ZIA
The pen weighs nothing, but my hand trembles anyway.
Not fear. Fear got beaten out of me in basic training fifteen years ago. This is rage, pure and focused, at the corner they've backed me into. Sign these papers and become alien prey, or face court-martial for Cairo. Watch eight families lose death benefits because someone wanted my squad dead and made me the scapegoat.
“Ms. Reeves.” The intake coordinator's voice cuts through recycled air that tastes of industrial cleaner and desperation. Her tablet glows, reflecting off dead eyes that have processed too many women to care about one more. “You need to initial all twenty-three boxes.”
Twenty-three ways to agree to be hunted. Twenty-three variations of understanding that Earth law ends at the portal.
I scan the contract. Military habits die hard, and I've never signed anything without reading it. Even when the choice is already made.
Initial here to acknowledge participation in the Cultural Exchange Initiative is voluntary.
Voluntary. The word sits bitter on my tongue. The alternative is military prison and eight families destroyed. Hadad has threekids. Kowalczyk's wife is pregnant. Their death benefits depend on me taking this deal.
Z.R.
Initial here to understand that Vorthak hunters utilize psychological dominance techniques including but not limited to catch-and-release methodology.
The briefing video plays on repeat on the waiting room screens. Jungle world, constant humidity, predators that hunt minds before bodies. The Vorthak hunters don't just chase. They catch their prey, establish dominance, then release. Repeat until the prey begs to be kept. Ninety-two percent success rate, meaning ninety-two percent of women never come back through the portal.
Z.R.
Initial here to acknowledge the preparation tonic will create permanent physiological changes designed to ensure species compatibility.
Permanent. No going back. Even if I survive thirty days and make it to the portal, my body will never be the same. Always aware of what's missing. Always craving what Earth can't provide.
But Kowalczyk's unborn kid deserves a father who died a hero, not a failure.
Z.R.
The coordinator watches me with professional boredom. We're just credits to her. Resources being traded for technology that keeps Earth's cities running. Everyone pretends it's voluntary exchange. Cultural sharing. Not selling women to aliens to keep the lights on.
“The tonic causes immediate onset,” she says when I pause at clause fifteen. “Most subjects experience symptoms within minutes.”
“Symptoms?”
“Heightened sensitivity. Increased production of... various fluids. Hyperfocus on reproductive readiness.” She taps through practiced motions on her tablet. “Your body will interpret most stimuli as sexual after ingestion.”
“For thirty days?”
“Permanently. Though intensity decreases without exposure to compatible pheromones.”
My jaw clenches hard enough to hurt. They're rewiring my body at the cellular level. Making me into something that craves what only they can provide. But eight families need those death benefits. Eight families who trusted me to bring their soldiers home.
I sign the rest in silence. Z.R. twenty-three times, each one another piece of autonomy traded for others' survival.
“Medical bay, down the hall. Third door.”
The medical bay reeks of antiseptic trying to cover something sweeter. Three other women wait in curtained cubicles. One rocks slowly, arms wrapped around her midsection. Another stares at nothing, pupils already dilated. The third whispers in Portuguese, maybe prayers, maybe curses.
“Behind your left ear.” The tech doesn't look up from his prep. “Neural implant for translation. Three seconds.”
The injection gun presses cold against my skull. Then fire races along every nerve, followed by ice, then electric sensation that makes my teeth ache. The world splits into parallel tracks. English layered with something else. Grinding sounds, clicks, harmonics that human throats can't produce.
“Test phrase,” he says, but I also hear: “ Vekta nu sharak? “
Both languages. Simultaneous understanding that makes my brain itch.
