When I came to, my head throbbed like it had been trampled by an elephant. My helmet was gone, which triggered a brief panic attack. Then I remembered everything and started panicking for entirely different reasons.

  I'd been kidnapped! Left alive, but kidnapped! The rest of the team was probably still waiting for me to return, but they won't wait forever! I'd never go home, stuck in this massive cave with dinosaurs, Christmas-colored aboriginals, and one ancient artifact. Elon would probably wipe his hands clean, saving a few million on my account. Mom and Dad would curse my very existence for depriving them of their share of the prize money...

  "She's alive and blinking, Father," said a young female voice. "Told you I didn't kill her. Aimed carefully, just like you taught me."

  "Good girl, Farrah," rumbled a much older, harsher male voice. "Now leave us alone. Go see what your sisters are doing."

  "But maybe—"

  "Go to your sisters!" he repeated sharply.

  I heard an annoyed growl, followed by hurried footsteps and the rustle of fabric.

  Finally, my vision cleared enough to focus on the grass-woven ceiling above me. Fantastic. Kidnapped, stuffed into a hut, and the locals somehow spoke my language. Meaning they weren't exactly locals.

  When the owner of the harsh voice stepped into view, I didn't recognize him at first. Years had passed, after all. If anything, he'd aged in the very wrong direction.

  "You know who I am," he stated rather than asked.

  "Osabi Gang Laden. First SpaceX mission to Earth's core," I murmured more to myself.

  The man had clearly let himself go - his black beard now reached his chest, much longer than when he'd waved to fans from the launch platform. And greasier. His gut protruded obscenely from tattered SpaceX merch he clearly couldn't button anymore. Piggy little eyes undressed me. No, this wasn't my paranoia talking - he was literally sizing me up like a cut of meat at the market.

  That's when I realized my spacesuit was history, and what remained of my clothes was suspiciously minimal. Someone had been very busy while I was unconscious.

  "Good," he grinned widely, showing too many teeth. "Excellent. That saves us precious time. You just need to tell me your name, yes?"

  But I had zero interest in sharing my name. This creep gave me the kind of vibes mothers warn their teenage daughters about when explaining why they shouldn't walk through dark parks at night.

  "Britney. Britney Spears," I lied, scanning the room.

  "You do know what happens to those who lie to the face of Allah?" Osabi rumbled.

  For some reason, I suspected he meant his face.

  "Fine. Jennifer Aniston."

  He reached for a greasy, terrifying-looking whip.

  "Ugh... Kim Kardashian? Wait! Paranoia! Paranoia!"

  I yelped as he swung the whip down, right into my thigh with a sickening thwack! Even through the pain, I realized my fatal mistake. After all that name-trolling, my actual surname suddenly didn’t sound very convincing either. But what the hell did he care about my real name?! And since when did that give him the right to spank me?!

  "Are you insane?!" I shrieked. "That hurt!"

  "Know your place, woman!" he snapped. "Did your mother never teach you to obey men?"

  "What—?"

  No, my mother was more concerned with me attending school and being in bed by ten. Not hanging out with deranged punks.

  Even my dad never pulled this crap. This guy belonged in the same club as Hitler—another fanatic who sincerely believed women belonged in the kitchen and church. Psycho.

  He raised the whip again, but I rolled off the hammock just in time, scrambling behind it.

  The hut was large, woven from coarse grass fibers. But the furniture? Modern. Stolen from the SpaceX capsule. Even the aluminum chair under Osabi’s ass looked familiar.

  "Where am I? How long have I been here?"

  "Who knows? Time means nothing in paradise," he mused, twirling the whip. "Two hours, maybe?"

  "Paradise? And... those other people, they—"

  It hit me then—Roland was gone. Dead. Speared through the chest. His spacesuit was probably full of holes... Wonder how many likes I’d get if I posted about it on Facebook?

  My breath came short, knees shaking. Probably the low pressure. Breathe, Nora. Breathe...

  "They are all my daughters," Osabi Gang Laden beamed.

  "No way, I saw at least a dozen—" I stammered.

  Wait. The first SpaceX mission. Three men, three women. Could three women really produce a dozen teenage girls in that time? But then came the second mission—three more men, three more women.

  A horrible suspicion crept in.

  "Where are the other surviving male crew?" I asked.

  Osabi’s grin widened. Oh shit. He didn’t even need to say it—my imagination connected the dots just fine.

