Bassa eyed the screen once more, his gaze slowly drifting to the picture on his desk. The similarity between the men was unmistakable.
He’ll change or he’ll wind up dead, Bassa thought.
Waving his hand in front of the press plate, Byron announced his presence when the speaker inquired and waited for his sister’s response. The door did not open right away, which came as no surprise. Sighing, he turned to view the city, spread out across the valley floor for miles in every direction.
This was his first visit since his acceptance into the service. Byron had maintained contact with his sister but only through telecom transmissions. He’d felt obliged to keep Sherdan informed of his progress, although he was now past he need for supervision or her approval. He was sure his sister relished that fact as well.
Byron’s sister had been absent for much of his life. After their parents’ death, Sherdan had assumed responsibility of her younger sibling, but not for long. Byron’s bond with her was fragile at best, and he’d rebelled against her authority. When he turned six, his sister decided she’d had enough and relinquished her guardianship. She shipped him off to a facility designed to handle troubled and abandoned children. Deprived of family and all he’d ever known, Byron was forced to survive by any means possible.
It was during those fourteen miserable years that Byron learned he could trust nothing but his own skills and wits. Sherdan’s occasional visits did little to bolster his belief in people and he resisted all attempts to connect with her or anyone else on an emotional or mental level. Those in a position of authority bore the brunt of his anger and defiance. Despite his refusal to interact or bond with other Cassans, Byron’s mind did not permit him to disconnect completely from the world. He relished knowledge and its potential to provide freedom, and he’d applied himself to his studies with obvious zeal.
By the time he was fifteen, his instructors began to notice his dexterity skills. They praised his talents and encouraged the young man to increase his proficiency. Byron had always excelled in his classes, but this form of recognition pleased him even more. Rigorous physical training soon occupied his spare time, reducing the occurrences of mischievous behavior. Byron had discovered a life driven by purpose as he contemplated the opportunities his skills could provide.
The day of his twentieth birthday he applied for military service. Despite his instructors’ cautions that he might not gain admittance for another year, Byron was accepted as a trainee in the fleet. His high academic scores and reflexive skills, coupled with strong mental powers, earned him the right to apply for pilot training. Unwilling to compromise his potential, and determined to prove his worth to those who’d doubted, Byron decided to pursue the prestigious position of Cosbolt pilot. The two-seat fighter ship was the fleet’s elite weapon of choice and the first into combat. Only the most skilled pilots flew Cosbolts. Confident in his abilities, Byron had applied himself to the program and finished at the top of his class. In two days, he would report to Guaard to begin the final stage of training, and he could not be more pleased with his accomplishment.
His triumphant thoughts were diverted when the door opened. A woman with features quite different from Byron appeared in the doorway. Sherdan regarded him with caution, her eyes scanning his face even as her mind probed his thoughts. Annoyed by the invasion of his privacy, Byron quickly shielded his mind. Sherdan frowned with obvious displeasure.
“Just as guarded as ever,” she declared, her tone neutral.
“Did you really think I’d change?” Byron replied, offering a smug smile he knew would irritate his sister further.
“Of course not! That would be asking the impossible.”
This time it was Byron’s turn to scowl. He enjoyed exchanging words with his sister, but only when he held the upper hand. Judging from her sarcastic tone, Sherdan’s expectations for her brother remained low. He’d struggled with feelings of inadequacy as a child and refused to be saddled with her poor opinion now.
“I didn’t have to come here you know,” he growled, prepared to beat a hasty departure.
His sister sighed and set her lips in a thin line. Offering a curt nod, she stepped aside. Feeling wary, he entered Sherdan’s home.
Her new dwelling was much larger than her previous home. Byron’s sister had recently bonded with a mate and shared his abode, although he did not appear to be present at the moment. Byron had never met the man and felt relieved. He could only imagine the image Sherdan had painted of her troubled younger brother.
Byron followed his sister into the food preparation room. Several vegetables lined the counter, their colors bright in an otherwise colorless room. He’d viewed so many white rooms as a child, shuffled from one facility to the next, that the surroundings caused Byron a sense of unease. He slouched against the counter and watched as Sherdan reached for a cutting knife.
“So,” she said in a loud voice, her eyes focused on the vegetables. “Are you still in training?”
“I just completed simulator training,” he stated with pride, still wary of Sherdan’s tone. “I leave for Guaard in two days. In six months, I’ll be certified.”
Sherdan shook her head. “My brother, piloting a Cosbolt!”
“And why is that so difficult to imagine?” Byron demanded, grasping the edge of the counter with both hands.
“It requires a great deal of discipline.”
“And you think I’m incapable? I finished at the top of my class!”
Sherdan ceased her activity and thoughtfully regarded her brother. Byron met her steady gaze, his fingers almost digging into the counter in an effort to control his anger. His sister might still doubt his abilities, but she could not argue with the facts.
