract with the Fitzsimmons group couldn’t reach me, and somewhere I could be whoever I wanted to be. Or, at least, figure out who I wanted to become.

The shuttle engines rumbled to life. Vibrations traveled through my seat and into my bones.

Through the porthole, I watched the docking clamps release, and Earth shrank as we lifted away.

The towers became needles, then threads, then disappeared into the brown haze of pollution.

The curve of the planet emerged, blue and white and brown, beautiful and terrible and no longer my home.

Seri pressed a tissue into my hand.

“Thank you, I think?”

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice low. “Everybody cries their first time leaving. It’s like… like cutting a cord, you know? Even when you want to leave, even when you have to leave, it still hurts.”

“Thank you.” I wiped my eyes and looked out at the stars emerging as we climbed beyond Earth’s atmosphere.

Somewhere out there, in a colony I’d never heard of until a few hours ago, someone was waiting for a nanny they'd hired based on lies.

Someone trusted me with their child despite my complete lack of qualifications.

I should have felt guilty. Maybe I would later. But right now, strapped into this seat hurtling toward the unknown, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years.

I felt free.