“Why did you vouch for him, Quintus?” he asked curiously.
“He reminded me of myself. We cannot control what house or family we are born into. He deserves a chance,” the man said quietly as he gathered his papers and handed them to his manservant. “Besides, Amelius, haven’t you heard the saying… ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?’”
“Yes, but which one is he? A friend to Rome, or an enemy?”
“A friend, I think. But only time will tell. I’d rather have him under our guidance and control in the meantime, wouldn’t you?”
Amelius nodded hesitantly.
“Very well, then. I shall see you at supper tonight. The new applicants are about to be introduced to the Athenae,” Quintus said.
“I shall be glad to see it. This new crop appears to be one of the best ones ever. There are several legacies, the children of aviators and captains in the airfleet,” Amelius stated.
He clasped arms with Heratus, bidding him farewell. Picking up his things, Amelius walked across the floor, sandals making sharp noises on the tile. The guards opened the main door with a slight rustle of chainmail as Amelius swept into the hallway.
Alexandros was still in the corridor with his parents. His father leaned down and embraced the child, while his mother dabbed slightly at her eyes with a handkerchief. The boy’s eyes lit up as he saw the chief judge enter the hallway. Extricating himself from his father’s arms, the boy nearly ran over to Amelius.
“Your Judgeship, may I present my family?” Alexandros followed the proper etiquette with painstaking care as he introduced his father and mother.
“We wanted to thank you for giving our son a chance…” Alexandros’s father said.
Amelius shook his head as he fended off their gratefulness. “Please, sir. There is no need. Rufius Tiveri worked for it. He convinced me and enough other members of the panel for the chance. Now all he must do is demonstrate that our trust and belief in him is well placed.”
The man was taken aback at the comment for a moment but then nodded.
“Good luck, Rufius Tiveri Alexandros. You’ll need it.”
Amelius turned and walked down the hallway toward the welcoming breeze of open air. The sound of sandals slapping the tiles came from behind him as young Alexandros approached him.
“You won’t regret this, Your Honor!” he called out.
Amelius refused to turn, instead calling back to him.
“Prove it.”
Chapter 2: Cadet
Alexandros raced down the columned pathways, his satchel banging against his hips with every movement. Around him, the standard day at the academia was in full swing. Cadets in blue tunics and gray trousers moved all around him, following their daily schedule. Occasionally, senior cadets, those students in their fourth and final year at the aeronautica, resplendent in their purple tunics and black trousers with silver filigree, would float through the crowd. The masses of first, second, and third year cadets flowed around these older pupils like water around mid-stream boulders.
Built in a cross-like formation, the wings of the academia aligned with the cardinal compass points. To the north and west lay the classrooms, and to the south and east lay the dormitories, cafeterias, and administration buildings. The buildings were mostly low and blocky, built in the traditional Roman style with colonnades and formal atrium entryways. On a beautiful sunny say, like today, throngs of cadets would take the opportunity to study or relax outside, enjoying the splendor of the academia buildings nestled in the western portion of Rome’s outer district.
Reveille had been played around three hours earlier, and Alexandros was running late for his third period course-Theory of Air Combat. Stupid administrators, making my second and third periods all the way across campus from each other, he grumbled to himself as he slid through the throngs, dodging and weaving like a recon skimmer.
The massive chimes of the bell tower began to sound as he rounded a corner and nearly collided headlong with a senior cadet. The older boy made a swipe at the youngster, his hands brushing the satchel strap as Alexandros nimbly danced around the obstruction.
“Sorry!” he shouted as he tore down the pavement, skidding to a halt right before the classroom door. Taking a moment to compose himself and brush his uniform smooth as best he could, he attempted to open the door nonchalantly.
Or would have, had the door been unlocked. Muttering curses under his breath, and mentally preparing himself for the verbal assault that was to come, Alexandros knocked at the door. He heard footsteps inside and a latch slid to one side. The door creaked as the portal opened.
“Late again, Cadet Alexandros?” the severe man with closely cropped gray hair asked as he beckoned the young man into the room. “I was wondering when you’d be joining us. Care to explain why you were late?” he asked in a mild tone.
After stammering through his response and wondering why he had gotten away so easily, Alexandros took a seat in the back of the room. His friend, Gordanus Scipio Polentio, gave him an exasperated look from the row over. Gordanus might complain, but he’d still let Alexandros copy his notes later. For a moment, Alexandros remained tense, waiting for the remainder of his dressing down for being late. Eventually, seeing that none was coming, he quietly opened his rucksack.
He took out his parchment and steel-nibbed pen and began to take notes as the veteran instructor, a retired airman by the name of Ophelius Morentis, taught them the finer points of aerial combat.
“It is better to keep your crew at full alert in a war zone. Thus, as future officers, it is your duty to ensure that no man slacks or sleeps at his post and stays alert at all times. During red alerts, falling asleep can be considered a dereliction of duty.”
Gordanus raised his hand at this statement.
“Sir, what would you say to the officers who believe that to keep a crew on red alert for many hours decreases their effectiveness?”
“You would ask that, wouldn’t you Cadet Polentio? Some people, such as your father, may disagree with me. But these people fail to see the point. If the opponent should attack when your men are resting, they shall have the opportunity to eliminate or board your vessel with impunity! And you, and your crew, will be caught with your trousers down.”
Alexandros chimed in. “But sir, what if we could keep half the crew on alert and the other half rested?”
The instructor turned and smacked his teaching rod against his desk. The thin piece of supple wood made a harsh crack that broke the humid air.
“Enough. As you are still cadets and will not be making command decisions any time soon, you need not concern yourself with any of these decisions. But as I have said before, it is the established practice of this airfleet that crews should be kept on war-footing at all times during combat and possible combat situations. Do I make myself clear?” The class murmured assent as Morentis turned his back to them, studying the ticking metronome clock on the desk.
“I see it is time for you to leave so that you are not late to your next lesson. Ah, and there are the chimes.” Distant sounds of bells ringing the hour worked their way into the classroom. “Please collect your papers before you leave today. I have graded them, and some of you appear to be lacking in the refined arts of dealing with proper aerial boarding techniques. Please see me after class if your paper says so. Dismissed.”
The class got up, students jostling for position as they retrieved their papers and left the room. Pushing his chair in, Alexandros joined the file of students, Gordanus sidling in behind him.
“So… what was it this time?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Girl, grades, or sleep?”
“Grades-Professor Garne wanted to discuss my findings about the second invasion of Hibernia. I found fault with the claim that there was nothing our airfleet could have done to help support the ground troops in the campaign. He disagreed, and my grade reflected it.”