Pass-around Boyfriend

Author's note: I tried to maintain some accuracy regarding the science in this story. If I got something wrong, I ask that you please kindly correct the mistake by leaving a comment. Thank you.

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At the turn of the 22nd century, humanity began to test the viability of terraforming and colonizing alien plants. Exo-terra colonialism is at the center of the United Nations' (now the highest authority on planet Earth) plan to alleviate Earth's overpopulation. But the "Outer Reaches Expansion" program is not without its detractors. Some have pointed out that the push to terraform Europa so swiftly after the colonization of Titan led to an imbalanced economy on both planets, proving that the ORE had not developed a complete model of interstellar settling. Others demand that Earth's health and prosperity come first, and deride ORE for the use of the word "Expansion", as it harkens to the atrocities of westward expansion and the killing of native peoples in the united. Others celebrated the endeavor, especially when humanity finally discovered it was not alone. To most, however, ORE was nothing but a curiosity and an irregular headline. So it was to one washed up, burned out influencer days away from eviction.

Arthur Alexander Romano sat on his bare mattress, staring down at his email inbox and waiting. He was desperate. It had been over a year since he started applying for minimum wage jobs, and in that time he had only one interview, which he bombed miserably. Arty used to be a successful freelance digital artist. That's what he said on his taxes, at least. He was a popular influencer with a slew of patrons and an inbox crammed with commissions. Then, with just a handful of words, his life turned to dust. He was accused of something he never did by an influencer notorious for generating controversy, and even after Arty was proven innocent, no one drifted back to him. He spiraled into depression, shutting himself off from the world and losing everything he had left. By the time he was functional again, the world had moved on. He first tried to find work as a professional artist, but without a degree, he couldn't get the time of day. He desperately struggled to keep above water, until he found himself in a dingy, filthy apartment with less than a week left to pay the $10,000 he owed in loan payments. Not to mention all the rent he had due. He closed his laptop, laid on his mattress, and cried.

An unknown amount of time later, there was a knock at the door. Arty checked the doorbell camera and saw two men in navy blue uniforms. One had buzz-cut black hair with sharp edges, and the other looked like he might be bald under his blue barrette.

"The army?" Arty thought as he stood.

When he opened the door, he was reminded that door cams often distorted the size and proportions of a person. It was clear that neither of them had ever skipped a day of boot camp. Could you skip boot camp? What was it even like? Whatever it was, it built muscle. Like college-football-star-desperate-to-go-pro kinds of muscle. Did they use steroids in the army?

Arty wasted way too much time asking himself these pointless questions, and the prolonged silence had grown awkward as all three men stood there, motionless.

"Uh, excuse me?" The bald one asked.

"Huh? Oh, sorry," Arty mumbled, "Sorry, I haven't really-...um, hi. Can I help you?"

The uniformed officers eyed each other, then the buzz cut soldier pulled out his phone and held the screen up to Arty's face.

The soldier asked, "Is this you?"

Thoughts pinballed in Arty's head as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He knew he was looking at a picture of himself, but it wasn't just a picture. He recognized the layout of the app they were using; it was a hookup app Arty tried, but failed, to use. He still had a profile on there, and of course he would be reminded of that, because he was looking directly at it. These two army officers had pulled up Arty's dating profile on their phone, and were now showing it to him.

"I..." Arty's mouth felt dry, "Is...is he wanted or something?"

Buzz cut tucked the phone away and said, "We need you to come with us."

"What? No! No, I didn't do anything!"

"We know you haven't. We just want to talk," Buzz cut pointed to the stack of bills piled on the floor, "Unless you're too busy with those."

"You're looking for a job, right?" The bald one asked.

"I- I guess? I didn't sign up for the army, though. Wait, are you guys recruiters?"

"No, not really."

The bald soldier reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper folded into a square. He unfolded it, looked over it very quickly, and handed it to Arty.

"You applied for the ORE civilian support program. You agreed to come in for one interview when we requested it and you were available. We are requesting it, and it looks like you're available. We could always take this to court if you want to dispute the terms."

"Court?! I don't have money to go to court! I don't have enough for groceries..."

