The humidity kissed Amita’s skin while the sun burned it.
Radiation poisoning wasn’t something she had on her to do list at the worst of times, much less whilst outside a theatre. Not that she would be enjoying the show – Amita was staffing the theatre, not waiting to get in. That was reserved for the military’s upper crust chattering in front of her, not for a laundress like herself. Or like the fellow at her side.
Just let me get through this day intact, please God it would be pathetic to go out now, she thought.
It apparently didn’t matter that they were the ones who had travelled with the armies, constantly cooking and cleaning and watching the carnage unfold as the state claimed a new planet in a new solar system, destroying the private armies hired up by private space enterprises. Someone still needed to take up an extra shift, flank the doors to the theatre and stop any assassins or rowdy teens. Mostly though, the early attendees were content to mill about under the blue sun peeking through brown clouds. Sun Shield-clips, extending a protective field around them like a gossamer cocoon, glittered in their hair or next to their medals. Amita would literally exchange all of her clothes for one – clothing only slowed the radiation poisoning. Those who hadn’t been smart about their time outdoors had proved that fact too many times.
Amita spared a glance down the theatre front. It was surprisingly well-built for something they made from scratch in a war zone. Finding coloured paints had been near impossible. Yet, there it stood, and there she stood in front of it like a grey wainscotting, amongst the rest of the army’s work force. All waiting and watching.
Someone a few doors over slouched and got a vicious upbraiding. The usual rhetoric: ‘Show some respect, they’ve fought for you!’ Never mind that fighting would have been much worse without people to clean their sweaty uniforms.
Amita grew tired of watching brown clouds pass by, waiting for an interesting thought to spiral into her head.
‘My name is Amita Anderson. What’s yours?’ she asked the fellow next to her, careful not to break her posture.
‘Darren van Wieran,’ they replied. ‘Nice to meet you, Amita. Wish the weather was pleasanter, but -’ Amita could see them jerking their head towards the sun out of the corner of her eye ‘- I suppose that’s what you get in an atmosphere that’s breathable but not protected.’
Amita resisted the urge to wipe the sweat off her brow. ‘And liquidy. Planet is ninety-five percent water according to the recent mapping, with an especially damp climate here in the north.’
Darren snorted. ‘Don’t remind me. With all the sweat I’ve had an extra layer on me since we got here.’
Amita shuddered, remembering how sometimes the sweat wouldn’t wash out. ‘It’s revolting. Can’t wait to get home and take a dip in the ocean.’
‘Oh, are you near the Atlantic or –’
The graceful hum of the lights flashing ‘OPEN’ above their heads brought Amita away from the small talk. She greeted the attendees with a constant stream of ‘hello, howareyou, tickets?’ and a smile.
Amita knew she shouldn’t complain. The worst thing to look at here were some choice hairdos, not the carnage of the battlefield. Still, the press of bodies, though living and unharmed, was disturbingly familiar.
The mass of eager people decreased until it became a trickle.
‘Can’t believe how many people want to see this show,’ she grumbled to Darren.
‘Yeah,’ they said, pausing to check a ticket. ‘They’re really whipping up the celebratory stuff. A play about the final battle? It was less than a month ago! And who did they interview for it?’
‘I hear that,’ Amita said, flinching as a raindrop hit her skin. ‘I don’t mind a play, but I’ll not be sad to be stuck out here missing this one if you – THE HELL.’
Amita flinched involuntarily as thick, near boiling rain soaked through her uniform. Unfortunately, wriggling out of her uniform wouldn’t make it better. Some attendees increased the setting on their Sun Shields, turning on more and clipping them to their collars.
Darren laughed beside her. It was not a cautious laugh, but a full and broad one. Some attendees turned to stare.
She could hear the grin in Darren’s voice as they said: ‘Is it bad that I’m used to this?’
‘You mean the neglect we’re working under, or the sun?’ Amita replied.
‘Eh, well, there’s probably not enough of those Sun Shields to go around. You know they were short from the beginning.’
Amita started. ‘You’ve been on this planet that long?’ And you’re still here?
Darren seemed to hear the unspoken question. ‘Yeah, I’ve managed somehow. I mean, for what it’s worth we’ve all made it this far. A little more sun won’t kill us.’
Amita frowned. ‘Just ‘cause we were put into a tough situation and didn’t die doesn’t mean we’re tough. There’s always a final straw.’
‘Well, they think we’re tough enough. So there’s nothing we can do except hope for a promotion or a windfall.’
The idea of waiting for someone to give her a pat on the back or pity her enough to give her a Sun Shield as they went inside lit a fire in Amita’s chest. The day had been long enough already and she had no patience for acquiescing arguments.
‘Kissass,’ she was saying, as a rebuttal, as a joke, before she even knew the word had been in her mouth.
Darren was silent.
The fire in her chest immediately died and fell apart into heavy ash.
Amita’s skin prickled as she heard Darren open their mouth. An attendee rushed to them, breathless and babbling about how they had just beat the big crowd coming in, all those people coming in late, almost trampled, can you believe it?
The crush of people hoping to get in before the play started reduced Amita’s rapport with the crowd of attendees to ‘Yep. All good. To your left.’
Yet, the tension didn’t leave Amita’s back. It was funny, she always had better posture when her internal composure was worse. At least she didn’t have to work to avoid Darren’s gaze. Were they going to say anything? Was there anything to be said? Wh-
Movement interrupted Amita’s thoughts. She turned and grasped the shoulder of the man who’d tried to breeze past her.
‘Hellohowareyouticketplease?’
The man burst out an: ‘Are you kidding me?’. Amita blinked internally.
Amita slowly manoeuvred him out of the doorway as he ranted, opening her mouth occasionally, trying to get a word in to explain that if he would just please pull out the tickets –
‘I’m a colonel you know!’ he said, throttling his shirtfront to make the medals jingle.
‘And I’m the laundress Amita Anderson.’ This was not the explanation she had meant to say. She must’ve beaten some sort of a record for running her mouth today.
Amita was sure she saw a supernova go off behind his eyes. It would explain why he took a swing at her.
The first one hit her across the jaw. Her teeth throbbed. She fumbled her way into a vaguely defensive stance – only something she had learned for emergencies.
Two arms wrapped around the man’s and yanked them behind his back before shoving him through the doorway. The man tried to turn around and shout ‘This isn’t over!’, but only got one word in before the arms, Darren’s arms, gave him an extra shove into the hands of security.
‘They’ll probably just soothe his pride,’ they said, watching the colonel get escorted away. Darren turned and tilted their head. ‘I can see the whites of your eyes even through those tinted lenses.’ Darren held out their gloved hand. ‘Here.’
Amita tilted her head down and her eyes soon lay upon the two gleaming pieces of metal in Darren’s grey-gloved hand. Sun Shields.
‘You do what you can, you know?’ Darren said, taking up one clip for the close-fitting collar of their uniform. A promotion or a windfall indeed – sometimes people made their own luck. More rarely, they shared it with others.
‘Sorry for earlier,’ Amita said. Darren nodded in acceptance. She reached out for the remaining clip.
‘Oh, too slow,’ Darren giggled, snatching their hand back like a teasing uncle tempting a kid with a high-five. They flicked the device to Amita.
She managed to catch it between her hands with a clap. The shield glimmered around Darren and they took off their mask, revealing their smile beneath. Amita returned the smile as she clicked on the Sun Shield and relief kissed her skin. She would weather another day on this forsaken planet after all. They all could.