“Then that is quite an accomplishment,” she answered at last.
He sensed relief rather than pride in her tone and Sherdan’s indifference stabbed at his heart. Outside of their blood ties, there was no bond between the siblings. Without further thought, Byron blocked that painful realization from his mind. He had wasted his time coming to see his sister.
“Were you staying for dinner?” she asked.
“No,” Byron growled, leaning away from the counter. “I’m heading back tonight, so I need to go.”
“I wish you well then,” Sherdan replied, returning to her task.
Hands dropping to his sides, Byron stared at his sister. She paused in her cutting and turned to face him.
“You never really cared,” he said, his words more of a statement than an accusation.
Sherdan set down the knife. “Byron …” she began, her thoughts filled with exasperation.
“That’s all right,” Byron offered with a shrug. “Makes this all the easier.”
Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the door and retreated from the unpleasant scene. If his sister asked Byron to return, he did not hear her entreaty, as his mind’s shield prevented all mental voices from entering his thoughts.
His resolve to pursue a life far from Cassa was even more entrenched in his heart now. Most of his life had been spent without family or friends, and his last tie to this planet apparently never existed. No bonds or restrictions remained and Byron was at last free. Somehow, though, it felt a shallow victory at best.
Rolling his head to the right, Byron peered out the tiny portal window. The vast expanse of space appeared dark and uninviting. Even after two hundred hours in the simulator, he felt unprepared for the emptiness of endless space. Byron wondered if the unnerving sensation would affect his first actual flight in a Cosbolt.
“We’re approaching Guaard,” came a voice near his ear, and he felt a shoulder press against his own. “Do you see anything yet?”
Byron shook his head and frowned, his eyes still on the distant stars. If they were indeed drawing near the dark moon, he could not see it from his vantage point.
“We’re probably on the wrong side of the ship,” he commented dryly.
“Damn!” came the immediate reply, and he fe
lt his seatmate’s position shift.
Turning to confirm his assumptions, Byron discovered the young man leaning into the aisle in an attempt to see out the windows on the other side of the vessel. Trindel possessed a childlike spirit at total odds with his actual age. He viewed every new experience with wonder, and made no attempts to hide his zealous curiosity. Byron was eager to view their new home as well, but he was not about to reveal that fact to his navigator.
During his year of simulator instruction, Byron had endured seven different navigators. Three had lasted less than a week, while the others fared little better in his company. He’d run out of choices when the instructors placed Trindel in his cockpit. Sensing the desperateness of the situation and worried he would fail if no suitable partnership was established, Byron made every effort to work with this navigator. At first, he doubted their pairing would last, given Trindel’s lighthearted and open nature. He finally came to trust the enthusiastic and often naïve young man, despite the differences in personality and style.
Once he’d accepted Trindel, their simulator flights drastically improved. Byron realized Trindel’s hyperactive mind lent itself well to the many duties required of a good navigator. His partner was quick to project his thoughts, almost to the point of reckless inhibition, but that resulted in an incredible reaction time. Byron learned not to question those rapid judgment calls. Whereas the other navigator trainees’ thoughts came across as commands, something he detested, Trindel’s words were but suggestions and snippets of information. Byron responded better when he felt in command of his decisions. They had excelled as a team, completing the simulator training at the top of their class.
“You’re right! Damn, why didn’t we sit on that side of the ship?” exclaimed Trindel.
Byron glanced beyond his navigator to the seats on the other side. The young men were all staring out their windows, their body language expressing excitement. Obviously, they had a fine view of the ship’s final destination. This fact caused Byron’s navigator a great amount of distress, and anxiety emanated from Trindel’s mind.
Byron took a deep breath. He had to be patient with his friend and suppress the exasperation that rose within his mind.
“Trindel, you’re going to see it every single day,” he offered.
“I know!” protested Trindel, glancing at his pilot. “I just want to see it now. I’ve never been off Cassa before.”
Neither have I, Byron thought, his words audible only to his navigator.
Trindel ceased his desperate efforts to peer out the far windows and settled in his seat. I just wanted to see our new home, he offered, his head still turned.
Smiling to himself, Byron stretched his arms. It continued to amaze him that their pairing was a success. Trindel’s overeager behavior had worn on the nerves of his previous potential pilots. Positioning him as Byron’s navigator was likely an act of desperation on the part of the instructors, as both young men were running out of options at that conjuncture. Despite the differences in their personalities, as Trindel was outgoing and Byron introverted, they meshed well as a team. Byron had accepted Trindel’s presence once he discovered the navigator’s penchant for mischief and foolish antics, which mirrored his own rebellious inclinations. However, they wisely maintained a high level of precision and perfection during flights.
Glancing out his window, Byron realized the ship had altered its course. “Well, if you really want a view of the moon …” he taunted.
