Zia Is Recruited

Disclaimer

This is a work of pure fantasy; nothing is real, and all characters are adults. Comments are enabled, and all constructive comments are welcomed; even if you think my story sucks, tell me how it sucks so I can improve the story and as an author. This story has some BBC themes (in chapters 2 & 3) but isn't the main focus of the story.

Zia is recruited by Mars.

Chapter 1

The unexpected call

Zia walked briskly through the throngs of people in downtown Rochester. She was running late for her interview. The call was totally unexpected, and she was not prepared. Her roommate encouraged her to apply months ago. Zia thought it was a waste of time; she graduated near the bottom of her class in college, and she was not the cream of the crop candidate Mars typically recruits. The call came in late last night; to will be at the Mars recruitment center at 9 am sharp. At first, she thought one of her friends was pranking her; this couldn't possibly be for real. She was like ya, ok, you had your fun and hung up on the caller. To her surprise, moments later, her smartphone dinged, and a security authorization code was sent to her phone. It allowed her access to the Mars Recruitment Center, a highly secured area in the city. There was no way any of her friends could pull off a prank like that.

As she stepped off the pedestrian sidewalk close to the street and walked toward the building, which was set back 300 feet from the walkway, automated gun turrets tracked her movements. Her eye retinas were scanned by the security system the moment she stepped off the sidewalk. She was not a regular employee or known visitor, therefor she was a possible threat. As she approached the high wrought iron fence, lines on the ground directed her to a separate visitor body scanner along the fence line. It was well away from the other employees or known visitor scanners. She stepped into the scanner and stopped as directed by an automated voice. She held her breath, not that it was a requirement to do so. Still, she was very nervous that if the scanner detected any explosive, gun, or biological threat, she would be instantly vaporized by the laser gun turrets tracking her. A moment later, the voice said hold your pass up to the scanner reader. Writing on the scanner indicated to her what area to present her pass. Zia already had her phone out, with the pass displayed on it, expecting this request. After she presented her pass, a light turned green, and she heard, "Access granted." Now that she screened not a threat, the gun turrets swiveled around and turned their attention back to the crowded sidewalk and street. Zia stepped out of the scanner and continued towards the building.

There was a separate entrance on the building labeled visitors only; the thick glass doors slid open, allowing her access. She guessed they were bulletproof, possibly explosive proof too, as she entered. The doors closed behind her, and another set of dark siding doors, about ten feet in front of her, stayed closed. She could not see through them. The walls on both sides of her were white, and the floor and ceiling had metal grills. There was a moment of rushing air around her, from the ceiling into the floor, and then a small square opening was revealed about chest height on the wall to her right.

A female computer voice said, "Please remove your face mask and place it in the receptacle. It will be cleaned and returned to you when you leave."

Zia removed the mask that covered her face and nose. The pollution was particularly bad today, and her air filter was partly clogged, making breathing challenging. She couldn't afford to buy new filters this week. With rent, food, and student loans, she was barely keeping a roof over her head and food in her belly. Nice new air filters were a luxury she couldn't afford. Not that they were costly, but it was money she didn't have this week. She tended to use them longer than recommended. Washing them at home did extend their functionality, but they did have limits on how many times they could be washed. Anyway, if the interview were a bust, at least she would have a clean air filter for her mask.

After Zia placed her mask into the receptacle, the white door slid shut; once it was closed, it was impossible to see where the opening was after it closed. A square lit up above it, and the computer voice spoke again.

"Please face the square and hold up your pass. Turn your head from side to side for a full scan of your face. Speak your full name."

Zia replied, "Zia Marie Johnson."

The voice spoke again, "Thank you, access granted. Please follow the lighted yellow arrows on the floor; they will direct you to the room where your interview will be held." With that, the dark doors slid open.

