The morning came drab and dreary as always. The air outside the Inn was thick and moist, the clouds obscuring the sky and threatening rain. Jim woke, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired. The pale light filtered through the gossamer curtains, which were still in the stuffy air of the bedroom. Jim lifted his head off the pillow; his father was no longer there. It was something he was all too used to. He slid out of bed, his bare feet tingling on the cold floor, and stood up. Stumbling forward to the chest of drawers, he just narrowly avoided toys and storybooks left haphazard on the floor ("I'll clean them up later, before Mom throws a fit," he thought to himself). He didn't have many toys; most were secondhand. This didn't really bother Jim, for he wasn't a needy boy. Living on their income, he had learned to cherish whatever he had, and that was enough for him.

Changed into his day clothes, Jim hopped down the stairs as he put one last stocking on, lost balance and tripped the last few steps; he hit the landing with a painful thud. Looking up with a wince he noticed the Inn's few guests were already up and seated around tables, and were every one of them staring at Jim. Flushing scarlet he smiled sheepishly, then picked himself up and skipped to the bar. His mother was there, her long hair pulled back into an untidy ponytail, her arms full of cleaning rags and glasses. Seeing her son, she gave a sigh of relief. "Jim! Thank goodness," she said to him over the counter, fumbling as a glass tried to escape the pile. "Will you help Mommy out and take these dishes to the kitchen?" She jerked her head towards a pile of dishes in a box on the floor, scrambling to put the glasses down before they all shattered.
"'Kay!" Jim replied, and hobbled over to the box. Pulling up the sleeves of his jacket he grabbed each end of the box and - with some effort, as the box was almost as large as himself - carried it past the swinging door to the kitchen, stepping up onto a stool and dumping the dirty dishes into the industrial sink with a splash and a clatter. Rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his jacket (Mommy was always telling him not to do this), he went back out to Sarah, who was now serving breakfast to one of the Inn's guests: a rather scrawny looking old alien lady, with a warty toad-like face fixed with a scowl. When Jim came up and gave his mother's apron a tug, the alien's bulbous eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
"I'm done, Mom," he said with a pleased grin. Sarah looked down at Jim and his jacket now splotched with soapy water from the big sink and rolled her eyes.
"Thank you, Jim… now, will you help the other guests with breakfast? And please, try not to spill anything else on your clothes!"
Jim just giggled and ran off to the kitchen. He scuttled around bussing the tables, smiling for the guests and saying "Good morning!" politely as his mother had taught him, and the guests either returned the greeting, smiled back, or (in the nanny's case) just continued to frown and mutter. Besides the old crone there was a rather speckled alien with a trunk-like nose and tiny spectacles poring over thick books; and a Benbonian family, a mother with a twin boy and girl. The kids were delighted with Jim, though Jim had always found the frog-like aliens with their bug-eyed stare rather disturbing. The twins brought out little musical instruments and started a tune, crooning children's rhymes loudly, tapping their webbed toes on the wooden seats-
When I am grown to man's estate
I shall be very proud and great
And tell the other girls and boys
Not to meddle with my toys

