CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  To his relief, Bassa moved to Trindel. His shoulders relaxed as the weight of the senior officer’s scrutiny transferred to another man. Byron had just arrived and already he was tempting fate. He resolved to maintain a tighter rein on his feelings.

  “You will be escorted to your quarters and then to the dining hall,” Bassa was saying. “After the midday meal, you will be provided an extensive tour of the facility. Tomorrow, you will be expected to know the layout by heart. Those who fail to report on time …”

  Bassa paused at the end of the second row, his penetrating gaze falling on every pilot and navigator. The men silently awaited his next words.

  “… will find themselves on the first transport home. Dismissed!”

  All thirty men turned and began filing out of the room. Bassa remained in place, watching their departure. The other instructors fell in line behind the young men, with the exception of Rellen. He paused at Bassa’s side and waited until the last person exited before speaking.

  “Too early to tell,” he observed.

  Bassa nodded. “We’ll know more by the end of the week,” he replied, sensing a purpose behind Rellen’s casual comment.

  His senior officer nodded and moved from Bassa’s side. Rellen hesitated, flashing his superior an inquisitive look.

  “He bears a resemblance,” he said in a low voice.

  Bassa’s gaze flickered briefly to Rellen. “Yes, he does,” he conceded.

  Taking a deep breath, Bassa considered that fact. The young pilot’s appearance had caught him off-guard. In person, Byron was almost identical to his brother. Bassa’s momentary hesitation was uncharacteristic and had been noted by his senior officer. Shocked by the similarity, he’d failed to take Byron to task for his obvious resentment of the scrutiny. Bassa would be careful to monitor future meetings and exchanges with the young pilot.

  “And I fear his attitude is even worse,” he admitted.

  “We’ll watch him close, then,” Rellen replied with a nod.

  Bassa remained in the receiving room after Rellen’s departure, his mind mulling over the situation. He could not allow his feelings regarding Tal to interfere with the handling of this young man. Judging from his background information and unguarded thoughts today, Byron was capable of challenging his authority without assistance. If he were to maintain control, a higher standard was needed, and that applied as much to him as to Byron.

  “Damn you, Tal,” he muttered under his breath.

  Chapter Two

  The young men were joined by six others who’d failed the prior session. Pilots and navigators were given two opportunities to complete their final training, and out of the fourteen who’d failed the previous session, six returned to try again. Their presence sent a message to the new group that failure was a very real possibility at this juncture. Those not progressing past simulator training usually dropped out of their own accord; however, young men sent home from Guaard did not leave voluntarily.

  Byron was already certified as a basic pilot, but flying transports or recovery ships did not appeal to him. He’d endured enough restraints on his life. He wanted the power and freedom a Cosbolt represented. Failure to achieve his goal was simply not an option at this point.

  He was disappointed to learn that the first week would be spent in the classroom and simulators. Officer Bassa stated he wanted to view their simulator skills firsthand. The drills were difficult but not outside the maneuvers he’d already mastered. The classroom study covered new aspects of flight, but it was a small consolation. The absence of real cockpit time became the topic of choice over meals, but Byron refrained from adding his protests. He preferred not to call attention to himself unless it involved an achievement.

  Byron and Trindel were the only team to achieve a perfect score on their final simulator test, and their precision continued on Guaard. While he despised personal, individual scrutiny, Byron relished the opportunity to show off his skills in the cockpit. As the week progressed, his confidence grew. Basking in the glory, he believed his team’s abilities were beyond question.

  By the end of the first week, they emerged from the simulator feeling triumphant. Not only had they completed another practice drill without error, but Byron felt he’d exhibited several complicated and daring moves in the process. Performing several jumps by way of the ship’s teleporter, he’d emerged at the precise location every time. All targets were destroyed and they’d easily completed their task within the allotted time frame. In Byron’s mind, their run was perfect.

  Trindel removed his helmet, revealing curly locks now plastered to his head. “We’re good!” he exclaimed, flashing one of his broad grins.

  Byron removed his own helmet and tossed back his head. Running fingers through his straight, black hair, he caused the strands to stick out in an unnatural pattern. Grinning at his navigator, Byron straightened his shoulders with pride.

  “No, I’d say we’re perfect,” he boasted, holding up his fist.

  Trindel returned his gesture and they tapped knuckles. As one, the young men walked toward the control room. Byron predicted another report of excellence on his team’s record.

  Officers Rellen and Char were monitoring their flight today and awaited the men in the control room. Byron was surprised to discover Bassa also present. The young men snapped to attention, aware their casual posture would be viewed as unacceptable by the senior instructor. Bassa briefly noted their entrance, his gaze once again returning to the series of monitors in the control room. Rellen and Char remained seated but leaned away from the main panel. Byron waited for one of the men to speak.

