CassaStorm

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  “Because he’s a thief and a criminal.”

  “But he’s a half-breed, just like me…”

  “Bassan!” His father spun around in the chair. “You don’t need to associate with someone like that. Now, go get ready for bed.”

  Clenching his fists, Bassan raced for the sleeping room. He caught the doorframe and hesitated. A vice gripped his heart and tears sprang to his eyes. Glancing back at his father, Bassan took a deep breath.

  “At least Piten understands who I am,” he gasped.

  His father turned to face him, but Bassan didn’t wait for a response. He ran into the bathroom and closed the door, shielding his mind tighter than he ever thought possible. Clinging to the sink, he stared at the reflection in the mirror. Even under the artificial light, his sun-kissed skin was apparent. Too dark for a Cassan and too light for a Tgren. He was a freak.

  I’m tired of being so different, he thought.

  Light flashed at a blinding speed as the roar filled his ears. Bassan fought to escape the onslaught, but he couldn’t outrun the images. Dropping to his knees, he covered his head. The light pulsated stronger, burning his skin. Unable to stand the pain any longer, Bassan cried out for help. A force grabbed his shoulders, shaking his body. Weary from fighting, Bassan curled into a tight ball.

  Bassan!

  The voice plunged through the roar. He wailed for help, desperate to escape the torment. The shaking increased even as the flashing lights began to dim.

  Bassan, wake up!

  Everything changed except the violent, forceful shaking. No longer on his knees, Bassan struggled to escape the restraint around his middle. Something grabbed his hands as they clawed to pull his body free.

  You’re dreaming. Come on, wake up!

  His eyes opened. After the brilliance of the flashing lights, everything appeared black. The restraints around his hands were warm and familiar. Gasping for air, Bassan ceased to struggle and held very still.

  That’s better. Relax. I’m right here.

  Recognizing the voice as his father’s, his hands pulled free and went to the restraint around his waist. The warmth of skin and a familiar hold greeted Bassan. Overwhelmed by misery and embarrassment, he cried out in despair.

  Bassan, I’m here, his father thought.

  The arm around his middle squeezed tighter and a cheek pressed against his own. Awake at last, Bassan’s eyes focused on the wall and the shadows cast by the light from the other room. His father’s touch provided a measure of comfort, but this time it was not enough. The terrors in his head were his alone to bear. All because he was one of the eleventh race. Realization of that fact further compounded his frustration. His father wouldn’t ever understand his plight.

  A hand stroked his head. Easy now. It’s all right. You’re safe.

  I’m not all right! he thought, pounding at the bed with his fist. I’m a freak.

  You know that’s not true.

  No one understands me, he thought, digging his nails into his palms. No one except Piten.

  Bassan…

  His father’s condescending tone shot straight into his heart. Between the agonizing dream and the realization that everyone despised his only supporter, Bassan couldn’t take any more. He pounded at the mattress, his tears flowing fast and hard. Somewhere in the distance, he heard his father call his name. Bassan ignored the voice and beat the bed harder. His fists struck something hard, but he continued to wail against the resistance, unconcerned if he hurt himself in the process.

  “Bassan!”

  Arms wrapped around his middle, pinning his arms to his sides. Bassan cried out in protest. The restraints only tightened further and he uttered one final gasp.

  Bassan, please!

  Unable to break free, Bassan curled into a ball. He sobbed, angry with the situation and his own weakness. His father contained his feelings with no problem. Why couldn’t he control the pain?

  Bassan, it’s all right, his father thought. It will be all over soon, I promise.

  Except that I’ll still be a freak, he thought, stifling his tears.

  You are not a freak…

  No! Bassan thought, wiggling to turn his body toward his father. I’m a Rogue. But you don’t want to admit that.

  Bassan, the Rogue are…

  Half-breeds, just like me! We’re different from everyone else.

  His father sighed. Feeling defeated, Bassan curled into a tight ball, pressing his fists against his chest. He didn’t care about saving the ten races anymore. He wasn’t one of them anyway.

