“Commander, we have the location of nine of the transmissions now,” he announced.
“The remaining races’ home worlds?” said Byron.
Mevine nodded. “We can even pinpoint the exact location on each planet.”
“Send me the information so I can forward it to High Command. They can confirm the presence of alien ships with the Charren and Arellens.”
“Sir, how will we verify that information with our enemies?”
Byron’s brows came together. “I’m going to let High Command worry about that.”
“We need to confirm the existence of an alien ship at every location,” said Mevine. He propped up his elbow on the station and rubbed his right temple. “We ought to have every race working on this problem.”
“I doubt the Vindicarn will put the war aside just to analyze an old alien ship for us.”
Mevine moaned and covered his eyes. “You’re probably right.”
Noting his drooping posture, Athee reached for his arm. His thin limb trembled under her fingertips.
“Mevine, you need to get some rest tonight,” she said, concerned he would work himself to death. Driven by curiosity and a transparent desire to please his commander, Mevine often pushed himself too far.
“There’s still so much work to be done…” Mevine said, glancing at the computer screens.
“What about the tenth transmission?” said Byron.
Surprised by his indifference to Mevine’s condition, Athee released the man’s arm and stared at Byron. His gaze remained locked on the senior scientist.
Spinning his stool to face Byron, Mevine’s hands dropped to his lap. “Sir, that transmission went into deep space.”
Misgiving flooded Athee’s body like a heat flash and she almost dropped her tablet.
“Which direction?” said Byron.
Mevine swallowed hard. “In the same direction it did twenty years ago.”
Athee gasped and brought an involuntary hand to her mouth. The signal went out to the probe. Fear tightened across her chest, threatening to choke the air out of her lungs. Athee turned to her mate, desperate for a word of comfort.
Byron’s chin rested on his chest, his eyelids closed. Athee tried to touch his mind, but his shields were locked tight, permitting no thoughts to enter or leave. She looked to Mevine, but his eyes only mirrored her apprehension.
“I wish I had better news…” Mevine said, turning his hands palm side up.
“Officer Mevine, has your team translated the transmissions?” said Byron, his voice devoid of all emotion. His head was still down but his eyes were now open.
“We’re very close, sir,” said Mevine, sitting up straight. “The same message was sent to all ten locations, although it wasn’t necessarily to activate the other ships. It contained information regarding the Tgrens themselves. We hope to decode the entire transmission within the next few hours. I’ll work all night if I have to.”
Byron’s head jerked up. “Send me the information on the transmissions’ locations at once. I expect the full translation in three hours, understand?”
Mevine nodded. “Yes, sir! I’ll get back to work at once.”
Recovering her initial shock, Athee turned to Byron. Only three hours? She feared Mevine would collapse from exhaustion. They needed the information but not at the cost of the senior scientist’s health or mental capacity.
“And if you don’t have the translation within that time frame, you are to put your best man on it and go home.”
Mevine’s entire face fell. “But sir…”
“Mevine, you are to get some rest. And yes, that is a direct order. Don’t make me enforce it.”
Athee could not recall ever having seen a more stunned expression on the science officer’s face. He managed to mumble an affirmation, his lips fumbling with the words.
She followed Byron from the lab, her own thoughts rather numb. How would they stop the alien craft this time?
I want you to inform the prefects of the nine transmissions, Byron thought as they traversed the hallway.
Not the tenth?
They’re smart enough to realize the tenth went to the probe. I know they think they are entitled to all information, but damned if I’m going to cause a panic. Not until we know the details of the message.
Byron, she thought, trying to gather her wits. Her insides were awash with trepidation. If the alien ship returns, how are we going to stop it this time?
Hopefully the translation will provide clues. He glanced at her, his expression softer. And no, I wasn’t going to let Mevine spend another night in that lab. I need his wits to solve this problem.
I was worried you were being overly harsh, Athee admitted.
Only when I have to be.
They reached a split in the hallway. Before Byron could veer right and continue toward his office, Athee grabbed his arm. When he turned to face her, she discovered fear had frozen the words in her mind. Stepping closer, Byron gripped her shoulder. Athee noted a spark of determination in his dark eyes.
We beat this once. We can do it again.
She nodded with a confidence she didn’t possess. Her mate’s presence invaded her mind, supplying her with much needed assurance. Byron glanced past her, and then in a rare moment of disregard for protocol, he kissed her.
Hopefully I’ll see you in three hours, he thought.
Releasing her, Byron strode down the hall. His footsteps were loud in the empty corridor, growing dimmer as he increased the distance between them. Shaking her head, Athee turned in the opposite direction. She still had a job to do and twenty-five prefects to notify–and pacify
I wonder which of us will get home first, Athee thought.
A noise roused Byron. He tried to ignore it, too tired to move.
The sound grew louder. Beside him, Athee stirred. His eyes still closed, Byron lifted his head.
It’s Bassan! Athee thought.
Moaning, he pulled his body upright. His son’s cries were more distinct now. The bed shifted and Byron knew Athee was on her feet.
He’s having another nightmare, he thought, swinging his legs to the floor.
