Nick James - Skyship Academy

“I think you’re misunderstanding,” Avery interjects.

“No, I think I understand perfectly,” he counters. “You’re heading to Seattle. Sounds like Tribunal business to me.”

“It’s not,” I reply. “It’s… personal.”

He crosses his arms. “From the looks of your clothing, you’ve been banged up already. Tribunal or not, you’re illegal. We’ve got enough problems with the Unified Party as is, folks comin’ in and accusing us of Pearl trading. If they find out we helped you, they’ll make me disappear for good. Just the way it is. I’m sorry.”

Bobby rolls his eyes.

His father doesn’t notice. His grip on his son’s shoulder loosens. “Why don’t you take ’em to the cafeteria, Bobby? Point them out west when they’ve finished eating. Don’t follow.” He glances at us, his expression softening. “We’re peaceful folks, here. It’s not in my nature to turn people away, but I’ve gotta think of my town. That train crash last night didn’t help things.” He sighs. “I need to go work on a letter to send back with Horatio. Straight to lunch, Bobby. Please.” He pushes past us and starts up the steps. Halfway up he pauses and looks over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you both.”

We nod in response. Then he’s gone.

Bobby slinks over, motioning down the hallway. “Sorry about that. He’s grumpy, that’s all.”

I shrug. “Hey, I’m just happy he’s not trying to kill me.”

Bobby grimaces. “Give him time, man.” He starts off down the hallway toward a glass door. “Follow me.”

As soon as he pulls open the door, a wall of smothering heat smacks into us. We walk down the steps onto a gravel pathway. Mounds of dirt and crispy grass surround us on all sides. As we cut across the expansive courtyard, Bobby talks about the city. How it used to be called Ellensburg before vandals started stealing the letters from the town sign. How Lenbrg, like a few Northern Fringe Towns, had avoided the inevitable gang control and lawlessness of the Fringes to become a haven for people trying to make a decent life outside of the Chosens.

We continue along a footbridge stretching over a dying stream-nothing but a pathetic trickle left. A group of linen-clad Fringers tends to a garden on the far side of a brown field. I can’t imagine what they could possibly be growing. I’m surprised they’re trying at all.

“Straight up through here.” Bobby leads us under a balcony and into an enormous, two-story complex. I relish the temperature-controlled air as we step inside. A slew of people bustle around the expansive, partially-lit cafeteria just below the entryway. The sign at the edge of town said that there were more than 700 residents in Lenbrg. I think they’re all in this room.

We head down a ramp and file into line with hundreds of hungry Fringers. I shove my hands in my pockets again, keeping my head low. The smell of grilled vegetables and chicken streams out from the kitchen about twenty people away from us. This line can’t move quickly enough.

“Do all you Shippers wear fancy clothes like that?” Bobby touches the wilting, ragged collar of my shirt. The thing’s half-unbuttoned and spattered with dirt. Hardly fancy.

“It was a special day at our school,” Avery answers. “We’re not normally in suits.”

Bobby drums his restless fingers on his hip. “You go to school?”

She nods. “Of a sort.”

I glance around at the people in line in front of us. They stare back, not even trying to conceal their nosiness. All of a sudden, my heart races at the thought that maybe these people aren’t flaunt with us being here after all. Maybe it’s all a plot to fry us up for dinner or something. I don’t wanna be a burger.

Bobby catches me looking and shoves my shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. Just gawkers. I’ve brought people in before.” He turns and waves at the onlookers, who respond by questioning and criticizing him with unblinking stares. Thankfully, that’s all they do.

The queue shuffles forward. I try to change the subject. “So where do you guys get all this food?”

Bobby grabs a plastic tray from the nearest countertop. “Got a small farm up at north campus where the football field used to be, but loads of it’s scavenged from deserted towns. You should see our collection. Boxes and cans up to the ceiling.” He passes trays to Avery and me. “Every once in a while we get Skyship food. Pearl trades, Tribunal food banks… stuff like that.”

I crane my neck to see into the dining area. Rows of lengthy cafeteria-style tables stretch down the wide, carpeted room. The place is half full already, and mass loud. A whole bucket-load of eyes laser onto my face. I dart back behind a stack of dishes. I guess if a newbie showed up at the Academy we’d all be staring too, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

We pass under an old ratty American flag hanging from a banister that runs along the ceiling. No Skyship flag. No Unified Party emblems, either.

“Hope you don’t mind using your fingers,” Bobby says as we near the serving counters. “We don’t bring the silverware out too much.”

I look down at the line of plates filled with vegetables and hunks of chicken. Right now I’d lick the plate like a dog if it came to that.

“Not much to choose from,” Bobby whispers as a lady spoons food onto his plate. “Hope you like potatoes.”

Once we’re served, we make our way down a second ramp and into the dining area. I keep my attention fixed on the food on my plate, trying to ignore the rows of people staring up at us. Bobby drags us all the way to the end of the room, heading for two older men who sit alone in the corner. They’re deep in conversation, but Bobby squeezes in close anyway.

“George,” he taps the shoulder of the nearest guy, motioning for us to sit next to him. “Yo George, what’s up?”

The man stops mid-sentence and glares at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bobby grabs a piece of chicken and tears into it. “I got cargo for you.”

Avery and I exchange looks. Cargo?

George removes his glasses, rubs his eyes, and glances at us. “Ain’t never seen you kids around here before.”

I meet his wizened eyes. The guy’s got to be pushing fifty, with a receding hairline to prove it. There’s a curiosity in his expression that’s a little off-putting, like he wants to stuff us and prop us up in his room for display.

“Skyshippers.” Bobby’s voice quiets to a whisper. “Pops didn’t like me bringing them in, but what are you gonna do, right?”

George pushes his empty plate to the man sitting across the table from him. “Go see if they’ve got more of them potatoes, Jim.”

Jim nods, standing up and leaving the table. George leans forward. “ Again, Henderson? Thought you’d have learned your lesson from last time.”

Avery grabs a carrot from her plate. “Last time?”

Bobby sighs. “I met these kids from the Chosens. You know, runaways. Big deal.”

George scoffs. “Big deal? They were wanted by the government. You nearly brought the Unified Party right to our doorstep, boy.”

Bobby shakes his head. “It was the right thing to do. It’s not like they hurt anyone. Stupid government laws. Went outside of their work orders. They just wanted a place to hide.”

“What happened to them?” I ask.

“Government threatened to take out the town,” George mutters. “We turned ’em in. Had to.”

Bobby swallows a large chunk of chicken. “Still feel guilty about that, don’t ya Barkley?”

“We do what we have to so they’ll leave us in peace,” he grunts, “something you don’t seem to understand, Bobby. Draggin’ in strays like this.”

“They ain’t Unified Party,” he counters. “They’re just trying to get to Seattle. Told ’em you could help. Maybe.”