A strident klaxon sounded, echoing five stories above the terminal floor. Conversation cut off mid-sentence. As abruptly as it had sounded, the klaxon died away, replaced by an amplified voice. Long-time residents leaned forward in chairs, absently twirling half-empty glasses or drawing designs in the condensate on table tops with idle fingertips. The throng in the waiting area paused expectantly.
”Your attention, please. Gate Six is due to open in three minutes. Returning parties will have gate priority. All departures, please remain in the holding area until guides are notified that the gate is clear.”
The message repeated in three other languages.
Malcolm wished his tunic had pockets so he could thrust his hands into them. Instead he crossed his arms and waited. Another ear-splitting klaxon sounded.
”Your attention, please. Gate One is due to open in ten minutes. All departures, be advised that if you have not cleared Station Medical, you will not be permitted to pass Primary. Please have your baggage ready for customs…”
Malcolm stopped listening. He’d memorized the up-time departure litany years ago. Besides, departures down-time were always more entertaining than watching a bunch of government agents search luggage. The real fun at Primary wouldn’t begin until the new arrivals started coming through. Malcolm’s gaze found the countdown for Gate Six. Any second now…
A hum of sub-harmonics rumbled through the time terminal as Gate Six, the biggest of TT-86s active gates, came to life. Outside the range of audible sound, yet detectable through the vibration of bones at the base of one’s skull, the sound that wasn’t a sound intensified.