Alexandros could make out the finish line before him, a long red ribbon suspended between the arches at chest height. Body aching, the cadet propelled himself forward. With just paces left to go, he threw his head and torso forward…
… and felt a foot land on his back left heel. Alexandros fell across the finish line, tangled in the victory ribbon that was also wrapped around the other two nearest competitors. Seething with anger, he got to his feet, his legs shaking with fatigue. Ablón was bent over, sucking air into his lungs with the sound of a bellows pumping a forge. On his left side, Kretarus was unable to hide his smirk as he too struggled for breath.
“Too… bad… you… couldn’t… take… first,” he wheezed out. Alexandros, incensed at his opponent’s obvious cheating, tried to muster the energy to strike at his exhausted adversary. Behind him, he could hear the crowds cheering a name. He listened closely.
It wasn’t his.
Ablón wore the red ribbon like a senatorial sash, and several members of the judging panel rushed forward to shepherd him toward the victor’s circle. Inwardly, Alexandros was in pain, but he did not fault Ablón. He turned back to Kretarus.
“Looks like you didn’t get first either,” he said in a scratchy rasp, his dry throat impeding his voice. Other cadets were now beginning to arrive, and Alexandros left his cheating adversary to go join them at the posting board.
The board was a massive piece of wood assembled for that very day once each year. On it, the student names were listed alphabetically, along with their assignment. Based on their skills, test results, and performance in the trails, the judges would decide where a student should be assigned for his next tour of duty. His position in the race determined his ability to change his assignment. Only the first place winner could change his assignment choice if he so wished. The second and third place runners would be allowed to request a change of assignments, but their requests would be reviewed by a panel of judges.
Everyone else was stuck with their original posting.
Alexandros searched each list for his name. He was fortunate that his last name was early in the alphabet, for he only had to check the top-most portion of each column. He traced his finger down the assignment postings. The first two columns—support and flight crew—had long lists of names, many of whom he considered his friends. His heart was pounding now, his stomach seeming to crawl up his throat as he hesitantly looked at the pilot and officer columns. To not have your name on any list meant that you would not be continuing with a career in the Imperial Air Fleet .
His finger shook almost imperceptibly as Alexandros finally located his name. A feeling of relief washed over him, and he gave a small laugh. Why worry? He was one of the top three finishers, and he could request any other column assignment he wished.
For a moment he considered requesting to move to the support or flight crew training list. The chance to be with the friends he had made over the last few years was not to be dismissed easily. He paused to consider for a moment, and the push of newly arrived cadets behind him moved him away from the posting board.
But you don’t really want to spend your entire career counting rolls of canvas or aiming artillery pieces on an airship, do you? a small voice in the back of his head whispered.
He was torn, and his face surely showed it, because Gordanus ran up to him.
“What’s the matter? Find yourself on flight crew?”
Alexandros didn’t answer for a moment as Gordanus chattered onwards.
“Or support? By the gods I would never want to be stuck there. Think my dad would be so upset he’d yank me out of the academia.” He paused, finally registering Alexandros’s non-answer. “Rufius?”
“What? Oh, sorry, yeah. I’m… well… they want me to be an officer.”
Gordanus beamed at him.
“See! Didn’t I tell you? You had nothing to worry about. You didn’t even have to push yourself like you just did!” He slapped Alexandros on the back.
“What about you?” Alexandros asked. “Have you gone to look?”
“Yes, but I’m most likely going to be in officer training with you. Guess that’s what happens when your dad happens to be one of the eight major fleet admirals.” He waded into the mob of people surrounding the boards . At that moment, Alexandros was disgusted with Gordanus. I swear, that boy can be the most arrogant person I know.
“So, traitor, I hope you’re excited to join the support crews.”
Okay, there may be someone more arrogant that Gordanus.
“Why, Scipio, I didn’t know that cheaters were allowed to stay in the academia. Surely you’re here to tell me that you’ve realized what an absolute idiot you are and that you’ve decided to join the Vestal Virgins, eh?” he asked bitingly. For a brief moment, Kretarus looked slightly shocked. His face colored as other people around them turned to watch the two rivals verbally spar.
“I couldn’t join the Vestal Virgins, actually. They said you’d already filled their only opening. Besides, they don’t let women into the Officer’s Academia. Or traitors,” he said haughtily.
Alexandros chuckled, taking the anger he felt and funneling it into his next barb.
“Then I suppose you won’t be joining me in Officer’s Academia. Perhaps they realized that brains beat bloodline any day.” Several people around him laughed, and Kretarus’s eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Rufius! Rufius Alexandros!” came a familiar cry. Turning his back on the other boy, Alexandros found himself face to face with his parents.
“Mother! Father! It’s good to see you!”
They embraced and Alexandros took in the smell of his mom’s lavender perfume, something he had not inhaled since their last visit at the end of his second year . The academia purposefully kept the boys and their families separated so as to teach their students the values of self-reliance and teamwork with their fellow cadets.
