I decided on what I want to do for my Induction Day. Mom and Dad don't care for it. They gave me one of those where-did-we-go-wrong parental frowns. Induction Day is a rite of passage for every Butterman--once their pilot license becomes official, which won’t be for five years for me. Seems like forever and an eternity away. But enough time to make plans, get it just right. Right enough to shock the pants off Mom and Dad and prove my Butterman-quality skills.
Dad doesn't like the fact my selection breaks regulation by going back more than 100 years into the past. 152 years to be exact. But he and I both know it's been done before. This Butterman tradition doesn't get logged, and even though Butterman Travel likes to play by the rules, nobody can tell me where or when my own personal Induction Day will be.
The idea is trapped inside my brain, a wing-clipped bird inside a cage with nowhere to go, no way to escape. How will l make it happen? Where will I find the right time port to enter over the Earth’s axis? So many things to consider.
Five long years away. If and when it ever gets here, I'll be ready.
Signing off.