  “Adequate run,” offered Bassa, his gaze still averted.

  Byron had to suppress the indignation that arose in his thoughts. “Yes, sir,” he replied in unison with Trindel.

  Officer Bassa straightened his shoulders, a frown on his face. He turned to face the young men, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “You performed numerous jumps,” he observed, meeting Byron’s eyes.

  “I do what I feel is necessary to succeed, sir,” Byron replied, ready to defend his decisions.

  Bassa’s eyes narrowed. “A good pilot cannot rely solely on the teleporter. You must learn to master maneuvers.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Byron, taking a quick breath. “We did perform twenty-seven unique maneuvers during that flight, sir.”

  He sensed a flash of panic from Trindel, but the feeling was quickly shielded. Bassa’s eyebrows pulled together, reflecting his disapproval of Byron’s unsolicited statement. Realizing he’d spoken out of turn, Byron felt annoyance rise in his thoughts. He didn’t want to incur the senior officer’s wrath but resented criticism of his skills. He’d flown perfectly today.

  “Perhaps you’d prefer an opportunity to showcase those maneuvers,” Bassa stated, his tone implying it was an order rather than an offer. “Officer Char, please run number 789 with the teleporter offline.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Unable to respond, Byron stared helplessly as Char punched in the code for the program. Bassa gestured for Byron and Trindel to return to the simulator, and they exited the control room with great reluctance.

  Well, didn’t take you long to annoy Bassa, Trindel commented privately.

  Always start at the top, Trindel …

  Byron knew he’d been too quick with his boastful words. Upon reaching the simulator entrance, he paused and glanced up at the control room. Byron grasped his helmet and placed in on his head before nodding at Trindel.

  Regardless, we’ll ace this run, he declared, not bothering to shield his thought.

  In the control room, Rellen leaned away from the main panel and shook his head. Pivoting in his chair, he looked up at Bassa.

  “Yes, he’s damned cocky!” Rellen announced, a smile tugging at his lips. “Boy knows how to push it to the limit, too.”

  Still frowning, Bassa watched as Byron and Trindel entered the simulator and closed the hatch. His eyes dropped to the screens ac
ross the main panel and located the pilot’s feed. Byron was already in position and preparing for the drill. There was no mistaking the look of confidence and determination on his face.

  “We need to redraw the lines then,” Bassa said in a firm voice.

  He remained in the control room while Byron and Trindel performed their run. Their execution was not precision-perfect this time, but the men committed no errors and accomplished the objective within the allotted time. When the session ended, both pilot and navigator appeared quite smug.

  “He’s not going to make it easy for us,” Char commented with a moan.

  “It’s only the first week,” Bassa replied, turning to depart. “We will correct that attitude!”

  Exiting the control room, he left the simulator area in haste. That final run had cut into the evening meal, although the loss of food did not concern him. Bassa preferred to spend the evening hours reviewing the day’s performances, analyzing each team’s weaknesses and strengths. Tonight he would require extra time to study Byron and Trindel’s runs in detail. He would need every scrap of evidence if he intended to find flaws in Byron’s next drill beyond multiple jumps. Cocky or not, the boy exhibited incredible skill as a pilot.

  The following morning, the men reported to the classroom as scheduled. Byron was delighted when only an hour was devoted to instruction, and most of it focused on proper conduct in the hanger. Bassa concluded the session with a stern warning of the consequences of improper behavior or failure to follow procedures when in the presence of the fighter ships. After the previous evening’s experience, Byron did not doubt his threat.

  Trindel’s eagerness secured them a position at the front of the line as they exited the lift. Officer Jarth led the young men into the hanger, emerging near the bay housing the Cosbolts. Byron noticed Officers Bassa and Rellen already waiting. Only officers were allowed access to the teleporters and the two men had obviously taken advantage of the device. Were he not so eager to view his ship, Byron might’ve resented the restrictions placed upon uncertified trainees. However, viewing the Cosbolts up close took precedence over all else.

  The young men joined the senior officers, snapping to attention once assembled. Bassa surveyed the pilots and navigators, observing each one’s reaction. For the majority of those gathered, this was their first time in the presence of an actual fighter.

  “In the time remaining before the midday meal,” began Bassa, his voice echoing across the empty hanger, “you will become familiar with your ship and the feel of the instruments. Do not rush through the opportunity to explore your ship at length. Use this time wisely.

  “Officer Rellen will announce ship assignments,” he concluded, stepping aside.

  Rellen held up his computer pad, his eyes on the screen. “Surren and Arenth, ship number 479T. Ganst and Forcance, number 512T,” he called.

  The instructors gestured for those called to proceed to their ships. Byron waited while several other teams were called, anxious to finally touch his Cosbolt. Trindel’s excitement threatened to bubble over, and Byron silently cautioned his navigator that he should reign in his emotions. Their names would be called soon.

