CassaStorm

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  I doubt that is what Athee told you, thought Byron, taking a breath to compose his thoughts. Enteller did not intimidate him, though. “Prefect Enteller, while the transmission did state eradication, it did not specify which planet or race and is to be considered a loose translation. The alien ship…”

  “But it did mention all ten races at war.”

  “It did.”

  “If you hadn’t forced us to sign that declaration, we wouldn’t be a target. Our people could die because of our involvement in your war!” said Enteller, pointing his finger at Byron.

  “Prefect, your people would be dead without our involvement,” Byron said, the force of his words straining his neck muscles. “The Vindicarn and Narcon attacked before you ever signed an alliance with Cassa and our allies. Without us, most of your cities would be in ruins now. Tgren does not have the technology to fight them, and with the allure of letrellium found on this planet, you are an easy target.

  “As for the probe, our ships have not detected its presence. There is no need to panic based on a loose translation that may or may not be accurate. Officer Athee contacted you under the assumption that you could maintain order while we sort out this situation. Can you maintain order, Prefect Enteller?”

  The man leaned away from his screen, his mouth open. Byron suspected he’d crossed the line, but he experienced no remorse. Enteller had been a thorn in his side for the past six years. The added insult that the Cassans were to blame just fueled the fire. Byron had dedicated over eighteen years of his life to the protection of Tgren, nine of those as commander. He wasn’t about to let a man with narrow views threaten the outcome of this planet’s fate.

  “Prefect, this situation threatens all of the known races,” said Byron when Enteller did not respond. “My responsibility is to this base and planet, and I intend to prepare both for whatever might transpire. I require you to maintain order and not let the people of your city panic. I’m asking the other prefects to do the same.”

  Enteller’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll maintain the peace. You damn well better find a way to stop that probe if it appears!”

  Before Byron could respond, the screen went black. He clenched his fists, annoyed with the man’s reaction.

  Damn, I wish Orellen was still in charge, he thought.

  A message came through, chirping its urgency. Straightening his back, Byron punched the keyboard. Mevine’s face appeared.

  “Commander, we’re running the exchanges between the alien ships through translation now, although much of it is coded in images.”

  His word choice piqued Byron’s interest. “Images?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mevine with a nod. “And we discovered something else. The transmissions from the Tgren and Cassan alien ships carry a different notation than the others.”

  “Different how?”

  “They each contain a symbol not found in the other messages. It’s subtle, but worth noting.”

  “Keep working on it, Officer Mevine. The alien vessel still hasn’t been detected, but that doesn’t mean it’s not headed in our direction.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Mevine’s image faded from the screen. Byron rubbed his forehead, wishing the pressure beneath the skin would vanish. The stress of the past few days was beginning to drain his energy and he suspected the situation would continue to grow worse. They needed options and the promise of a solution.

  Come up with something, boy genius, he thought, closing his eyes. You’ve never failed me before, Mevine. Don’t fail me now.

  Athee entered Byron’s office, her feet barely able to keep up with her normal gait. The morning had not only drained her energy but a good portion of her hope as well. News of the transmission had sent more than one prefect into a tirade. She’d fielded their questions to the best of her ability and apologized to Byron for the ones who insisted on speaking with the commander. While she understood their reactions, Athee knew it served no purpose and only lowered morale.

  Her confidence already dragging, the sight of Byron caused Athee’s spirits to dive further. She’d always envied the Cassan’s extended lifespan. They lived almost twenty-five years longer than the average Tgren. Longer life meant a much slower aging process. The changes in Byron over the years were subtle, as he’d maintained his muscular and fit physique. Today however, the lines of worry across his brow revealed the years were creeping up on her mate.

  Forcing her shoulders back to stand at attention, Athee shielded her thoughts. She was about to speak when Byron’s computer signaled an urgent message. He gestured for her to sit and brought his fingers down on the keypad.

  “Commander, we have successfully driven back enemy forces from sector 120-323.”