  "Very grateful to the American people for sending more innocent girls to my paradise," he gestured grandly at his hut. "Allah is pleased. Will there be three this time? I must admit, I’ve grown fond of this little one."

  Fond? He was practically drooling as his eyes raked over my half-naked body. I glanced around for a baseball bat. Never played, but Dad always said it’s never too late to—damn it, no baseball bat! What now?!

  "And... where are all the women?" I stalled. Maybe if he thought about women, his testosterone would short-circuit his brain and he’d turn into an actual man—the kind you could wrap around your finger.

  "Where they belong," he smirked, flipping the whip. "Now tell me, my dear. How many more lovely creatures came this time, and what weapons do you have? I’d hate to waste my daughters unnecessarily. They still have their first husbands to meet, after all. We understand each other, yes?"

  And here I thought my crew was full of psychos. Ken Celsey and his ilk were mere amateurs compared to this guy. At least now I knew why the first two missions had failed. Do better background checks next time, Elon!

  "There are two more," I began slowly, scrambling to improvise a plan.

  "Delightful. Details? Or shall I be surprised?" The bearded freak was clearly savoring this.

  "Details... Well, one's practically brain-dead, and the other has Israeli citizenship?" I emphasized the key selling points. "You should love that!"

  He frowned in confusion—and I bolted like a gazelle, capitalizing on his momentary distraction. Through the hut's flap entrance and face-first into the mud when my foot caught on something. As I scrambled up, five speartips greeted me.

  Five teenage girls stared down with childish curiosity. Beautiful eyes, despite sharing DNA with the pig inside the hut. And that terrifying moment when you realize just what kind of propaganda could be crammed into these innocent minds.

  "Bring her to me," came Gang Laden's calm command from inside.

  * * *

  "Do you know why I destroyed both previous mission teams?" Osabi Gang Laden asked, comfortably settled in his chair.

  "Mfph-mmmf-mmfph!" I mumbled through the gag. Of course, it was a rhetorical question - he had no intention of removing the gag to hear my answer.

  This time I was tied up in the hammock while he could whip me as much as he pleased. The only upside? He wasn't going to kill me. At least not until I'd borne him two daughters. That gave me twenty months max to plan an escape. The downside? The rest of my team wouldn't wait that long. If I'd been in the capsule and three ARMED crew members disappeared without explanation, I'd have aborted the mission immediately.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  My future looked royally screwed, and I wanted to cry. Or scream in rage.

  "Because if Elon Musk and the others learned about this place, it would mean the end of our civilization," Osabi continued.

  I could only roll my eyes. Of course, it would mean the end of civilization... He needed some half-baked excuse to justify his illegal harem deep inside Earth.

  "You saw that strange structure in the ceiling?" The bearded man stroked his chin. "Of course you did... I've witnessed technologies here that others couldn't even dream of! At first, I thought like the others - that we'd found something extraordinary that would usher us all into a golden age. Until I carbon-dated the artifact."

  One of his daughters guarding the door listened with near-reverence, despite clearly having no clue what carbon isotopes were.

  "That object predates any local civilization," Gang Laden pointed upward. "Twenty-four million years old. When those things crashed into our planet, stupid apes were still Allah's doodles. They created this crater, trapping themselves in a bubble of hot plasma. None survived, of course. But their technology still works. And if it were to stop working..."

  He extended one palm while making a falling motion with the other hand, whistling through his beard.

  "Boom." His finger touched his palm as he gave me a vicious look. "All those landmasses floating in the Goldilocks zone would return where they belong. Back to Earth. Care to guess which side they'd fall?"

  His eyes gleamed with calculated madness.

  "Moo?" I still couldn't believe this.

  "How? Hard to say precisely. My theory - artificial gravity. Inside that artifact, gravity works as it theoretically should on a spaceship. The problem is, the effect doesn't stop at the ship's walls," Gang Laden grinned. "In space, no one cares. But they crashed into our planet without turning it off. Ever wondered why Earth is the only one in the entire Solar system that looks like a ruffled dandelion fluff with all those floating continents? They always ask that in school, don't they? They just never found the answer until now."

  Yeah right - this megalomaniac thought he'd solved the Great Gravity Paradox.

  "If Elon Musk sets foot here, there's no guarantee the world will still be spinning tomorrow," the man shook his head. "If that happens, I'd rather shut it all down myself and watch as rocks, cities, and people rain from the sky. The whole world would perish peacefully, without fear or anger."

  Great, now he was fantasizing like a proper terrorist.

