The men ignore my protests. I’m not sure it’s accurate to call them men. Other than their size, they look exactly like the men most of us have only ever seen in pictures.
I’m one of the few who have memories of living on Earth. I even remember my parents. I was four when they sent me to this space station. They did it to save my life, knowing they would soon die.
I’m lucky. My parents were wealthy. They had the funds to purchase my ticket to survival. There were parameters. With the exception of a few adults, only female children under the age of five were permitted tickets to travel to the space station.
Am I lucky, though? I’ve asked myself this time and again over the past twenty years. I’m not sure of the answer, but I’m certain I don’t want to be forced to leave against my will.
As we enter the medical bay, my pulse increases. I’m screaming like a madwoman now. I don’t care how ridiculous I look. This is all I have left—my voice. My protests.
The guards are dressed in black. They have been wearing this uniform every day since they boarded the space station. When they barge into the medical bay, another man is waiting for us. He’s just as large, but his suit is blue.
He’s eerily calm as the black-clad aliens unceremoniously lift me onto an exam table in the room. They hold me down with all four of their arms. Escaping them isn’t an option. I’m not strong enough to have any effect on them.
Before I know it, the man in blue has gripped my bicep, and he jabs a needle into me so fast I don’t have time to scream before it’s over. Within seconds, I’m fading. They’ve drugged me.
ONE
My head hurts worse than I ever remember experiencing. I don’t have any idea what happened to me, but when I open my eyes enough to see my surroundings, my blood runs cold.
The memory of being manhandled and drugged comes back to me. The syringe… The man in blue… The room spinning just before my vision went black.
Groaning, I try to push myself to sitting, letting the slits in my eyes widen. My heart starts racing as I realize I’m in some sort of cage. I’m in a metal box with slats like a jail cell all around me and above my head.
My stomach gives me no warning before I suddenly vomit. I don’t even have time to lean forward, so the nasty contents of my stomach projectile all around me, not only hitting the bars and through them, but also covering the front of my dress.
I’m shaking now. Violently. My headache subsides slightly from the vomiting, and my stomach feels less queasy, but I’m still miserable, and now I’m covered in my own throw up.
I lift the hem of my dress to wipe my mouth and then press against my temples with both hands as I look beyond my enclosure. Nothing about what I’m seeing is comforting. I’m in a room filled with cages like this one. Mine is suspended from theceiling. Some are higher, some are lower. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the pattern. The lighting is dim, and it’s very cold. On top of that, I feel heavy. I’m struggling to hold myself upright. Is it from the drugs?
Movement across the room draws my attention, and I gasp when I notice Zoey sitting in another cage. She looks like she’s in about as good a shape as I’m in—rubbing her temples and moaning. I don’t think she has vomited yet. Lucky her.
The sound of a whimper makes me jerk my gaze to another side of the room. I spot Leah and Nora in separate cages like mine, too. A few more cages are occupied, but I can’t see who’s in them.
I consider speaking, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself if there are guards nearby, nor do I have the energy to call out. In addition, something like that would make my head pound further.
Tears come to my eyes, but I will them not to escape. I won’t let these aliens see me weak. I’ll go down fighting, even if that means they have to inject me every hour to keep me from trying to escape.
I still have no idea what plans the aliens have for us. Why have they brought us here? Where are we? I have to assume we’re either on another space station, a ship, or perhaps even a planet.
I’ve been living in outer space for so long, I can’t remember what it feels like to step on solid ground. Speaking of ground… I lift my hands in front of me. They’re covered in dirt. I remember I’d been digging up potatoes when I was summoned. My hands and forearms are filthy. So are my knees and the hem of my now vomit-covered dress. The smell is so awful, I might throw up again. My shoes are gone. The only things I’m wearing are my thin, sleeveless dress and panties.
How long has it been since I was injected with whatever knocked me out? Hours? Days? My bladder makes itself known next. My panties aren’t wet, so I’ve been in captivity long enough that I need to pee, but not so long that I’ve wet myself.
Crossing my arms, I rub my biceps with my hands. It’s freezing in this room. My teeth are chattering. I’ve never felt so alone or so angry. Or so scared.
After several minutes of nothing but the echo of the other women whimpering in their cages, a loud bang makes me jerk my head to the right. A metal door opens, the hinges squeaking. Two guards enter this odd room. At least, I assume they’re guards. They aren’t the same ones I saw on the space station, but they look similar, with black clothing and weapons at their waists.
It takes me a moment to notice a third man behind them. He’s wearing all black, too, but his clothing is more like a suit. He doesn’t look like he’s about to go into combat. The three of them walk with purpose, coming directly toward me.
The suited man stands between the other two. He’s not armed. His brow furrows as he stares at me. His face scrunches up, which isn’t surprising since I’m sure I smell disgusting. I’m making myself nauseous.
Suddenly, he spins around and starts shouting at the guards, pointing at me several times. I can’t understand a word, of course, but he’s very angry.
I’m so stunned and scared that I pee myself. Apparently, my bladder couldn’t hold on for another moment, but I’m now ten times more gross and humiliated. I pull my knees up to my chest and tug my soiled dress over them.
Shivering, I clench my jaw, trying not to cry. I’m always so very strong. I don’t cry. I can’t. I’ve always had to be the solid one. But I’ve never been in a situation this terrifying in my life. Not even the day I was sent to live on a space station.
I’m mortified, sitting here in my own filth. The metal floor of my cage is wet from my urine and vomit. My stomach is threatening to hurl again, probably because the smell is noxious.