The soldier shrugged but said nothing. Arty put every remaining brain cell he had to the task of weaseling, only to finally accept there was no way out of it. As he was escorted to the military suv, he hoped it would just be a quick, painless interview. Then he could go home.

Arty never liked empty conference rooms. He'd been in a handful over his relatively short life. He didn't like how lifeless they were. How uncomfortable and unfocused they felt. Everything was subtly guiding his eyes to the head of the table where an empty smart board waited to be turned on. It felt like sitting in an empty church, only more corporate.

Just as he decided his chair was too uncomfortable to sit on, a woman in a black power suit walked through the shuttered window door and sat across from him. Arty watched in suspense as she lifted a messenger bag onto the table and pulled out a sleek, low profile tablet. She removed the bag, set the tablet to the side, folded her hands on the table, and smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Romano," She said in greeting, "My name is Director Pham. I am the one in charge of the current Outer Reach mission. I'm glad you could join us."

Arty bit down a remark about having no option but to join her, and said instead, "I just want to make it clear; I'm not joining the army. You can't force me to do that. This isn't the Vietnam war."

"I believe you overlooked the description of this position when you applied. Is that right?" Pham said, undisturbed in every way.

She tapped her tablet a few times, then showed it to Arty. On there was the full job description Arty skipped over when he applied. In legal jargon, it essentially said "We're looking for civilians wanting to help with the Outer Reach Expansion Project. No experience required."

Arty raised his hands in a defensive gesture, "To be fair; I applied to, like, thirty jobs that day. I wasn't being picky."

"We guessed as much," Pham said, turning the tablet back to her, "Maybe this was a happy accident, because we are definitely interested in hiring you."

Arty shuffled in his seat, "Hire me for what?"

Pham's face lost its fake warmth. With that warmth gone, there was simply nothing there. Not hot or cold, just nothing.

"Did you know that, during the twenty-first century, Antarctica had one of the highest murder rates in the world? Of course the data was skewed by the lack of people, but those who did live there were nearly three times as likely to commit violent crime than the rest of the world. This is due to the extreme isolation and lack of scenery. Those two factors have such a strong effect on the human psyche that part of the brain visibly shrinks when it is deprived for too long. Officially, it's known as 'Isolation Sickness', but you might know it asCabin Fever."

Pham's way of speaking was oppressive. Every word was beaten into Arty's brain, and he was helpless to fight back.

"We eventually found a cure to isolation sickness: Intimacy."

This shook Arty out of his stupor. Now he wasn't being forced to listen; he was genuinely curious to see where this went and what it had to do with him.

"Since this discovery, all research projects involving isolation have been designed to include some form of intimate social interaction on a regular basis."

"You mean like... sex?"

"Preferably, no," Pham said, "Sex escalates a person's emotional state, which is what we're trying to avoid. Mostly, we just make sure the researchers can contact their families whenever possible. That seems to work just fine, but with the ORE, regular contact isn't possible. When considering the issue of facilitating intimacy, we decided that having a crew of homosexual men would increase the likelihood that relationships would naturally form over time."

"Wait wait wait. You guys turned a space mission into a gay party cruise? And why men? Why not women?"

"On that front, our hands were tied. You see, there are certain interested parties that frown upon women living unchaperoned."

"Huh. But they're fine with gay men?"

"Mr. Romano, I hope you understand that the sexuality of the men currently a part of the ORE is strictly confidential, as is any and all information I share with you today. What you hear stays in this room."

"You're threatening me?"

"Advisingis our preferred terminology, but I will be blunt with you, mister Romano; we know that, due to your scandal, anything you'd say would be taken as a desperate attempt to regain fame. However, the confidential nature of our work, and by extension our employees, would mean that the fallout of that scandal will not follow you here. Speaking of which, let's discuss your employment."

She tapped her tablet and spun it to Arty again. On it was a contract with an empty signature line and a digital stamp that looked intimidatingly official.

"We are offering a yearly salary of two-hundred thousand dollars. Additionally, we will give you an advance of thirty thousand dollars when you sign. As a government employee, you would have access to full package health coverage, including dental and mental health, and a two bedroom apartment in a federal housing complex. Also you get to skip the TSA line, plus a few other things."

Arty stared at the contract as if it was made of gold.

"...and what would I be doing?"

"Dating."