  “Vitar and Hasen, number 143T,” Rellen announced, his eyes never leaving his computer pad.

  Patience slowly eroding, Byron glanced at Officer Bassa and realized the senior instructor was watching him. Quickly averting his eyes, Byron suppressed his feelings of annoyance. He did not need extra duties or lessons foisted upon his team their very first day with the Cosbolts.

  They were the last team assigned to a ship. Officer Rellen observed the men with intense curiosity as the moved toward number 715T, the last remaining unclaimed fighter in the hanger. Byron sensed his navigator’s impatience but forced a slow and deliberate stroll to their Cosbolt. He didn’t want to give Bassa or Rellen the satisfaction of knowing the wait had irritated him.

  Trindel reached the ship first, his hand gingerly touching the wing. He hesitated, as if afraid, and turned to Byron. Seeing the elation in his navigator’s eyes, Byron rested his hand on the underside of the wing. The metal was cold to the touch and it sent an invigorating shock through his fingers. Byron allowed a slow smile to spread across his lips and Trindel returned his grin with unbridled enthusiasm. With a gasp, Trindel turned and grasped the ladder.

  No, Byron thought, sending his navigator a private message. We have almost two hours. Let’s show the instructors we’re proficient and take our time.

  Trindel’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide in protest. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, releasing the ladder. Taking a deep breath, Trindel moved toward the ship’s nose. Byron elected to explore the ship’s propulsion first.

  Circling the wing, Byron ran his hand down the side of the vessel, delighting in the feel of the surface. He reached the engines and paused to admire the propulsion system. He envisioned the engines ablaze with fire, and the power required to thrust the ship forward in space fascinated him. Soon, that power would be at his disposal.

  He continued around the far side of the ship, nodding at Trindel as they passed. Byron inspected the weapons system, which consisted of two rocket launchers under each wing and the laser directly under the nose. Byron glanced at the runners as he circled the front of the ship and discovered Trindel patiently waiting by the ladder. Byron smiled and gestured for his navigator to proceed.

  Trindel required no further prompting and scrambled up to the platform. Byron followed more slowly, trying to exhibit some control. By the time he had a clear view of the cockpit, Trindel was already at his station. Flashing his navigator a wry grin, he swung into the pilot’s seat and wedged himself into position. When he felt situated, Byron examined the console.

  The displays were dark and no lights glowed in greeting. The controls showed wear from repeated use, the result of hundreds of potential pilots training on Guaard. The worn, metallic smell was unique as well. The simulator had reflected every detail of the panel, right down to the smallest of controls, but there was one critical difference. This was the real thing.

  Doesn’t look much different, Trindel commented.

  Yes it does, Byron replied as he gripped the thrust. He felt the cold metal even through the padding.

  It was then that he became aware of the teleporter. The device was self-sufficient and engaged at all times. Its power emanated from behind Trindel’s seat, safely encased within the frame of the ship. It emitted no audible sound, not even a low hum, but Byron was keenly aware of the mechanism’s energy as it rippled through his mind.

  Closing his eyes, he focused on the device that would be his sole responsibility. Trindel was trained on the teleporter, but pilots were accountable for its operation. Byron’s mind would connect and draw upon its power to teleport their ship. Locking onto the device’s signal, he felt the surge of power in his mental abilities. In that brief instant, he now understood the skill required to teleport the ship to another location in space. All he had to do was concentrate and visualize.

  Not planning on jumping us to the other side of the hanger, are you?

  Byron opened his eyes and dissolved the connection. Not just yet! he answered.

  Good, because I bet that would buy us a ticket home on the next transport, Trindel teased.

  Byron chuckled as he envisioned the attempt of such a feat. Officer Bassa would be positively livid!

  The teams were allowed ample time to explore their ships. Byron circled the craft one more time, his hands trailing across the cold surface, before joining the others as they gathered to depart.

  The midday meal was consumed with haste. The men were eager to return to the hanger and their ships. The officers took their time, adding to the growing restlessness in the room. Byron did not hide his relief when the instructors arose and ordered the men to the hanger.

  The flight crew was positioning the fighters when they returned. Byron was pleased to note their ship was placed in the front of the pack. Eager to experience his first flight, he suited u
p and returned to the hanger before the others. Trindel trotted out a moment later, out of breath from his hasty preparations.

  Once the men had reassembled in the hanger, they received instructions on their first foray into space. Feeling his excitement mount, Byron forced himself to pay attention. He did not want to make a mistake now.

  “Ships will launch in pairs,” Bassa announced, his voice carrying across the hanger. “You will follow your flight plan precisely and return to the landing bay. Each ship will complete three runs this afternoon. Instructors will be circling the base and observing your flight.”