  Ganter’s voice caught her interest and Athee leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the Nacinta’s commander.

  “That is good news,” said Byron.

  “The Torbeth ship pulled out first. Scanners show it is on its way back to its home planet. Once they departed, it was only a matter of time before the Vindicarn and Narcons backed down and retreated.”

  “Considering everything else we are dealing with here, I’m grateful the battle didn’t return to Tgren,” said Byron, reaching for his computer tablet. “Any idea why the Torbeth were so quick to withdraw?”

  Athee leaned forward a little farther. The Nacinta’s commander lowered his chin.

  “Less than an hour ago, our sensors detected a heavily armored ship in sector 89-265.”

  The probe! Her insides gave an involuntary spasm. Biting her lip, Athee turned her gaze to Byron. He did not appear surprised.

  “Does the configuration match that of the ship that approached Tgren twenty years ago?”

  Ganter sighed. “It does.”

  Byron began tapping on his computer tablet. “Commander, where is it headed?”

  Grasping the edge of the desk, Athee leaned forward as far as she dared. The commander’s expression was quite grim.

  “It will reach the Torbeth’s home world tomorrow.”

  It’s not coming here first? Athee thought. She regretted her words as Byron waved a hand her direction, shielding his mind from further interruptions.

  “High Command knows?” Byron said.

  “We sent a message not twenty minutes ago. Would’ve sent it sooner, but we were a little busy at the time.”

  “Understood, commander. I will inform my science team.”

  “Maybe the aliens are evening the odds?” Ganter said, a hint of sarcasm coloring his words.

  “Somehow I doubt that, Commander.”

  Byron ended the transmission, plunging the room into silence. He leaned his elbows on the desk, his chin down. The weight of the news pressed Athee farther into her chair, the reality of their situation pounding at her senses. That Byron appeared just as troubled bothered her even more.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Athee cleared her throat. Byron lifted his gaze and offered a faint nod.

  “I informed Officer Mard of the need for added security. Prefect Enteller issued a statement to the people of Ktren that could’ve used more candor. His words did not actively incite riots or panic,” she added upon seeing the look of disgust on Byron’s face, “but he did not handle it as well as some of the other prefects.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “However, several prefects have offered their full support and pledge to do whatever it takes to fight for Tgren.”

  Byron sighed and rose to his feet. “Send me a list of the supporters. When this situation comes to a point, I want to know who I can rely on in a pinch.”

  “I’ll fill out a report at once,” said Athee. Reaching out, she touched her mate’s mind. Are you all right?

  His shoulders drooped and Byron’s gaze shifted to his computer screen. Too much at once. Not sure why I signed up for this job.

  Athee rose and fixed him with a firm stare. Because you’re the best man for the position.

  His eyes met hers. Some days I don’
t feel it.

  I have confidence in you.

  Byron managed a faint smile, his thought reflecting gratitude. Well, I hope Mevine has some good news I can send to High Command. Once I’ve composed my thoughts, I’ll let you know what to tell the prefects.

  Athee returned to her office. Resisting the urge to listen in on her mate’s thoughts, she retrieved the list of prefects from her computer’s database. She noted the response of each prefect and forwarded her report to Byron.

  Her task complete, Athee contemplated what to do next. She could return to Ktren’s city council building and attempt to calm the nerves of Enteller and his staff. After her unpleasant discussion with the man earlier, that option did not appeal to Athee. She needed to await instructions from Byron before contacting the prefects regarding the latest development. While that task sounded even less appealing, at least it would keep her mind occupied.

  Rubbing her hands on her thighs, Athee leaned back in her chair. She shifted her feet and adjusted her position. Glancing around the room, her gaze fell on a collection of images adorning the wall. Her uncle’s gentle smile caught her eye. Longing for some assurance from the man who’d helped raise her, Athee reached out for Orellen. She discovered he was awake.

  Uncle?

  My dear, I didn’t expect to hear from you today. Not after what’s transpired.