  "I've already located the gravity component of the starship and prepared a kill switch for the worst-case scenario," he puffed out his chest proudly. His daughters nodded enthusiastically, beaming with admiration.

  I swear, if my mouth hadn't been gagged, it would have fallen open in shock.

  This crazy old bastard WAS a terrorist!

  * * *

  "So," I cautiously addressed one of the terrorist's daughters after the old man removed my gag and left to attend to his business. "Do you at least know where your mother is?"

  "Mom? She's locked up and guarded," the dark-haired girl with startling green eyes shrugged. Her features reminded me of the second mission's biologist, Dianne Sochko. "Mom can't stand Dad or my other sisters for some reason. She's a very angry woman."

  "Shocking," I muttered sarcastically. Then a devious thought struck me. "Maybe because your father plans to turn his own daughters into his concubines? He did tell you his plans for you all, right?"

  Divide and conquer, Nora! Divide and...

  "Of course!" the dark-haired girl beamed. "We all know and can't wait for it to begin! Daddy always follows his rules strictly. Sometimes too strictly," she pouted.

  Oh no. Somebody shoot me. Shoot me right now.

  I wasn't even sure I could break through this insanity. If I tried convincing them their beloved daddy was inappropriate, the girls might snap and accuse me of blasphemy. Might even spear me out of habit. But wait...

  "But you're so young," I glanced between the two sisters. "Wouldn't you rather find your own man? Why torment your father like this? My group happens to have an incredibly handsome one available!"

  Forgive me, Ken Celsey Buckingham, but your moment has finally arrived. Not exactly my fault if you get tangled up with these charming, deranged creatures...

  "Really?" Both girls perked up.

  "Want to see a photo?" I dangled the bait. They nodded eagerly. "Then find my mobile phone. It should be among the confiscated items."

  Ken had once failed to cover himself while "tanning" against the viewport, allowing me to snap some compromising shots. I'd been debating whether to leak them online. At least then women might stop hating me—maybe...

  Before the teenagers could carry out my orders, the old man returned, and both girls froze in place, guiltily glancing around. All I could do was sigh internally. When it rains, it pours. They didn't even possess basic social skills like convincing lies and bluffs. It took Gang Laden just a second to sense something was off, but he merely rolled his eyes and shook his head, not bothering to investigate further.

  "Get her out of the hammock and untie her legs. We're going for a walk," he commanded.

  While the girls followed his instructions, he gave me another long, appraising look.

  "So, are you going to tell me your real name, or should I keep calling you Kim Kardashian?" he asked.

  "Nora Paranoia," I muttered. The last thing I needed was someone nicknaming me after her. Sure, we were both celebrities, and people hated us equally—but they hated her just because. They hated me for a reason.

  He sighed heavily, gripping the whip in his hand.

  "Still playing games? Fine, Kim it is. Hope you like the name."

  And with that, he strode out before I could protest. The two girls exchanged glances and nudged me after him.

  "I'm Fatima," the dark-haired one whispered. "I have your phone—just wait until Father isn't looking!"

  Good. My dark, twisted plan was slowly coming together. Ken’s pretty face would turn these naive creatures into hormone-fueled chaos, no matter what Daddy said. And while Ken distracted them, Lara Barcroft and Aurora could even the odds...

  My eyes widened in shock. Turns out, Gang Laden's hut stood in a massive, perfectly symmetrical cavern, its walls pulsing with golden (energy?) lines stretching from one infinity to another. Over time, nature had reclaimed all horizontal surfaces with jungle growth, but couldn't quite reach the ceiling.

  "Are we... inside the..."

  "The alien ship? Of course," Gang Laden turned to me. "Where else could I pitch a shabby tent without fearing dinosaurs? We drove them all out. Or ate them."

  He grinned ear to ear.

  Five more girls approached us. The oldest looked at about sixteen SpaceX mission years. The youngest maybe twelve. And all bore at least some resemblance to dear old daddy. I felt like I'd stepped into some twisted nightmare.

  "Take our Kim Kardashian to the harem," Gang Laden ordered. "Fatima and Amani will prepare her for the wedding. Gather all other sisters for war council—tomorrow we storm their sky chariot!"

  The girls practically squealed, exchanging excited glances. Weddings and war—because what else matters?

  Playing along, Fatima grabbed my hand.

