Page 63 of Infala: The Alien's Bond
“Which is?”
“Do what we must to survive, and keep our mouths shut and eyes to the ground.”
When the group headed out to the field shortly thereafter, Darla took that advice to heart. Not once did she meet the gaze of their overseers as they were marched out into the fields they would be working that day. The plants were growing in neat rows with enough space to easily walk between them. Different crops were separated, just like they did back on Earth. Some things were universal, it seemed.
Upon arrival each was handed a woven basket with a long strap to hang it around their neck and sent out to begin their harvest.
“Who are they?” she asked of the other group of women working nearby.
“Don’t know, exactly. I’ve seen them a few times. They occasionally work us near each other, but they don’t blend the work teams that I’ve seen. Now, follow me. You’re lucky. The plant they have us working with today is actually pretty easy to harvest. I forget what they call it, but the important thing is there’s no crouching and bending. Most of it is easy to reach.”
“You’re sayingeverythinghere is hand-picked?”
“Yes.”
Darla shook her head. “We’re dealing with people who travel in actual spaceships, and you’re telling me they don’t have machines to do this? I mean, hell, back home we can barely get into space, and we still have harvesters.”
“And migrant labor working for a pittance,” Shalia noted.
“Well, yeah. But the point is we’re a thousand times less technologically advanced as the Dohrags, so what’s their excuse?”
“Sadism, maybe? I don’t know. But I do know we have a job to do, and we’d better get to it.”
With a resigned sigh Darla began picking the crop as Shalia showed her. It was a vegetable that grew among thick, dark green and slightly prickly leaves. The harvest was deep orange in color, and similar in size to a zucchini or cucumber, but there were large bumps all over.
The only way to tell if they were ripe was by the oozing of a sticky sap from the bumps when touched. Too much ooze meant it was overripe and should be discarded. No ooze and it wasn’t ready. Their task was to find all the ones in the Goldilocks Zone. Not too ripe, not under ripe, but just right.
An older woman with blue skin so dark it had looked almost black inside the dim light of the bunkhouse moved closer to the pair, picking as she approached to avoid attention.
“I heard you asking about the harvest,” she said. “I have been here a long while now, and I have learned the Dohrags stationed at this world are nothing more than a small supply outpost. They just happen to think rather highly of themselves, but I believe they are considered a lower tier among their people.”
“You’re sure about that?” Darla asked.
“Dear, I have been here many cycles. One hears many things when they become regarded as part of the scenery.”
Darla mulled that over. It was akin to how she’d been treated when she worked as a waitress. Unless you were actively engaged in taking an order, people acted as if you weren’t there. And oh, the things she’d heard.
“If that’s true, then we’re being held by a bunch of glorified farm workers with oversized egos. Hell, they’re probably passing off what’s supposed to betheirwork onto us when the bosses aren’t looking.”
“That I cannot say. But to address your other query, no, they do not possess any farming technology that I have ever seen. Just their weapons, some basic equipment for the compound, and the shuttle flying back and forth to the orbiting workstation.”
“It’s not a ship?”
“No. More of a distribution facility. Ships do come to resupply in orbit, but those would be transport haulers, not war ships.”
“Do you know how often they come?”
“No, they have never spoken of that within earshot.”
Darla’s mind was racing. Here she had believed they were dealing with a crack squad of commandos on detachment from their battle cruiser in orbit when the reality was these were nothing more than logistics grunts who had aggrandized their roles to the extreme. And if there really was no war ship orbiting above, how many Dohrags were actually here?
“Are you sure there aren’t any real commando types?” Darla asked.
“I do not know for certain, but not that I know of. Just a group of workers and their overseer.”
“And up on the station?”
“The rest of their ranks and the commander.”
