3. Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
MIKA
I drag my heavy basket several feet before bending and sitting on the ground. I bite my lip and groan as my back protests. The scabs stretch, cracking and causing immense pain. Tears pool in my eyes, and I blink several times, trying to stop them. I can’t lose any water from my body. I don’t know when I’ll next be able to drink.
Today, I am harvesting the potatoes with several other people—something I don’t love but have to do in order to get food.
Thousands of years ago, the people of Dagmon came to Earth and struck up a deal with our government. They got to take some of the women while they gave our government something. I have no idea what it was, but it was good enough for the government to say yes and sign the contract.
Every month another shipment of girls comes in, five at least, along with some men. The government doesn’t believe we can take care of ourselves, or that’s what I think, so they send some men to run things.
Is it amazing? No.
We live in a small compound, walls so tall we couldn’t see what is on the other side. Unless you get picked.
Picked.
Once a month, the men of Dagmon come to our little compound and one of them gets to pick a woman. No one knows what happens to the women. I think they get killed. Some women speculate they get turned into slaves, but no one knows for sure.
Any time a girl gets picked, they never return.
I’ve heard some of the men, aliens, talk about wanting to change the rule so two of them can pick a female each month. We have enough here to do so, but I don’t know if I want that. This would make the chances of getting picked higher, and I’m not ready to get turned into a slave. They must be harsher than John is.
When the men of Dagmon come to the compound it’s hard not to stare at them. They have four arms, their skin is red, and their cocks are huge. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard from some other girls who have had glimpses. I’ve never looked. The men only wear a cloth around themselves, not concealing their size at all.
Are the girls they pick turned into sex slaves? How do they survive without getting torn apart? I shake my head at that thought. There is no way the girls who disappear are turned into sex slaves. I need to believe they aren’t.
I pick up several potatoes and place them in my basket. Dizziness and exhaustion weigh me down as I bend over to select several more.
How long have I been out here? I have no idea, but it’s been a while. The sun beats down on me as I put several more potatoes in my basket. Soon, I will have to carry this to the pile and dump it.
To a degree, this planet is just like Earth. The grass is green, but the sky is always a nice pastel pink. It took me a while to get used to it. It’s always bright here, and when we go to sleep, we have special curtains to block out the light.
Do the natives ever sleep? I’ve never talked to one of them, and I hope I never do. But I have so many questions. I want to explore beyond the walls, but it’s forbidden.
It’s one of the few rules we have. Stay in the compound. When chosen, don’t fight. Don’t burn the fields.
Will I be able to carry it the whole way? Will John yell at me? Will I pass out as I exert my body?
I can’t remember the last time I ate food or drank water. John isn’t a fair employer. He likes to withhold food, water, and things we can trade so we work harder. Is it fair? Absolutely not.
Since arriving at Dagmon, I’ve lost so much weight. The few clothes I brought with me fall off my shoulders and legs. I’ve had to trade food to get string so it can hold up my pants.
It isn’t how I want to trade, but I need to be able to work to get food, water, and other things.
“Come on,” I whisper to myself. “Just a couple more hours, and then you can be done.”
I am lying to myself. I have several hours until I can be done. There are more long sections where I need to get all the potatoes.
John doesn’t care how long it takes for me to collect the potatoes in the day; he just wants it done. If I don’t finish by the next day, he will whip me. I’m still healing from a few days ago. It is mostly scabs but with how much labor and moving I do, the scabs reopen all the time, making the healing process that much longer.
People talk around me, but I can’t hear them. Everything sounds like it’s underwater, muddy and toned down. It has been like that since I woke. Am I going deaf?
I close my eyes for several seconds and draw a deep breath. Positive thinking. I need to stay positive or else I am just going to give up and die. Though, part of me feels like dying wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.
John won’t be able to beat and whip me, and I won’t be hungry all the time. It sounds amazing when I think about it that way, but I can’t. If I die, some other girl is going to take my place, and I can’t do that to them.
No one deserves to be in the position I am in.
Lily, another girl on this planet, and one I share a room with, works for a different person. She got a good employer, one who takes care of the girls and ensures they are well rested and fed. Lily has tried to tell her employer, Nico, but there isn’t anything he can do about it.
