Mind you, many of the aliens look at me and talk about me, but none choose me. I assume this is because they’ve never seen a human before. I hope that I’ll die knowing the last person I had sex with was a human man. I don’t care if this makes me a racist in the galaxy. I don’t want alien hands on me in such an intimate way.

In the back, beyond the main building, is another large building where the doctor works. I’ve no idea what he’s doing. All I know is that he has other aliens and Silvers in his home a lot and does things to their bodies. I feel lucky that I don’t have to assist him every day, only for a few minutes sometimes, when his usual assistant volunteer cannot. On the rare occasions he leaves his house, he terrorizes all of us. Everyone fears him, including the other Silvers who run the farm. I suspect he might own this whole place, but again, I don’t have the language skills to understand yet.

I’m the only human here, and I wonder if the group of human women I was brought over with were the first humans to come to this alien planet. I also wonder what these Silvers threatened Earth with to take us. As far as I can see, these aliens are farmers, low-level brothel owners, and a mad scientist, but I cannot be certain if that’s all they are because I was brought over on a spaceship piloted by advanced AI, and there’s advanced technology on the farm. So I may be just in one of the poorer regions of the planet. While I’m working, I wonder sometimes if there’s a big capital somewhere with really important Silvers that do more in the galaxy than just farm in this dry earth. I wonder what the human women who were sent to the big cities are doing. I also wonder if I’ll spend the rest of my days on this strange alien farm. I tell myself it could have been much worse.

* * *

A year or more has probably passed, and I now know enough words to make myself understood to the Silvers running the farm. ‘Make myself understood’ means that after I’ve said something about a hundred times, they might understand what I’m trying to say. I’ve figured out their language is tonal, making it difficult for me to say the right words all the time, especially if I’m upset. Because in those instances, I let my emotions guide me, changing the word’s meaning. This also has the opposite effect on my listeners, as they cannot help but laugh at my mistakes. They shake their heads and say, ‘Water woman.’

I’ve asked why they call me this, and the only reply is, ‘That’s what you are. Water woman.’ I can only assume humans are referred to as ‘water people’ because there’s so much water on Earth compared to what I’ve seen on this planet as we’re farming in desert-like conditions and rarely drink plain water; it’s always mixed with vegetable juice.