  Bassan… His father’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close. I’ve never thought of you as anything other than my son.

  But I’m different than the other boys, Bassan thought. And no one understands that like Piten.

  He sensed resistance and grasped his father’s arms tighter. Father, please! I have to speak to Piten. If there are thousands of us, then I’m not alone.

  Uncertainty surged through his father. Bassan clung to him, hoping his father would understand. He had to speak with Piten again. He had to know more about who he was, and only the Rogue pilot could supply that information.

  All right, I will let you speak with Piten in the morning.

  Bassan relaxed his muscles and sniffed.

  Right now though, you need your rest, his father thought, fingers rubbing Bassan’s neck.

  Yes, sir.

  Exhausted from the exchange, Bassan closed his eyes. His father continued to massage his neck, easing the pressure in Bassan’s head. Despite the turmoil in his heart, sleep overtook him within minutes.

  As promised, his father took him to see Piten the following morning. He could barely contain his excitement as they entered the Rogue’s quarters. Taking the chair closest to the bed, Bassan leaned forward, eager to hear about the eleventh race.

  “Tell me more about the Rogues,” he said, pressing his knees together in excitement.

  “Most are a mix of several races,” said Piten. His lips curled into a proud smile. “My children represent five different races.”

  “Five?”

  “My mate’s mother is half Arellen, half Narcon, and her father is half Arellen and half Charren. My son inherited several Arellen features, including the blue skin. Of course, my Vindicarn heritage means his blue tone is very dark. My daughter is much lighter.”

  “Narcon and Arellen?” said Bassan’s father. “Odd mix.”

  Piten’s eyes narrowed and he clasped his hands together. “That is why Rogues live in the most remote locations. Our mixed heritage means we are not accepted within society. We carve an existence where we can. Crumbling spaceports, abandoned facilities on remote planets and moons, refurbished transport ships. Anyplace we can gather without drawing attention to ourselves.”

  “If you are so spread out,” said Bassan’s father, “how do you know there are ten thousand of you?”

  “We keep in contact. If living conditions deteriorate in one place, we know the closest Rogue community and can move to that location.”

  “Guess we have a name for the eleventh race now.”

  Piten cocked his head. “Ah, but will the other races acknowledge our existence? That’s the real question.”

  Bassan caught his father’s scowl out of the corner of his eye. He decided he didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Do your children play with others?” said Bassan, asking his question before his father had a chance to speak again.

  “They play with other Rogue children, yes.”

  “No one picks on them if they look different?”

  A bark of laugher escaped Piten. “They all look different!” He pressed his back against the wall and pulled one knee to his chest. “Do others make fun of your appearance, Bassan?”

  Bassan’s cheeks grew warm and he shifted in his seat. “Sometimes.”

  “Only a few,” his father said. “The Tgrens have been very accepting of the mixed race pairings.”

  Bassan dropped his chin in e
mbarrassment. His father’s position might ensure that he didn’t endure any teasing regarding his half-breed son. Bassan had not been so fortunate.

  Piten cocked his head. “Ah, but are the Cassans just as accepting?”

  “For the most part.”

  Bassan raised his gaze. Piten stared at him as if waiting for Bassan to speak. When he didn’t, the Rogue’s knee dropped and he crossed his arms.

  “It’s difficult for Rogues,” Piten said, still gazing at Bassan. “We don’t fit in with either of our parents’ races. My mother kept me hidden the first few years of my life. Cassans would’ve only seen the Vindicarn and vice-versa. Anytime I ventured out, I was looked upon with hatred.”

  “Cassans and Tgrens have always been at peace though,” said Bassan’s father. “No one hates my son.”

  Bassan glanced over his shoulder, but his father’s gaze was on Piten. Turning back to the Rogue, he thought he saw pity in the man’s eyes.

  “Are you sure?” Piten said in a low voice.

  His father’s boots tapped the floor. “Bassan, do you have anything else you want to ask before we go?”

  Aware his visit with Piten was about to be cut short, Bassan flipped through the dozens of remaining questions in his head. There were so many Rogues. Why were they so spread out?