When they had men come here to take control, they gave each one a section to manage. One of the rules is they can’t interfere. The man in control of the section can do whatever he wants, however he wants.
Is it fair? Absolutely not. But it is what it is.
I open my eyes and get right back to work. I can’t take many more breaks, or I won’t finish my section by the following morning. Mentally, I am already preparing myself to take the whipping, but physically I am trying to push myself to finish.
I need to finish.
I can’t survive another whipping; there isn’t any way. I am still stiff and hurting from the last one, and it hasn’t fully healed yet.
Last night, I didn’t finish picking the peppers in time for dinner, so I went to bed hungry. John only gives us one meal a day—dinner.
John is nice to the people when they start, giving them food every night, even if they don’t get there on time, but he changes gradually. He gives less food, starts whipping you if you do something wrong, and doesn’t give you food if you miss dinner time.
Sighing, I pick up several more potatoes and place them in my basket. Almost done with this one. I can do it, just a few more. Which means I am closer to being done, if I ever get to the end point.
Sometimes, I think John gives us more work than we can do in a day, intending to punish us. But it’s not every girl who works for him. He has favorites, and I’m not one of them. I don’t know what I did to get on his bad side, but I have. Well, it’s probably because I told him no when he wanted me to sleep with him.
Yeah, I’m not about to do that. A shiver of disgust rolls through my body. Janice is sleeping with him because her workload is much lighter than everyone else’s, and she gets food and water.
Not fair, but it’s life.
Someone is yelling behind me, but I don’t pay it any attention. I need to focus on picking up the potatoes and getting my work done. Any distractions will only cause me pain.
Half the time the yelling is only two girls disagreeing over something and then the men coming and figuring it out. I’ve learned to tune them out and continue working. It’s the best for me, and it’s the best for everyone else.
I scooch forward to grab several more potatoes. This should do for now. Then I can come back with an empty basket and fill it up.
Clenching my jaw, I push myself off the ground and groan in pain. Everything hurts. My legs are aching, my back is screaming in intense pain, and my arms feel like jelly. How am I going to continue with this? How many more days like today can I handle before I fall over and either pass out or die?
More screaming comes from behind me. Man, this fight must be bad for the screaming to carry on.
As I pick up my basket, a wave of dizziness assaults me, making me drop my basket and draw several deep breaths.
“I’ve got this,” I whisper to myself. “Just make it to the pile and dump it in. Then the easy part is next.”
Until I fill the basket again and have to do it all over. But I try not to think about that right now. It’s depressing, really depressing. It’s the same thing over and over, every day. Some days are better when the things I’m gathering are lighter, but most are hardy and heavy.
“Mika!” someone yells.
Why are they yelling my name? I look up from my basket to see all the girls lined up, watching me with wide eyes. Why are they looking at me like that?
“Mika!” Lily yells. “Get over here! Quickly!”
I rise to my full height and grab the basket’s handles, hoisting it into the air. I groan in pain as I take several steps forward. My vision blurs for a few seconds as I inhale deeply. There is no way I am going to make it over to them with the basket, and there is no way I am going to make it to the pile to dump it.
“Drop the basket!” Lily yells. “Drop it and come! Quickly! They are almost here!”
Who are they? What is she talking about? Why is everyone looking at me in such a panicked way? Have I forgotten that something was happening?
I take several more steps toward the group of girls, but as I take another, I trip on something, fall, and the potatoes go everywhere.
“Shit,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face.
John is not going to be happy when he sees that I’ve dropped the potatoes. He wants every step seamless and without hiccups, but I always seem to have the setbacks that result in me getting hurt.
I start to pick up the potatoes, putting them in the basket and hoping John hasn’t seen anything. Maybe I can get away with it. Maybe he doesn’t have to find out what happened.
“Mik—”
I quickly rise, gasping as my vision goes in and out. Shit. Nausea bubbles up inside of me, and I close my eyes. I can’t puke. I really can’t puke. But as I open my eyes and look up at all the girls, the urge to throw up overcomes me.
Falling to my knees, I place my hand on the ground right as two feet step in front of me.
Shit.