The space beyond was vast; the ceiling must have been 30 feet high, and there was an expansive lobby where people were heading to various places. It was busy but not crowded, as you would typically see in most office building lobbies. There was no front desk with security guards or gates to control access. The floor was some white glass, and the walls were white marble. It had a sterile hospital feel to it. As promised, a yellow arrow was on the floor. As Zia walked toward it, the arrow stayed ahead of her, moving along as she walked. It directed her to a separate visitor elevator, and when she stepped into it, the doors shut, and the arrow disappeared. There were no buttons to press. She was alone on the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, it moved down, not up as she had expected. After a minute, the elevator stopped and opened, and the arrow was ahead of her again in the hall beyond. She followed the arrow until it led to a door, and then the arrow changed to the words "Enter."

Zia opened the door and stepped inside. Behind it, a man was seated at a desk in a small room. It was just big enough for his desk, his chair, and a seat from her. The room had blank white walls.

"Good morning, Zia. My name is John, and I'll be your interviewer."

Zia approached him and shook his hand; he had a firm handshake, "Thank you. My name is Zia Johnson, but I guess you already know that."

"Yes," John said, "Please sit."

"I was looking over your resume. Honestly, you're not our typical candidate, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you are our next choice. The third choice, actually, but given the time constraints. We will see if you're acceptable before calling in the 4

th

candidate."

This wasn't how Zia expected the interview to begin. "Finding her voice, she asked what happened to their first choice."

"Ah, Lee Ching. A very bright woman, she graduated top of her class, young, healthy, fertile. She also had a few years' experience in the engineering field, unlike you, a new graduate, I believe." John said, looking at Zia's resume. "The perfect colonist for our Martian Colony. Lee passed all the tests and completed all the preparation work needed to board the next shuttle to launch into orbit. Then, she would have been transferred to the next ship to Mars."

John stopped to take a breath.

"Unfortunately, two days ago, as Lee was returning home for the last time to collect what few belongings she would be allowed to bring to Mars, she was mugged. She survived the attack, but a few of her ribs were broken. She is in no condition to board a shuttle to handle the gees to reach orbit. She expected to make a full recovery and will be emigrating to Mars at a future date."

"So now we have a problem: we need a female with an engineering degree who meets our requirements to fill her vacant spot on the shuttle. And they must be ready to go by the end of the week. So what do you think, Zia? Are you interested?"

Zia was shocked and excited; this was a dream come true. What she seen of Mars from the news feeds, it had wide open spaces, large apartments, plenty of food, and lush greenhouses, all under sealed domes, of course. Earth in the 23

rd

century wasn't it once was in the past. Years of global warming deniers in the 20

th

century and measures too little too late in the 21st century did their damage to the environment. By the 22

nd

century, the summers were so hot that they were not survivable outside during the day any place south of 40 degrees Latitude. There was a massive shift in population in the United States to move north. Cities like Buffalo, NY, Helena, Montana, and St. Paul, Minnesota, increased 20-fold in population in less than a decade. By the 23

rd

century, Rochester, once a small city of only one million people, had exploded into a 15 million population center by 2251. Most People lived in cramped high-rise apartments; the government limited the expansion of the city borders to preserve as much land as possible for farming. Food, water, and power were all in limited supply for the average citizen.

As well as being a victim of Crime was a constant worry. Zia dressed as plainly as she could, not showing off any of her hourglass figures; she was very attractive, and she had the sexy curves of a young 24-year-old woman. If she dared to dress as sexy as she was, she was sure she would be a target of thugs that freely roamed her neighborhood. Her facemask she when wore outside helped to hide her true beauty, hidden underneath her plain clothing.

Zia lived in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with her roommate on the seedy side of town. There were sometimes food shortages in the winter and rolling electrical blackouts during the hot summers, not to mention the pollution that required everyone near the cities to wear facemasks outdoors. Zia went to bed hungry more than once. She would do anything to trade her current life for one of a big apartment, fresh fruits, and vegetables of greenhouse-grown food instead of the processed, barely eatable mush she ate on a daily basis.

"Zia?" "Zia?" John repeated.

Zia was snapped out of her daydream, "Sorry, Yes?" She replied to John.

