Page 7 of Volunteer 4711

My hunger pains wake me.I can tell by the shade of pink in the sky it’s about midday. I get up. I check on my patient and see he’s still sleeping. I touch his head because he looks hot, and I realize he actually is hot. I wonder if his head wound is infected and if he has a fever. Silvers and all the other aliens have the same body temperature as me, I think. Or I assumed so.

His sharp blue eyes flutter open, and he looks up at me in confusion.

“You are safe.”

He looks like he’s going to try and talk, but I don’t want him to cough again, so I put my fingers on his silver-colored lips, which surprises him, but he doesn’t say anything.

“No talk,” I say.

He just stares at me.

“Stay,” I say. Then I walk out and close the door behind me. I go straight to the pantry and get some food. A Silver female farmer comes in and joins me.

“How’s the male?” she asks.

“He lives.”

“You feed him this,” she says, handing me special food I’ve never seen before.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Best food. Food for him. He is special. This is doctor’s food.”

“I am hungry,” I say, hoping since he’s getting good food, I can have the plain alien oatmeal I’m usually given.

“No food for you until he is gone.”

I leave the pantry with the better food in a simple bowl and with a wooden spoon. I have a supply of juice in my room that I can give him.

I enter my room. “Food for you,” I say.

He doesn’t speak but watches me as I cross the room and pour him some juice.

I pull up a chair next to the bed and help him sit up. I can see he’s in a lot of pain. I don’t know what to do but try and settle him. Once I think he’s comfortable or as comfortable as he’s going to get, I offer him the juice. “Can you?”

He reaches out his large grey hands but then pulls them back. “You do it.”

I don’t question his request for longer than half a second. My life depends on his living. I lift the ceramic cup to his lips, and his cobalt eyes don’t leave my face as I concentrate on hydrating him and not spilling the juice everywhere.

I show him the food when he has drunk half the juice in the cup. “Eat?”

He indicates I should bring the food over with a gesture I’ve come to realize means ‘yes’ with the Silvers. I bring the dish over, and he inspects it. Then motions for me to feed him. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with his arms, but obviously, he sees me as a slave. Again, I barely hesitate to feed him because my life depends on his, and I’m starting to get the feeling that it’s not only if he walks out of here but also if he was happy with the treatment he received from me and the others. As I spoon-feed this male, I think about how none of the other Silvers on the farm wanted anything to do with the males in the transport and how they all say he is bad. I wish I could ask this male why he is considered bad. Is he a rival drug dealer?

It doesn’t take long before all the food in the bowl is gone. I look at the stranger. “Wash?” And point to the back of my head, trying to imitate washing his wound.

He, again, crosses his fist from shoulder to shoulder, indicating acquiescence. I have a feeling that he’s going to make me bathe him as well. I pull the blanket back and give him my arm to help him. He gets out of bed, and I can see he’s in pain, but I think it’s more from the head injury than anywhere else. But I think if I see him naked, I’ll be able to assess whether he has any other injuries, which will be helpful. However, I’ve not seen a Silver male naked. Nudity isn’t a thing on the farm.

Once he’s standing, he doesn’t let go of my arm, which I find terrifying because if he falls on me, he will crush me. And now that I’m properly looking at him, I’ve no idea how I managed to pull this male out of the transport, as he stands a good two heads taller than me. Not to mention he’s all muscle.

I lead him slowly to the bathroom. I try to usher him in alone. “I wait here.” But as I suspected, he won’t have that, which I tell myself is fine because then I can check for other wounds.

“You help,” he says, and I follow him into the bathroom. I close the door behind us. Then he looks at me expectantly. “Volunteer, take off my clothing.”

I begin undressing him, starting at his collar. I fumble with the unfamiliar alien clasps only because his eyes are on me and he’s making me nervous, but after a minute, I’ve his shirt off. He’s wearing another shirt underneath that’s black as well. It’s of a different kind of material, and unlike the outer shirt, it smells very strongly of him. It isn’t an unpleasant smell, but it’s completely masculine, like spicy cardamom. I remove this undershirt. Then I work on his trousers. I’m not even sure where the clasps are, to begin with. I look up at the alien for guidance, and he just looks back down at me without an expression I interpret as, ‘Figure it out, slave.’

After a few minutes, I discover that the trousers are fastened on the side and slide him out of them until I get to his shoes and realize they’re somehow connected to his trousers. I’m now on the floor trying to figure it out. I’ve never seen clothing like this, and there’s no doubt these are somehow technologically rigged.

“Hurry, Water woman,” he commands in a deep voice that echoes in the small bathroom, and I jump.

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