Byron felt Trindel press against his shoulder, the young man’s excitement projecting loudly in his thoughts. Forcing his body deep into the seat, Byron leaned closer to the window in an effort to avoid being crushed. He really should’ve taken the aisle seat.
“It fills the sky!” Trindel exclaimed, his voice loud in Byron’s ear.
On a direct course with the moon, the ship’s current speed became apparent as Guaard loomed larger by the second. Craters and mountains were visible, but Byron could not locate the training facility. Judging from their trajectory, the complex was likely located on the dark side of the moon at the moment.
Trindel leaned back in his seat and Byron glanced at his navigator. His expression full of anticipation, Trindel grinned and winked.
“Welcome to our new home,” he stated with pride.
Byron mulled over that statement. Guaard was just a dead moon orbiting a cold and lifeless planet. He doubted it would feel like home. Then again, Byron had never resided in a location he felt was home.
The transport ship soon landed, and from his vantage, Byron watched as the giant hanger doors opened while the vessel’s progress slowed to a mere hover. The ship’s pilots nimbly maneuvered the nose forward and the transport slid into the hanger. There was a moment’s pause after the ship came to rest while the exterior doors closed. The walls began to move and Byron realized they were moving down a tunnel toward another set of doors. His eyes widened when the transport entered the main hanger.
Byron had not expected the facility to be so large. Room for a dozen transports existed in the massive building, and several vessels were in evidence. However, it was the rows of Cosbolts that caught his attention. Lined in perfect formation, the sleek fighters rested on the far side of the hanger. His eyes remained on the ships until the transporter’s course took them out of view.
When the ship’s movement ceased, the men were instructed to disembark and retrieve their bags. They were to then follow the escort and assemble in the receiving room. The facility’s instructors were awaiting their arrival.
“Here we go!” Trindel exclaimed.
Rising to his feet, Byron followed his navigator. Trindel’s eager steps were slowed by the process of thirty young men exiting the ship, but soon they were trotting down the ramp. The moment Byron’s feet touched the hanger floor, he glanced in the direction of the Cosbolts. He was provided just a brief moment in which to admire the sleek fighters before instructed to secure his bag. Fighting the urge to defy his very first order on Guaard, he located his bag in the accumulating pile on the floor and joined the men waiting in line.
The last man had just secured his bag when the line began to move forward. They marched across the hanger and exited through a set of double doors. Turning to the left, the men entered a large room.
“Three rows of ten!” the escort commanded.
Byron’s gaze fell upon five officers standing at attention on a raised dais, observing the men. The new arrivals began to fall into place as instructed. Byron paused, allowing Trindel to reach his pilot, and his moment of hesitation placed him at the far end of the second row. This pleased Byron, though. He relished his accomplishments and status as the best team but preferred to blend in as an individual.
Once everyone was in position, bags resting on the floor, the young men snapped to attention. Facing forward, Byron’s gaze soon drifted to the five officers. They were all many years his senior although still in their prime. He sensed the elevated level of authority and knew they would not tolerate any foolish pranks here on Guaard. Judging from the stern expression on the senior officer’s face, the next six months would be the most unpleasant of the young men’s short lives.
Eyes scanning the trainees, the senior officer stepped forward, his hands behind his back. “You have been sent here for the final stage of Cosbolt training,” he stated, his deep voice echoing in the large room. “And I will be sending half of you home before it’s over.”
He paused, his gaze traveling across the men’s faces. Byron kept his expression neutral and eyes forward.
“For the next six months, we will instruct and evaluate each and every one of you. This facility boasts the most decorated officers in the fleet. To my left are Officers Char and Morden,” he announced. “They oversee all navigator training. Officers Jarth and Rellen are responsible for the pilots.
“And I am Senior Officer Bassa,” the man stated in a voice that smacked of authority. “I am in charge of this facility. I decide who becomes Cosbolt pilots and navigat
ors and who goes home.”
Byron involuntarily clenched his teeth. He refused to be sent home in shame. Too many years of his life had been lost at the hands of others for Byron to allow one man to decide his fate now.
The sound of a boot striking the floor returned him to the moment. Officer Bassa had stepped down from the platform. Slowly, he began to examine the line.
“There are no days of rest here,” he announced. “You will train each and every day for six months. Time will be spent in the classroom, the simulator, and in actual flight. And just as in real life, one mistake will cost you. If your judgment proves faulty or you lack discipline, you will suffer the consequences.”
Bassa moved as he spoke, inspecting each young man’s appearance. He finished his statement just as he reached the second row. Byron was first in line, and the senior officer hesitated. With the man’s final words ringing his ears, Byron felt the intense scrutiny of Bassa’s gaze. Resentment rose in his thoughts as he realized Bassa probably knew of his chequered past. He quickly suppressed his feelings, lest the senior officer sense his negative attitude. Judging from Bassa’s expression, he had already interpreted Byron’s unguarded thoughts.
CassaStar Page 2
