First Steps on Cypress

The Tube Bridge uncoiled onto Cypress Island in a gentle slope, its reinforced glass canopy giving way to open sky again. Mick could smell salt in the air before the car even reached the street-level checkpoint.

A young CDF officer in a crisp, slate-gray uniform leaned toward the driver’s side, scanning Jeremy’s pass with a quick flick of her wrist comm. “Welcome to Cypress,” she said automatically, waving them through.

The first thing Mick noticed was how new everything looked. The roads here weren’t patched and sun-bleached like the mainland—they gleamed, freshly poured, with embedded lane lights that pulsed in slow sequence. On either side of the boulevard, steel-and-glass buildings rose in clean lines, some finished, others still wrapped in scaffolding and construction netting. Tower cranes swung like patient sentinels above it all.

“It’s still a work in progress,” Jeremy said, following a clearly marked route toward the center of the island. “But Echelon likes showing recruits the vision. By the time the spaceport upgrade’s done, this place will be the front door to Citon.”

At the heart of the island, the central pavilion came into view—an enormous white structure shaped like a stretched seashell, its outer ribs arching skyward in a graceful curve. The open sides revealed a bustling interior where banners bearing the Echelon logo swayed gently in the sea breeze. Holographic displays shimmered in the air above each recruiter’s station, projecting the name of the division they represented: Titan Petro, Orbital Services, Core Transit, Entertainment & Hospitality, and dozens more.

Jeremy pulled into a drop-off lane. “I’ll park and meet you inside. Take a lap—see what catches your eye.”

Mick stepped out onto the pavement, the subtle give of engineered material under his boots. He glanced back toward the horizon. From here, the Barrier Wall was a pale curve on the mainland, the thin silver line of the space elevator cable rising impossibly high into the blue.

Inside the pavilion, the air was cooler, perfumed faintly with some engineered blend that probably had a name like Opportunity No. 5. Voices echoed in the vast chamber—pitch-perfect recruitment chatter, the sound of hands being shaken, dreams being sold. Mick felt his pulse quicken.

For the first time in years, the path ahead wasn’t just a way to survive—it was a way out.

Mick Meets Sonny