Tinker Pips pressed her face against the viewing window of the docking bay, watching the grumpy old worker sort through cargo crates below. Papa said the man had been on the station longer than anyone, even before the droids arrived. Tinker wanted to talk to him more than anything. If she could befriend him, maybe he'd tell her stories about the droids when they were new. Maybe he knew why they got sad. She tugged at her robot costume sleeve and took a deep breath. Today she would do it. She stepped away from the window and headed for the lift that would take her down to the Galactic Loading Bay floor. The metallic surfaces gleamed under the bright lights as she walked closer. Her heart pounded fast in her chest. What if he yelled at her to go away? What if he laughed at her costume like the other officer kids did? The old worker looked up as her feet clanked on the metal floor. His face was wrinkled and tired, with oil stains on his uniform. Tinker froze. Words jumbled up in her throat. She wanted to ask him everything about the droids and the station's history, but nothing came out. He stared at her for a long moment, then grunted and turned back to his cargo scanner. Tinker's eyes stung. She blinked hard. At least he hadn't told her to leave. That was something. She sat down on a nearby crate, swinging her legs and watching him work. Tomorrow she'd try talking. Tomorrow she'd be braver. For now, just being near him felt like the first small step. The worker lifted a heavy container onto a stack of metal crates. Tinker counted each one as he moved them. Six. Seven. Eight. He worked with steady hands, never looking at her again. She noticed how carefully he placed each crate, making sure they wouldn't fall. Her fingers tapped against her costume's control panel, making the blinky lights flash different colors. Maybe if she came back every day, he'd get used to seeing her. Maybe one day he'd say something, and she could ask him about the droids. Her chest felt warm despite the cold metal beneath her. She had a plan now. This place, this Galactic Loading Bay with its gleaming surfaces and quiet worker, would be her spot. She would keep coming back until they were friends. Days passed like this. Tinker returned each afternoon after Papa left for his shift. She sat on the same crate and watched the old worker move cargo. On the fifth day, she folded a piece of construction paper from her quarters into a paper airplane. She wrote on its wings in careful letters: "My name is Tinker. What's yours?" Her hands shook as she threw it toward him. The plane sailed through the air and landed near his boots. He picked it up. Read it. His eyes found hers across the bay, and for just a second, his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. He tucked the paper plane into his pocket and went back to work. Tinker's heart soared. He kept it. He actually kept it. Tomorrow she'd bring another one. Tomorrow she'd ask him about the droids. She wasn't alone in this anymore.