Byron followed her to Bassan’s room. At his son’s request, the door had remained open. Athee called for lights and the room flooded with brilliance. Squinting against the powerful light, Byron saw his son jump and almost fall off the far side of the bed. Moving at a velocity he didn’t think possible, Byron darted around the bed and grabbed Bassan before the boy slid to the floor. Once again, his son’s shirt was soaked.
“Lights, dim!” said Athee, reaching across the bed to steady Bassan.
Hey, it’s me! Byron thought, trying to calm his son. The confusion in the boy’s mind concerned Byron as much as his flailing arms and legs. Bassan, you’re all right. We’re here.
Bassan uttered another cry, softer this time, and he ceased his violent struggles. Athee moved closer as Byron pulled their son into his arms. She stroked his hair and whispered in a soothing voice. The confusion in Bassan’s mind subsided and he began to cry.
Adjusting his grip on his son, Byron looked up at Athee, at a complete loss. He’d tried to catch the nightmare images in Bassan’s mind, but they faded too fast. Whatever tormented their son remained locked in his mind.
Perhaps the attack on Ktren is causing his night terrors, thought Athee, still stroking her son’s head.
He didn’t have them the night of the attack though, Byron thought. A small arm curled around his neck, and he pulled his crying son closer. “It’s all right. Your mother and I are here.”
Bassan’s tears ceased, replaced by soft sniffles. Athee retrieved a dry shirt for him and fussed over her son as he changed clothes. When Byron pulled the covers across his son’s body, it occurred to him that the boy hadn’t spoken at all.
I’ll stay with him a while, he told Athee, settling on the bed beside Bassan.
Are you sure? You’re exhausted.
So are you, Byron thought, noting her dro
oping eyes. I didn’t even see him yesterday. I’ll stay.
Adjusting the covers around his son’s chin, Byron attempted a weak smile. “Hey, better now?” he said, resting a hand on Bassan’s head. His son nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line.
“Can you tell me about your dream?” When Bassan shook his head, Byron frowned. “Nothing at all?”
“No, sir,” his son answered, his voice cracking as he looked away.
Bassan either didn’t want to remember or couldn’t. Even his mind seemed confused regarding the truth. Byron contemplated what to say next and recalled his mate’s earlier words. His cheeks tightened.
“Your mother told me some of your classmates give you a hard time because you’re half Tgren.”
Fear arced from his son’s mind and he met Byron’s gaze with wide eyes. The spark of panic ceased, silenced by mental shields, but not before Byron caught a flash of guilt as well.
“I’m sorry,” Bassan murmured, looking away.
“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”
Under the covers, Bassan squirmed. “Because I let them. Drent says I shouldn’t because I’m the commander’s son.”
“Bassan, it’s not your fault.”
“If I was more like you they’d respect me…”
His son’s words sent an ache through Byron’s heart. Was that the reason for the guilt? Because if he were more like his father his classmates wouldn’t tease him?
“Look at me,” said Byron, his tone catching Bassan’s attention. “It’s taken me years to reach this level of respect. It’s not something that just happens. Respect has to be earned and proven through your actions.”
Bassan stared at him and Byron suspected his son didn’t comprehend. Stories, he thought, forcing his tired brain to work. Bassan always liked to hear a story.
“You know, I found myself in a similar situation once,” he said. “My first assignment out of Cosbolt training was on one of the most prestigious flagships in the fleet. Pilots who served on the Sorenthia had many years of experience. I got the assignment because my navigator was the best in the fleet.”
“Bassa?” his son said, his interest peaking.
Byron smiled. “Yes, your namesake. And the other Cosbolt teams knew it. I was shunned and sometimes ridiculed.”
“What did you do?”
“Bassa told me I needed to earn their respect. I had to work harder and prove I was worthy to serve on the ship. It didn’t happen overnight either. But by the time I left, I had the respect of every man in the squadron.”
Bassan frowned and squirmed again. “That’s because you blew up the Vindicarn ship.”
“Because I was willing to do what no one else could and I didn’t give up,” Byron said, leaning closer. “I found the strength. So will you.”
“You think so?”
“And it won’t be because of me. It will be because of you.”
A smile appeared on Bassan’s face. Feeling triumphant, Byron tousled his hair.
“Now, get some sleep, and no more bad dreams.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bassan wiggled farther under the covers and turned on his side. Confident his son would be asleep soon, Byron dimmed the lights and returned to his own bed.
At least I accomplished something today, he thought.
Byron entered the main facility just as light dawned across the valley. Several others were present, but the building was quiet. He arrived at his office and dropped into his chair. Rubbing his eyes once, he reached for his keypad.
Let there be some good news this morning, he thought, retrieving his messages.
The one from High Command demanded his attention first. Byron scanned the message, which confirmed the discovery of an alien ship on several planets. The response from the Narcons brought a short bark of laughter from his lips.
Yes, we planted the ship as a secret weapon, he thought, scowling at the screen. Like to know how we managed that!