Arty blinked, "D-dating?"

"There has been some turbulence in the ORE colony. Recently, it resulted in broken bones. An accident, reportedly, but not one without cause. We need someone to go to the colony and remedy the problem before broken bones turn to slit throats."

"You want me to go and have sex with a bunch of guys on an alien planet?"

"Of course not. As I said before, sex causes too much tension. No, we're asking you to be a romantic partner to the five colonists. Or pretend to be one, at least. And don't worry about seducing them one at a time. They are fully aware of the plan, and agreed to take turns with you."

Arty shivered, "Can you not say it like that? Listen, I'm not a prostitute. I don't think I can help you."

"Mister Romano, out of all the candidates, you were the most charismatic, attractive, and heartfelt. Your vlogs helped with our research greatly, by the way. In addition, we are in need of someone with your artistic talents," she reached down into her messenger bag and began rooting around, "The colony does have an experienced architect. However, he is rather technical."

Pham produced a photocopy of a drawing and set it on the table. On it was the skeleton of some sort of building on a hill. While the building looked impressive, it resembled a blueprint more than a work of art. There was an attempt to draw foliage and a blue sky around the building, but the artist clearly had little interest in depicting nature. The lines were straight and sharp, and the curves were uniform. It looked like something out of a math problem.

Pham gestured to the photo, "We want to present the public with an image of the future. This isn't exactly a ringing endorsement. That is why we need a landscape artist, like you. Your talent with pencil and paper is remarkable. It's a dying art, you know."

Arty's eyes flicked back to the contract. One signature, and his world would change forever.

"Do you remember the last thing you posted before you deleted your social medi accounts?" Pham said, sliding a stylus towards him, "'I wish I wasn't here'. Now, you have your chance. Two years, that's all we're asking. Two years on a different planet, away from everything, and all your problems will be wiped clean while you're gone. I guarantee you'll be coming back to a life worth living."

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Over the next week and a half, Arty was taken through the bare bones of space travel. Not flying a spaceship; the ship would fly itself. His training was more an instruction on how to be a well behaved piece of luggage. He was given a profile on each of the other colonists, but not much more than that. Nothing about the planet or the colony, for reasons of "security". He wished all these government guys would make up their mind whether or not they could trust him. The flight would last three days and the capsule would be welded shut. This was due to the need to pass through a "fourth-cut".

Over a decade ago, scientists finally discovered a way to send three-dimensional objects through fourth-dimensional space using a dimensional intersection, or a "Forth-cut". They discovered that smooth, geometric shapes travel more easily through whatever made up the fourth dimension, so it was of high priority that the ships were as simple and uniform as humanly possible. Doors were good, but welds worked better.

Arty kept telling himself that nothing about the ship was actually sketchy, no matter how sketchy it seemed, throughout every stage of the flight. The ship's trajectory would take him directly to the colony, but after the fourth-cut, he'd lose all contact with earth. He wouldn't even be able to see the sun. His sun, at least. The launch was the most challenging part. The g-forces nearly made him pass out, but he hung on. The two days after the launch he spent drifting around with nothing to do. He couldn't bring his laptop or any games. Of the few things he was told about the colony, one was that, due to unforeseen complications, they couldn't produce a surplus of electricity, so all power was prioritized. That meant no non-essential electronics. Instead, he had a book of logic puzzles. He hated that book. He had nearly finished it when a countdown to the fourth-cut began. It was like a ticking bomb. He strapped himself back into his tiny seat, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited. His heart thundered in his chest as the time grew closer, but when it finally came, he felt nothing. There was absolutely no recognizable difference between how he felt in three-dimensions versus how he felt in four. The only thing he attributed to the shift was his growing headache and stomach pain, but that might have been due to the stress he was feeling as the last few hours before descent were approaching.

No amount of turbulence-filled flights could have prepared him for the violence of breaking through the atmosphere. It was almost comical how much the capsule shook as it fell. A sharp tug nearly snapped him in two, then the turbulence slowly faded. The capsule was quiet and calm, but Arty kept his eyes screwed shut. He barely noticed the thud when it came. Everything went still, and all Arty could feel was his harness and the return of familiar gravity. Then he heard a buzzing noise. No, a hissing noise. It was coming from outside. Were they...? Arty freed himself from his straps and rushed to a face mask on the wall. He was told to start wearing it a few minutes before he broke through the atmosphere, but he'd gotten so scared he forgot to grab it on his way to his chair. A red glow shone through the wall marked "Stay Back". He scrambled to fit the mask tightly around his face. As soon as the last strap was tightened, the door fell out with a thunk. Arty waited, half splayed out on the floor, watching the shaft of sunlight cut into the now darkened ship.

