2.10.2

Through the Gateway

Due to traffic en route to Morda, the Aldebaran waited in line for nearly two hours to dock at the gateway station. A time, Ricks told Astrid, that ranked pretty high against comparable stations. The pilot testified to how hard the station worked to pride themselves on that schedule.

On approach, Astrid observed a hive of ships. With her limited experience, easier more than she’d seen in one place, other than on their passing to Earth. Their wait at Customs there broached the twelve-hour mark.

However, the high amount of traffic, and the speed with which they were processed, seemed to encourage Romo that they located a decent spot where not every search conducted could be thorough.

After Astrid filed her prepared report to Parrish via extranet connection with the station, she and the crew disembarked in civilian attire for perhaps the most unofficial of tasks.

Once they ascertained where to meet Romo’s contact, Anders lead, with the agent and Channeler in his wake, through the weaving crowds.

While those heading to Morda queued for interview, those simply passing through, or awaiting the approval of their ships, bustled between shops, restaurants, and entertainment centers. Between the painted walls and decorative flags, they crossed several bars, lounges, and storefronts. With everything from clothing to perfume and souvenirs.

Astrid’s eyes darted from bright displays to gathering clusters of Statics. Though she held no interest in sight-seeing. Her gaze lingered instead upon a pod of school-aged children, ten in total, accompanied by uniformed adults she took to be instructors, along with a tour guide.

It made her ache, to see little faces alight with wonder, much like her own on her first visit through a gateway station. She listened in, unable to help herself, just long enough to learn the group enjoyed a fieldtrip from their home on Morda below.

Regardless of the loud white noise of those surrounding, Astrid found herself reminded of her own classmates. And those still in danger.

Thankfully, the men kept a quick pace, and in doing so, propelled her through her melancholy.

The team passed through the main hub, where most tourists dwelled, down through the station.

They found a level far less crowded, yet not so empty the three stood out from any other company that wandered.

The shops that framed the walkway provided a calmer, more leisurely experience for those inside. Astrid released some of the tension in her neck, brought on by being so heavily assaulted by white noise in the level above.

In an off-shoot hall, narrow and fitted with service doors, a custodian maintained the polish of the floors. Romo nudged his leader’s arm with the back of his wrist, then nodded to the woman, before the agent crossed to her.

Anders and Astrid fell behind, to give the two space for their exchange.

Astrid watched the pair converse, and embrace, before the woman leaned back and muttered a few phrases to the agent under the din of the station.

The back of Romo’s head bobbed in a nod. Then the woman in question peered over the man’s shoulder and directly at Astrid.

The specialist didn’t need to know what part she played in their conversation. Awkwardly, she waved.

“Is the novelty ever going to wear off?” she asked Anders under her breath after the two resumed their talk.

“For Channelers, yes. But for you, no.” He told her, with a smirk that bordered on smug.

She scowled.

“That isn’t a personal observation, Specialist, calm down,” he teased. “You’re not just a Channeler. You’re Astrid Hale. Maybe not everyone knows your name yet, but it’s certainly crossed under the eyes of several people in intel.”

Astrid inwardly rebuked the notion. But, as London often reminder her, her transition into the public eye seemed inevitable.

“Should I… go say hi?”

“Eh… best not. Under normal conditions yes, but with Romo’s people…”

“You don’t trust Romo?”

“Oh, I trust Romo. That’s not what I said. Let’s just say not all of Romo’s people are openly ‘Romo’s people’.”

Astrid found herself amused at his carefully worded deflection.

After another minute, the agent concluded his business and returned to them. Astrid purposefully wandered a few steps from the appraising stare of the contact he left behind.

“One level lower,” he indicated. “The service staff and permanent residents hang down there. They get power fluctuations every once in awhile. They’ve been dismissing them as glitches due to maintenance being prioritized on the public levels.

“Sounds promising,” Astrid supplied. “If there’s a Channeler down there, I’ll find them.”

The three marched on, to locate the passage down.

“It’s that easy?” Romo asked after her.

She almost smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

They found their way easy enough. Though instead of a deck filled with tourist bait, the halls of the next level filled with plants, benches, diners, and a library. The last being the only one Astrid looked upon with envy.

For Astrid, stations always felt a transitionary environment. They never stayed for long. But here she watched people chat with neighbors and indulge in casual paradigms as commonplace as in any neighborhood.

She heard fellows addressed by name. And with yearning, even passed a small family that enjoyed a meal inside one of the eateries. Two women, with two children. One of which couldn’t be a year old, yet. And there the family sat, whole and at play, to blissfully enjoy a typical day on their home station.

Astrid’s eyes lingered on the baby. How precious and simple it seemed. Content to nestle into their mother and fizzle gently in peace and safety.

With a pang, she diverted her eyes and continued on.

Passersby garbed themselves in cozy or casual garments. And many more looked to the strangers, as they were more readily able to identify them as such.

The men shifted to let Astrid take point, and the Channeler slowed her pace to feel those around her.

She openly took in the buzz instead of trying to ignore it. The static greeted her senses, as mundane and constant as always.

She ignored faces and peering glances, to seek instead for even the smallest bead of clarity in the chaos.

The locals shrunk away from the strangers, for the three more openly sought something. Equal number of eyes appraised them in return.

“If you can feel them, can’t they feel you coming?” Anders prodded while they shuffled through the winding hall.

“Depends on how sensitive they are,” Astrid explained to him quietly. “If I’m better trained, I should be able to feel them first…”

But one foyer after another passed, with no eddies or currents in the sea of static.

Astrid felt Romo and Anders grow anxious before she felt any of her own energy-kin.

But still, it came. Not the faint swell of a suppressed Channeler adult. An unabashed, unbridled ebb and flow. Stable. But unrestrained and bright.

A child.