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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 academiaswere 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.
    The boy pushed back, and Alexandros could see the scuffle about to start. Sighing, he stepped up.
    “Kretarus, are you insulting everyone again? Did you not eat breakfast this morning? It’s bad to let that body go to waste.” The other boys in the hallway laughed, and Kretarus turned and walked away haughtily.
    Ignoring him, Alexandros turned to the other boy. He held out his arm. “Rufius Alexandros.”
    “Furtis Ionia.”
    With the blockage removed, the hallway emptied quickly.
    “Watch out Furtis, Kretarus is a bad person to make an enemy of. I hope you’re on my team, for your sake,” Alexandros said.
    “I can watch out for myself, thanks. But I’ll keep that in mind.” He bade Alexandros farewell and walked off.
    For a moment, Alexandros was alone in the hallway, watching the beautiful seaside vista that filled the open west windows. The sparkling calm waters belied their violent history. Several bloody battles against the Carthaginians had taken place in the seas around the southwestern tip of the Roman peninsula before the Romans had come out victorious.
    Of course, with our modern airfleet, there never would have been a third or even second Punic War.
    Musings done with, Alexandros gathered his thoughts and returned to his room. Gordanus was there waiting for him. His friend had half of his belongings strewn across the floor.
    “Do you think we’ll need our officers uniform? What about our books?” he asked hurriedly. Alexandros waved his arm in a placating way.
    “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,