The Train

 A damp purple sky died slowly into night. Rain fell over the space port rail junction. The wet rails shone like knives in the white artificial light.  

The leech-trains rolled in, bleeding passengers onto the platforms, sucking up those who waited. The flies of the city buzzed from their offices to the station and waited for their train home. Only when they got into their homes, and took off their work shoes, did they feel human again. 

Two men sat on a bench, as the buzzing frenzy thickened about them. The platforms were packed with shoals of sardines dressed in suits. The men sat next to each other, because those were the only seats available, and their train was delayed. 

The flies got onto their trains. The swarm trickled away, until only a few tired passengers were left. 

     The two men remained beside one another. The platform was empty. Neither one of them felt the need to move to a vacant bench. Their silence had been acknowledged. A strange unconscious companionship began to develop as they realised they were both waiting on the same train.

The first man was dressed in a camouflage jump suit. His hair stood to attention, straight, shaved, and auburn. He smelt of army issue carbolic soap, and army issue lemon deodorant. His eyes were half closed. The fatigue, he shrugged off during an exercise, had caught up with him. He was too tired to think, but he kept himself from sleeping, because he knew that once he slept, he would sleep through the rumble of his train. 

      The other man wore an orange gown with brown and red patterns. The patterns depicted waves and clouds. His hair had been woven into five thick plats. Each of the plats had been bound with red wool. His hands were smooth and strong. There were traces of flour in the cracks of his palms, and under his fingernails. He smelt of Off-World herbs and spice. His eyes were falling. 

He had walked across miles of countryside and through the city to get to the station. 

    They were both young. You could have switched their clothes and hairstyles, and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them. They could have been brothers, yet they hailed from different planets. 

The soldier  was from Earth; he had just finished his basic training, and was being shipped to Quad to fight the rebels. This was his first tour of duty, and his first time leaving Earth. Underneath the fatigue, a burning excitement kept him awake.

The other man was from Quad. He was the son of a successful baker, who emigrated to Earth. The baker’s son was waiting for his train home. He was going back to Quad. A similar fire burned inside.

The soldier  broke the silence.

      “It will be morning before it arrives.”

It was a statement to the silence, a vague prompt for a reply, without worrying if one came.  

      “It would be faster if we walked,” said the other man.

      The soldier  grinned. “I could have hitchhiked. I hope they don’t cancel it. I can’t miss it.”

       “Are you waiting on the Quad port link?”

       “Yeah, they’re shipping to Quad tomorrow night.”

The other man paused. 

        “Are you looking forward to it?”

      “It’s in my blood, my father fought and died on Quad. I am doing my duty. We go to protect the Quadish people from tyranny,” said the soldier, as his eyes wet with tears.

        “Not all Quadish people see it that way.” 

        The affront woke the soldier up.

        “How so?”

    “Sometimes the soldiers from Earth can’t tell rebel from civilian. Children are innocent are they not?”

       “I beg to differ. You’re obviously Quadish. You can’t see what’s really going on. If a Quadish child picks up a gun they are no longer innocent. We fight for you and you shoot us in the back.”

         “Did you ever ask yourself why the Quadish fight?”

         “Because they are brainwashed.”

      “The Quadish want to rule their planet, free from interference from Earth.”

         “You sound like a rebel.”

The Quadish man shut his mouth. The soldier sat in silence. He picked up his kit bag and left the bench. 

Minutes later a police officer in lightning white tactical gear came over to the Quadish man. 

          “Get up,” said the police officer. 

          “What have I done?”

          “You can’t be here.”

          “Why not?”

        “We’ve had complaints you have been spouting pro-rebel anti-Earth rhetoric. It’s an offence, under the new laws governing Quadish nationals. If we deem you to be a threat to security, we can take you in for questioning.”

           “Because I’m Quadish?”

The police officer didn’t answer. The delayed train came into the station. 

           “That’s my train.” 

           “You aren’t going anywhere.”

           “I need to get that train.”

           “It goes to the off-world Quad port.”

           “That’s why I need to get it.”

      “There’s no point. They won’t allow you off-world. All Quadish nationals have been grounded. I will give you one more chance to come quietly.”

The son of the Quadish baker lunged for the train. The officer tackled him to the ground. The soldier stepped aboard the train. He smiled at the Quadish man as the train rolled away.