She cuts him off. “I’m aware of Lenox’s commands.” She gives us an unsmiling look. “Satisfy their curiosity. We leave in a knur.”
One Knur equals Twelve Earth Minutes, the device in my ear helpfully interjects.
Twelve minutes until we’re off planet. I take a deep breath and wipe my sweaty palms on my NASA-issued clothing, made from a navy material that fits like a second skin. The last few weeks of training and a highly nutritious diet have left me fitter than I’ve ever been in my life, but I still don't care for the government-issued Spandex. “Why can’t we wear normal clothing?” I’d asked when a grim-faced captain handed them to me.
“The suits are specially formulated for space travel. The nanotechnology cleans itself and will help regulate your body temperature.”
“Does it come in pink?” When he didn’t crack a smile at the wisecrack, I’d mumbled, “Navy isn’t really my color.”
“You are a representative of the United States,” he’d replied tersely. “You will dress the part.”
So I stand in the Zorahn ship with the other women, the ten of us looking like an Olympic ski team. If the aliens think it’s weird that we’re dressed identically, they don’t say anything.
Raiht’vi, the female Zorahn, disappears into the cockpit of the spaceship. At least, that’s what I think it is, given the number of instrument panels on the dashboard. It’s also the only part of the ship that has a window.
Look at the blue skies, Viola. You won’t see them again for six months.
Sofia, who is fresh out of medical residency, asks her question. “The translator is speaking English to me,” she says. “I’m bilingual. How did it decide what language to use?”
Her question seems to puzzle Beirax and Mannix. “The translator doesn’t decide,” Beirax replies, a confused expression on his face. “The translator translates.”
“Why didn’t it translate to Spanish?” Sofia persists.
Beirax frowns. “The translator translates Zor to English and vice-versa. That is its purpose.”
Not a universal translator then. That shit probably only exists in the imaginations of sci-fi writers.
“Excuse me?” A soft voice at my elbow makes me turn. A stunning redhead with a perfect figure and flawless pale skin stands at my side, biting her lower lip. I blink, and even the alien falls silent.
“Hi, I’m Olivia,” she says, with a little wave of a manicured hand. “I can’t get my translator to work.” She holds the device up and shakes it, all the while wearing an adorable little pout.
If I were going to set up an intergalactic dating service, I’d definitely put bombshell Olivia Buckner’s picture front and center.
“Try sticking it in your ear,” Harper quips. She and I exchange glances as Mannix gets another translator, and Schultz about falls over himself to help her put it in. Even Beirax can’t take his eyes off her gravity-defying breasts. Male interest in a hot female is universal.
My gaze drifts over the muscles of the brown tattooed alien, Mannix. Are Zorahn cocks like human males?
Focus, Vi!
After much attention from the men, Olivia finally has her translator installed, and Beirax signals he’s ready for the next question. A woman with short curly brown hair raises her hand like she’s in grade school. “You said stasis,” she says nervously. “Is that safe?”
“Of course it is.” Schultz rushes to reply before either of the Zorahn can answer. He looks indignant. “Everything on this ship has been tested. The United States government is deeply invested in your safety and well-being.”
Mannix gives Schultz an irritated look at the interruption. “The High Emperor has decreed your safety. It is so.”
“This High Emperor must be quite the guy,” Harper Boyd murmurs.
I don’t doubt it. As a gesture of good faith, the Zorahn came bearing gifts. One of them was the cure for leukemia. Rumor has it that lung cancer is next on the list, and the tobacco companies are practically drooling at the prospect of being able to market their wares again without health concerns.
I don’t know what else the Zorahn promised our government to get them to sanction shooting us into space, but whatever they offered, it’s gotta be huge. Much bigger than cancer. Once the Zorahn told them what they wanted, the government fell over itself to cooperate with the aliens. They even got the media in lockstep. I’ve seen article after article gush about the Zorahn, calling them our allies, even our saviors.
The way I see it, the Zorahn spaceship could be a tin can, and I doubt the government would care. There’s too much superior alien technology at stake.
May Archer looks worried, biting her lip. I nudge her. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I say, keeping my tone reassuring. “The Zorahn want us to arrive safely as much as we do.” We’ve been told our genes could save their race, but only if they can study us in their high-tech space-age labs. Thus the journey to their planet.
Beirax makes a chopping gesture with his hand. “No more questions,” he says tersely. “Hector Schultz, it is time for you to leave. We depart for Zoraht in a pars.”
One pars equals Six Earth Minutes, my translator chirps.
Six minutes to go. I glance around at the nine other women, but no one in our little space sorority seems excited anymore. Reality has set in.
Who volunteers to leave Earth behind and travel to an alien planet for six months? What kind of person chooses to trust the emissaries when they promise our safe return, guaranteed by the High Emperor of Zoraht himself? Why would anyone line up to be poked and prodded by alien scientists?
The answers are simple. Money. Adventure. And in my case, a lack of anything left on Earth to live for.
Schultz salutes us briskly and departs, clattering down the ramp. There are no windows on the sides of the ship, so I can’t see the crowds outside. Maybe some of the other women have family watching them depart. Not me. I have no family left. My mother left when I was ten, and my