  I’m sure you heard Prefect Enteller’s speech?

  Annoyance stirred in his thoughts. Damned fool. Enteller has no tact.

  Those words caused her to smile. Orellen could be very blunt as well. We’ve increased security in case of panic.

  No reason to panic unless the alien ship returns.

  Athee shielded her thoughts, afraid she would reveal the truth. Judging from his silence, her reaction wasn’t fast enough.

  The probe has returned, hasn’t it? her uncle thought, his tone grave.

  We haven’t announced it yet, but the Nacinta detected an armored vessel in sector 89-265, she thought, the weight of her words causing her chin to droop.

  Sector 89-265?

  Yes. Its trajectory indicates it is bound for the Torbeth’s home world.

  Perhaps we will be spared since it’s already visited our planet, thought her uncle, his mindset more calculating than hopeful.

  We don’t know yet, thought Athee, her fingers tracing the edge of her desk.

  Well, you and Byron saved the planet once before. You’ll find a way to do it again.

  Athee closed her eyes and shook her head. Her uncle wasn’t the optimistic type. He just expected the two of them to solve this problem.

  Athee?

  Her eyes flew open as her mate touched her mind. Uncle, I have to go!

  Byron comes first.

  Now, how did he know it was Byron? she thought. Yes?

  Inform the prefects that the alien ship approaches the Torbeth’s home planet. Intentions hostile.

  That’s it?

  That’s all they ought to hear.

  But, she thought, hoping for more. Mevine had no new information?

  Nothing the prefects need to know.

  Athee slapped her palm on her desk. Well, I want to know!

  Byron’s mind was still and she bit at her lip. Athee had no right to demand information from him.

  Mevine proposed that based on the data, it’s proceeding to the Torbeth’s planet because it is closest. If it continues on course and is systematic in its approach, the Arellen’s world will be next.

  Where does that place Tgren?

  We are fourth.

  Her chest tightened. Recalling the speed of the probe, Athee estimated they had a week. Maybe ten days if they were lucky.

  Contact the prefects. I’ll brief you in full later, Byron thought.

  His presence vanished. Athee leaned her elbows on her desk and brought her hand to her face. Her spine shuddered and she clenched her hands together.

  Don’t waste time on tears, she thought, reigning in her emotions. You have work to do.

  Dropping her fingers to her keypad, she prepared to contact Prefect Enteller. Might as well get the worst one out of the way first.

  Uncle, I hope you’re right, she thought.

  Bassan tried to close his eyes. The images sped by in a blur, as rapid as a flashing light. He couldn’t stop the onslaught. The pulsating was stronger than any natural light and worse than the bright sun after a dark room. It burned his eyes without stealing his sight. Why wouldn’t the images leave him alone?

  Frustrated and helpless, he uttered a desperate cry. He couldn’t endure the pain in his eyes any longer. Bassan threw his hands in front of his face, but the fiery onslaught continued. The speed of the images increased, blinding him. Searing heat dried his throat and lungs. Unable to take it any longer, Bassan’s voice welled up from the depths of his chest and he let loose a long, wailing yell.

  The lights intensified and a viselike grip squeezed his arms. He fought back, terrified the images had manifested and were trying to pull him into the frenzy. Voices rose over the howl of the speeding pictures and the grip encompassed his entire body. Bassan cried out again, terrified this was the end. He didn’t want to die.

  Bassan!

  The voice in his head blasted through the nightmare images. The blinding light subsided and the frightening images faded. Forcing his eyes open, Bassan tried to focus on the strange view. He reached out with a hand and a soft fabric greeted his touch. A heavy gasp echoed in his ear.

  Bassan, you’re all right.

  Recognizing his father’s voice, he reached for the restraints around his body. Bassan wrapped a hand around an arm. Was that his father? Or had the images succeeded in capturing him?

  Closing his eyes, Bassan gasped. Tears racked his chest, causing his entire body to convulse. His center of gravity shifted as his frame lifted from the bed. The sensation scared him even further and Bassan sobbed louder.

