Daniel Ottalini - Roma Aeronautica

“Gordanus, did you see the recommended list they handed out to us? One set of cold-weather gear, one set warm-weather gear, three standard crew uniforms, extra socks, gloves, over jacket, soft helmet, sword, hand repeater, plus our own mess kit.” He shuffled through the papers on his spartan desk, finding the appropriate one and handing it over to Gordanus. “Everything is under control. You still have two hours.”

Alexandros went to his own dresser, removing the tunics and breaches he would need. He packed his two duffel bags carefully, the utilitarian canvas of the bags scratchy on his skin. After organizing his gear, he added in several additional personal mementos. A small sketch of his family, an award from the Roma Aeronautica Academia for his second place finish in the Winnowing Race, plus a small journal he saved various letters and other odds and ends in. All were packed and ready.

Alexandros turned to look at Gordanus. The other boy was still struggling to fold his trousers properly.

“Gah, I swear, Gord, I’m going to give up on you some day,” he said as he bent down to help.

Gordanus looked sourly up at Alexandros. “If only they pressed these pants with less starch, they would be easier to fold.” Alexandros gave him a look. “I’m just saying what we all think,” Gordanus protested.

Together, the two boys finished packing and straightened up the room to the high military standards as required by their floor supervisor, who popped his head in to pronounce it acceptable.

They filed down the winding staircase. Roughly a third of the school followed in their footsteps as the upperclassmen prepared for their first flights as airship officers. Stopping at the front desk, they waited for the desk attendant to check their mailboxes. The attendant returned after a brief absence, delivering to each man a small, velvet bag with a drawstring cinched tight. The soft fabric seemed heavy in his hand, and both teenagers carefully opened the bags.

Alexandros shook out a small gold-enameled pin cast in the laurel shape of the emperor’s crown. His fingers moved over the delicate pieces of its two laurel-leaf curves.

“Rufius, what did you get?” Gordanus interjected, and Alexandros showed him the pin. “Wow, impressive! You’re on HMTS Imperio then. They must really have liked what they saw in you. It generally takes a wealthy or powerful family to get you onto His Majesty’s Training Ship Imperio . After all, it is the same one that Emperor Hadrian used just a few years ago when he went through training!”

Alexandros nodded, taken aback at his selection. After a brief pause, he belatedly remembered his friend. “Where did you get assigned to?”

Gordanus held out his own pin, smiling broadly. Alexandros took it, examining the small avian with its wings spread wide, claws open and ready to strike.

“Vigilant Eagle, just like my dad!” The other boy was obviously excited by the chance to follow in his father’s footsteps, and it left Alexandros with a brief feeling of homesickness. He handed the pin back to Gordanus with a quick thanks, and they gathered up their belongs.

“So, now we assemble into our crews I suppose?” he asked.

“I guess so. Then I hear we’ll actually get to go down to the airfield and board the airships for the first time. This is awesome.” He looked sheepishly at Alexandros for a moment. “You don’t think I’m being overly enthusiastic, do you?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it, Gordanus. Seriously. But don’t talk like that to your other crewmembers. They might not be as excited as we are.”

“You know, I’m almost sad that we’ll be competing against each other at some point. I mean, aren’t we supposed to work together in the end? We’ll all be on the same team.”

Alexandros laughed. “That’s what they want you to think. But this is Rome. No one is on any team but their own.”

The other boy nodded seriously. Checking the strap on his bag, Alexandros stepped out into courtyard. Already, groups of newly promoted cadets were assembling, the ramrod straight lines showing years of tough military training. He held out his hand to Gordanus, who took the proffered arm and clasped it, hand to forearm.

Gordanus pulled his friend close and whispered to him, “No matter where you are or what trouble you are in, let me know, and I’ll be there.”

Alexandros was taken aback by his friend’s words. And here I’ve been thinking that I have been the protector all along.

“I’ll remember it. And good luck!”

Gordanus turned sharply and made his way over to the bannerman holding the Vigilant Eagle standard. The flag rippled in the slight breeze, the silver eagle seemingly alive on the blue background held aloft by the standard’s T-frame. Gordanus saluted crisply, and then Alexandros turned away.

Good luck, friend .

He turned and walked the other direction, down to the very end of the courtyard. The eight training companies were arranged in some unknown order, and the Golden Laurel standard occupied the far end of the arrayed units. The delicate leaves of the laurel crown seemed to pop out of the flag’s deep red background.

He stepped smartly up to the bannerman and commanding officer. Alexandros recalled that the commanding officer was really just an observer, there to record the actions and choices of the crew when facing various situations.

“Senior Cadet Alexandros, reporting for duty.” He saluted the officer regardless, noticing with interest the man’s choice to sport a beard rather than the clean-shaven appearance common to most members of the imperial military.

“Welcome to the Laurel Crown Airship Training Cohort, Cadet Alexandros. I am Senior Trainer Hartus Profias.”

The officer made a mark on the list in front of him with a quill pen. The scratching noise of the pen punctuated the almost unearthly quiet of the courtyard. Alexandros could feel the eyes of many of his new shipmates on his back. Profias looked up at him when he was finished.

“Please take your spot at the rear, cadet,” he stated firmly but without rancor. Alexandros turned and walked to the back of the training cohort. He placed his bag neatly next to his right foot and stood at attention, eyes staring directly forward. After another brief pause, their officer stepped up and began to pace the front row of the cohort.

“I am neither a yeller, nor a screamer,” he began. “But if you screw up and damage yourself, your crewmates, or, gods forbid, my ship, you will soon find yourself joining the support crews as they learn how best to tie an airship to the ground.” His voice was soft but carried, and he had the rapt attention of all the cadets.

“I’m so very happy that you all decided to show up early. This means we can begin early. Today you will find your assigned crew schedules in the galley. Those schedules will not change unless someone… leaves.” There was a pause as he let the remark sink in.

“Although I’m sure the academia rumor mill is as strong as ever, I will remind you that I am not obligated to pass any of you. I could care less what family you are from or how much wealth and land they have. If I tell you to scrub my decks, you will do it. Is that understood?”

The assembled cadets murmured a response.

“That was pathetic. Try again.”

“YES, SENIOR TRAINER!” the cadets boomed out.

“Better. Now, grab your bags and fall into column formation, two abreast. We’ll be walking to the airship.”

Gathering his things, Alexandros eagerly pushed his way into line. The boys jostled each other, but Alexandros held his ground, securing a space near the center of the column. Profias waited patiently, but stared them down until the movement subsided and the cadets were silent. Giving them a cold glare, Profias waved them forward. Marching in formation, the cadets took the next step forward in their training.