CassaStorm

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  “Easy,” said Piten. “They see us.”

  The shuttle adjusted its position, looking for a suitable landing spot. Bassan stumbled down the remaining slope, eager to reach his mother. The ship came to rest on a patch of sandy ground and the shuttle hatch opened. His mother emerged and Bassan pumped his legs harder, ignoring the pain in his knees. Breaking into a run, his mother met him halfway. Uttering a joyful cry, he threw his arms around her neck.

  “Bassan,” she cried in his ear, holding him fast.

  Before he could speak, she spun around and placed him behind her body. Bassan looked up to see her holding a gun at arm’s length.

  “Mother, wait!” he said, squirming to break free of her grasp.

  “Don’t come any closer!” she called to Piten.

  The Rogue pilot stopped several paces away, his hands out at his sides. Bassan tugged at his mother’s side.

  “No, don’t!” he begged, terrified she would kill him on the spot. “I promised Piten no one would hurt him.”

  Two security guards appeared at his mother’s side, weapons raised. “Don’t move,” one of them told Piten.

  “Mother, please,” Bassan begged. He wiggled from her grasp and grabbed her free arm. “He can help us. Don’t shoot him.”

  “Bassan, he’s a Vindicarn,” his mother said, her gaze still fixed on Piten.

  “He’s half Vindicarn,” cried Bassan, raising his voice, “and half Cassan!”

  His mother glanced at him, brows together. “Half Cassan?”

  “Yes! He’s a half-breed like me. One of the eleventh race. And Piten might be able to convince the Vindicarn they can live in peace with the Cassans.”

  “This man attacked us and kidnapped you.”

  “Please,” he implored, tugging on her hand. “It’s a misunderstanding. He didn’t attack anyone. His ship doesn’t even have weapons! And I gave him my word no one would hurt or imprison him if he came with me.”

  Her gaze returned to Piten. Bassan watched her face, hopeful she would see beyond the ashen complexion. When she hesitated, he offered one last plea.

  Trust me, I know he can help us. Please, he’s just like me!

  His mother frowned, but her weapon lowered. Stepping aside, she nodded at the two security guards.

  “We’ll take him in for questioning,” she said to the men.

  Mother? thought Bassan, watching in fear as the security officers approached Piten.

  We’ll take him with us and see what your father has to say. That man is not getting on the shuttle without restraints, though.

  “Piten, it’s all right,” he called, afraid the man would take action to defend himself. The pilot stared hard at Bassan, the wrinkles deep across his forehead.

  You better be right, the Rogue thought, his mental voice weak.

  The security guards removed his gun and secured his hands. They searched Piten before escorting him into the shuttle, but other than a packet of emergency medical supplies, the Rogue carried no other items. Bassan’s mother waited until the men were inside the ship before leading Bassan up the ramp. She fastened him into the first seat, fussing over his knees before taking the seat beside him. Once secure in her harness, she laid a hand alongside his cheek and pulled him closer. Loving relief poured from his mother and Bassan soaked up the affection.

  As the hatch closed, Bassan leaned forward and peered around his mother. Near the rear of the craft, Piten sat in a seat on the other side, his gaze on the ceiling. Jaw set, he appeared resigned to his fate. Bassan was more determined than ever to keep his promise.

  Mother, he thought, peering up at her. You have to help me convince Father.

  Bassan, I’ll do what I can. But that man is a pirate and a criminal. They attack ships and kill their crews. One of the southern cities was attacked just last year.

  They weren’t Rogues. Piten told me there are others who attack the ships. Real pirates. He said his people are called the Rogue and they don’t attack ships or cities.

  He could’ve been lying to you, his mother thought, stroking his cheek.

  I don’t think he was, though! And he said Rogues are all half-breeds, like me. They’re a mix of all the races. Officer Mevine said that’s the eleventh race. That means we can all live in peace.

