When Christian arrives at the Embarkation District, it is to a roiling sea of people coming and going. The district itself is on one of the outermost edges of Hyperion and a lot smaller than Christian expected. Most of Hyperion’s districts are the size of mini cities, a couple of blocks in either direction. But Embarkation is about the size of a block, maybe two if he’s being generous. And instead of high-rises, most of this district is made up of low-rise buildings that are, at most, five stories high.

The personal transport cruiser Christian hired drops him off at the Departure terminal—a long building spanning almost the entire breadth of the district—beyond which lies the multitude of hangars that house various transportation vessels, sorted by size and class. If Christian was going on a regular holiday, that would be his destination.

But he isn’t.

Instead, Christian finds himself moving in the opposite direction as he squeezes through the throngs of people trying to get through immigration. The buzz of chatter rings in his ears, and Christian has to swallow a hiss when someone rolls their carrier over his foot. Not that he can feel pain there, but it's the principle of it. 

Children scream, scanners beep, the scent of human mass mixes with the smell of fast food and cheap coffee to form something completely nauseating. He’s barely been here for five minutes, and he is already overwhelmed. This is why he doesn’t travel. Scratch that. This is why he never goes out. The thought of adding loud music to a mix like this sounds incredibly unappealing.

Christian readjusts his bag strap and presses on the communications device behind his ear. A small screen flickers to life before his right eye, a projection from the comms device onto his retina. It’s an hour until their scheduled departure. He needs to get to the Gateway level. Saying a silent apology to the people around him, he clutches his bag strap and forces his way through to the elevators he can just about make out at the end.

His movements are met with grunts and hisses and small yelps of pain, but Christian doesn’t have the time to feel too guilty. He’s on the clock, and he can’t afford to be late. If that means taking advantage of his cybernetics to move people aside, well, needs must.

Christian gets to the elevator without angering more than a handful of people and practically flings himself into the empty metal capsule the minute the doors slide open. Stars. Why are there so many people? It’s the middle of the work week. Shaking himself off, he presses the button for the lowest level and the elevator descends beneath the ground.

Inner Embarkation is the part of the district that lies within the hemisphere, the city beneath the surface. Not that this one is the size of a city. Typically, most Inner Cities look like inverted versions of the district above them, with buildings that are built downwards from the ground level. But Embarkation is different. The Inner levels here are completely closed off to the general public because they act as a private hangar space for diplomatic and military vessels, both Hyperion’s and any visiting dignitary. So instead of low-rise buildings descending from the ceiling, Inner Embarkation is a giant open space with multiple levels of hangar shelves carrying a wide variety of ships, which Christian notices as the elevator slips past them.

Christian’s destination is right at the bottom, hidden beneath the false bottom of the hemisphere. When the elevator doors slide open, he finds himself at a reception counter with scanners on either side. There are a few people in front of him, who he vaguely recognises from the briefing. They’re in the middle of getting their biometrics checked, so Christian slips into the spot behind them, taking note of their lack of baggage. Optimistic of them. Or unprepared. There are two beeps, and then they are waved through the scanners to the other side.

Moving into their spot, Christian gives the woman behind the counter a polite smile as he presents his wrist to be checked. The lady doesn’t return it as she hovers a device over his wrist until it chimes a bright green colour. Placing the machine down, she waves him towards the same set of scanners the people before him had gone through. 

It’s only then that she notices his bag, and she lets out the most self-suffering sigh Christian’s ever heard. Pinning Christian with a glare, she points at the other scanner. “Place your bag on the belt over there, then go through this one. You can collect your bag on the other side.”

Wow. She must really love her job.

Christian nods in response, which she ignores, and does as instructed. It is only after he collects his bag and goes through another set of doors that he realises almost everyone is there. The full platoon of soldiers is standing at attention at one end of the wide space, their bags at their feet as they watch the rest of the room. Meanwhile, the delegation proper gather in small groups on the opposite side, and in the middle, on a kind of dais, stands the Gateway.

Stairs from the ground lead up to where the Gateway stands, with its two pillars on either end of the platform. The pillars look like they’re simultaneously made from both metal and stone, dark grey twin columns with wiring coiled around them both in a way that feels more artful than practical. A giant groove running through the sides of the pillars that are facing each other, like it was made for a giant card to slot through. It is so unlike what Christian had been expecting. For some reason, Christian had assumed the Gateway would be round, or at least curved, but it looks like the two carved pillars are all that make it up. Interesting. He immediately activates his comms device and takes photos. Just in case.

Unsure of where to go, and unwilling to speak to the rest of the delegation, Christian has just about accepted that this is going to be a long, lonely trip when he spots his father standing off to the side with the Chief of the Defence Committee. The Secretary-General is not in sight, but Christian figures he has more pressing things to deal with than to see off a bunch of representatives. That’s exactly what his father is there for anyway: to oversee the minutiae of Alvaro’s day-to-day while he deals with the bigger governance decisions. Not that Christian knows anything about that. Politics really isn’t his thing.

Christian makes his way towards them, catching whispers of the other representative’s conversations as he passes. For a brief moment, he feels a pang in his chest that he doesn’t have that, but it disappears as soon as it comes. He’s here for work, not to socialise.

“You ready?” His father says when he gets close enough.

“As much as I can be.” He looks between his father and the Defence Chief. “Anything new come in since the briefing?”

His father shakes his head. “It’s been radio silence since the initial summons. I can already see you getting into your head about this, so try not to. Just stay alert. And be ready for anything. Although, there shouldn’t be any immediate danger to you.”

Christian shoots his father a look. “You know, I wasn’t even thinking about personal danger, so thank you for that.”

