It was a Saturday, I remember because Kragathan (the Keplerians' first 'weekend' day) is when the transgalactic wormhole visits Kepler 442-b. That's my home planet, whence I moved after that time the Galactic Senate offered Earth access to the wormhole. Disaster!
As I Sci-Fact teacher, I knew that galactic harmony meant selflessness and open-mindedness. Neither are the greatest of humanity's attributes, which we sadly proceeded to prove. But because of my background, the latterly-imposed persona scan set me aside, eventually winning me both the Senate's confidence and my galactic travel VISA.
Anywho, back to 'the' Saturday. I'd not long gained Keplerian citizenship and was still getting used to the babel fish multilingual translator. Desperate to test it on different species, I made planet Dermaat's Intergalactic Festival my first wormhole destination.
My babel fish translated the wormhole's neural menu, despatching me instantly to Dermaat's 'door'. No security checks; babel fish work two ways: if I'd masked ill intentions, I'd not have accessed the portal. Simple.
Once inside, an explosion of life awaited! I was both giant and midget, colourful and mundane, intelligent and stupid. But no-being cared; acceptance was the byword, here.
I wandered the exhibits, attractions, and stalls; the diversity of organic and artificial life left me speechless.
Whilst browsing, I learned that Emperor Llørssåan, a proud Trisauran, would lead the parade. By all accounts, his appearance was a rare occurrence.
His 'float' - a palace gliding on impossible clouds - slowly approached where I stood, watching. All along, cheering beings had hopped or been thrust onto the float. By my reckoning, not all had alighted.
As the float drew level, four batrachian guards pounced off, 'encouraging' me (with 6-foot barbed spears) to climb aboard. The crowd cheered and, assuming spokespersonship for humankind, I obliged.
Onboard, Emperor Llørssåan was surrounded by other Trisaurs: his daughters, I learned, all of whom he was marrying off. I wish I'd known.
The emperor looked me over, whilst one of his daughters, Zamagora, whispered to him. I was subsequently invited onto her podium, garnering more cheers!
Zamagora, despite being blue, brown and nobbly, was utterly enchanting. As her eyes hypnotised me, fuzz ensorcelled my brain. As it cleared, she raised her hand and, trancelike, I stretched to 'high five' it.
Upon contact, a forcefield momentarily surrounded us; the crowd, Emperor, and his daughters roared!
Buoyed by this reaction, I jumped off the podium, leaping to high five the next daughter along. The crowd hushed, shocked, making Zamagora's sudden weeping all the more voluble.
According to my babel fish, now audible over the silence, I'd just married Zamagora, and, having subsequently proposed to her sister, had immediately divorced her.
The emperor was livid, the batrachian guard even moreso. A fine representative of human chivalry I proved to be.
Somehow, I made it back to the wormhole unscathed and affected safe passage to Kepler 442-b.
Tomorrow, it's Kragathan again. Am I tempted to make reparation on Dermaat? No. I don't go there on a Saturday.
© Jason Darrell