“I think I got everyone.” Abra checks the list again, each genetic family carefully contained in twenty vials per box. “Twenty boxes of Earth-native embryos — you’re all set.” She pats the top box twice and tries to smile at the dock worker’s face as it scans the code on each box, even though she would rather examine its long, multi-knuckled fingers. The debriefing she got at the shuttle port made it clear: don’t stare, and don’t ask stupid questions. Any action that might constitute a risk to the planet will be considered treason, and punished accordingly.
The dock worker begins to speak, before it seems to remember that it speaks outside her range of hearing. It removes the voice box from its belt. As it holds down a button, it speaks again: “This is accurate.” It waves over another worker with a cart, and a group of aliens appears from seemingly nowhere to start loading up the boxes. “The consortium thanks you for your contribution.”
“What do you need so many embryos for?” Abra asks before her brain catches up with her mouth and she realizes that it might constitute a stupid question, or a risk to Operation Olive Branch. The dock worker tilts its head at her, and it takes her a moment to understand the twist of its serpentine mouth as a smile. She swallows and barrels on — her platoon was going to have a hundred questions when she returned, so she may as well go for broke. “Some of the guys think that it might be, um, planet seeding? Because that would make a lot of sense. The scientists back home are going wild with curiosity.”