CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  Head on? he demanded.

  You wanted options, his navigator offered.

  “715T, retreat to a secure position and do not engage unless absolutely necessary,” Officer Rellen’s voice echoed from the com.

  “Yes, sir!” Byron replied, veering the ship away from the fight.

  As their ship circled the perimeter, another drone exploded. The men did not get to blow up drones often due to the cost, but it provided a greater sense of accomplishment when they were permitted that luxury. It was far more satisfying than mere laser tagging. Considering the live occupant of the drone, this particular exercise seemed hollow, but Byron felt no regret. Oddly enough, he felt neither remorse nor elation over his first live kill.

  When the final drone was destroyed, the fighters resumed formation and returned to base. Byron sensed Trindel’s heavy mood and did not converse with his navigator as they taxied into the hanger. If the situation bothered Trindel, then there was little Byron could say to ease his friend’s mind.

  The flight apparently weighed heavy on everyone’s thoughts, as little was said in the changing room. The overall mood was somber. Byron wondered if any of the teams had failed their objective, but he did not ponder long on that thought. He and Trindel had succeeded, and that was all that mattered.

  As they crossed the hanger to the briefing room, Byron glanced in the direction of the visiting transport. The security officers were in evidence and speaking with two hanger crew personnel. They appeared relaxed and he thought he detected laughter drifting across the hanger.

  The young men filed into the room and took their seats in silence. Trindel dropped like a stone into the chair beside Byron, his expression solemn. Frowning at his navigator’s demeanor, Byron was about to speak when Bassa called for attention.

  “Men, this will be brief,” he announced. “With the exception of team 143T, who is to remain here, you are to return to your quarters. Team 479T, you are to report to my office immediately.”

  Byron glanced at Surren and noticed his cocky smile was absent. He and his navigator were slumped in their seats, faces drawn and complexions ashen. They failed, Byron thought.

  “If anyone else now realizes he doesn’t have what it takes to fulfill his role as a pilot or navigator, he is to see me in my office before the midday meal,” Bassa instructed. He scanned the faces of those present, his eyes briefly pausing on Byron’s team.

  “This exercise separates the men from the boys. Be damned sure of your decision!”

  A couple young men fidgeted, but no one spoke. Bassa simply nodded.

  “After the midday meal, each team will receive a debriefing in my office. Until then, you are dismissed!”

  The instructors exited the room right away, but the trainees moved slower in their departure. Byron followed Trindel into the hallway and caught his navigator’s elbow.

  You okay? he asked, concerned by his friend’s despondency.

  Trindel nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. His gaze quickly dropped to the floor.

  We did it! Byron thought, his eager tone causing Trindel to raise his eyes. And that’s probably the worst thing we’ll ever face.

  Grasping Byron’s forearm, Trindel nodded again. You’re right.

  Smiling, Byron slapped his friend’s back and propelled him toward the lift. They had just faced their greatest challenge and returned triumphant.

  Byron remained in his quarters until the midday meal as instructed. Gathering a generous portion of food on his plate, he joined Trindel at an open table. Spirits rejuvenated, Byron dove into his meal. His navigator said little, his mood still somber, so Byron sought conversation with the others seated at the table. It appeared that most of the men had recovered from the shock of the exercise, but no one seemed inclined to discuss the morning’s session.

  It wasn’t until Byron rose from the table that he considered Surren and Arenth’s absence. If they had indeed failed the exercise, then that meant two marks on their record. He knew he shouldn’t revel in their apparent dismissal, but Surren had taunted Byron at every opportunity, and he felt vindicated.

  “We’re not scheduled to sit down with Bassa until late afternoon,” he informed Trindel as they departed the dining hall. “Guess our team’s last. But, since you’ve told me to expect the best, I’m taking it as a good sign!”

  Trindel lowered his chin. “Byron, you’ll be meeting with Bassa alone.”

  “Why?” asked Byron, his step faltering.

  “I met with him this morning after the exercise.”

  “What?” he demanded. Coming to an abrupt halt, Byron grabbed his navigator’s shoulder and forced Trindel to look him in the eye. “What for?”

  Trindel met his gaze, his expression troubled. “Because, I can’t do it,” he admitted in a meek voice.

  “Do what?”

  “I can’t kill another living being!”

  Releasing Trindel’s shoulder as if he’d been stung, Byron stared open-mouthed at his friend. He could not believe what he was hearing.

  “Byron, I’m sorry, but I can’t do it,” stammered Trindel, his eyes wide and pleading. “I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. And it’s not just because those men were Cassans. I don’t want to kill anyone!”

  Feeling his insides sink, Byron clenched his fists at his sides. “Damn it, we’re a team! What am I supposed to do without a navigator?”

  “I intend to finish the course with you,” Trindel offered. “I know how important piloting is to you. But once we’re finished here on Guaard, I’m pursuing another career field.”

