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| 1972 Soviet Union 16 kopeks stamp. Mars 3 lander. (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
11: 15 am, June 1 2089, Abuja, Capital city of the
Union of West African States
Very little has changed in the spaceport. Not that I was
expecting much to have changed in the time that I had been away from home, but
I had not expected things to remain the same. Near the exit doors, just beyond
where the customs desk ended, the touts, not so camouflaged by well-sown but
low quality Aba-copy business suits, still lurked, hungry eyes searching for the
next victim.
Behind them, closer to the exit doors, loitered
taxi drivers, pick pockets, potters, and an assortment of humanity who make a
living from transit ports of any kind.
I felt the touts edging closer from the
corner of my eyes and marvelled at how much space they covered while appearing
not to move at all.
A lifted palm was all I needed to ward
off those that my stern mask did not discourage. Outside the port the same
approach served to scoot away the throng of taxi drivers and potters, who
wanted me to believe that my simple shoulder strapped hand luggage was an
encumbrance I needed to be rid of.
As I walked towards the extended storage
area to retrieve my car, I felt the need to look back at the shuttle that had
carried me back to earth. I didn’t look. I knew what I would see: a needle
shaped, rust coloured bulk that lacked the majesty of the real space going
ship. The rocket functions merely as an escape vehicle, one that takes you from
earth to orbit, where you would switch to a space going ship.
