keep their surnames so that all Rome may know and remember who tried to destroy our empire in its infancy. Surely, Florentius, you’ll not break with tradition?” Pentus Astoragas’s nasally voice pulled Amelius’s attention to the right end of the bench. The former airfleet captain leaned back, boots on his desk, as he lackadaisically fanned himself with a sheaf of paper and yawned. “Dismiss the lad and we’ll finish the day ahead of schedule.”
“The seed of treachery can take many years to bloom,” came the voice of Garus Miletosinos, the white-haired historian of the panel. “While not present now, treachery, ambition, and vengeance have a way of returning at the least expected, and most disastrous, moments.”
Amelius looked at the child. The boy stared at the panel, then down at his feet. His face was a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Finally, he looked up and locked eyes with the chief judge.
“Sir,” he began. “I believe I would be an excellent candidate and cadet. I am familiar with the latest airship technology, have stellar remarks from my instructors at my academia, and would be an exceptionally motivated cadet.” He colored again slightly before looking back at his feet.
Amelius returned his gaze to the sheaf of papers before him.
“Your marks are exemplary, and your recommendations are glowing,” he stated grudgingly. The room was silent for a moment, then something shifted slightly to Amelius’s left. Quintus Heratus quietly scribbled on one of the many pieces of paper on his desk before passing him a note. Amelius scanned it quickly.
“Are you sure, Quintus?” Amelius asked sotto voce.
Quintus nodded.
“Before we take a final vote, I must ask you one last question, Rufus Tiveri. Let us say you are on a ship, as a captain. You are tasked with saving the life of a legatus , a lord of the empire, perhaps even the primus imperio himself. For some reason, the crew mutinies, demanding the head of the officer. What do you do?”
The boy looked thoughtful as Amelius sat back slightly and waited.
“First, it would never happen with my crew,” the boy stated. “My crew would be treated with respect and trust, not with harshness and punishments. Second, if such a situation were to occur, I would have the legate escape using one of the emergency drop lines. Or, I would crash-land the ship in an effort to allow the lord to escape.”
Amelius was impressed. He does not sound arrogant at all when talking about his crew, but I wonder how a real ship would do under him .
“Sir, if I may?” The boy seemed to have gathered his courage for one last comment.
Ameilus nodded.
“I know that my ancestry can be a mark against my family’s honor. But I implore you to give me a chance to prove myself. I will pass whatever tests you require, just for that chance.” He bowed low, then thanked them.
“All right, all right, let’s vote already,” Astoragas said impatiently. “I vote no. Can’t have little Cassi brats infiltrating the airfleet. First one, then more!”
“No,” Garus Miletosinos said, hardly looking up from his paperwork.
“Yes,” Quintus Heratus said forcefully, smiling warmly at the boy.
The room was silent for a moment as the small group of bureaucrats waited for the last two votes. By tradition, the chief judge voiced his opinion last, so it could be said he was not influencing any of the others.
“Vorentius?” Amelius turned to his right and prodded the sleeping judge with his foot.
“Who? What? Vote? Yes… of… of course!” Vorentius Ilsotus said with a flourish before closing his eyes and beginning to snore again. Sighing, Amelius realized it was once again up to him to be the deciding vote.
“You put this panel in a difficult situation. You are right in the idea that all men ought to have a chance to forge their own destiny. But you are wrong in thinking that your family name should be discounted. Take my advice lad, do not forget that name, but
“The seed of treachery can take many years to bloom,” came the voice of Garus Miletosinos, the white-haired historian of the panel. “While not present now, treachery, ambition, and vengeance have a way of returning at the least expected, and most disastrous, moments.”
Amelius looked at the child. The boy stared at the panel, then down at his feet. His face was a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Finally, he looked up and locked eyes with the chief judge.
“Sir,” he began. “I believe I would be an excellent candidate and cadet. I am familiar with the latest airship technology, have stellar remarks from my instructors at my academia, and would be an exceptionally motivated cadet.” He colored again slightly before looking back at his feet.
Amelius returned his gaze to the sheaf of papers before him.
“Your marks are exemplary, and your recommendations are glowing,” he stated grudgingly. The room was silent for a moment, then something shifted slightly to Amelius’s left. Quintus Heratus quietly scribbled on one of the many pieces of paper on his desk before passing him a note. Amelius scanned it quickly.
“Are you sure, Quintus?” Amelius asked sotto voce.
Quintus nodded.
“Before we take a final vote, I must ask you one last question, Rufus Tiveri. Let us say you are on a ship, as a captain. You are tasked with saving the life of a legatus , a lord of the empire, perhaps even the primus imperio himself. For some reason, the crew mutinies, demanding the head of the officer. What do you do?”
The boy looked thoughtful as Amelius sat back slightly and waited.
“First, it would never happen with my crew,” the boy stated. “My crew would be treated with respect and trust, not with harshness and punishments. Second, if such a situation were to occur, I would have the legate escape using one of the emergency drop lines. Or, I would crash-land the ship in an effort to allow the lord to escape.”
Amelius was impressed. He does not sound arrogant at all when talking about his crew, but I wonder how a real ship would do under him .
“Sir, if I may?” The boy seemed to have gathered his courage for one last comment.
Ameilus nodded.
“I know that my ancestry can be a mark against my family’s honor. But I implore you to give me a chance to prove myself. I will pass whatever tests you require, just for that chance.” He bowed low, then thanked them.
“All right, all right, let’s vote already,” Astoragas said impatiently. “I vote no. Can’t have little Cassi brats infiltrating the airfleet. First one, then more!”
“No,” Garus Miletosinos said, hardly looking up from his paperwork.
“Yes,” Quintus Heratus said forcefully, smiling warmly at the boy.
The room was silent for a moment as the small group of bureaucrats waited for the last two votes. By tradition, the chief judge voiced his opinion last, so it could be said he was not influencing any of the others.
“Vorentius?” Amelius turned to his right and prodded the sleeping judge with his foot.
“Who? What? Vote? Yes… of… of course!” Vorentius Ilsotus said with a flourish before closing his eyes and beginning to snore again. Sighing, Amelius realized it was once again up to him to be the deciding vote.
“You put this panel in a difficult situation. You are right in the idea that all men ought to have a chance to forge their own destiny. But you are wrong in thinking that your family name should be discounted. Take my advice lad, do not forget that name, but
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