“You’ll be fine. Just think about the Gateway travel experience.”

Christian can’t help the way he stiffens at the thought. He actually hasn’t given it much thought, too busy trying to be prepared for everything else that’s about to happen.

“What’s it like?” His father has been on his fair share of work and diplomatic trips. Christian remembers all the times he’d wake up, bleary-eyed, to find his dad with a suitcase packed, about to leave the house. He also remembers begging to be brought along. He can’t remember when he stopped, though.

His father looks over at the Gateway. “Very strange, initially. Like you’re walking through a wall of carbonated water. You get used to it.”

Christian can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of him. “I don’t think I’m going to be going through it often enough to get used to it.”

His father is about to say something when a low buzzing starts to fill the air. The hairs on Christian’s neck start to stand, and he turns towards the direction he thinks the sound is coming from. Just in time to see sparks start to fly from the Gateway.

The buzzing gets louder, and Christian swears the floor beneath him starts to shake a little bit. He looks back at his father, but he’s is already making his way towards the front of the room. Taking a breath, Christian follows at a slower pace.

“You’ve already been briefed. While you’re there, you will take the lead of General Elle Iscan, our Chief of Defence.” He looks over at the platoon of soldiers. “I’m sure most of you are familiar with what disobeying her direct orders will lead to. And if you aren’t, you don’t want to find out. For the few of you who might not be used to diplomatic situations, better to err on the side of caution. We’re sorry that we didn’t have the time to prepare you better. When in doubt, remember: we cannot, under any circumstance, upset the Ameans. No matter how you feel about whatever happens there, remember that your actions reflect on Hyperion and Humanity as a whole. All the best.”

Christian feels a brief surge of pride for his father before the buzzing crescendos and sparks start to crackle, sending lines of bright blue electricity racing up and down the cables wrapped around the Gateway pillars. There are more loud whip cracks before the grooves along the inside of the pillars light up completely and shoot a solid wall of energy at each other, like sliding doors meeting in the middle. When they connect, the loudest crack Christian has ever heard, reverberates throughout the room. And maybe even a bit inside his own head. He has the strangest feeling of being shattered and presses a hand to his chest to make sure he hasn’t fractured into a million pieces.

Before him, the Gateway is unlike anything he has ever seen. Where the wall of energy had been before, there is now the image of an entirely different room. The image itself is slightly fuzzy, like looking through textured glass, but it is clear enough that Christian can tell that the room beyond seems to be gilded, almost entirely, in gold. Or something like it. He can’t make it out too clearly as the image ripples and glitches across the surface of the energy wall, but Christian is sure the room is on Amea. 

Christian is about to take a step forward when General Iscan steps up to the dais beside his father. “Soldiers!”

The small platoon of assembled soldiers snap to attention. There are around twenty of them, neatly arranged in four columns of five, weapons in hand and giant packs on their backs. At least the soldiers have packed and prepared for contingencies. The soldiers step up to the dais, moving as one unit even as General Iscan continues speaking. 

“Remember. You will go in first and flank the Gateway on the other side. Delegates, you will follow after them. I will bring up the rear. We now have ten minutes until the Gateway shuts. Soldiers, move out!”

Stars. This is it. 

Christian watches as the soldiers file through the Gateway, stepping through the wall of energy until they reappear as distorted figures on the other side. It’s like looking through the surface of a body of water, the figures of those who have gone through flickering like firelight in the wind. It’s fascinating, but not enough to distract Christian from the fact that very soon, that will be him.

Christian falls in line with the rest of the delegates, who have gathered behind the block of soldiers. He doesn’t recognise anyone, but it doesn’t matter; solidarity exists regardless of friendship in the face of the unknown. Mutual apprehension thrums between them all, a temporary intangible bond that grows stronger the closer they get to the gateway. 

They step onto the dais. The hum of the Gateway is so much louder here, blending in with the crackle of the current that sparks along the columns. The image of the other side is a lot clearer too, the distortion easing the closer he gets. 

Electricity buzzes against his skin, like multiple pinpricks of white heat that feel like both warning and invitation.

The surface flickers, ripples. 

Steeling himself, Christian takes a breath and steps through.

For a second, he feels nothing, then the heat gives way to burning cold and the strange sensation of liquid coating skin. A tingling starts along his cybernetics, like sparks of electricity arcing along the parts of him that are not human flesh. But the sensations end almost as soon as they begin, and Christian finds himself almost surprised that his clothes aren’t soaked and hanging from him, given how wet that whole experience had felt.

Christian takes in the chamber before him as he follows everyone down the steps of another dais. It is brighter than it had looked from the other side, swirls of gold detailing making up most of the accents in the large hall. From where he is, he counts rows of three pillars holding up a high domed ceiling. The whole room seems to be carved from the same deep bronze material—Christian can’t tell if it’s stone or metal, but it shines, reflecting the light of the Gateway. There are symbols etched onto the dome and the pillars that he can’t decipher but is probably the Amean language, if not something significant to them.

When Christian’s eyes land on the Amean Gateway, he is almost surprised to see an archway that is half the size of their own and flanked by giant, vaguely humanoid, bronze statues. They are taller than the archway and seem to be carved or created to look like they are holding it up. Light features flicker at the base of both the statues and the dais, as well as along the tops of the pillars. Their movement reminds Christian of flames, except there aren’t any, just faint golden glows that sit atop bowl-like structures.

This place feels more like a ceremonial hall than a transit terminal, which makes Christian wonder about Amean religion.  But he also can’t help but wonder whether all their arrival halls are like this, seeing as Gateway travel is the main source of transport for Ameans.

Before he can think too much about it, though, a voice breaks through his thoughts. “Welcome to Amea.”

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