  Bassan, please!

  The fear in his mother’s mental voice shot through his heart. He didn’t want to frighten her. Bassan fought against his tears and forced his eyelids open. Dark blue fabric filled his line of sight. Reaching out his hand, he pressed his palm against the soft but firm surface. Sniffing to clear his nose, Bassan recognized the deep, musky scent at once. He resided in his father’s arms.

  That’s it. Deep breaths. A gentle pat on the back accompanied his father’s words.

  Bassan rubbed his eyes. The hold on his body eased and he peered up at his father’s concerned face. A hand alongside his cheek caused him to turn his head. Guilt clutched at his throat when Bassan noted tears in his mother’s eyes. He wasn’t ever supposed to do anything that would make her cry.

  I’m sorry! he thought, uttering an audible sob.

  Oh Bassan, it’s not your fault, she thought, stroking his forehead. You just scared us.

  His father’s arms shifted. Pressed against his father’s chest, Bassan felt a deep sigh through his cheek. You’re all right now. Just relax.

  After a few minutes, his father set him on the edge of the bed. No longer snuggled against a warm body, Bassan noticed a chill in the air. His shirt was damp yet again Had he really sweated so much it drenched his shirt? His father tugged off Bassan’s shirt and his mother pulled a fresh one over his head.

  Come on, his father thought, holding up the sheets.

  Bassan crawled under the covers. His parents settled on either side of him, adjusting the blankets around his body. They appeared so tired.

  I’m sorry, Bassan repeated.

  Don’t be sorry, his mother thought, placing a hand on his chest.

  What were you dreaming? his father thought. Can you show me?

  Bassan struggled to recall his dream. Other than a blinding light, he couldn’t remember. His father’s presence entered his mind, but Bassan couldn’t recollect the nightmare of the past few nights. His father frowned, his shoulders sagging.

  I’ll take him to medical tomorrow, his mother thought.

  His father nodded
and Bassan cringed. What will they do to me?

  They’ll talk to you, his mother thought, stroking his hair. Probably access your mind to discover what is scaring you.

  No deep mind probe, his father thought.

  Bassan suppressed a cry. That sounded more frightening than his dreams. I’m sorry! I’ll try to remember.

  It’s all right, his mother thought, her tone soothing. Hopefully they can help you without resorting to that.

  They better, thought his father, rubbing his eyes. Bassan, you ready to go back to sleep?

  Yes, sir, thought Bassan. The conviction in his father’s mental voice set him at ease. He feared someone digging deep into his mind, accessing his private thoughts.

  His parents told him goodnight, dimming the room light to the lowest setting as they left. Grasping the edge of the covers, Bassan pulled them tight under his chin. A chill ran through his body.

  Why can’t I remember? he thought.

  With the strange alien ship approaching, you’d think we wouldn’t have classes anymore, thought Drent as they stepped onto the large court.

  It’s not approaching us, thought Bassan, falling in line with the other boys. Alarmed, he glanced up at his friend. Is it?

  Not yet, thought Drent, placing his hands behind his back and standing at attention.

  Bassan stared at his friend, waiting for details, but Drent kept his gaze forward. Shuffling his feet, Bassan assumed a similar position. I bet I’ll be the last to know, he thought, grumbling at that prospect.

  The boys were divided into teams. Bassan was dismayed to discover Drent on the opposing team. He wasn’t very good at this game and the other boys almost never passed the ball to him. Without Drent to assist him, Bassan doubted he would even touch the ball today.

  His team possessed the ball first. Three steps and pass. Bassan ran alongside his teammates, keeping pace with the ball. He knew he’d never acquire the ball, but at least he looked like he was trying. Three steps and pass. The ball kept moving, inching closer to goal. Bassan got into position, just in case. A moment later, one of his teammates flung the ball at the narrow opening. The ball whooshed through the round hole and bounced down the receptacle tube before emerging at the bottom. Their team had scored first.