  Anger rose in Byron’s chest. He held his sharp retort as Vitar and Hansen strolled past the pair in the hallway. Frustrated but unwilling to create a scene, Byron turned away from Trindel.

  He’d worked so hard to get this far, pouring everything into his training. Piloting a Cosbolt was Byron’s dream and his only option. Now those hopes lay shattered alongside the other failed aspirations in his life. How could Trindel abandon him when he was so close to achieving this goal? Byron felt betrayed by the one person he’d trusted.

  “How am I supposed to join the fleet without a navigator?” he snapped, now furious with Trindel.

  “They’ll assign you another one,” the young man replied with a nervous quaver.

  “Who knows how long that will take! Or how much training will be involved,” Byron exclaimed, whirling on Trindel. “Damn it, we are so close! How can you give up on me now?”

  Holding out his hands, Trindel stepped forward. “Byron, I’m really sorry,” he offered, his entire body trembling.

  Byron brushed aside his hand as Trindel reached for his shoulder. He didn’t want sympathy. Realizing he was about to spew some very ugly words, Byron turned and retreated from the unpleasant scene, moving as fast as his long legs would carry him.

  Byron, please! Trindel entreated.

  Ignoring his friend’s desperate plea, Byron entered the first available lift. He requested the hanger level and the doors closed before Trindel could join him. The unit descended and the doors opened to an empty corridor. Grateful to find seclusion, Byron proceeded to the main hanger.

  His stride was full of anger, and his heavy steps echoed in the empty corridor. Byron’s mind continued to reel with the news. How could Trindel desert him now? They were within days of completing their training. He’d hoped that his team’s record would secure a good first assignment. Now he’d have to wait for a replacement and endure more training with a new navigator.

  Rounding a corner, the hanger came into view. Few of the station’s personnel lingered and the visiting transporter was no longer in evidence. The expanse appeared even greater than usual and the cavernous maw felt cold and foreboding. Immersed in dejection, the sight caused Byron to feel even more insignificant and without hope.

  His gaze fell on the fighters neatly arranged on the flight deck in rows of five. Those vessels represented his only chance of a decent future. Their streamlined shape carried a sense of purp
ose, a quality lacking in Byron’s life until recently. Trindel’s decision now cast doubt on his resolution to pilot a Cosbolt.

  The anger ebbed from his body, hastened by his rapid retreat, and Byron felt his shoulders slump. Entering the hanger, he approached the resting ships. The emanations of the teleporters reached his senses and vibrated in his chest. Byron wandered among the vessels until he located his fighter situated at the end of the last row.

  Stretching out with tentative fingers, he placed his hand over the compartment that housed the teleporter. The unit’s power pulsated through his mind and body and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. If only he could use that energy to correct his situation! To come so far, only to have his hopes dashed yet again.

  Rejected by family and friends and thwarted in his attempts to achieve any level of success, Byron felt as if he’d never escape his past.

  Retrieving Byron’s profile, Bassa stared at the screen, lost in thought. He’d saved the pilot for last, aware this review would prove the most challenging. Byron would be difficult to handle this afternoon and Bassa needed to proceed with caution.

  The young man arrived at his appointed time and Bassa gestured for him to take a seat. He noted Byron’s sluggish movements and solemn express and surmised Trindel had revealed his session with the senior officer as requested. Once the pilot rested in a chair, his sagging posture reflecting defeat, Bassa leaned forward.

  “Your team performed well this morning,” he stated, diving right into the evaluation. “The placement of your first jump was questionable, but Trindel admitted the coordinates were to give the drone a chance.”

  “He set us up?” demanded Byron, straightening his back and grasping the armrests. “Sir?” he added.

  “Trindel couldn’t stomach killing another man. He was trying to give the drone a fighting chance,” Bassa informed the angry pilot, holding up his hand. “Regardless of his motives, you still managed to destroy the target and avoid a direct hit. Your team was the first to complete its assignment, I might add.”

  Byron slouched in his seat, and Bassa realized that fact was of small consolation now. He would receive little response from Byron on the subject of their flight. Bassa opted to turn to more pressing matters.

  “I assume Trindel discussed his resignation with you?” he asked.

  Eyes narrowing, Byron nodded.

  “Since Trindel has agreed to complete the program, his decision will not affect the outcome of this week’s tests, nor will it alter my assessment of your skill level.”

  Byron took a deep breath and nodded again. His posture remained defensive and withdrawn, and the coldness of his eyes revealed a deep displeasure that bordered on agony. Clasping his hands together, Bassa selected his next words with care.

  “This exercise eliminates more men than any other test,” he admitted, watching Byron’s reaction. “I lost two teams and a navigator today. It’s a tough test, but I need to know if each man possesses the ability to destroy an enemy without hesitation. It’s better to eliminate them now than to place those teams in the fleet where their inability to act endangers the lives of others.”

