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“Waev will look after you,” I said.
I stepped from the shuttlecraft and ran toward the main entrance. Traveling by foot was a whole lot faster than by shuttlecraft when you were trapped in traffic.
“Hey! Cleb!”
I’d barely run half a dozen steps when I heard the voice. I turned to find Cleb running up behind me. Waev shrugged his shoulders in a way that suggested the meaning: “What do you expect me to do?”
Cleb drew to a stop a few yards from me.
“She’s my friend too,” he said.
I couldn’t stay mad at him. He was a little boy who missed his friend and teacher. I extended my hand. He took it, and we ran for the entrance.
It was busy—it always was. I was not a frequent flyer. I only ever visited mining operations when it was necessary. Most often when there was a serious issue to take care of.
I ran to the robot spaceport assistant, who informed me the departures area was on the other side of the spaceport.
We ran through the terminal. I glanced at the giant clock on the wall. We had fifteen minutes before the ship would take off. We had no bags to check-in and ran directly to security. Even with my priority tickets, we couldn’t skip it.
I waved the tickets at the officer on duty.
“Our ship is boarding in fifteen minutes,” I said. “Can we get through security quickly, please?”
The officer appeared to be the wrong person to ask to move quickly. He seemed to move in slow motion. He took the tickets, checked them, and then extended his hand toward us.
“Passports,” he said lazily.
I dug our passports out of my pocket and handed them over. The officer slid my passport open and compared my face to my photo. Then he did the same with Cleb’s.
I wanted to slap him, shove him, force him to move faster.
“You’ll never make it in time,” he said.
We would if you moved your fat ass!
“Can we at least try?” I said. “Can you let us cut in ahead of another line so we can make our flight?”
He pursed his lips and sighed deeply as if it was impossible.
“Cutting in isn’t allowed, sir,” he said. “But I might be able to open up a new line for you.”
“Yes!” I said. “That would be great!”
“Please follow me,” he said.
He waddled along at the breakneck speed of half a mile an hour. We had our shoes off and pockets emptied within five seconds, and he was still looking for spare trays.
I could have throttled him.
Finally, we got through the security gate.
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing Cleb and running down the long arm of duty-free stores.
We reached the right gate and bent over double, panting with exertion. We stumbled toward the ticket desk and I slapped my communicator on the tabletop.
“We made it!” I said.
The stewardess was busy packing away the desk.
