'Immigration officer'
It was Perla’s second week as an immigration officer and she felt like skipping to work.
None of the other jobs before this one had really worked. She liked the electronics store, because she could help people find things they’d enjoy. But she hated to pressure them to buy warranties and junky add-ons, and that’s all her managers really wanted to sell.
The car rental service was miserable. They always sold more reservations than cars. She endured a lot of yelling.
And the less said about working the ice skating rink, the better.
Perla’s mom didn’t love the new gig. But she was relieved to see her daughter with pay and purpose again.
They’d only fought about it a little.
“Hi Frank,” she said, sidling up to the bakery window a block from her apartment. She’d stopped here for coffee before many, many bad days at work. “How about a croissant sandwich?”
Frank, bushy eyebrowed and cheerful, set his phone aside and got to work. “I like you having a real breakfast for once. You want sausage?”
“Avocado?”
“I think I got some.”
They chatted a bit while Frank worked the grill, tools clattering, then Perla got back on her way.
She hadn’t paid much attention to the global immigration treaty. It seemed distant, political, far from her own life.
But after it was signed, a bunch of jobs opened up for immigration officers. She applied but, after months of not hearing anything, she’d kind of forgotten about it.
Then they called. They made her an offer. The pay was more than double what she’d ever made. The hours were steady and predictable.
And she didn’t feel any of the usual queasiness in her stomach on the way to work.
At the office, she tucked her bag away in a locker in the break room. Emerging, Perla bumped into Taylor, her new boss. She was quiet and efficient, but also very nice.
“Good morning,” Taylor said. She tucked her hair in a bun, her own day just starting. “I know we said there’d be a little more shadowing before we set you loose, but… I really think you’re ready for the navigation desk.”
“So, I like working at a desk job, but I also like the outdoors. I like trees. Wait, do they have trees?” Marlon knitted his brow with concern. “Is that a stupid question?” He was 52, energetic, graying hair worn in tight curls close to his scalp.
He was a little guarded. Like he thought this whole thing was weird. That was common enough.
Perla laughed in a way she hoped was encouraging. “It’s not stupid. Uh, some places have trees. But not all places! It’s good to know that’s your preference.”
She typed and clicked a bit, digging through a query menu.
“Uh, yeah, I’ve got a few options that would fit. Low density, high vegetation, working at a desk. Most of them are about 15 hours a week. One is 30, but you get a much bigger starting bonus. Do you care about humidity?
“Fifteen hours?! That’s not enough work. I’m not changing my whole life for fifteen hours a week,” he huffed.
Perla held out a warding hand. “No, you misunderstand. The treaty has a minimum guarantee of compensation. It’s just that very few tasks require the kind of… time and toil we’re used to. They just need consistent effort, good judgment.”
Marlon didn’t know what to do with himself. He stood up for a moment. Self-conscious about his outburst, sat back down. “There has to be a catch, right? Surely I’m going to hate it.”
“If you’re selected to interview—and surely we can find you at least a few options—you can visit and see for yourself. And if you really do hate it you can always come back. Or try a different task.” Perla dug around in a drawer next to her, then came back with a small brochure. It said ‘Bill of Immigration Rights’ on the cover.
“You should read through that, but the short version is if you’re unhappy you can just come back, and there’s a minimum allowance for return visits so you can keep up with friends and family. I think the 30 hour job had a much bigger allowance on that, too.”
Marlon looked away, pinching tears at the corner of his eyes. Perla smiled and gave him a moment. This was already way more intense than any other job, but it was clear Marlon was just feeling a lot of relief.
And that was nicer than pushing extended warranties.
After Marlon left, printouts of potential tasks and destinations in hand, Perla made a tidy stack of the brochures near the front of her desk. On the bottom of the brochure it said with bold reassurance: ‘You have the right to free movement at all times.’
“Welcome back, Mrs. Anders, we met last week. I’m Perla,” she said, extending a hand.
“Oh, please, just Lilly. It’s nice to see you again.” Lilly sat in front of Perla’s desk.
“So we’re all set for your visit today, but before you go I wanted to check in and see if you had any last questions,” Perla said.
Everyone had a few last questions. But it was better to be casual about it.
“Well… is it safe?” The corners of Lilly’s eyebrows pulled upward just a bit. She was anxious, but not anxious enough to miss her appointment. Some people did just flake.
“Hey, I get it. It’s weird. Completely reasonable question to ask.” Lilly had role-played this conversation with Taylor several times and she was ready for it. “I’m new at this too. But I’ve taken several trips and,” Perla held out her palms, “I’m just fine.”
Lilly thought about that for a moment.
Perla went on, “It feels a little weird. But it’s quick. I’ll tell you this: way more fun than taking an airplane. And a thousand times quicker. Sitting down takes longer than the trip itself.”
“I hate flying,” Lilly said. She smiled, still a little anxious. “Okay, I’ll try it.” She paused. “But, I really got the job?”
“You do if you want it,” Perla said. This was often hard to grasp, especially when she met with people older than thirty.
They were so used to being disappointed, to struggling endlessly for work. “And if you visit and it doesn’t fit quite right, you have a couple more options already. But I really think this one is for you.”
