I had to be careful with this one:  It was our first human born on Zoria.  The entire planet was zinging in to see the wappies and it was up to me to make sure it survived.  There is always a worry that the parents will try to kill their offspring so they won’t have to live in captivity.

 

            Working in the petting zoo, I carefully slipped my tentacles under the infant, curling them tenderly around his body. I sent heat from them to keep him comfortable.   I had seen its mother rocking it before it was taken away, and discovered this would stop loud communicating by the child.  It’s endearing because it’s similar to our little ones.  Feeding is difficult.  The infant is fed through a small orifice, without any tentacles.  It has only two arms and legs, and just one feeding orifice.

 

            Being alone in the evening when the Zoo is closed is great. I have the opportunity to walk through the flowered walkways and peek in on all our creatures while they’re resting.  Tonight I decided to hover with the baby to the exhibit of the human spacecraft.  It was magnificent.  They make up for their scant bodies by building crafts to compensate for deficiencies.

 

I cood at the baby human.  “This is your parents’ craft, little one!”  I felt sort of guilty we’d caged them.  But it is a huge money maker for the Zoo, and humans are being studied by scientists. 

 

            The baby made the cutest sounds.  I decided to see what the parents would do when I wandered by.  I thought they might like to see him, but hoped they’d understand I was trying to be helpful.  I wanted them to know I was taking good care.  I hovered down the alien pathway, and saw them holding each other sleeping on the pad.  As soon as the baby communicated, the female arose and ran to the bars.  She made sounds – and I understood she wanted me to come over.  So I did, adding a few more warming tentacles to keep the baby comfortable, and to let the mother know I wasn’t letting go.

 

            The mother began making fascinating sounds like waves in galaxious shimmering – rhythmic and sweet.  The baby seemed peaceful.  Fascinating.  The mother implored me with her arms to give her the baby.  She wouldn’t hurt him.  She looked so lovingly – I almost imagined her hair to be tentacles.  Her eyes even appeared red in the night aura.  I decided it was the right thing to do, and because the infant could fit through the bars, I unrolled my tentacles and the mother held her child, which may have made her hungry, because her feeding orifice curled upward toward me, begging for food.

 

            I went to get food, and a human fork, (remember they don’t have tentacles, and require aids such as this in order to eat!) and when I returned, the mother and father were with their child on the pad.  I held my tentacles out, hoping they would bring me the child.  I began to worry.  I sent my tentacles in search of the infant.  I curled them around him gently, and patted the mother and father with loving warmth, while I separated them. 

 

            I decided to do this every evening.  Soon I felt a trust grow, and a friendship begin.  They were good to their child, and I had put in a request to allow the infant to return to their cage. It didn’t feel right. They don’t belong here.

 

            One lovely evening, I left the baby with them and went back to the petting zoo to feed all the other babies. When I returned, the mother avoided my tentacles.  I slapped my tentacles on the pad, and her mate covered the baby with his shirt.  The only way my tentacles could reach would be to take the father with him, but he wouldn’t fit through the bars.  I didn’t want my superiors to learn what I’d been up to, so I figured I’d go in and physically separate them.

 

            When I opened the gate, the humans patted me with their arms and claws.  They tried to push me aside, but of course, my tentacles were far superior to their arms, and a rather comical scene ensued.  They realized I wasn’t out to hurt them, that they couldn’t escape, and that the best thing to do was to give me the baby, which they finally, reluctantly did.  But a bizarre thing happened.  The mother began sending water from her eyes all over her face.  She made low, guttural sounds of despair.   She held her two arms toward the infant, and I knew she was begging me for what rightfully was hers. 

 

            The father looked at me, and held his arms out, to try to communicate.  I needed to help them escape.  I love the baby.  This was morally correct.  Scientists be damned.  I knew it would cost me my job. I knew the entire planet would be disappointed in me and my actions.  But I opened the gate and pointed toward their ship with my tentacles.  They ran for the craft – and I held the baby tight, hovering with them.   They waved their arms inward, an obvious invitation.  I felt like escaping my fate, and gave it no more thought.

 

            I handed the baby to its mother.  I curled up in a seat and they placed a belt around my middle to hold me in.  They put the baby into a basket and belted themselves in.   Now I would be the one studied by aliens.  But I knew I had three friends who would watch after me.  Every time the baby cried, I sent a few tentacles over to warm him and rock him, and his mother always curled her mouth upward – for some reason, kindness always made her hungry.