Echelon Job Fair — Arrival in Brazil
The coastal highway stretched like a ribbon of faded asphalt, heat shimmering above it in the late morning sun. Jeremy’s rental hummed steadily as they cut through the scattered traffic, palm fronds leaning lazily in the warm breeze.
“First time seeing it in person?” Jeremy asked, nodding toward the distant haze where the Barrier Wall loomed.
Mick leaned forward in the passenger seat, eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Looks… taller than I thought.”
The Wall’s smooth, pale surface rose impossibly high, segmented with angular bastions and dotted with the gleam of distant checkpoints. Beyond it, unseen, was the Anchor—the inner city Citon wrapped around the base of the space elevator.
But their route wouldn’t take them inside—not yet. Instead, they skirted the Wall along a stretch of road that clung to the shoreline, weaving between weathered shanties and low-slung storefronts.
They passed a squat, sun-bleached building with peeling paint and a sagging awning. An old hand-painted sign read Dona & Jaime’s Mercadinho. The front door stood open, revealing a dim interior stacked with crates and bags of rice. Mick barely noticed it, but the place left a faint impression—one he wouldn’t realize the importance of until much later.
From there, the neighborhoods thickened into tangled favelas—corrugated roofs, laundry lines swaying over narrow alleys, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and motor oil. The people here moved with a pace that felt different from the manic pulse Mick expected in a city this close to the elevator.
Finally, the view opened again as they reached the beach—a long, pale strip of sand spilling into turquoise water. Just ahead, the massive on-ramp curved upward from the sand like a concrete serpent, feeding directly into the sleek, tube-encased bridge that stretched across the glittering expanse toward Cypress Island.
“Once we hit the Tube, it’s straight to Cypress,” Jeremy said. “Job fair’s set up right in the central pavilion. They’ve even got lodging for applicants so you can stay close to the recruiters.”
The car climbed the ramp, entering the seamless curve of the Eastbound Tube Bridge. The sound of the outside world dulled instantly, replaced by a low, steady hum. Through the clear sections of wall, Mick could see the water below, then, farther ahead, the man-made island taking shape—a rising crown of cranes, scaffolds, and new glass towers under construction.
Even half-finished, Cypress gleamed like a promise.