  His mother’s brows came together. Releasing her hold on Bassan, she glanced over her shoulder. He leaned forward, peering around her. Piten’s head listed to one side, his gaze on the pair. Under the artificial lights of the main cabin, his skin’s ashen color was even more pronounced.

  Mother, thought Bassan as her attention returned to him, I gave him my word. Please convince Father that Piten can help us. If he helps us, maybe we can let him go home to his family. That’s all he really wants. Piten wants to see his son and daughter again.

  Sighing, her head touched his and she held Bassan’s hand. You have such a compassionate heart.

  Is that good?

  His mother turned her head and kissed his forehead. Yes.

  Bassan arched his neck and smiled at his mother. She clasped his hand in her own and gave it a firm squeeze.

  I will speak to your father. He has the final say though, she thought, and he won’t have much time to decide.

  I didn’t miss the flagship, did I? thought Bassan. He imagined the flagship taking off for Vindicarn without him and his fear renewed. Father would be so angry…

  His mother laughed, dispelling his concerns. Bassan, it’s going anywhere without you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Byron watched the shuttle land with growing impatience. They had only an hour before the scheduled departure to the Litheron. With the morning’s hours consumed by the search for Bassan, it left precious little time for preparations. Byron had so much to cover with his senior officers.

  Of all the days for a damned rogue pirate attack, he thought, grinding his teeth as he approached the ship. Two security officers followed close behind in anticipation of the prisoner on board the shuttle.

  He leapt onto the ramp even before it touched the ground. Byron’s gaze fell on his son as Athee helped Bassan to his feet. In two strides, he’d closed the distance and grabbed his son’s shoulders.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, bending down to peer into Bassan’s eyes. “Why didn’t you run to Mevine like I told you to?”

  His son’s face grew long and his mouth opened without uttering a word. Bassan’s eyes blinked as tears formed. Viewing his son’s face and holding his thin shoulders reminded Byron that not an hour ago he’d thought him lost forever. His heart tightened with a vicious twist.

  Releasing Bassan’s shoulders, Byron wrapped his arms around his son and hauled him in for a rough hug. Relief still tinged with fear flowed from Bassan, and Byron regretted his harsh questions. His son was alive. There would be time later for questions.

  Sounds at the end of the cabin caught his attention. Opening his eyes, Byron caught sight of the man who’d kidnapped his son. His mate’s request that they consider Bassan’s captor a potential bargaining chip fled his mind. The revelation the Rogue might be the eleventh race meant nothing. He was part Vindicarn, and the man’s very presence filled Byron with rage.

  Releasing Bassan, he strode toward the man. Now on his feet and between the security officers, the Rogue’s Vindicarn heritage was obvious. Fueled further by his hatred for the race, Byron grabbed the front of the man’s thin flight suit and shoved him against the wall.

  “You’re damn lucky my son is all right!” he said, pressing the man into the seat’s alcove. “Don’t you realize how important he is for the survival of our race? We lose that code, and we are all dead!”

  The Rogue’s face tightened and his eyes narrowed. Byron stared hard at Bassan’s abductor, unaffected by the coldness in his black eyes. The man’s hands clung to Byron’s wrists, although not with any force. The Rogue might be smart enough to resist fighting back but that didn’t quell Byron’s anger. The man had nearly cost the remaining races their lives.
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  “Father, please!” said Bassan. Small hands grabbed Byron’s left arm. “He can help us. Please don’t hurt him. He’s half Cassan.”

  Byron continued to stare at the man. “And half Vindicarn.”

  “I owe no allegiance to that race,” the Rogue spat, lifting his chin.

  “Where does your allegiance reside?” Byron demanded, his grasp tightening on the man’s flight suit.

  “With my people.”

  “Your people?”

  “My people!” the man said, his expression hard. “The thousands of Rogues that live on the fringes of the known races because you do not want to admit our existence.”

  Thousands? Byron’s grip loosened on the man’s flight suit. Were there really that many half-breeds? Had the eleventh race existed for years without their knowledge?