“How are you? We have so many questions! And look, you’ve grown so much! Oh, you’ve got to tell me everything!” His mother was overjoyed to see him, and tears of happiness ran down her face.
“Son, I saw your name on the officer’s list…” His father’s voice trailed off. “You’ve made me so proud. You have made your family proud.”
Full of emotion, Alexandros was hard pressed to hold back tears himself.
“I’ve missed you all so much.”
“Rufius! Rufius! I made it! I’m in the Officer’s Academia!” Gordanus shouldered his way through the crowd of reuniting parents and cadets to Alexandros.
“I did it!”
“I knew you would, Gordanus.” He felt his earlier annoyance at the dark-haired admiral’s son vanish. He knew that Gordanus had his own issues to deal with, and that sometimes money and power simply gave one more problems than solutions.
Sometimes can be a very challenging word.
Alexandros spent some time introducing his family to Gordanus. They were very openhearted and welcoming to his friend, and upon learning that his father had been unable to attend the ceremony, insisted that Gordanus come to their house for a celebratory graduation party that night. The two boys readily agreed.
Later that evening, after having put down the delicious fare provided by the well-trained kitchen staff of the Alexandros villa just outside the walls of Rome, the family and guests reclined on their traditional divans in the dining room. Beautiful frescos decorated the walls, showing scenes of hunting and exploration, a skill that the more recent generations of the Alexandros family were renowned for in certain circles.
Gordanus was particularly interested in hearing the tale of the family’s traitorous ancestor, Gaius Cassius Longinus. Although normally considered a sore subject, Krytos Liani Cassi Alexandro decided that his young guest was simply curious and meant no harm in asking. Alexandros’s father starte
d the story at the very beginning, enthralling the twelve year olds by weaving a tale of plots, betrayal, and execution.
“In the year 45 BC, Julius Caesar was not yet crowned emperor, and he relied on the Senate of the republic for his titles and power. His victories over the Gauls and other barbarian tribes had made him immensely popular with the people, but not with the patricians in the Senate. The Senate named him dictator perpetuo, or dictator in perpetuity.”
Gordanus interrupted, “But what does that mean?”
“It’s as though he was an emperor until he died, but his children would not have become emperor like their father. And he couldn’t do much of anything without the Senate agreeing to it.”
“Isn’t that how it’s like now?”
The elder Alexandros chuckled slightly. “Actually, now it is more the other way around. The emperor has much more power than the Senate, but he still needs to cooperate with the Senate in order to keep the plebeians, patricians, and merchants appeased.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, indeed. So, while Caesar was a great man for founding the Roman Empire, he was not a very nice person. He was openly rude to some Senators, and even fired different officials for trying to do their jobs. He wanted more and more power, and the senators did not want to give it up. So a group of them decided to do something. Gaius Cassius Longinus, our ancestor, was the lead conspirator of this group that called themselves the Liberatores. He asked Marcus Junius Brutus to assist him, but Brutus declined, on the grounds that the republic would outlive Caesar, not the other way around.”
“So, then Brutus turned him in?” Rufius Alexandros chimed in.
“No, but he warned Longinus to stop the plot or he would go public. Longinus tried to have Brutus assassinated! He paid a slave to poison the honorable senator. But instead, Brutus’s wife drank from the cup that was meant for Brutus and died. Armed with this evidence, Brutus went to Marc Antony, the co-consul of Rome along with Caesar. They were able to warn Caesar, and when the senators attacked, Caesar’s legionnaires were there to protect him.”
“Then what happened?”
“The rest of the senators, those who supported Caesar in the first place, voted him many of their own powers, such as declaring war and building legions, as well as many other powers. That was the end of the republic and the start of the empire. One can only imagine what would have happened if Caesar had been assassinated!”
There was silence for a few moments as guests, hosts, and servants alike contemplated that thought.
“Father, what would have happened?”
“Who knows? Probably civil war, maybe one strong enough for our enemies to take advantage of us. Rome was not as big then as it is now,” he said.
The boys continued to pepper the elder Alexandros with question after question, and from time to time the other dinner guests, coworkers, and friends of the family would interrupt to answer.
Eventually, the evening ran down, and Antonia Alexandros looked at the large clock against the far wall of the central atrium.
“Oh my, it’s getting quite late, and I’m sure we’ve had enough excitement for one day. After all, you boys just ran nearly four imperial miles and graduated from the academia! It is time for bed, both of you,” she ordered, as only a mother can. Grudgingly, the boys surrendered to the inevitable and went to bed.
The next morning came early, with servants awaking the two young men at the crack of dawn. Their bags and lunches had been prepared, for they had tickets to travel the train system southwards to the Officer’s Academia. The train followed the incredibly ancient Via Appia before turning south-southwest and ending in Rhegium, headquarters of the Mare Mediterrane Airfleet and Officer’s Academia.
Gordanus’s personal servant, a man named Hektor, accompanied them and acted as guardian until they reached the city. The ex-legionnaire carried their bags in one arm while guiding them through the crowded Roma Central Train Terminal.
