“Simple, he says that he loves me,” she replies.

“You need to ask for him to marry you or, at the very least, find you your own quarters. If our fleets merge, my Commander will not tolerate this relationship without you being married,” I suggest to her. I had already seen one couple shot out of the airlock because they were carrying on an affair without being married.

“He can’t tell my commander what to do,” she replies.

“I don’t know if he can, but I know we are the stronger fleet, and that is the rule here.”

“You are not the stronger fleet,” she says.

“I am my Commander’s valet, and I know for a fact we are the stronger fleet.”

“How does doing his laundry give you access to that kind of information?” she questions me.

It’s my turn to laugh now. “I’m also responsible for all of his correspondence. It’s obvious where his fleet stands in the hierarchy of Silvers.”

I can tell by the look on her face she has no such responsibilities, and so she doubles down. “Your Commander is really getting his money’s worth then, isn’t he? Oh, and you know, the government is trying to get him on a small legality that he stole you or something like that? Everyone on my ship talks about it when you’re mentioned. Perhaps you should join your Commander in bed, so he doesn’t decide you aren’t worth the trouble and sends you back to whatever countryside hole you came from.”

“I’d rather go back to the farm than share my body with an alien,” I say in anger, and I regret it immediately. I want to turn to the doctor and say, ‘I didn’t mean that,’ but I can’t because I do mean it. Just not in the way it might be interpreted. What I mean is that I just wouldn’t have sex with someone to keep a position. But I added the alien bit to strike back at her for assuming I had a choice in being sent to the countryside farm. I had no more of a choice than she did in ending up in a city brothel.

“I think we are done here,” says the human woman standing. “I thought we could be friends, but you are just a brainwashed slave who will soon be sent back to some rundown farm to work in the fields.” As she walks past me, she stops and says, “You know, I feel so sorry for you. Take my advice, save yourself and jump into your Commander’s bed.”

I stand and meet her blue eyes. “Take my advice, find a job rather than just being a human receptacle for your commander’s semen.”

“You don’t even speak English well anymore. Goodbye, slave, whatever your stupid numbers are.”

I stand to meet her face-to-face. “I’m Volunteer 4711, you fucking bitch.”

I look down at the doctor, who is still seated at the table, and ask, “Am I okay? Do you think?”