Chapter 1: The First Intergalactic Selfie
I have seen thousands of planets in my lifetime. I've travelled across quite a few galaxies, and been through uncountable solar systems. I've seen it all. Throughout the journey, I've met countless new species. Some have been hostile. Others were friendly. An awful lot of them though were just like I remember humanity. A wild mix of ambitious, superstitious, scientifically literate and courteous, with a penchant for overestimating their own intelligence, athletic ability and sense of humour.
Also, with only one or two exceptions, they're almost all prone to the same vices and proclivities as humanity. I've seen entire alien civilizations wracked by the ravages of war, or hollowed out from the trade of illicit drugs. I have seen alien traders wager their way home on a game of chance, and lose it all. I've seen alien cities as rich as most glorious commercial district in a human capital, and seen the dregs of poverty that the accumulation and hoarding of wealth brings. I've also seen how nearly every alien civilization is built upon the same premise as our own biological imperative -- the desire to procreate.
How did I learn about that? Well, in space, there was never much use for a single human. I quickly learned that we were never going to be the fastest out there. Or the smartest, the strongest, biggest or most clever. However, I did have one advantage over a lot of other species: a pretty high libido and an open mind. You see, I made my way out in the great beyond as a member of the world's (well, universe's I guess) oldest profession: a sex worker. Although, that didn't start out as my intention.
You see, I'm a pretty regular guy. My name is Benoit, but my friends call me Ben. I went to school in Canada, and wanting to do my part to fight climate change, I figured that I would go to school to learn how to repair wind turbines. It paid well, and it allowed me to travel all over the place. It also was great at keeping my pale, blonde ass in pretty good shape. I was only 173 centimetres tall, but I made up for it with broad shoulders and my blue eyes. I did pretty well with the ladies at the local French-language college when I was studying to work on turbines due to the blonde hair and blue eyes -- a rarity in the more French parts of the country.
After graduating, I got a job with a small-time outfit that paid well, and put me on a track to be a full-time journeyperson after only three years of apprenticing. It was a great gig, and it allowed me to see all sorts of places that I had never had the chance to explore, like the Gulf of Saint-Laurent, and the Gaspé coast. That wanderlust would inevitably be the reason that I am in space, rather than leading a normal life right now. I was working on a series of turbines a few hours North-East of Québec, in the Laurentian mountains.
The turbines sat right on the edge of the mountains facing into the Saint-Laurent River, making them several hundred meters taller than the water level. Naturally, the wind here is strong enough to give a great output, and generate a LOT of clean energy. It also means that the salt spray, combined with the high winds and rough winters create a lot of problems with the wind turbines.
I was working on routine maintenance with one of our experienced technicians, Pierre-Luc. He just happened to be working on another turbine five kilometres away at the time. After leaving me with the task of climbing up one of the turbines to replace a belt on the clutch at the very top of the turbine, he drove away in the truck. I did not complain. If we tackled two turbines at once, we completed the job faster. It was my last turbine of the day, and despite the frigid temperature, it was a clear evening and the stars and moon were as bright as anything.
Given that this far North it was dark around 4pm, this would give me the perfect opportunity to snap a picture of myself on top of the turbine looking out over the river. What can I say, I was a 20-year-old guy looking for some social media credibility? It was that decision that would take me on the journey of a lifetime.
As I climbed to the top of the turbine shaft, I stalled the blades and engaged the braking mechanism, and then replaced the clutch. It barely took 15 minutes. However, I knew that Pierre-Luc would want to get back into town and eat if I was done. Rather than engage the turbine again, I popped the hatch and hopped out onto the top of the turbine, after securing my fall protection. Deactivating the turbine clutch also deactivated the lights on the outside of the nacelle.
It presented me with the perfect opportunity to snap a photo of myself on a beautiful evening with a gorgeous shot of the moon. I had every intention of using this photo on a dating app the minute I was back in the truck on the way into town. Placing my feet at shoulder width, I opened my phone and set the camera settings to nighttime. I wanted to ensure that I captured the stars in the shot! Turning on the backwards facing camera, I started angling the camera towards my face and searching for the perfect shot before my fingers got too cold in the frigid temperatures.
I would later learn that the SIM card in the phone was now the only active radio frequency for kilometres, and that after de-activating the lights on the turbine itself, my phone was the only light source as well. Given that I was around 100 metres off the ground, and more than 400 metres up from the sea level of the river that the turbine overlooked; it made me a rather prominent target for a certain interstellar interloper, unbeknownst to me. I was just trying to take a decent selfie for a dating profile.
However, as I was angling the phone around trying my best to capture my face without centring on my bright orange helmet, while still capturing the moon and the stars, my phone kept trying to make a piece of the black sky the centre of the picture. I moved the camera around, trying to get the square to show up over my own face, but the camera kept trying to centre the picture on a single speck of light. As I moved the camera again, that speck of light began to grow. Thinking that I was either hallucinating, or that I was seeing an aircraft flying out over the Gulf destined for Europe, I angled the camera up to my face again, and my heart froze. That speck of light was now easily the size of the thumb on the camera lens, and was headed right towards the turbine. Worse, my camera was still centring on it and not me.
I shoved the phone into my pocket, and turned to head back towards the porthole that would let me back into the nacelle and down the turbine shaft. Looking over my shoulder, the light was hurtling towards me, wrapped in an eerie green glow, travelling at an absolutely outrageous speed. It was only another three steps for me to get to the porthole, but the light was on me before I could make it. As the green light enveloped me, my safety harness pulled tight against my chest before finally snapping. My helmet somehow came undone, and one of my boots was whisked clean off. I remember vaguely flying. Or falling.
I still am really not sure. However, as I was enveloped in green light, I remember being suspended as if weightless, and there being a mix of frigid cold air on my body, along with a warm, tropical breeze. As I screamed as I was wrested from the turbine into the light, the last thing I remember was seeing the lights of what would have been a nearby town -- as small as a speck on a map -- and being intensely worried about only having a single boot on. Then I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was laying in a pile of what felt like fur coats. I still had by puffy down coat on, but my toque and helmet were gone, along with my boots, my pants and one of my socks. Thankfully, I still had my boxer briefs (and a single sock) on. Even if they were rather small, it was better than winding up naked on a Coast Guard vessel on its way to Québec or Sept-Iles. Except Coast Guard ships didn't come with fur beds.
As I sat up and looked around, it very quickly dawned on me that I was not in Canada anymore. I was in a windowless room that had several very tall metallic cylinders connecting the floor to the ceiling. The whole room looked like it was dye cast out of recycled magnesium, it was so sterile. There was a door on one end, and a window on the other. The window was small -- perhaps only 30 centimetres in diameter -- however the light coming into the room from the small window was more than enough to illuminate the tiny space. Largely because I appeared to be looking at the moon... from very close. Too close. It meant that I was clearly not on Earth anymore.
And that is when the panic kicked in. Adrenaline is one Hell of a drug, and I immediately bolted for the door. I knew it was a door, even though I could not see a handle or button, and as I approached the metallic door, a slight hiss emerged and the door quickly disappeared into the floor below. I ran through the door, a nervous sweat breaking out all over my half-dressed body, and bolted down a long corridor. I was almost sprinting at this point when something walked out in front of my, hidden behind a colossal pile of linens and towels.