He saw a boot, then a knee, and finally a man. He had sandy blonde hair, sunburned skin, freckles, tinted goggles, and a uniform; a forest green outdoor jacket and fatigue pants, both emblazoned with the ORE insignia. He pulled the goggles down from his face and looked around inside, saw Arty, then smiled.

"Hello," he said, in a pleasant English accent, "You must be our newest neighbor."

"Why... Why aren't you wearing a mask?"

The man cocked his head, "Why aren't I... oh, right. Sorry, it's been so long since any of us needed one of those. The air is breathable, just not for you. Not yet, at least."

Without further explanation, the sandy haired man dawned his goggles again and began cutting the metal brackets holding down the supply crates. He used something that looked like a cross between a gun and a welding torch, and the spark it produced left spots in Arty's eyes.

"You're, uh," Arty scrolled through the profiles in his head, "You're doctor Randolph Ripply, right? From the UK?"

"You got it," Ripply replied, not turning around.

Arty waited, but when it was clear that social etiquette hadn't thrived on this planet, he said, "My name is Arthur Romano, but just call me Arty. It's nice to meet you."

Ripply sagged, "Introductions. Damn. I can't believe I forgot basic manners," he turned and smiled apologetically, "I'm so very sorry. We had planned to introduce ourselves all at once when you arrived at base. I guess we forgot that you aren't another box of supplies."

"That's ok," Arty said, "I'm guessing they didn't tell you much about me?"

"Communications between us and earth are fairly primitive, relatively speaking. Data doesn't travel reliably through the fourth dimension, so we are forced to send relays to one another. Think of it as sending letters through the mail, only the letters are space probes and the mail is outer space. It takes three days to get from here to there, so in travel time alone, there's a three day delay between us. That's a lot to say we had exactly two messages about you. One asking if we liked the idea, and another saying we should expect you on the next flight in."

"I guess we're even, because they told me nothing about the planet. Theyreallywanted to keep it a secret."

Ripply stacked up two crates and lifted them with ease.

"Didn't they?" He said, "Well, I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have, but would you mind helping me get these boxes into the boot while we chat?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

Carefully, Arty walked to the nearest crate and lifted it. Barely. It must have been packed with bricks because it weighed a ton.

Ripply saw him struggling and frowned, "Right, that probably isn't easy for you. Here, let me."

Ripply lifted the box from Arty's arms like it was made of foam, then stacked another on top of it and carried it outside.

"You can come wait in the car, if you'd like," Ripply called back.

Arty didn't. Arty wanted to stay in the ship and wait until it magically flew back home, or he somehow woke up from whatever nightmare he was trapped in and found himself back in his old apartment doing livestreams and laughing at his chat as they typed out the most unhinged things imaginable. He wanted all the things, good and bad, he had taken for granted, and he wanted to go back to thinking everything would just work out for him. He couldn't, and he knew that. He'd have to step through that blinding shaft of light cutting through the air and invading the ship. There was no other choice.

The sunlight burned his eyes when he stepped into the lukewarm air. He could feel the warm beams on his skin even though he couldn't see yet. He waited, and eventually his eyes stopped burning, but they weren't done adjusting. They couldn't be. The world around him was like a parody of earth. The shuttle rested at the top of an empty hill, giving him a clear view of trees the size of skyscrapers in the near distant. Their pine needles must've been the size of javelins and twice as sharp. In place of grass, the ground was covered in a green plant that felt like a shag carpet under his shoes. It reminded him of moss, but it grew sporadic stocks that rose up to his knee. Vines weaved their way around the moss stalks, strangling them like snakes, and sprouting the most vibrant magenta flowers he had ever seen. Far off into the distance was a sheer cliff face topped with a plateau. The cliff was covered in something veiny and green. Was it just rock or...?