With breakfast over and the tables cleared, the children danced to the rhymes, giggling. There was call for a story and Jim found himself put forward; soon they were all pulled up around the bar (even the nanny) and listening to Jim's tale, who sat on the counter, feet dangling over the edge. He gestured with his hands as he told the story, and even the bookworm was engaged by the tale, one Jim knew by heart since he was a little boy.
"… And then, out of nowhere, Flint and his band of blood-thirsty pirates swooped in on the unsuspecting galleon!" He waved his arms about, as if to swoop in and smother something small. "Flint looted the ship, gathered up all the treasure - mountains of glittering gold and jewels - and the pirates would get back on their ship and POOF!" Jim leaped to his feet with the effect, and the rapt audience flinched in surprise. "Flint, his pirates, and the treasure disappeared into the etherium without a trace. But its said that Flint hid his plunder on Treasure Planet, where the loot of a thousand worlds is piled high in glimmering stacks, waiting for someone to claim it." Jim finished his tale with a smirk as his small audience applauded, the Benbonian twins cheering and clanging their musical toys. Sarah wrapped her arms around Jim's shoulders from behind the bar as the clatter died. The trunk-nosed alien cleared his throat.
"Hrumph, a remarkable son you have, Mrs. Hawkins, and a fine Inn if I might add." There was a murmur of assent; even the old nanny was inclined. "Will young master Hawkins be a miner like his father? A fine occupation for such a determined and hard-working young lad."
Jim shook his head just as his mother was about to answer for him. "Nope! I'm going to be a spacer! I'm gonna have my own ship one day, and I'll fly it all over the etherium with my crew… and one day, I'm gonna find Treasure Planet!" he replied with a wide smile. The guests gave a chuckle.
"And quite an imagination, too!" The Benbonian mother chimed in. "If only all youth had dreams that high..."
"I wanna be a pirate!" The Benbonian boy exclaimed, one eye shut and swiping at his sister with an imaginary cutlass.
"You most certainly will not!" The mother cried sternly, but it was useless; the twins were too wrapped up in their game.

The morning whittled by, and soon the guests were gone. Jim was helping tidy up the rooms and tables with his mom, talking happily of the guests, when the door to the Inn opened again, and Jim fell silent. A gust of chill wind swept through the Inn as two figures, large and small, shuffled quickly into the Inn and closed the door behind them. Both figures were wearing thick coats, soaked with rain; the hoods thrown over their heads obscured their faces. Jim stood back by the tables, apprehensive, as Sarah hurried forward. "Here, let me help you with that," she said as she helped them remove their coats.
"Gracías, my lady." The tall figure said gratefully in a rather nasal accent. Both humanoid aliens had long muzzles and faces like a greyhound's. Tall ears sat on top of their heads, which twitched this way and that. Their skin was a pasty steel blue, similar to Montressor at dusk, and their round eyes were a blue as deep as the Lagoon Nebula, with a star's twinkle. The smaller figure was actually a young boy, and the taller his father.
"Please, you're welcome to sit down." Sarah said to the two guests as she put the coats neatly on a standing rack. Jim quickly pulled out two chairs and hurried forward to take the baggage from their paws. The youth's face split into a toothy grin when he saw Jim, and Jim smiled back weakly.
"We hopes you don't mind us staying a bits, senorita?" The father inquired of Sarah as he sat at the table. The son scrambled into the next chair. Jim stood and stared for a moment, luggage still in hand. "My hijo and I, we heards of the Inn at the village docks and we thoughts it a night place to stay while the shop is being readied?"
"Of course, sir, you are most welcome here," Sarah said as he she came over behind Jim.
The alien grinned. "Bueno! We'll only be a few nights, sí? Ah, my name is Carlito Riley, and I'm opening a metalworking shop here with my son, Poquito." He pulled over Poquito as he introduced him, who gave a timid smile. Jim found it rather odd that Carlito should say he was a metalworker; he had seem blacksmiths before, and they were usually big and burly - but this alien was slender with long brittle hands, more of an artist than a craftsman.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Riley," Sarah replied as she held out her hand, which Riley clasped and shook gently. "I'm Sarah Hawkins, and this here is my son, Jim."
"Well, hola, Jimmy! You should show young Poquito around, he is in need of a friend here in this new neighborhood," Riley said merrily to Jim. Jim blushed and looked away.
Sarah looked down at her own son. "Jim, will you take up the luggage and show the Rileys to their room?" Jim nodded slowly, arms full of baggage, and tottered towards the stairs. Poquito jumped out of the chair and followed, all the while rattling off questions in his high-pitched accented speech. The boy sighed as he hauled the baggage up the flight of stairs, which seemed ever longer.

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Author Note: The rhyme in this chapter is taken from a book of children's verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.