The Ditches

Chapter Five

Rubbish overflows from a bin as something furry roots through remnants of discarded food and then darts between the feet of the mostly still crowd. I sweep my hair back into a bun, and there's a brief coolness on the back of my neck. The sun rages from the other side of the glass fronted interior. I shrug my jacket off and roll my sleeves up. Aeroplanes, smog-stained grey, sit on the asphalt outside, waiting patiently, unlike me.

Queues wind from every boarding tunnel. The airport is gridlocked. Flights are locked down due to a mysterious package that happened to be fuck all. I stare into the crowd; I don't stand out as much among Arrah's lower class citizens. Here anything from four foot to nine foot, from Arrah's peach coloured skin to entra grey is considered normal. Here I'm a drop of water in an overt ocean of diversity.

I queue too, like everyone else. Hara and I, side by side. Her shoulder pressed against mine. Oh, and that's not a sly bit of body contact on her part or mine. I'm breathing down a man's neck and behind, a bag presses into my back. Space is a commodity this terminal cannot afford.

"This is getting tiring," I say to Hara.

"I know," she sings back, probably exasperated by my steady stream of complaints. She's not the only one.

"What if we push our way to the front," my voice isn't quiet and the couple in front turn and shoot me an irritated glare, I smile back.

"Low profile," Hara hisses. "We're moving now," she says in a chirpier voice.

Moving is an overstatement. The queue shuffles forward agonisingly slow. Having my nails ripped from my flesh would be preferable to this. I'm like a coiled spring, energy wants to burst from me. I catch a glance of the overworked staff at the front of the line, fuck, I could work faster than them.

"At fucking last," I exhale loudly as I reach the front of the queue and Hara hands over our tickets.

The steward looks at the ticket and then me. "You're entra."

"Really?" I say, laying on the sarcasm. "What a revelation. My whole life is starting to make sense."

"Never seen an entra," he says, ignoring my sarcasm. "What brings you to Arrah?"

"Oh, I was exiled," I say with fake enthusiasm. "My commander decided I was too much of a fuck up to keep me around, so he dumped me on this shithole."

"Uh." He shakes his head. "Isn't that the worst? That's why I'm here processing tickets." He hands Hara the tickets. "Have a good flight."

We step over the threshold for the boarding tunnel and walk until we reach the door for the plane. Another wait, another queue as people take their designated seats. I peer over the heads before me and inside the plane, all I see are bodies. All I smell is sweat. All I hear is too much fucking chatter. Stop talking and sort your shit out, then maybe we can all get on the plane a little quicker.

Hara nudges me in the ribs. "Is what you told the steward true?"

"Hmmm?" I look down into Hara's worried eyes. "Yeah, I guess, give or take a few details."

We're waved through. The floor creaks as I step on board, that doesn't fill me with confidence. I squeeze past too many people and a variety of body parts press against me. Hara finds our row and inches past a set of muscular legs; their owner looks a little too happy by Hara's presence. Then he spots me and looks away as I sit between him and Hara.

"What are the few details?" Hara asks.

"Oh." I feel around me, aren't these things supposed to have seatbelts? "I aided someone who wanted to escape."