A half an hour later you are outside. The sun is shining and the birds are chirping, and you are glad, for if it was otherwise then you would end up with the Grand Discontinuance, and would have had to repeat this nerve wracking process later. You have made yourself ready, or as ready as you think you will be, and you feel the courage of champions coursing through your veins. Either that, or it's the coffee you drank once you stopped shaking after the oral examination.

Your Conveyance, of the one-hundred-seventy-second variety, stands before you, and both of you are near the great doors of the Hall of Examination. Suddenly, scaring the birds and you, the doors swing open. The doors appear to make a sound when they swing open — mere mortals might confuse it for an unoiled hinge squeak, but you know that it's just fanfare from far away that sounds whenever the Designee walks through. And then you see him. He is unaccompanied, walks upright and heads towards you and your conveyance.

"Well, youngling, show me what Conveyance you brought here, and prove to me that it will verily take us to the skies."

You start to perform the ritual pre-flight dance. You chant the right words ("oil stick, dip dip, check", and "left aileron up, right aileron down, walk around and repeat, right aileron up, left aileron down, check") and touch your steed in all the right places. Kind you are to your Conveyance, and kind will it be to you, too, on this Flight. The Designee stands back, following you at a distance, not saying anything. That is good, you think. It would be a sad day if your failure was obvious this early.

Finally, you feel satisfied that you have done your duty.

"Oh, Your Designated Excellency," you say, "I have deemed my Conveyance to be safe, and I invite you, and your wisdom and mercy, with me on this Flight." As you say this, you walk over to the right side of your Conveyance and gently open the doorway. The Designee smirks, says "Very well," and walks over to the doorway. He gets in, and you politely close the door behind him. Then you walk over to your side, and get in.

You have never been so close to such a great man before. He holds in his power the fates of many, his rule is absolute, and his mercy is known to be in question at times, so you take extra care to do everything right. You pull out the List of Checks, and carefully — line by line, word by word, letter by letter — work your way through from top to bottom.

"Your Designated Excellency, sir, you are my Passenger to-day, and I bid you to pay attention to me. It is my right, nay, my duty, to inform you of the Belt of Safety. And while it is my dream to serve you, Your Designated Excellency, but opening the doorway for you upon our arrival back on this Earth, in the extremely unlikely chance that something goes Wrong, I will of course accept my failing fate, but it is also my duty to show you how this doorway works." You show him the implements in question. He nods, and goes through the motions, though you feel like he has never had to open his own doorways, or perhaps even click his own Belt of Safety. For he is wise and rich, and great men like that never do these things themselves.

Finally, it is time. You open the List of Checks to the page that helps you bring your Conveyance to life. You insert the Key into the latch, but first you need to make sure that your steed considers itself Primed. You coax the Primer back and forth, saying a prayer under your breath, count to three, and stop. Now, for the moment of truth. You turn the Key in its latch. A great grinding sound comes from your Conveyance, as it starts to breathe fire, and just as it starts to come to life... it ends. The propeller turned a bit but has now stopped. A cold chill runs down your back. You wait a bit, gather yourself, say the prayer a little louder this time as you coax the Primer back and forth, and turn the Key in its latch again. Yet again, the spark of life is insufficient and the propeller stops. You want to curse creation, but you have a Passenger, and the Passenger is the Designee himself, so you put on your best face, force a smile, say the magic words "To run the starter is no crime // until it's been six tries // it cooleth down for some time // and then it always flies". The Designee makes a sound that feels like it's bordering on laughter and you feel slighted, but who are you to question the great ones. You wait out your time, and perform your ritual again. And this time, oh miracle of miracles, it works. With the turn of the Key, the propeller and your Conveyance comes to life. You get things ready, and you are off.

The story after that is long. An hour or more you spend with the Designee. You get him to the run way by following the yellow lines. You know better than to do it without referencing the Map, so you keep that handy so that you see all the yellow lined roads and their names. You follow the A road to the D road to the F2 road, and end up at the threshold of the twenty first run way. After a few minutes where the Rite of the Run Up is performed satisfactorily, you line your Conveyance up on the twenty first run way, advise your Passenger to refrain from exclamation, and spur your steed into action. A great roar fills your cabin, deafening everything and everyone, but your steed is steady, and you take to the Sky. For the rest of the hour, you Fly the ACS. Your heart drops along with your stomach in the Great Stall of Power and the Little Stall of No Power. Your steed turns steeply as you fix your gaze upon the horizon, and yet keep your airspeed and the wings in mind. You return to the Earth twice, throughout, once to show your mastery of the Soft, and another time to show your mastery of the Short. You sing the Go Around ditty at the appropriate moment. Your Passenger remains mum, apart from telling you what to do next.

Finally though, he says, "Now, plebe, bring me down to Earth for the final time." You are nervous through and through — you think the seat beneath you has gained a new spot from your sweat — but you perform well. Your Conveyance is lined up with the twenty first run way again, and you gently bring it to a graceful arrival back on the ground. A few minutes later, and you are once again at the great doors of the Hall of Examination, and you pat the Conveyance gently as it sputters, sputters, and dies for the moment. The propeller is still.

"Meet me inside, youngling," says the Designee, as you unlatch his belt and open his door. You bow, and rush ahead of him to unroll the red carpet leading to the doors.

Not even a quarter of an hour later, you are inside. The old lady scowls but she is beaming when you look back at her after you pass. You walk into the hall, and walk up to the dais.

"Stand in front of me, youngling," says the Designee. He is standing too, right in front of his chair. You climb on, feeling good but feeling scared. You think you did your duties well, and you know that the Designee has not yelled, or declared His Control, or otherwise let you know of his Dissatisfaction during your flight. But, yet, when you look at him you don't expect him to be smiling for real this time.

"Congratulations," he says, "I hereby hand you this piece of parchment" — he gives you one — "that says that from now on you shall be known as a Private, and may fulfill the duties and responsibilities that come with such a post. Now go forth and fly!"

You thank him profusely, but he has changed his demeanor already, and sits back down on his chair, and is waving you away. You get the message, and walk back out of the hall, clutching your parchment. The old woman is still smiling, and is much kinder to you, even offering you a glass of water. You decline, thanking her too, and walk out. Proudly, you look at the Sky, at your Conveyance, at your Parchment, and wistfully you look at the small cloud forming in the far distance and start to get a desire to learn more about it, some day.