  “Father, if he comes with us, the Vindicarn will see that all of the races are connected,” Bassan said, tugging hard on Byron’s elbow. “Piten is proof.”

  His son’s logic poked at the hate in Byron’s heart. The Vindicarn had killed many Cassans and Tgrens. They’d deprived Byron of his friend and brother. He could never forgive those losses. However, the man standing in front of him had committed none of those crimes. The Rogue hadn’t even returned fire when Byron shot down his ship.

  Byron, thought Athee. Bassan insists this man can help us. I believe our son.

  Releasing the man, Byron stepped back. The Rogue slumped into the alcove, his eyes still wary. The hands around Byron’s elbow slid to his hand.

  Father, I promised Piten he wouldn’t be imprisoned.

  Turning to face his son, Byron shook his head. Bassan, he kidnapped you. Why would you promise such a thing?

  He wasn’t going to hurt me. It was a mistake, Besides, he can help us, thought Bassan, his eyes wide and pleading. Please, Father. He was going to kill himself once I was safely away. I couldn’t let that happen.

  Kill himself?

  Because he wanted to protect his family. I promised Piten if he helped us, we’d reunite him with his children.

  Byron’s gaze returned to the Rogue. The man still held his chin high, but indignation no longer dominated his features. Framed by dark, shaggy hair, his face showed signs of youth despite the dark, rough skin. Byron guessed he was many years his junior and even younger than Mevine. More important, his Cassan features revealed those years, not Vindicarn.

  For kidnapping my son, you’ll have to prove yourself, he thought. I don’t give a damn if you’re one of the eleventh race or not.

  Byron straightened his shoulders. “Clean this man up and place him in Cassan attire,” he said to the security guards. “He’ll be traveling with us to the Litheron under light security.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the officers answered.

  Turning away, he gestured for Athee to lead the way out of the shuttle. Placing a hand on Bassan’s shoulder, he guided his son down the ramp and away from the ship.

  “Athee, I need you to run home and gather clothing for us,” he said to his mate.

  “But Bassan is hurt,” she said, pointing at his legs.

  “Take him to medical first,” Byron said, not bothering to glance down. “Then get back here quickly. Prefect Ubarce is on his way. The senior officers still need to meet before I depart.”

  Her face fell. She nodded and pulled Bassan close to her body. Byron grabbed her arm.

  Athee, we are running out of time. Please, it’s necessary you’re with me on this.

  Just give me a chance to say goodbye to my son.

  Byron’s gaze dropped. I promise, you will have time to say goodbye.

  Wrapping her arms around Bassan, Athee guided him toward the exit closest to the medical facility. It was then Byron sensed her mind was closed. Athee never locked him out of her thoughts.

  Hope you don’t lock me out the entire time we’re gone, he thought.

  “Is everyone clear?”

  Byron scanned the room. Heads nodded and the men voiced their confirmation.

  “Remember, no one but authorized personnel in the alien craft,” he said, leaning against the table. “If we fail, then you may begin the evacuation of Ktren, Prefect Ireth. You’ll still have almost five days to accomplish that task.”

  The man nodded, his eyes wide. Ktren’s new Prefect was young and ratified in haste after Enteller’s collapse. His rapid, jerky movements during the meeting revealed a man overwhelmed with the task before him. Orellen knew the man though, and he’d assured Byron that Ireth was capable. With the shuttle leaving soon, Byron had no choice but to trust the judgment of Athee’s uncle.

  “Prefect Ubarce, I need you on the Doorthmore since it will carry the largest population of your people,” Byron said. “We’ll require someone else in a position of authority on the Nacinta as well.”

  “Sir?” said Ireth, raising a finger. “One of the men on Ktren’s list is an experienced pilot and leader. The man knows how to take control of a situation.”

  “Be sure Officers Hurend and Mard know his name,” said Byron. “We’re sticking to the current roster no matter what. Unless your need is pressing, all concerns and requests are to pass through Liaison Officer Athee. Should we fail to stop the alien ship, everyone will be very busy.”