“We better hurry up, young gentlemen, or else we’ll be late,” he called back as the boys wove their way through the crowd behind him. Although he had been there before, Alexandros was in awe at the magnitude of the structure. Rising over eight stories high, supported by massive columns and featuring decorative windows at either end, the structure was an elegant fusion between the ancient and the modern, with steel support beams carefully intertwining the ancient marble-faced columns.
As their guardian steered them to the correct platform, Alexandros and Gordanus chatted about all the sights and sounds. This was Gordanus’s first trip on a train, having arrived in Rome using the fledgling passenger airship service that ran among several of the largest imperial cities. As the steam engine chugged into the station, billowing wisps of smoke briefly entombed them. The world went white and sounds were muffled.
I wonder if this is what a cloud is like.
A few moments later, the illusion was gone as the smoke dissipated, and the passengers lined up to board the train cars. Alexandros noticed one car with only a few people boarding. He asked Hektor about it.
“That’s the Imperial Car. Only patricians, imperial household family, or staff are allowed to ride in there.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I hear they get free food.”
The boys laughed as they handed the crisply uniformed conductor their tickets. The heavy card was stamped once. It would be stamped again when they left the train.
Manhandling their two bags on board, plus his own light one, Hektor secured them a small compartment with large windows. The two pairs of seats faced each other, with a small table between them. Two sets of flickering wall lamps lit the room, shedding light on the maroon fabric of the worn seat cushions, the wooden wall panels, and the smooth surface of the table.
“Excellent!” Gordanus exclaimed as he hopped onto the seat and moved as close to the window as possible, staring out at all the people still crowding the platform. Alexandros closed the sliding door behind him, shutting out the noise of the crowded hallway.
A few minutes later, the steam whistle blew and the train slowly pulled out of the station. Gordanus cracked open the window to let a bit of fresh air into the car as the train moved south out of Rome. They passed what seemed like miles of urban buildings, multi-story apartments, and soaring monuments. As they traveled farther from Rome, Alexandros saw the gradual shift from the more affluent to the run-down areas of the city. Streets were no longer paved, and the ramshackle buildings replaced the elegant stone and marble edifices. As the train slowed to make a corner, a group of children in dirty clothes waved to it from their perch on an old, rusted flatbed train car. Alexandros waved back, smiling for a moment at their excitement about seeing the train. And with that, the steam engine turned the corner, and Rome was behind them.
Chapter 4:
Junior Officer
“WELCOME, GENTLEMEN, TO THE LAST year of Officer’s Academia. You’ve been here for two years, and now you are almost ready to join our illustrious airfleet. I remember when I was in your shoes, many years ago.”
The Maester of the academia, Admiral Octavius Flaminius, looked out over the assembled officer trainees. Even from his spot ten rows back, Alexandros could see the distinctive pointed nose that made the Maester resemble a bird of prey.
“I am pleased to announce that this class has the lowest rate of student withdrawal since our inception over fifty years ago. You all must be studying pretty hard to get such good grades!” he joked. At least, Alexandros thought it was a joke, as he knew that many, if not most of his classmates around him received help from tutors paid for by their family’s wealth.
“So, now for the last step. As we all know, Julius Caesar told us ‘to allow politics into the military is to allow a man to poison himself.’ The academias were created precisely to ensure we never again allow people with insufficient training to lead our brave men into combat. To this end
, you shall be assigned to your training airships for the next three months, where you will work, sleep, learn, and understand every position of the airship. As officers, you must be know your ship like you know yourself, know the intricacies, the problems, the strengths of every compartment, weapon, and man under your command. On these cruises, your true skill will be tested. Assignments have been posted to your personal mailboxes. Pack you bags and assemble by first bell tomorrow morning. Dismissed!”
The mass of fourteen and fifteen year olds broke apart quickly, talking and laughing. The excitement over their maiden cruise in an airship was palpable. As the students split up and walked through the corridors back to the dormitories, Alexandros overheard bits and pieces from different conversations.
“... hope we get Linutis, he’s supposed to be easy…”
“... wonder if the schedules are done alphabetically…”
“I’d have my father pull strings if I’m in the poor crew...”
That last comment stopped Alexandros cold. He paused and craned his neck to find the source of the insulting words.
But of course.
His old nemesis (if you could call him that), Kretarus, was walking slowly with his cronies, blocking most of the hallway as they sauntered along. Groups of students were stuck behind this obstacle as they tried to get to their own rooms. The students Kretarus referred to, of course, were those who did not have the ample family backing that he and his friends from patrician families had. Alexandros was deemed one of those “poor” students, although his family was generally considered well to do.
“Kretarus, you know your father has no pull here,” another student scoffed at his comment, echoing how Alexandros felt. One of his cronies pushed the kid back.
“Oh really, Fart-is? Well, I would think that your father must have murdered someone to get you into the academia. Isn’t he a mechanica driver?” Kretarus jeered.
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