Alien Wilbur

Wilbur is forced to wander in order to feed himself and find his place in such a complex and constantly changing life. His small and flabby spacecraft parks at one of the stations, which is located on the asteroid belt flowing almost at the center of the galaxy. His tasks are simple: find supplies, get news and move on. He is surprised by the meticulousness of the inspection, but when he learns that an escaped human is wandering around the station, his questions about meticulousness quickly dry up, but new ones appear. Now his vigilant gaze constantly darts around, hoping to understand where he should expect a threat, but when he finishes his purchases, nothing happens and he successfully returns to the ship.

The time was approaching noon on the clock of his home planet Merlia, as Wilbur notes. His task is still to find the right station that can launch his rickety ship, because all the parking lots have been full for the last week, and even though he could theoretically hold out on his meager supplies of seaweed, cabbage, and fish, he knows perfectly well that he doesn’t want to wait at all... and he still has to fix this ship, because the wiring has burned out in some places and now his ship control is turning into torture due to the constant problems with the radar. And today he woke up with a low amount of oxygen, so, presumably, his air filter is dirty again and he urgently needs a mechanic. Wilbur dials the first number he comes across and waits.

“Station O-117 in touch, how can we help you?” comes the squeaky voice of an insectoid alien.

“Hallo!” Wilbur tries to sound friendly, but he is well aware of all the prejudices that hover between their peoples. “I have a radar problem and need a mechanic to troubleshoot the air filter, can I park here urgently?”

There is a tense silence and Wilbur anxiously checks to make sure the microphone is on, when the insectoid alien’s raspy voice answers again.

“Station O-117, you are the pilot of the A-19 miniship, correct? Wilbur Soot?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Wilbur replies immediately, tapping the control panel with his claw in alarm.

“We accept your request, Wilbur Soot,” the insectoid alien replies, “come in for a landing, your seat is assigned to your E-88.”

“Thank you!” Wilbur responds brightly and gratefully, almost amazed at the insectoid’s kindness, even though it was the guy’s job.

“If you have any problems or feel unwell, I strongly recommend that you call back at this number.”

“Of course,” Wilbur agrees without reservation, noting the sluggishness and soreness, but deciding that it’s not too much of a problem at the moment to call them back after landing.

Their connection is cut off and Wilbur sets the ship down, maneuvering between the towers and the other ships that are beginning their ascent. His heart is pounding as he sees the station; his friends have told him it’s beautiful, but he never thought it was this beautiful. The glass panels and artificial rain create a rainbow glow in the artificial atmosphere that is breathtaking. Wilbur flies past them and finds himself in a parking lot, where he finds his spot quickly enough. E-88.

The ship wasn't that small, but compared to other ships, it was small. Like the biggest living shell on his home world, where all his relatives and he lived. There were about five large rooms, two of which he had arranged as greenhouses, one as a lab, and two more were like a water tank and his personal room. There was also a kitchen, a dining room, a bath, a medical bay, a warehouse, and an engine room. The ship is very convenient and comfortable enough for him, except that the ship is really old and ready to fall apart at any moment. But it works, which means its time has not come yet.

Wilbur gets out of the ship as quickly as possible, putting special breathing devices on his gills. Around him in the parking lot are many different ships, including huge ones ten times larger than his mini-ship. Such are serviced by large teams, such even have more than necessary: for example, a training bay, a weapons bay, and something like that. Wilbur's ship has only a few automatic guns as weapons, and his only training weapon is his water tank, in which he swims from time to time, so as not to forget what it's like, and also to stay warm. His step is calm, even, he walks and thinks about nothing else except how to quickly find a mechanic and buy everything he needs for a new journey. The sign at the exit from the parking lot suddenly blinks a bright fluorescent color, attracting his attention.

"We will fix your ship quickly and inexpensively ..." he reads the sign and steps forward, going inside. He is greeted by a slime, humanoid in build thanks to a spacesuit that does not allow it to flow into a shapeless mass.

"Welcome to our workshop," the slime gurgles, "how can we help you?"

"I need to fix the radar on my little ship and check what's wrong with the air filter, I feel worse about the air on it," Wilbur says, stepping closer. Various signs are flashing around, and some black oil is spreading behind the counter, reminding him that more checks are needed on his own ship. "And maybe an annual inspection on it to check for any other problems that may be going on. I'm willing to pay in advance, my parking spot is E-88..."

"Will be done in half an hour," the slime replies, gurgling as he holds out the payment terminal. Wilbur takes out his payment bracelet and the devices connect, then separate a moment later. "Payment is done, come visit us again!"

Wilbur smiles awkwardly back and steps back. It was weird to see a slime on a random station in the center of the galaxy, but why not? If Wilbur can find his place in the vastness of the universe, then why can't this slime, right? Merling leaves the workshop and heads to the bazaar, where he needs to find supplies. Food that's appropriate for him, maybe some snacks, and a stop at the pharmacy to buy the resources he's spent on curing the various ailments he's encountered along the way. He steps over the line between the parking lot and the rest of the station and finds himself immersed in a cacophony of sound that makes him wince. He was so used to hearing only the quiet hum of the ship most of the time that now, being in the middle of it all, he even felt a slight ache in his ear canals.

"I saw a man rush past with my own eyes!" one of the aliens whispered in horror. Wilbur froze in place.

"And this man stole my gapples! He hissed at me! His look was so terrifying, I thought I was going to die..." another complained. Wilbur's fins rose anxiously.

"This man is so small," the third alien lamented, "if his parents come to our station, we'll be in trouble..."

The rest of the hubbub passed Wilbur by. On the one hand, he was burning with the desire to catch a glimpse of this dangerous man, and on the other, he felt the need to escape this station as quickly as possible, his heels flashing... despite the internal struggle, he came to his senses only when he was already walking unevenly back to the ship, holding several boxes of supplies, including gapples. He didn't even plan on eating them, it was in case he met a man, so that the man wouldn't try to eat him or something. He lets out an alarmed beep and walks back across the bridge, his fins and appendages on his head, neck, and shoulders flaring and collapsing. Should he stay? Find the human? No, no, the intergalactic research center had made it clear that attempts to steal a human or interact with one without proper permission would result in jail or prosecution. Wilbur couldn't afford to get that permission, or take that much risk. He'd only just managed to pay off his ship's debt, and now he was going to get into some crazy gamble? Kill him instead.

But when he gets back to the ship - finally feeling the fresh air in his lungs as he removes his breathing apparatus - a pungent, unfamiliar smell hits his nose. His first thought was, of course, that something was wrong with the filter, but the smell... the smell was different, unlike anything he'd ever known, like it was from the other side of the galaxy. The smell was such that the blood ran cold in his veins and made his instincts scream about danger. The next moment he didn't even have time to take a step, as he noticed a look from the darkness: like a predator, intent and expectant.

It was a man. A man on his ship.