  Byron’s gaze had dropped while Bassa spoke, and he sensed the young pilot was about to shut down mentally as well. Leaning on his desk, Bassa made one last attempt to reach Byron.

  “I do not want to lose three complete teams today,” he stated with conviction.

  His voice sounded loud in the room’s silence, but his words caught Byron’s attention. The young man raised his head and met Bassa’s gaze. The senior officer noted a spark of determination in his steel blue eyes.

  “I refuse to quit now, sir,” Byron replied.

  Bassa nodded. “Then you and Trindel will complete your training as originally planned. If you are successful, you’ll receive a new navigator when a suitable match becomes available.”

  Byron opened his mouth to speak and Bassa caught a hint of desperation in his thoughts. The young man’s brows came together and he at once shielded his mind. Bassa frowned, perplexed by Byron’s refusal to divulge his thoughts or appear vulnerable. Gazing at the pilot, Bassa decided he genuinely wanted to help the young man. If he ever hoped to reach the person trapped behind that protective shield, Bassa needed to do so now.

  Leaning back in his chair, he assumed a receptive pose, allowing his hands to drop to his lap. Byron watched with apparent curiosity, but did not speak. Bassa selected his next words with care.

  “I suggest,” he began in a non-threatening voice, “that you take advantage of this opportunity to speak candidly.”

  Byron eyed his superior with skepticism. Shifting in his seat, he leaned heavily on the armrests.

  “Sir, how long will I have to wait for a new navigator?” he asked, the words tumbling from his lips.

  “The process could take a month or more,” Bassa explained. “You will require a navigator of exceptional skill.”

  “Will I have to go through training again, sir?”

  “A minimum of twenty hours in the cockpit is required before a team is certified, sometimes more if warranted,” he conceded. “Occasionally this is done on location, but more often than not, a new team trains together at a facility on Cassa.”

  Byron’s gaze dropped to the floor. For a brief moment, his dejection penetrated his mental shields.

  “Then it will be months before I join the fleet,” he murmured.

  His guard dropped even further, and Bassa sensed a deep fear of failure and rejection in Byron. The young man’s desperate need for accomplishment and acceptance rang clear in his mind. Bassa was surprised when his own emotions stirred at the memory of another young pilot’s desire for confirmation of his worth. Before his thoughts revealed themselves, he cleared his mind.

  “If you successfully complete your training,” Bassa said with authority, causing Byron to meet his gaze. “Not only will I give you the highest recommendation possible, but I promise I will do everything in my power to locate a quality navigator and assignment for you.”

  Byron’s eyes widened and he sat up straight in his seat. “Really, sir?”

  “If you complete your training to my satisfaction,” the senior officer reminded him.

  “Yes, sir, that’s a promise!”

  Bassa had to suppress a smile. The young man’s spirit had returned with a vengeance.

  “Then I suggest you settle your differences with your current navigator and concentrate on giving your best performance.”

  “Yes, sir,” Byron promised.

  “Good! You are dismissed, Byron,” ordered Bassa, leaning forward in his chair.

  “Yes, sir!” the young man exclaimed, rising to his feet. “And thank you, sir.”

  Byron retreated from his office with a bounce to his step. When the doors closed, Bassa chuckled at the young man’s reaction before turning to his computer screen. He added final notes to the pilot’s file, pleased with their session. As he completed his task, his eyes strayed to the photo on his desk.

  A chime signified a visitor. Leaning away from his computer, Bassa gave permission to enter. Officer Rellen sauntered into the room, his customary smile in place.

  “Finished with the trainees?” he inquired.

  “Yes, the last session just ended,” Bassa replied, cocking his head. “Did you speak to Security Officer Solate before his departure?”

  Rellen nodded and dropped into the chair vacated by Byron. “And his team thanked us again. They enjoyed the opportunity to play prisoners.”

  Bassa chuckled at his instructor’s observation. “I think they enjoy the charade as much as than the bonus in pay.”

  “If the trainees only knew they were shooting down empty drones …”

  “If they knew, the test would not be effective!”

  Rellen nodded in agreement. “Any surprises this afternoon?” he asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

  “No one else was eliminated. 715T’s navigator will remain long enough to ensure his pilot completes the
course,” Bassa announced.

  “You intend to pass Byron, then?”

  Noting the skepticism in Rellen’s voice, Bassa fixed him with an authoritative stare. “If he successfully completes the final sessions, yes, I do!”

  Rellen did not appear threatened by Bassa’s tone, but he did offer a polite nod of acceptance.

  “The fleet will have a difficult time locating a suitable navigator for that young buck,” he said, shaking his head. “He’ll require a man with experience, not to mention a strong will. I don’t envy the navigator who aligns himself with Byron!”