We make stop after stop. Scan after scan. Door opening and closing, again and again. And we only ever see the purple sky. Finally, I’m alone in the vehicle. It’s cold not having the other women around me for body heat. I sit in the semi-dark with the purple veil on my head, wondering what will happen to me. What does this mark on my cheek mean? Am I going to be delivered to the most disgusting of aliens? Will it have tentacles? Will it rape me until I die? Will it harvest my organs, cut me up slice by slice? What’s my sentence?

Finally, the land vehicle stops again. I know this must be my stop.

I hold my breath. My heart is beating so loudly I can hear it in my ears. My palms are unbelievably sweaty, and I wipe them on my purple trousers. This is it. This is the next chapter and possibly the shortest chapter of my life.

The AI scans my face, which I think is very stupid since I’m the last woman in the vehicle, but AIs don’t think; they follow programming. Then it grabs my arm forcefully and pulls me out of the vehicle. I stumble forward but catch myself from falling.

The air is thick in my lungs, and I feel the rain fall. I want to take off the purple veil and look around because I hear so many alien voices surrounding me.

But the AI says, “Don’t remove your veil. It is part of your contract.”

I put my shaking hand down to my side. The contract I was forced to agree to says I’ll pay with my life if I break its conditions.

The voices around me become louder and louder. The AI takes my hand in its cold and now wet metal one from the rain. I’m led up onto what I would describe as wooden stairs and possibly a wooden stage. Finally, I’m made to stand still in a place that suits the AI.

“Stay here, Volunteer 4711. That is the number by which you will be recognized by. Do not move until you are told to. The people of Earth thank you for your service. Your name will be engraved on the volunteer plaque at our government’s embassy on Earth. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” I say awkwardly because this whole thing feels like a bad dream, and why not use such a romantic word for such an unromantic end to my journey here? Ironic I don’t think I’ve ever even used the word before; it only lives in fairy tales, and the only fairy tale this is is a grim one. Pun intended. I’ve no idea what’s going to happen to me now. All I hear are alien voices, and they’re increasing in number, but I don’t dare move the purple veil.

I stand in the rain. My knees are buckled, and I’m sure I’ll start shaking soon. I look at my feet, as the cloth on my head isn’t attached. I have no shoes. I stand and wait. Whatever is going to happen is not in a hurry. I need to pee, but my mind tells my bladder it’ll just have to wait.