"I was saying is this something you be interested in."

"Yes, absolutely!" Zia said with a smile.

"Good. But I must warn you: If you go forward, you will not be returning home. We are short on time, and we cannot risk another repeat of what happened the other day. If you need to take anything with you from your apartment, a security detail will be sent to get it for you." John Continued. "Is that OK?"

Zia could not think of a reason she had to return to her cramped apartment. She had no boyfriend or close friends; her parents died years ago, and she did not keep in touch with any of her relatives. It looked like she was on to better things, a brighter future.

"Absolutely!" Zia replied, "But I have student loans. Will that be an issue if I leave?"

"Not at all." John said, "If we accept you, they will be wiped out; we will pay them in full for you."

Wow, Zia thought, not only was she going to go to Mars, but she would also be completely debt-free. The day was getting better and better.

"But first things first," John said. "You will need to sign this non-disclosure agreement; anything you see or hear here is strictly confidential. If you breach this agreement, you will not only be held for civil penalties but criminal ones as well. Our government strictly protects their secrets. This, of course, would only be an issue if you are disqualified; once on Mars, you can freely talk to anyone there, just not with communications back to anyone you know on Earth. We have a full copy of your medical records from your doctor; so far, there are no red flags to prevent us from moving forward."

John handed Zia an electronic tablet, and she signed the non-disclosure agreement without bothering to read it. It really didn't matter; she was going to do whatever it took to get to Mars. John directed Zia to click next. She also had to sign several other forms, notices, and contracts, and she signed them all without reading any of them.

John took the signed tablet, tabbed a button, and sent it to the servers, recording her consent to the agreement and contracts.

"Good, now remove your clothing; I'm interested to see what you're hiding under there," John said. "You can place the items in the trashcan next to my desk. With luck, you will not need them anymore."

Zia was speechless. All this was just a ruse to get her pants! She stood up, ready to leave in a huff. "I'm not a whore" she angrily told John.

"Wait! Wait! I think there been a misunderstanding." John said hastily. John was under a lot of pressure to fill the vacant spot. Usually, this was handled far earlier in the recruitment process, but this detail was overlooked. "Please sit down, and I'll explain everything. If you still want to leave after, I will not stop you. We will even pay you generously for your time and trouble coming here today. "

Skeptically, Zia sat back down.

"OK, you must understand that shipping anything to Mars is very expensive, and anything that can be produced locally is preferable to shipping it. The Martian colony recycles its air and water and grows its food, and metals and other minerals are mined and refined to build the structures on Mars to create livable habitats. Mars only has a population of a few hundred thousand, and the industrial base is nowhere near large enough to produce everything the colony needs to grow and maintain itself. One day, it will be, but until that day, Mars is heavily reliant on electronics, specialized equipment, chemicals, drugs, and all sorts of things that they cannot yet produce locally. Follow me so far."

Zia was shaking her head, yes. John paused for a few seconds, then continued.

"So now we come to the problem with clothing. It's too expensive to ship the latest and greatest fashion trends to Mars, and cargo space is far better utilized for far more critical parts. Thus, shipping clothes to Mars is out of the question. The alternative is to produce clothing locally. If greenhouse space is set aside to grow, say, cotton, one acre would be needed to grow enough cotton to produce a full set of clothing for 200 people. To produce one set of clothing a year for a population of 100k, that would be 500 acres of green house space needed. That same amount of growing space could be used to feed 15,000 to 20,000 people. Then, there is the issue of picking, processing, and weaving cotton into material that can be turned into clothing. Not only will staff have to be assigned to those duties, but mechanical cotton Strippers, Spinning, weaving, and sewing machines are also needed. If you want the clothing to have any color, additional greenhouse space needs to be set aside for growing roots, berries, bark, leaves, wood, fungi, and lichens to make dye give the clothing color. Synthetic-produced dyes are not an option; not enough of those chemicals are produced locally yet. Techs must be assigned to service those machines and parts shipped from Earth for maintenance and repairs. And for what? So, you can wear clothing in an artificially controlled environment? Clothing was created to protect humans from a hostile environment, wild animals, harsh winter temperatures, protection from sunburns. It's really a product that is not needed anymore, especially on Mars. The decision to eliminate clothing was made early in the development of the Martian colonies. What little garments that are made or shipped to Mars are reserved for pressure suits for working outside on the Martian surface or Personal Protection Equipment for hazards jobs. Everyone on Mars wears nothing; it's clothing that never goes out of style, no greenhouse space or machinery necessary to make."