Lilly smiled now. Much more excited than nervous.
Perla stood and motioned to the corridor at the center of the reception office.
“How many of these trips have you done, anyway,” asked Lilly as they passed a few offices.
“I had to travel pretty much daily for training, and that was most of a month. So a few dozen times?” Perla led Lilly to the back of the hallway and badged herself into the secure transit chamber. “Hey, Paul!”
Paul looked up and waved from the opposite end of the circular room. “Who we got? Where we headed?”
“Lilly, this is Paul, our transit operator. Paul, Lilly Anders is due for her accommodations tour on Coryx IV. Ticket should be at the top of your stack.”
Paul clicked around a menu. “Got her right here. Nice to meet you, Lilly. We’re ready when you are. Just make yourself comfy in that chair.”
In the center of the room, a modern, cushioned chair sat on a short dais. Lilly steeled herself and approached, looking toward the ceiling. A shallow, glowing dome two meters across radiated warm light down at her, like a gentle afternoon sun.
Lilly sat down. “My kids are gonna go nuts for this,” she chuckled, still nervous.
“If you want to bring them for their own tour, I’m sure we can fit you in. You ready to go? Someone is ready to meet you on the other side.”
Lilly took a breath and nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Perla nodded to Paul, who turned to operate a small control panel.
Perla waved. “Looking forward to catching up when you return.”
The overhead dome pulsed, growing brighter, the light now a cool, blue-white. There was a crisp popping sound, like the lid coming off of a drink bottle.
And Lilly was gone.
“Thank you, Paul!” Perla made her way back to her desk.
There was always something with jobs. Some wrinkle you didn’t expect, some complication that knocked you on your back when you least expected it.
Perla walked home to her apartment, weighing what Taylor had told her.
“Your six month placement satisfaction isn’t just the best in the office, it’s the best in the country. You’re good at this, and they want to promote you,” Taylor had grinned, eyes widening like she was sharing a very spicy secret.
A promotion. Perla had never gotten a promotion before.
If she took it, she’d need to spend a lot of time off-world.
But she would get her own place. And not just any place.
They wanted her at the Terran consulate on Tylan Station. It was the heart of interstellar diplomacy, and representatives from Earth needed a lot of help settling in.
They wanted Perla. And every night when she came home to her new apartment, she’d enjoy a very nice view of a nebula.
They’d emphasized that part a lot.
She sighed. Her mother was not going to like this one bit.
“Off-world? You have to be insane. Two years ago no one even left this planet, except rich guys, and they just screwed around in space!” Marcela whirled about the kitchen, seething.
“Mamá,” Perla growled, trying to get into the conversation.
Marcela wasn’t having it. “Now these aliens come and they change everything. And who are they, anyway? We don’t even know what happens to these people. Maybe they go away and they’re being eaten by these… these creatures! How would we know?”
“They aren’t creatures! You’re being so ugly about this. We know because I see people come back through the immigration center all the time. They come back to see their families, they come back because they don’t like it and want to try something else, they come back to recruit their friends. Nobody is getting eaten!”
Marcela shook her head ruefully. “I knew this was a bad idea. What was wrong with selling computers? You were good at that. Now you’re all mixed up in… whatever this is.”
“I hated that job and you know it. How many times did I come home crying my eyes out? All they cared about was pressuring people to spend money. I am helping people now. I am getting them out of bad situations.”
Marcela tossed a pot angrily into the sink, stewing. “Selling them to aliens,” she snorted.
“That’s not right. That’s not happening at all. They could have stolen us themselves, you think they need my help to take us away? Turn on the news, have you seen what they can build? But they didn’t steal us. They came and made a treaty. They made a deal so good most of this planet signed immediately.”
Marcela just shook her head.
Perla seized the offensive. “And I can’t believe this from you of all people. When Grandpa Sal came here, he gave up everything he knew. Everything. He was brave, mami. And not only did he build a life for you, made my life possible, he sent money back home. He changed everything for himself. Why don’t you want that for me?”
“This is different,” Marcela said, her fight losing some steam now.
“You know what, you’re right, it is different! These aliens are desperate for help. They are desperate to win every single human worker they possibly can. How many people spat in Grandpa’s face, because he was poor, because he didn’t have papers, because he spoke with an accent? None of these aliens is doing that to us. You should see the deals they are offering people. There is more work out in the stars than people to do it.”
Marcela sniffed, much quieter now. “But your abuelo never went back. He was stuck over here. He became a voice on the phone, he became money transfers. I don’t need money, I need my daughter.”
So now they were at the root of it.
“He never went back because he couldn’t. They made the border into a weapon. He had too much to lose. This is different that way, too. We have rights. I’ll be back all the time. And you can visit me. They’re desperate for consular officers. The transit allowance is huge.”
Marcela said nothing, wiping her eyes. She caught her breath.
“They’ll let me go to space?”
Perla badged into the transit room.
Paul whooped. “Hey big shot! I hope you remember us little people on that fancy station you’re going to,” he grinned. “Can I give you a hug?”
“Of course you can.” Perla shrugged off her backpack as they met near the chair.
Then she sat, drawing a shaky breath.
“See you soon, Paul.”
