Chapter 3 – A Bunch of Featherbutts

Silver Stream was a group of random people who happened to work and room together. That was evident by the chaotic atmosphere surrounding the dinner table.

“Steaks all around! Get your bioengineered, farm-fresh ribeye here!”

Slabs of thick meat were slapped onto plates and slid down into place around the table.

“Jester, pass the taters.”

“Naturally!~~”

A batch of baked potatoes, too hot to hold but not to juggle, circled in the air as Jester managed to keep them all afloat while making a trip around the table. He rarely resisted the urge to put his dexterity on display for even the most menial of tasks.

“Get over here and sit! We have our scheduled debriefing to get ready for tomorrow!” Sarge shouted over the noise, ushering stragglers to the table for some sense of order.

At the same time, Arwain and Queen entered the dining area, eyeing a teenager with black, fluffy hair in a frilly apron walking around to serve everyone.

The youngest member of the crew, Barry Dengel, who everyone jokingly called ‘Dingleberry’, was just about the happiest kid that they ever met. Having joined only months ago, he still had the scent of an out-of-place newbie that was the subject of teasing. That was part of the reason for his nickname, an attempt to get a stir out of him. Instead, he just took it in stride, a scatterbrained mess that was too optimistic for his own good. Apparently, calling him ‘dingleberry’ just made him chuckle sheepishly.

“Geez, Dingleberry. With all this food your folks keep sending you, you’d never guess that you had a falling out with them. Not that I’m complaining that we’re saving on the bills.”

“My mom and pops weren’t none too happy with these wings, but that doesn’t mean I’m not their son no more. The farm’s all good and dandy with one less dreaming worker slowing everyone down, you know.”

“Tell them I said ‘thanks’.”

“Doubt they care too much about it since I gone and joined a bunch of ‘featherbutts’.”

Arwain held back an awkward chuckle. Dingleberry had come from ground level where it was mainly countryside, hence the gawking tourist face he still had on at times. His family owned a mega ranch that supplied food for Stratos.

Aside from Dingleberry, they were the type of people that rejected augmentation of wings on their bodies. It was hard to pinpoint the exact reason for it. Reasons such as ‘staying close to the land where they farm’ or ‘distrusting newfangled techno mumble jumbo in their bodies’ were often thrown out by unwilling adopters. But there was one thing in common – they refused to take to the skies, settling for a certain peace away from the cities. Dingleberry had run away from that life on the farm, wanting to leave the ground behind him. Having no choice but to get an augmentation placed just recently, he was in training to get his wings up to speed with his body.

Arwain had run into him when he looked lost and unsure entering the middle levels. With the talents of a decent cook, Dingleberry was hired in an instant. At least, he had a source of income while working to shed his baby feathers. It worked out for the crew as well, as they were sick of the small rotation of takeout choices that the rest of the group tended to cycle between.

“I’m sure they care that we are keeping you safe and off the streets,” another voice popped up as a hand gripped him by the shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to be picked up in one of those city-work details for the unemployed. You’d be stuck doing the dirty jobs until you get hired for something else.”

“That’s my Jolly, telling it how it is!” Arwain slapped Dingleberry on the other shoulder. He gave the glasses-wearing girl a thumbs-up and a grin, an air of close familiarity between them that tried to slowly convert the chaos.

The strawberry blond girl was the only one of the members that Arwain knew before Silver Stream. Jolily Lee, or Jolly as everyone called her, was a close friend that served as the brains of the operation. She was the dispatcher that controlled the goods being sent to all the Gliders. Her role kept her behind the computer, managing everyone’s progress in real time.

As a result, she knew each one of the crew far better than even themselves.

“Parents and children don’t always see eye to eye. The care packages are their way of dealing with it. Just like how my parents don’t exactly approve of me supporting this doofus.”

Arwain made a feigned look of shock at Jolly’s jab, laying it on thick as he gripped his wounded chest. He lunged forward to tickle her, but he was stopped by the strong grip of Sarge with her palm around his neck.

“No horseplay at the dinner table you two.”

“Ouch! Geez! Did they splice falcon genes in you when they gave you wings?”

The grip around his throat tightened until he obediently sat down and stabbed a piece of steak to bring to his mouth. Since he started eating, Sarge let up on her discipline. The others quickly followed suit at the sight of it.

“There’s no point in dwelling on an issue sprung from different walks of life. Humanity is blessed to be only bickering over simple issues such as having or not having wings,” Sarge added.

Arwain couldn’t argue with that. Even coming from a poor family, he still had all the necessities available to him. It was simply human nature to reach for more. And in his case, putting everything into training his wings had become that drive.

Even in Dingleberry’s case, getting a pair of wings was as simple as having Arwain and Jolly sign off as his guardians, all costs for the procedure funded by the city as bodily improvements to promote a healthy workforce.

“Still… there’s that group of ‘No-Flyers’ that call us featherbutts and stuff. All that pressure to stay grounded was what made me decide to leave in the first place.”

Arwain could never understand how lacking wings felt ‘freer’ to the No-Flyers. The very livelihood of Stratos relied on being able to travel in three dimensions. While there were still archaic devices such as elevators and trams, they were mainly reserved for children, unsteady flyers, and cargo transport.

“Those No-Flyers just don’t understand the charm of aerial snu-snu,” Queen snorted.

“Such a crude display of entertainment would only meet the approval of tastes that align with yours, unfortunately.”

Arwain choked on his food as he fought back a laugh. The others had no such issues as chuckling blanketed the room at Jester’s retort. With a bang of the palm on the table, Sarge eyed Queen to pull up the data to start the debriefing.

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Later that evening, Arwain stared at the summarized results of the day. The upward graph of total deliveries was a good sign that Silver Stream was growing in prominence. They had caught a lucky break by collaborating with a mega supplier of online shopping. His gaze moved to the night sky as he laid back in a reclining chair on the balcony, stretching his wings listlessly.

“It’s reckless to fly at night, you dummy.”

A mug of tea was thrust in front of his face. He looked up to see Jolly smiling at him and took it. Her glittering wings were curled around her bare legs to keep them warm from the chill.

“I wasn’t thinking that. Well… not more than a few seconds.”

“As if danger would keep you from diving naked for a thrill ride.”

“Hey, that would only be true like five years ago.”

“Only? Maybe that’s why you can’t be trusted around me.”

“Heh, as if your rich parents will ever change their minds about me. I’m honestly surprised that they offered the capital for Silver Stream to succeed.”

“Maybe, it’s because they have a daughter that they can trust to make the right decisions, even if her partner is a speed junkie with a bad rap who had to learn how to control his impulsiveness as to not tank the whole operation.”

“You can call it impulsiveness all you want. I call it the charisma to attract a decent crew.”

Jolly reached over and rested her head on top of Arwain’s.

“Let’s keep on proving them wrong.”

“Cheers to that!”

The clink of mugs echoed in the silent night air. It was a peaceful end to another work day.