Truth and Beauty 4-6

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The naval victualing wharf was nothing like the civilian ports Stephen was familiar with.  Instead of throngs of people lined up to buy tickets, go through security, or board flights; or otherwise waiting jadedly on uncomfortable benches for their flights to arrive (Stephen was to cheap to pay for entrance to the executive lounges, and indeed often too poor), the wharf was like a city, with hundreds of people moving in different directions, weaving through each other and intent on their own business, or stopping to chat with friends and colleagues long not seen.  Many of the people wore Navy blue, solid or with white, but plenty of Marines were present, too, coated in bright scarlet, and even the black civilian coats looked cheerful. The very atmosphere itself seemed charged with hope, new beginnings, and adventure.

“Move your fucking arse, will you, this ain’t no Cheapside fair,” bawled a voice at Stephen’s elbow, and turning quickly he found a girl of perhaps ten years old, lugging a heavy suitcase.

“Mind your luff,” cried Barus in return. “Mind your luff or I’ll knock you down!”

The girl opened her mouth to reply but said nothing, perhaps because Panzer appeared at that moment with Stephen’s dunnage, casually placing the trolley between the two children and asking, “where to, sir?”

“What? Oh,” said Barus.  “Terminal A,” he spun about to get his bearings.  “This way.”

Barus led them down the corridor, and determined as he was not to stare about him like he had just fallen off the turnip truck, Stephen’s initial impression expanded: the wharf was busy, certainly, but many of gates were dark and empty, and occasional side corridors were unlit.

They passed through the hub, jostled occasionally by the crowd, and entered Terminal A.  The gates were further apart here, with moving walkways stretching between them.  Coffee shops and other light commercial establishments lined the corridors.  An electric truck, pulling a train of heavily laden carts, glided past them; Stephen recognized its anti-collision music as the first movement of Locatelli’s C-major quartet.

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