Christian puts on his most apologetic expression and pulls his papers onto his personal holoscreen, which hovers over his left arm. One would think, with how often Christian visits The Headquarters, the scanners would have been programmed to allow his cybernetics to pass. And yet, here they are, once again waiting for the security guy to clear him for access.

His annoyance must have shown on his face because the security guy gives him a sheepish look after acknowledging his documents.

“Apologies, Doctor Son. It’s just protocol.”

The use of his name and title has him tamping down another sigh. Forcing himself to relax, he manages to make a lukewarm smile at the young man, whose smile has faltered somewhat.

“No worries at all. I understand,” Christian says, as politely as he can. “Have a good day.”

He turns to find Charles watching him disapprovingly, the doors sliding open with a hiss behind him as they are granted access. This time, they cross the threshold together, Christian ignoring when the alarm on the second scanner goes off, while Charles flinches again. For a military man, he really is quite jumpy.

They enter into a large, courtyard space that houses the Governance Tower—the hulking skyscraper they had seen on their way down. The courtyard itself is neatly designed, with sparse patches of greenery that is supposed to give it a more naturalistic, utopian look but only serves to highlight the sheer absence of true greenery within the space. Not that Christian knows what ‘true’ greenery is supposed to look like.

Their shoes click loudly along the tiled pathway that leads to the Tower. “You shouldn’t scare the staff, you know. He was just doing his job.”

Christian looks over at Charles but the old man isn’t looking at him. “I didn’t scare him.”

“I don’t think you realise how intimidating you can be.”

Without waiting for a reply, Charles marches on ahead without a single look back. Christian lets him, allowing himself a moment of annoyance at being admonished before brushing the feeling aside entirely. It isn’t a new experience, people not understanding him, especially when it comes to social interaction. It no longer bothers him.

Christian has only been to the Tower a handful of times and each time the swooping sensation in his stomach as the elevator rockets them up to the top does not get any less nauseating. It doesn’t help that the elevator is a clear capsule attached to a groove in the side of the building. Powered by strong electromagnets, the lift doesn’t take longer than ten seconds to get them to their floor. But that is ten seconds too long for Christian, who barely manages to resist rushing out the door the moment it opens. Ridiculous that they can have powerful noise dampeners across the entire dome but such weak inertial dampeners in a MagLift.

The corridor they get off at is all steel, glass and, strangely enough, greenery. The likes of which would not have been found anywhere else other than the Council Chambers. The floor is carpeted in a soft, deep green to mirror the alternating panels of green shrubbery that line the walkway. Christian would have thought the plants fake had the panels not been backlit by the faint glow of UV light and shrouded in a fine mist that seems to descend from the ceiling. Another show of opulence.

Charles ignores all the doors along the corridor in favour of the grand, wooden double doors at the far end. His pace has quickened slightly, which does nothing to soothe the general sense of unease that has settled beneath Christian’s ribs. He clenches his fists and falls into step beside Charles.

At the doors, Charles turns to Christian, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ll be leaving you here. I don’t have the clearance for whatever is about to happen in there, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s good. The Committee was in a frenzy, and the Council messenger even more so. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a government official look like that in my life, and that includes during the elections. Just a heads up.”

Christian looks at him and sees, for the first time, beyond the hardened visage of a soldier to the old, weathered soul beneath. He is reminded, in that moment, of his own father and that makes the ball of tension in his chest morph into an uncomfortable swirl of both guilt and longing. His father is probably behind that door too. If he and Charles had been any closer, Christian would have done something—squeezed his shoulder or pat him on the back, something—to ease the worry written across his face. But all he can offer is a nod. That seems to be enough because Charles returns it with one of his before turning on his heel, leaving Christian alone in the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, Christian waves his arm before the biosensor. The door unlocks with a loud thunk and a hiss as both the lock and the seal on the door disengages. Christian is hit immediately by the loud thrum of voices as he crosses the threshold. The Council Chamber is a large, round room of even more steel, glass and greenery with disconnected, curved tables set in the middle of it. Rows of seats ring the room, theatre style and beyond the highest row, the walls give way to glass, giving Christian what should have been a breath-taking view of the space above Hyperion. Right now, though, Christian’s attention is drawn to the mess of holoscreens hovering over both tables and the clusters of people gathered around each of them.