  Not far from the hut, I spotted several massive baobab trunks supporting a painfully crude structure with crooked walls. That's where they led me. Up close, I realized that despite its sloppiness, the building looked sturdy enough to keep prisoners in. Three bored teenagers guarded the heavy door. When they saw me, they stopped chewing their nails and stared like I was the eighth wonder of the world. Big, empty eyes brimming with naive curiosity. Fatima shooed them off to their father's war meeting, then shoved me inside and pinned me against the wall.

  "The phone," she hissed, shoving the device into my palm, her breath hot on my face. "No one can see us here—show me what you've got!"

  "Alright..." I didn't even notice my pulse skyrocketing—not from Fatima's closeness, but from the impending mutiny aboard Gang Laden's ship.

  I unlocked the screen and pulled up Ken's photos. When I showed them to her, she actually crouched slightly, overwhelmed by hormones. For the first time ever, I felt glad we'd brought Ken on this mission.

  "Is he... real? You're not lying?"

  "You'll see for yourself soon," I shrugged. "Though I wonder how long you'll get to enjoy him if your father storms our 'sky chariot' tomorrow."

  "We'll figure something out," Fatima couldn't tear her eyes from the screen. "If he's real and you're not lying, we'll think of... something..."

  Mhmmm, they will for sure. I barely suppressed a dark smile. Maybe luck hadn't abandoned me yet. Maybe I'd make it home after all, and all of Gang Laden's tales about artificial gravity would remain just that—tales. He wouldn't get to press his precious button if his daughters "accidentally" tipped the scales during the assault. They'd take care of that themselves—once they found a newer, prettier "daddy" to obsess over.

  "Alright, great," Fatima composed herself. "Come on, let's get you fitted for a wedding dress."

  "You actually keep wedding dresses here?"

  "Just one," she admitted. "But since all you sky chariot women arrive the same height and weight, it should fit you."

  Suddenly I understood Elon Musk's crew selection criteria. Fatima was right - all of us capsule girls had nearly identical builds. They'd packed us in like pre-portioned meat, maximizing mission duration at minimum cost. If I ever got back to my computer, I'd write exactly that. Elon wouldn't be happy about such discoveries... not that he's ever happy about anything.

  As I stepped through another crooked doorway, I finally recognized some familiar - though significantly aged - faces. All six women from the first two missions turned toward me. Navigator Dianne Sochko rose from her bench.

  "Oh no! They sent another capsule?!"

  "Good afternoon," I raised my bound hands.

  "Hello, mother," Fatima waved, earning herself a glare so sharp it made her hunch instinctively.

  "If I were really your mother, your backside would be glowing red several times a day, young lady!" Dianne snapped before turning back to me. "So how many this time? Six more unarmed fools?"

  "We... um..." I hesitated, unsure how much to say with Fatima eavesdropping. If I mentioned Lara's pistols, she'd report straight to her Daddy dearest.

  "I don't know what body part Musk thinks with," Dianne shook her head. "Sending us to hunt wild elephants without proper artillery. How many have you lost already?"

  "Two," I held up my fingers. "I'm Nora, by the way... Nora Paranoia."

  "Wait," another woman perked up - Irina Bezukha, I think. "The same Paranoia who wrote about the underground world in her blog?"

  Now it was my turn to hunch under her venomous look.

  "Yes, the same."

  "So because of you, we're all—" Irina began, but Dianne cut her off with an impatient wave:

  "Really, Irochka? Did someone drag you into that capsule at gunpoint? You boarded voluntarily!"

  "Yes, but if this one hadn't written her fairy tales—"

  "I was twelve," I found my voice. "I wrote those stories when I was twelve. Nobody knew about the elephant back then. Please don't blame me."

  "I've borne four daughters and a son from that pig!" Irina shrieked across the room. "More than any of these... Don't tell me who to blame, understand?!"

  I meekly raised my paws, at a loss for words. Irina nervously smoothed her hair, then gave a bitter smile:

  "Sorry... Welcome to the Islamic madhouse, Nora. You'll learn how things work here soon enough. I suppose this snake brought you for wedding preparations?"

  Thus addressed, Fatima narrowed her eyes and shoved me toward another door.

  "Auntie, you'd better watch your plate tonight unless you want to find surprises in it!" she threatened.

  "Is that all you can do without upsetting your fat master?" Irina fired back.

  I could only sigh internally.

  What's wrong with this picture? Normally, mothers have far greater influence over their children regardless of gender. At least they should. Yet here they all were, snapping at each other like some kicked viper's nest. No wonder Gang Laden ruled his imaginary kingdom with absolute authority.