Taking another breath, John finished his pitch.

"If you want to emigrate to Mars, you will have to lose your clothing permanently. This is non-negotiable. Strip or get out of my office. I see that you are compensated for your time. "

John held his breath to see what she decided. While he didn't interview the second-choice candidate, he heard that she refused to bare it all. She tried to bargain for a bikini outfit, which was turned down. There are no exceptions; it's a take-or-leave-it policy. Usually, when they recruit people to go to Mars, they have a backup candidate, just in case. But in Lee's case, she was the perfect fit, intelligent, attractive, and submissive as well. She was the ideal candidate; they couldn't have asked for anyone more suitable. Not to mention, there was no one even close to her background who applied. Having a backup candidate was a waste of time; at least, someone thought so. They probably got demoted or fired after this fiasco. There was an empty seat on a shuttle; filling it with a female body was his order. If he could deliver, it would look great for him; perhaps even he would be offered a chance to emigrate to Mars in the future.

John's explanation made perfect sense to Zia. While logically it made sense, she hesitated; her roommate had never seen her nude. And now she was expected to bare it all to a man she only met less than an hour before. She didn't even walk around the house nude at home and was now expected to be naked in public. While she wasn't a virgin, she was so shy that not even the men she slept with were allowed to see the whole package in broad daylight; she insisted on turning off the lights before disrobing to have sex.

Impatient, John got up out of his chair, opened his door, and told her to choose.

Conflicted as Zia was, she knew this was a hardship she had to endure for a better future. Slowly and reluctantly, she began to remove her outer garments. She expected John to close the door, but he stood next to the open door.

When Zia was down to her underwear, Zia asked John if he would close the door.

"Sorry," John replied. In a few minutes, you will be walking out of this office and down the hall to your next step in the process. There is no point in closing it; privacy is not something you can enjoy here."

After a moment of hesitation, Zia finally removed her bra and panties; she wanted to hide her pussy and breasts with her arms and hands, but she knew John would say something. She stood there, turning red with embarrassment.

John looked her up and down; she was lovely. She would make a good breeder, assuming she was fertile that was. Zia had an athletic build, 38 double D breasts, but the jungle above and around her pussy would have to go. It looked as if Zia had never seen a razor blade in her life before; maybe she was allergic to them, John thought. He joked to himself.

"Nice," John said, "But that patch above your pussy will have to go. All of it, in fact, you have to have all of your body hair removed, except for the hair on your head, eyebrows, and eyelashes."

"Like a porn star?" Zia blurted. This was getting out of hand quickly; first nudity, now they want her pussy clean-shaven, like men who watch porn like!

"I'm afraid so," John continued. "Manufacturing razors doesn't take much effort and is well within Mars's abilities. But there is shaving cream, aftershave, and medication for ingrown hair treatments to worry about manufacturing. It's simpler if all body hair is removed before the trip to Mars." Besides, you will look sexy as hell clean-shaven, John thought.

"Please place your clothing in the trash can," John ordered her, "You can leave your purse and phone on my desk. They will be safe in my office."

Zia's processing

Zia did as instructed, pacing behind John as he briskly walked down the hall. Zia was trying to cover herself but did so discreetly so John wouldn't notice—at least, she hoped he wouldn't notice. Thankfully, this area of the building looked deserted, and they did not run into anyone else before they reached their destination. They entered another office, much larger than the last one. As they entered, she could see the door to an examination room beyond was opened. A man wearing a lab coat was seated at the desk.