Christian winces as the sound of voices increases in volume the closer he gets to them, the overlapping conversations and general buzz of energy setting his teeth on edge. He knows Council meetings tend towards the chaotic most of the time but this isn’t a level of energy he’s seen before. There’s an almost manic air about this one, a hint of panic and mild hysteria colouring everyone’s words and actions.

At the opposite end of the room, he catches sight of his father standing with two other men, all of their attention on whatever has been pulled up on the holoscreen hovering before them. Giving the other groups of people a wide berth, Christian makes his way towards them. Along the way, he catches snippets of other conversations—a vague mention of travel preparations, an envoy, speculations about a greater emergency. Stars, he hopes it isn’t too terrible an emergency.

“Father,” Christian says in lieu of a proper greeting before realising just who his father is with. He starts, almost taking a step back from the man beside his father who has looked over at the sound of his voice. He’s around the same age as his father, which isn’t very old at all with MICRO’s anti-ageing technology. But the presence of a dark, almost full beard peppering the lower half of his face and slicked-back hair makes him seem a lot older than he should be. He looks so much like— Christian stops that train of thought in its tracks, shoving it away to dip his head in greeting. “Secretary-General.”

The Secretary-General lets out an undignified sound, which earns him a look of disapproval from Christian’s father that is pointedly ignored. “Christian, how many times must I tell you to call me Alvaro?”

Christian glances at his father, who is looking even more surly and shakes his head. “Every time we’re in an official setting, Sir.”

Secretary-General Alvaro lets out a loud, deep laugh and claps Christian’s father on the back, who shrugs it off but is looking less annoyed by the minute. “I think you’ve taught him a bit too well. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he says, when he notices the look Christian’s father is levelling at him. “I watched Christian grow up. He should be calling me Uncle!”

“Sir!”

“Al!”

Christian and his father probably have identical looks of shock on their faces, which only makes the Secretary-General even more amused. “He’s definitely your son alright. Relax. Everyone is tense enough as it is; no one is going to get fired for being overly familiar. At least not today.”

All at once, they sober up, that brief moment of casual light-heartedness dissipating as the weight of whatever is happening settles back onto their shoulders. Christian looks between the two of them. He sees his father often enough; in his capacity as Executive Assistant to the Secretary-General, he is often at these meetings in Alvaro’s stead. It is why he’d been so surprised to see Alvaro himself.

“What’s going on?”

Alvaro gestures for his father to explain. “We have been summoned by the Pantheon High Circle.”

Christian whirls towards him, eyes going wide. “The High Circle?! Not the regular Pantheon?”

His father shakes his head. “The High Circle have called for an Audience. All members of the Pantheon have been asked to attend.”

“Did they say why?”

“Not in so many words,” Alvaro says, jumping in. “All the message mentioned was an emergency meeting and that all Pantheon worlds were to send representatives to Amea within 20 Astral Hours.”

“20? That’s not a lot of time.” Christian takes a look around the room, at the myriad groups of people. “I’m assuming everyone is here to prepare the delegation who will be going, but why am I here?”

Before his father or Alvaro can answer, a third voice speaks up. “We’ll get to that. Now, if you don’t mind, I think we should be getting the meeting started.”

Christian startles for the second time in the span of five minutes because the person he had mistaken to be a man from across the room was in fact a woman, and the Chief of the Defence Committee. She’s an older woman, older even than his father and yet there are no signs of her age on her golden skin. Clad in her full military regalia with her blonde hair cropped short and buzzed along the sides, her gender is indistinguishable. He dips his head in greeting, hoping that his ears aren’t flaming too much. “Ma’am. My apologies, I didn’t—

There is a hint of amusement in her light blue eyes but she waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. We really do need to get this meeting started, Sir.”

She directs that last bit to Alvaro, who nods. Stepping forward, he addresses the room in a voice that could have carried to the entire floor if not for the sound dampeners. It is a voice that brooks no arguments and gives Christian severe flashbacks to his childhood. “Everyone, please be seated.”

There is a quiet flurry of action as people put away their holoscreens and scramble for seats along the tables. Christian takes a spot close to where they are standing while his father follows Alvaro to the centre of the room.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard to some extent the reason for this meeting.” Alvaro looks around at the people seated before him. In that moment, he is the head of Hyperion’s Council. All traces of the man from before, the man who used to sneak him cookies when his parents weren’t looking, are gone. There is a murmur of assent from the group of people around him in response to the Alvaro’s words. 

“The Pantheon High Circle has called for an emergency meeting with all Pantheon worlds and you will be Humanity’s representatives.”