Young Writers Society

Free time for the rest of the evening. It was strange. Abel hadn’t had free time since kindergarten. Elementary and middle school, as well as university, utilized each minute of school to its fullest. At least the other students had partners to converse with. Clasping his hands behind his back, he meandered around the yard, weaving between the near-identical airships. His had been further down the line, if memory served him right, and he made sure to aim his wandering that way.

The principal’s speech had dispelled most of his pre-existing bad mood, but was beginning to bring a lot of questions to mind. Although awed, he hadn’t really been thinking about its contents during the time. He was just caught up in the feeling. Retrospect slowed things down, drained the emotions from the scene, and let him process the words properly. And those meanings were quite odd.

Abel had entered the navigator course to travel the known and unknown world. He wanted to see the rolling foreign landscapes that Principal Brown had and live a life freer than he could have live as a ground worker, where he’d shamble along smoky alleys and in overcrowded buildings. And now the very same man was telling them that most of them wouldn’t become like him. 

“Hitting it right where it hurts,” he muttered as he passed another vehicle. It didn’t help that the principal was right. The world needed more engineers and commercial fliers than it needed adventurers. People were more interested in developing the areas they did have than discovering new ones. Plus, it’d be pretty hard to make a living unless you found something huge, something that you could write bestsellers and patent maps from.

“Ah, here I am.” Abel stopped in front of an airship identical to the rest, but had his and Cain’s name hammered just below the front window. The entrance was on the side, and he attempted to pull down the handle. There was a clicking sound, and it budged for all of a millimeter. Of course it was locked. He would have to ask the instructors for the key.

To satisfy his burning curiosity, he backtracked to the nose of the ship and peered through the sole window. A single leather chair. It was backed up against some hulking mass of steel plates, battalions of nails covering its metallic surface. The floor was lost to shadows, but Abel assumed it to be covered in a mesh of pipes, considering how the arching walls looked that way. No doubt they sunk into the floor, which was probably made of wood, but he would have to watch his step. Even though the rational part of him had expected this, he couldn’t help but pout. It wasn’t exactly the grand airship of his dreams.

Pulling himself away, Abel shook his head to rid himself of the childish disappointment. He headed back to the stadium, weaving between airships and wondering why he was doing so. Part of him expected to finally see a different design, but of course the school had no reason to decorate a bunch of old rental airships.

When he reached the stadium, he looked for someone who might have the keys. His eye caught on a growing line in front of a wooden table, where three adults sat. They were scribbling things onto some list and pushing small white envelopes at students, so of course Abel joined the line.

“Excuse me,” he said to a boy in front of him, “this is to get the keys for our airships, right?”

“Yeah,” came the reply.

“Thanks.” With that, Abel went back to playing with the hem of his uniform. The line moved at a decent pace, and soon he was talking to one of the people behind the table. She asked for his and his partner’s name. “Abel Etheridge. And Cain Noriega.”

There was a moment as she thumbed through the files, and then she brought out a thin package. Then, she looked up and frowned. “Mr. Etheridge? Where is your partner?”

“He’s not here.” Dread pooled in his stomach.

“I’m sorry, but both partners must be here to pick up the key. You’re free to wait on the side until he comes, so that you don’t have to wait in line again. Next!”

That was a problem. Abel opened his mouth to explain his situation, when he heard a familiar voice from behind.

“Oh, hey, is this the line for keys?” Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Abel turned his head to see Cain conversing with someone at the back of the line and winced. It was for the sake of the airship, he told himself. “Cain! Over here!”

As soon as Cain noticed him, a wretched expression covered his face. Right back at you, Abel thought, as the Xingese came towards him. “What?” 

“We need both partners to pick up the key,” Abel tiredly explained, “and no, I have no idea why. Security, maybe. Can you handle standing next to me for ten seconds?”

Cain glared at him, but didn’t say anything. Taking that as a yes, Abel turned to the lady. The girls that she had been working with happened to just finish and take off, so he stepped in front of her. “My partner, Cain Noriega, is here. I’m Abel Etheridge.”

“Right.” The woman took the envelope that had been placed to the side and slid it towards him. “Please sign here.” She gave him the blocky pencil and he signed his name with a flourish, before handing it to Cain. The pilot, notably, avoided touching his fingers and jerked the writing instrument out of his hand. He signed, then snatched up the envelope. The pair removed themselves from the line and Cain tore the top of the envelope off, dumping the key into his waiting palm. Emphasis on key, because there was only one.

“For a top school, they’re pretty cheap,” Cain remarked. He closed his fist and headed off towards their airship, not sparing Abel a look.

Unfortunately, he had to follow, lest he be unable to check out their airship. It looked like they would have to stick together for more than ten seconds.