  “How come you don’t all live together on one planet?” he said, his words coming out in a rush.

  Piten’s shoulders sagged. “We’ve tried a few times. Even tried to buy an old spaceport. Our resources are just too limited. We don’t have the means to gather everyone in one location.”

  “Haven’t been able to steal enough?” Bassan’s father said.

  Scowling, Piten bolted upright and grasped the edge of the bed. “I’m not proud I’ve had to resort to theft to survive. I’m not afraid of an honest day’s work, but it’s difficult to find anyone willing to hire a Rogue. Our last job was cut short due to the alien ship’s appearance. We barely had enough to return home to our families, let alone feed them for the next month. That’s why we risked everything to land on Tgren. Now not only am I out a ship, but I have nothing for my mate. She probably thinks I am dead anyway.”

  Bassan stared at Piten, his mouth open. The Rogue was angry, but desperation colored his words. Bassan’s stomach churned with anxiety at the thought of Piten’s family going hungry.

  Behind him, the other chair moved. “Then you better hope everything goes well with the Vindicarn. Bassan, ready to go?” his father said.

  He wanted to protest, but Bassan knew it was a command rather than a question. Rising slowly, he pushed his chair under the table. His father waited at the door and Bassan took a step in his direction. Pausing, he cast a sideways glance at Piten.

  “I’m sorry,” Bassan said, unable to think of anything else to say.

  The Rogue leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, so am I.”

  The door opened and Bassan trotted after his father. They walked to the nearest telepod in silence. Once inside the device, he glanced up at his father.

  “Are we going to send him home?” he said, fearing the answer.

  “It depends on what happens tomorrow night.”

  “But I promised him…”

  “Bassan!”

  His father hesitated, his brows coming together. Bassan caught a moment of irritation before his father’s mind closed. Afraid to say more, Bassan’s chin dropped to his chest. A hand on his shoulder caused him to look up.

  “If we aren’t successful tomorrow, no one will have a home anymore, including us. I know you want to help Piten. Let’s just get through the next two days, all right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Patting his shoulder, Bassan’s father offered a smile. “We’ve been cooped up in those three rooms since we arrived. How about I show you some of the Litheron this afternoon?”

  “All right,” Bassan replied. It was better than being stuck in their quarters.

  His mind continued to dwell on the Rogue’s words. Thousands of people just like him, spread across the galaxy…

  And not one of them would make fun of me, he thought.

  “The Vindicarn are proving difficult,” said Commander Wraint, leaning over the computer display on the bridge. “No surprise there.”

  “What’s the problem now?” inquired Byron.

  Wraint straightened his back and rubbed his neck. “They continue to have reservations about Cassans setting foot on their planet.”

  “We can’t download the code from here.”

  “Fortunately they are aware of that fact, or they would’ve refused access to the alien ship outright.”

  Byron’s fists tightened. He’d grown weary of the Vindicarn’s political games. If they didn’t permit them to download the code, then the probe could just wipe out the entire race and be done with it.

  “We only require access to the alien ship’s control room for three people,” he said, fighting the urge to voice his true feelings on the matter. “And only one of us is a full-blooded Cassan.”

  Commander Wraint cast a sideways glance his direction. “I’m not happy with that arrangement, either. I don’t trust that Rogue. Or the Vindicarn. You and your son will require protection.”

  “If they’ll allow four, then a security officer can accompany us,” Byron offered, crossing his arms and leaning against the display table. “But no doubt they’ll take our weapons. That places four people in danger instead of three.”

  Shaking his head, Wraint scowled at the display. His frown encompassed his entire head, wrinkling the skin under his short, cropped hair. “It seems like there are a thousand ways this could go wrong.”

  Byron scoffed at the irony. “I’ve faced worse odds.”

  “I know.” Standing straight, Wraint met Byron’s gaze. “I was there when you destroyed that disrupter ship during the Vindicarn War.”

  “You served on the Sorenthia?” exclaimed Byron, his arms dropping to his sides. That’s how he knows me, he thought.

