I turn and run back into the farmhouse. I don’t like the sharp voice my patient has just used with me, and I worry that all my struggles will be for nothing if he decides to execute me because I’ve annoyed him now at the very end. As I run, I reflect that I shouldn’t have looked at his penises like I did. No doubt, in this culture, it’s very rude. I berate myself that this would be a terrible way to die because I let my curiosity for an alien’s appendages get the better of me. I run faster, looking for the other volunteers and their ‘patients.’

I begin to call out to my fellow volunteers, “Hear me! My transport male wants everyone to go now.”

At the sound of my loud voice, everyone begins coming out of their rooms or from wherever they were, and the Silver farmworkers are coming in from outside to see what I’m yelling about.

“What’s going on, Volunteer 4711?” one of the male farmers asks me.

I point outside to where my patient is waiting. “He says he’s going to go and wants his males to come out.”

The male farmer starts telling everyone to hurry up. As a native speaker, he is much more articulate than I am, and no one hesitates when they hear him. Then he looks at me. “You can eat when they have taken off.”

I’m so hungry. I know it’s only been a day, and I’ve not done much work, but I feel light-headed. I assume it’s not only the hunger, but the stress of the crash, the alien patient of mine, and the treatment by the doctor.

I walk out and stand with everyone who lives in the farmhouse. My patient, who’s clearly the leader of these males, addresses the Silver farmers. I can’t make out what he’s saying as he’s speaking very quickly, but it doesn’t sound good. It almost sounds like he’s yelling at them. When he finishes, they all look at me.

I don’t know what’s going on. I look between my patient and the Silver farmers, but all I get in return are blue eyes staring back at me. “I don’t understand,” I say. My mind is racing. What have I done? I question myself frantically. Am I going to be killed now?

One of the Silver female farmers explains, “Volunteer 4711, you go with him now.” She points to my patient.

“Why? You said he was a bad man. You said I could eat,” I protest. “I am hungry. I did nothing wrong.”

“You go with him,” one of the male farmers repeats and comes to push me toward my patient. “You go Volunteer 4711. Goodbye. Good life. Go.”

I’m afraid to go with these military Silvers, and before they can grab me, I break off and run back to the farmhouse as fast as I can. I don’t know where to hide, so I choose the washing room under all the sheets that need to be cleaned. I put my hand over my mouth so that no one can hear me breathing. My heart is beating so fast I can hardly hear anything but its own thumping. I close my eyes and pray to the god I left on Earth that no one will find me here. And that my patient will think I’m too much trouble to take.