Annoyed, he returned to his list of messages. An urgent message from one of Mevine’s scientists caught his eye. Byron’s senior science officer had failed to decipher the transmission last night and placed one of his men in charge of the task as ordered. The timestamp indicated it was sent in the middle of the night. Byron punched his keypad and brought up the message.
He scanned the first few lines, which consisted of an apology for the rough and basic translation. Yes, get to the point, thought Byron, growing impatient. He skipped to the second half of the message.
‘Basic translation of initial message: Ten races at war. Transmission response from deep space: Initiating eradication sequence.’
He slumped in his chair, his body sagging as if dead weight. His mind went numb, and Byron stared at the translation. Eradication? The alien race now wanted to annihilate their experiments? They couldn’t stop the alien vessel with their weapons twenty years ago–how would they stop it now?
Damn, this couldn’t get any worse, he thought.
Snapping into action, Byron rose to his feet.
Byron? Athee’s voice echoed in his head. Sorry, I was getting Bassan up. What happened?
Are you away from him right now? Byron thought as he strode from his office. When his mate confirmed she was alone, he allowed her to see the message.
What? she thought, fear filling her mind.
I’m on my way to confirm the translation with Mevine. He should be in soon.
Two officers sidestepped Byron, offering belated salutes. He didn’t stop to acknowledge them.
I need you here as soon as possible, he thought. And keep your mind shielded.
I’ll be there shortly.
Byron entered the science lab and those present ceased their actions. Officer Mevine came forward, his eyes wide under his damp locks.
“Sir, I just got in,” he said with a gasp.
“Is the translation accurate?”
Mevine gestured to the closest computer. “I’ve been analyzing it and I’m certain he translated it correctly.”
Byron followed him to the station and looked down at the screen. “He sent me a basic translation. I want more details.”
Sliding into the seat, Mevine tapped on the keypad and pulled up a new screen. “I know the transmission from space sounds dire, but I don’t believe it’s absolute.”
“Is it similar to last time when the probe was searching for proper mental development?”
Mevine wrinkled his nose. “Not quite.”
Byron slammed the palm of his hand on the desk. “Mevine, explain!”
The science officer jumped and appeared to shrink in his chair. “Sir, twenty years ago the ship’s primary directive was to confirm development, and if that failed, then it went to a secondary directive of extermination. This time, it’s reversed. It appears the primary order is eradication.”
“Of all the races?”
Mevine’s fingers paused over his keypad and he glanced up at Byron. “We believe so, sir.”
Byron’s grasp tightened around his computer tablet. “You said it wasn’t absolute though?”
“The details weren’t readily apparent in the transmission, but there is a secondary directive. We’re still deciphering the message, which seems to involve all ten races.”
“I require a complete translation of those messages,” said Byron, pouring every ounce of authority into his words.
His science officer’s eyes grew wider, but he nodded in affirmation. Byron scowled at the screen. The alien symbols pulsated as if they were mocking him.
“This race may have created us,” he said in a tone just below a growl, “but I’ll be damned if they’re going to destroy us.”
Chapter Seven
Byron contacted the Nacinta before Athee arrived. Once she began notifying the prefects, questions would arise regarding the alien ship. He needed confirmation of the probe’s appearance.
“Commander, we’ve received no word of a strange ship in that area or detected anything unusual,” Ganter announced. �
�We’ll inform the Litheron and the Darentor, but scanning for a deep space probe will become secondary if the enemy advances. We just received word that a Torbeth vessel has joined the Narcon and Vindicarn cruisers in sector 119-322.”
“Three war ships?” implored Byron. He shook his head, stunned by the single-minded determination of their enemy. “With ancient alien ships on every planet transmitting unknown messages?”
“The Vindicarn probably think it’s a trick. The commanders of those three ships might not even know what’s transpired. I’ve been told the Narcon prefer their soldiers ignorant. Easier to control.”
“They won’t be ignorant when that alien vessel appears.”
Ganter crossed his thick arms, the crest of his nose wrinkled. “Commander, you’re sure this ship will arrive?”
“Yes, I am,” Byron said, enunciating each word and daring the man to challenge his assessment.
“We’ll scan for the probe. In the meantime, we are moving to sector 120-322.” The Nacinta’s commander leaned forward and reached for his keypad. “We’ll keep you posted.”
The screen went dark. Byron slammed his fist on the desk.
You were on the far side of Cassan space when that vessel appeared the first time, he thought, grinding his teeth. You weren’t here to witness the failure of all weapons against it. And even with our advancements, I doubt we possess anything that will damage it. None of the races control anything that powerful!
While Athee contacted the prefects, Byron met with his senior security officer and squadron commander. He wasn’t waiting for orders from High Command. His base needed to prepare for the reappearance of the alien craft, not to mention the potential for panic once the general population heard the news.
His computer pad announced a message as Mard and Hurend departed. Byron glanced at the sender and moaned. Prefect Enteller.
Didn’t Athee tell you I was busy? he thought. He tapped the screen and prepared himself.
“Commander Byron!” said Enteller, offering a threatening scowl. “I was just informed the probe is returning to destroy Tgren.”
CassaStorm Page 9