  Wraint nodded. “I served in a different squadron, but I remember that moment like it was yesterday. What you did was incredibly brave. It could’ve ended much differently.”

  Appreciative of the man’s words, Byron clasped him on the shoulder. “That’s what makes this situation unique. I had nothing to lose then. Now I’m even more determined to succeed because I have everything to lose.”

  Before returning to his quarters, Byron decided to have a word with Piten. If he was going into that alien ship without an escort, he needed to be sure the Rogue would hold up his end of the bargain. If something went wrong, he wanted assurance the man would help Bassan escape.

  He entered Piten’s quarters and found him stretched out on his bed, hands behind his back. The Rogue offered a smirk in greeting.

  “Glad you’re able to relax,” Byron scoffed, annoyed by the man’s smug expression.

  “What else would you have me do?” said Piten, rising to a sitting position. “I can’t leave, nothing to do, nothing to read. I’m certainly not going to sit here and eat the entire time. Not when I don’t know if my family has food.”

  And whose fault is that? Byron kept the snide comeback to himself. He needed the Rogue on his side.

  “The Vindicarn have consented to the three of us entering the alien ship,” he said, “and it required great effort to convince them that many are required. Once we reach the surface, you are to remain silent and do what I tell you, understood? If this mission is to succeed, we need the Vindicarn to believe a peaceful coexistence is possible through the eleventh race.”

  Piten laughed and swung his legs to the floor. “I wonder if I shouldn’t convince you Cassans first?”

  “We are willing to maintain our end of the peace treaty.”

  “Is your race really prepared to live in peace?” Piten rose to his feet. “Are you, Byron? Because I see the hate in your eyes every time you mention the Vindicarn.”

  Standing, the Rogue was even taller than Byron. He was thin, though
. And hindered by the inexperience of youth. Neither the man’s size nor his accusing words intimidated Byron.

  “I have my reasons for distrusting the Vindicarn,” he said, grinding the words out in a growl.

  “I don’t trust any race that despises Rogues. Especially one that turned its back on my mother because her pairing with a Cassan produced me,” said Piten in a quick retort. “What’s your reason for hating them? It’s more than just the loathing of an enemy. Your hatred is personal.”

  Resentment burned in Byron. This Rogue knew nothing of his life or the forces that drove him. Clenching his fists at his sides, he stepped closer.

  “They killed my brother,” he said, staring hard at Piten. “But I will not allow them to harm my son. That is why I am here. I need your word that should it all fall apart tomorrow night, you’ll do everything in your power to protect my son. And if you can’t do that, then you damn well better tell me right now.”

  Eyes narrowed, Piten’s mouth opened slightly as his lip pulled up in a sneer. He crossed his arms and took a step back. Anger pulsated through Byron’s body, but he didn’t move as he waited for a reply. The Rogue squared his shoulders and lifted his chin higher.

  “I will protect your son.”

  Those were the first words out of the Rogue’s mouth Byron believed. He relaxed his stance, the adrenaline thinning in his system. Offering a curt nod, he turned toward the door.

  “Your son is a remarkable young man.”

  Byron’s fingers hovered over the press plate. Snatching them away, he pivoted and faced the Rogue. The man’s smug grin had returned.

  “He’s smart and very brave,” Piten said. “Reminds me of my own son, except Bassan is a little more calculating. You should be proud of him.”

  Byron enjoyed hearing his son praised. He knew he placed high expectations on Bassan and wondered if that didn’t cause the boy to struggle at times.

  “I’m proud of him,” he managed to say. “His namesake would be proud as well.”

  Piten’s expression brightened and he pointed a finger at Byron. “Your brother. He’s named after your brother, isn’t he?”

  The question dug deep at his heart. At a loss for words, Byron managed a brief nod in response. Reaching for the press plate, Byron slapped the surface and the door slid open. The security officers stood at attention as he exited, and Byron strode to the nearest telepod. The hum of the teleporter in his chest soothed his nerves.