UPWARDLY MOBILE.

August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 1:14PM, Saturday; March 12th, 2007)___________________________________________________________________

With all things, chaos always has a habit of descending upon these sky tubes of ours. Like the stories of old, people here found themselves waiting for the next available slot--sometimes lasting hours on end.

'Camping out'--as the old term implies--was a common sight in some of the busiest terminals lining the Western Gulf--adjoining the southern borders of the Barren Wastelands.

Terminal #323 was no exception. Most of the travelers I saw would be stuck here well after dark--with their needs attended to by the Praetorial Guardsmen stationed here. (Reiken included.)

But I was hoping (and praying) that I wasn't going to be amongst those unfortunate not to secure a berth before the day was out. I had no intention of staying the night here. The last time I had to go 'terminal surfing'--I was encroached upon by a couple of guys whom thought I would be easy prey.

I guess no one told them that I wasn't. (chuckling here)

Naturally, I took extra 'precautions' against such future encounters--but out here in the middle nowhere "squared"--as Calis calls it--one always had to keep his or her wits about them.

The desert, the surface...any place on this Earth that you can run your hands across--or set your eyes on...?

It was always smart never to underestimate your immediate surroundings.

Especially myself.

I stayed with the fascinating mural for a few more minutes before a chime sounded through the overhead comm system--announcing that a new berth was open.

So I went and stood in line--only to be set upon by many other eager travelers whom were hoping for the same thing I was: A way up and out of this burgeoning rat trap.

Unfortunately for me, I was soon to be in the middle of the line and not at the front--to be of any use to me.

Not only was I pissed about my misfortune, but I was also becoming quite claustrophobic--being so close to everyone present. The heat of the bodies, the rising tension, and this insatiable itch which I could not scratch.

I needed out and badly.

Looking for a way out, I spied what first thought was an unoccupied bench lining the wall--beneath the line of expanse windows jutting out; creating small alcoves with their little glass shelves.

But to my dismay, a family was already sitting there--waiting out the time as I was.

The father was passed out, the mother sitting there with her young son nestled soundly in her lap--and sleeping as well.

My unintended intrusion caused a disturbance in their quiet neck of the woods--which we both took in stride: I left her be, and she was free to go about her own business.

Myself? I was searching for another bench to take a snooze on. The day was tiring as it was. And I did not believe I was going to get another clear shot at my own personal berth.

So I went up the flight of stairs and into another branching corridor--thinking that there would be some empty benches (or even an acceleration couch would be bliss to my tired feet) for me to sleep.

But in my haste, I had gone to the wrong floor. I was at Terminal 130 and my card had been issued for #127.

And it left me wondering: Did these things go by numerological order?

I decided to find out by doing a bit of exploring. First, I checked the wall schematics and found that I was going in the wrong direction.

Scratch that off my list of "Things Gone Wrong Today"...

I needed to get up to the third floor. And the only way I was going to do that...? Was the hard way.

One thing about terminals was not only were they immense in size, but they sometimes ran themselves like a maze on the inside--making it impossible for a person such as myself to find my way around.

Each terminal on the planet was built differently--according to the area in question. Some were more rugged than others. While some were spartan and utilitarian in nature.

This knowledge forced me to turn myself around--going back the way I came--turning left instead of right. I then traversed another endless corridor filled with an equal number of people seen before in other terminal berths.

The plus side to all this running around was that I was finding so many empty benches were I could easily stake a personal claim to--without any complaints.

But the upcoming staircase escalator was a beckoning lover to myself and I needed to get to my next destination.

I bolted upwards as fast I could--hoping that the odds were with me that the number of people would be smaller than the current crowds within the terminal itself.

I kept my focus on the task at hand while running the numbers through my head: Once I got my berth, it would be an incredible 6 minutes up--the tube car powered by a varied gravitational field itself.

Passenger safety was of little concern. Each car was designed to operate in the vacuum of space and had its own self-contained life-support system.

Getting to the top, I found to my own delight that there were no people here and the berth ahead was empty!

What luck! I thought to myself--thinking that nothing could go wrong.

The placard above my head read 130--and I knew then that I had found my target. But immediately, suspicion set in.

If this was a tasteless joke...? I thought further, somebody here was going to find out just how irritated I could get!

But there was no one that I could see--just a lone Praetorial Guardsman manning the terminal console.

I couldn't tell what he was doing--not with the small bank of monitors and the large console in front of him--but the closer I got, the more revealing things became.

But I stopped within feet of him and my overall destination. But I decided tha nothing more could be had by not going through the motions; startling the man when I asked him where everyone was.

After he had recovered, he gave me the answer that I didn't want to hear: Nobody had arrived yet--with the time pointing past two itself.

I was in such despair myself over the news because I really needed to get up to Stratos City!

This in turn had a confusion effect on the guard--whom in turn asked me what my problem was.

I whined to him that I needed access to that berth and couldn't stomach the idea that I would have to wait much longer than usual--just so one could be made available to me.

The guard inquired if I needed access to one and I told him that I did. After checking his list to see if anyone had pre-registered this particular berth--the guard informed me that no one had made any appointments for use of the terminal-except for someone at 2:15PM.

In a blind hurry, I dug out my card and shoved it in the guard's face; prompting him to make it quick. I was willing to do almost anything to make sure that I could gain free access to the sky car. And I mean anything.

Was I desperate? Yes. Was I foolish? Yes.

Was I a born idiot? Naturally. But when you're faced with no other options in life, what else would you do in my place?

I wasn't about to let this opportunity escape me hand over foot.

But I was lucky this time: The guard accepted my card without protest and ran it through a portable reader.

He also let me know that he was waiting for someone else to show up--and he (like me)--was surprised at the end when he discovered that it was me he was waiting for!

Elation and relief flooded through me like an overpowering sand storm, but I was also puzzled as to how I could've registered for full access to the terminal--but soon discovered that it was Calis McGraff whom made all the arrangements for me.

After the reader ejected the card, the guard in question wished me success up at Stratos City--before getting up and leading me to the berthing compartment of the sky tube car itself.

Tapping a flat-paneled button, the guard motioned for me to go inside and get into the padded acceleration seat--which I did--but I soon found out that I was facing the wrong way!

"Turn around and strap yourself in." The man said patiently. I did--to my embarrassment; settling in without any further problems.

I managed to stuff my pack into an open cubicle stand next to me--which immediately rose and then meshed itself into the wall noiselessly.

I spied the mesh body webbing in my acceleration seat and began attaching them together with the guard's help.

Afterwards, he stepped out to do something at the terminal. Suddenly, the chair around me reconfigured itself around my body--to provide even more stability and comfort; meshing with my lines in the process. This would prevent any bodily injury while the car was in shunt mode.

But I felt like an expensive child's toy--encapsulated in some kind of foam material with little wiggle room.

The guard came back to make some final adjustments and closed the cubicle's door holding my pack.

Despite my noticeable anxiety, the guard assured me that everything would be fine. After some further conversation, the man left to completely seal me inside the lift car.

I was quaking with fear about what was going to happen. Never, had I had to endure this all by myself. I always had someone in the past accompanying me.

By myself...? I was scared.

But there was little I could do--as the car rocketed upwards at fantastic speeds.

Isis