Page 28 of Volunteer 4711

“Excuse my imprudence, but why didn’t your Commander set you free? And why do you speak the Silver language?”

I open my mouth and then close it. After a second, I reply, “How can you communicate if you don’t speak their language?”

She points to her ear. “Everyone has a translator.”

I feel dizzy, and it takes me a second to reply, “What?”

“Every person on this ship has a translator. If you speak English to them, they understand.”

The corridor is spinning now. I’m going to pass out. I put my hand against the white wall to steady myself, but it’s not good. I hear the human woman calling out for someone to help. The darkness takes me.

* * *

I wake up in sickbay. I’m alone. I hear the hum of the medical machines and the doctors talking quietly. Everything the human woman said to me comes back in a rush, and I just can’t believe it is true. All I can think is that I’m such an idiot for trying to speak English and just assuming that no one could understand me because they couldn’t on the farm.

The doctor comes to my side. “We were very worried for you, Volunteer 4711. You have never been ill. And I am pleased to say that you are physically in good health. Do you want to tell me what distressed you so much?”

My mind is spinning. I take a deep breath and answer in English, “Why didn’t any of you tell me you had translators!?”

The doctor looks at me as if I have slapped him in the face.

I feel guilty as this male has never been anything but kind to me. But this is all so confusing.

The doctor regains his composure and says kindly, “The Commander forbade any of us to acknowledge your Water language. And his orders still hold true.”

“Why would he do that?” I ask in the Silver language now as it seems as if it’s the only way I’ll get answers, and sadly, I must admit to myself, it feels more natural on my tongue than my native language, which has become dusty without use.

“I think it’s best you ask him about that. Now, do you think you will be able to do your work with that other Water person here, or should I give you a pass and you can do something else, so you do not have to see her. I can say you are ill and must spend the next week in bed.”

“No. I don’t need to hide. She just took me off guard. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to cause trouble, but I want answers,” I say, preparing to get off the medical bed.

“You are no one’s trouble. You are part of this crew, and we help each other when we can. I am sure the Commander had good reasons for making you learn our language. We all trust our lives in his. If you change your mind while seeking your answers, do not hesitate to return here. Understand?”

“I understand,” I say, and make my way out of sickbay. I walk back to my quarters and suspect that the Commander has either been notified that I passed out or he has not yet buzzed me because he is up late drinking.

I lie down on my bed, going over everything the human woman said to me, and try to still see my Commander in a good light, but it’s difficult. I get up and look at my reflection in the mirror. I run my hand over the tattoo and hear her words in my mind, ‘My commander had it removed because I’m not a slave.’

I bang my hand against the mirror in frustration and cry. No one else on this ship has the mark of a slave.

Just then, the Commander buzzes me.

I splash some cold water on my face and try to make myself look as best I can, but it’s no use. I look like a hot mess.

I enter the Commander’s quarters and bow.

“Was it you who dropped the glasses and almost ruined everything?”

“Why didn’t you give me a translator?” I shoot back in English.

He motions for me to stand before him, and I obey. When I’m standing directly in front of him, he touches my left cheek where that horrible tattoo is. He caresses it. “Because if I would have given you a translator, you would have always been a slave, and no one would have ever respected you.”

“Then why can’t I have this tattoo removed? Why can’t I use my name? Why do you treat me like a slave if I’m not one?” I demand in the Silver language because I’m so upset I don’t know if I could even articulate this in English anymore.

He puts both hands on my shoulders which is a sign of great respect in Silver culture, especially given our different ranks. “No one treats you like a slave.” I meet his cobalt eyes, and I realize that my words have both hurt and shocked him.

“I want to have a name,” I say.

“You have a name. Volunteer 4711.”

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