  He glanced at his mate. She didn’t appear happy with that arrangement, but Byron knew it would keep Athee occupied until they returned.

  “You all have your orders,” he said with authority, straightening his back.

  The men began to rise to their feet, the sound of their voices a low buzz in the room.

  “Commander Byron!”

  Ubarce’s words silenced all conversation. Byron inclined his head.

  “Successful mission for you and your son, sir,” the Prefect said. “And a safe return.”

  Everyone seconded the sentiment. Byron nodded in appreciation, his gaze drifting to Athee’s chair. His mate was no longer present though.

  She just wants a few extra minutes with Bassan, he thought. However, he knew she was at odds with the decision, and with him.

  Additional questions arose, delaying his departure. Mard followed him out of the room, clarifying last-minute details. Byron reiterated his instructions to increase security around the alien ship.

  “I don’t want anyone sneaking inside and causing havoc,” he said as they entered the hangar.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mard.

  “And be sure to release Enteller before evacuating,” Byron added, recalling that the man still resided in their medical facility. “He is not getting a free ride on the Nacinta.”

  His security officer offered a wicked smile. “With pleasure, sir. May your mission be a success.”

  Mard stepped away. No longer focused on his security officer, Byron noticed Mevine had followed him into the hangar.

  “Officer Mevine?” said Byron, gesturing for the man to walk with him. The science officer hustled to his side.

  “Sir, I sent you instructions for uploading the code to the probe,” Mevine said, holding up his tablet. Byron glanced at the directions.

  “Seems rather straightforward.”

  “The key is the timing. The code needs to be in direct response to the probe’s transmission. Once it’s sent, a signal will go out to the remaining alien ships. Every race received the alien code for peace, which will be entered at that time, followed by a confirmation from all eight leaders.”

  Byron’s shoulders tightened. “That’s a lot of people separated by a great distance who must coordinate together.”

  Looking up from his computer pad, Mevine’s immense eyes revealed his concern. “Yes, sir. The leaders know the approximate time of arrival, though. As long as everyone is in place and the Vindicarn keep in communication, it will work.”

  “They better, because we’ll all die if it doesn’t.”

  They reached the shuttle, its engines purring and hatch open. Byron paused, the weight of uncertainty draining his spirit. He didn’t like the lack of control and strain
this had placed on so many people.

  “Sir?”

  Byron turned his attention to Mevine. His science officer dropped the computer pad to his side and stared at the hangar floor. His drooping posture reminded Byron of the insecure young man he’d met twenty years ago.

  “Sir, I’m sorry this had to involve your son,” said Mevine, his voice cracking. “I should’ve paid closer attention to the boys.”

  “Mevine,” said Byron. Moving closer, he brought a hand down on the man’s shoulders. The science officer’s head jerked up.

  “This isn’t your fault. I was angry earlier. But what appears a great misfortune and accident might just be the very thing that saves us.”

  “There is just so much uncertainty. We don’t know what will happen when Bassan downloads the code. What it will do to him…”

  “I’m afraid that’s a chance we have to take. If it’s within my power, nothing will happen to my son.”

  Regret continued to drift from Mevine’s mind and he shifted his stance. “I just hate being responsible for placing you and your family in danger yet again.”

  Byron laughed at the idea and Mevine’s mouth opened in surprise.

  “I was good at placing myself in harm’s way long before I met you, my friend,” Byron said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll be all right.”

  The science officer’s face broke into a smile. He stood straighter and his brows came together. “Sir, we can’t lose you.”

  “Don’t worry, Mevine. I’ll be back to overwork you in five days’ time. You have my word.”

  He sent the science officer on his way. As Mevine scooted across the hangar, two security officers approached with the Rogue pilot. Dressed in Cassan attire, the man’s appearance no longer exuded such a threatening vibe. Head high and shoulders squared, he strode across the hangar in between his guards with a quick step. The Rogue’s confident air did not sit well with Byron.