And booming above it all came the voice of the public address system, echoing down the vast length of Commons: “Your attention, please. Gate Two is due to open in two minutes . . .”
The first luggage on the conveyor belt arrived with a jolt and scrape against the gridwork platform. Skeeter joined a human-chain effort, hauling luggage clear of the moving conveyor and piling it on the platform. Railings ran all the way around, with a wide metal gate set into one side. Until the Britannia actually opened, that wide metal gate led to a sheer, hundred-foot drop to the cobblestones of Victoria Station. Despite the railing, Skeeter stayed well away from the edge as he hauled, piled, and stacked a steadily increasing jumble of trunks, cases, and soft-sided carpet bags across the broad stretch of platform.
At the far corner, a second conveyor system rumbled to life, moving downward rather than up. Celosia Enyo was testing the system, making sure everything was ready for the returning tour and all of its luggage. So engrossed was Skeeter in the monumental task of shifting the arriving baggage, the gate’s opening took him by surprise. A skull-shaking backlash of subharmonics rattled his very bones. Skeeter jumped, wanting instinctively to cover his ears, although that wouldn’t have done any good. The gate’s frequency was too low for actual human hearing. He glanced around—and gasped.
A kaleidoscope of shimmering color, dopplering through the entire rainbow spectrum, had appeared in the middle of empty air right at the edge of the platform. The colors scintillated like a sheen of oil on water, sunlight on a raven’s glossy feathers. The hair on Skeeter’s arms stood starkly erect. He’d seen gates open hundreds of times, had stepped through a number of them, when he’d had the money for a tour or had conned someone else into paying for it. But he’d never been this close to the massive Britannia as it began its awe-striking cycle a hundred feet above the Commons floor.