CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  Unaccustomed to physical touch, Byron flinched ever so slightly before regaining his composure. He could prevent the mental invasion of his privacy, but not the physical, and had learned to endure such gestures.

  Deacer shook his hand, his eyes studying the young pilot. Byron returned to his meal, content just to listen to the discussions around him. The men continued to ask many questions of Bassa, and Byron wondered if they’d permit his navigator to eat. Bassa knew how to control a conversation, though, and enticed the others to speak. Byron listened with interest as they spoke of past assignments and alien encounters.

  “Most recent problems have been with the Vindicarn,” Deacer announced, brushing the straggly locks from his square forehead. “Damned fighters are fast, too.”

  “Yes, I’ve been monitoring the encounters,” Bassa replied. “They seem to be increasing.”

  Hannar nodded and leaned forward on the table. “Mostly skirmishes, but the Vindicarn have been patrolling the edge of Cassan space for the past month. And occasionally crossing that border, I might add.”

  “Peaceful negotiations not effective?” inquired Bassa, reaching for his drink.

  “Hardly!” scoffed Hannar. “The Arellens have dealt with them for years, but it’s an uneasy truce at best. At the moment, they show no interest in talking with the Cassan fleet.”

  “They send out raiding parties to secure new territories. Guess they’ve decided to venture into our part of the galaxy,” Deacer offered. “Now that they’ve developed new technology, they’re looking to expand their domain.”

  “The disrupters?”

  Bassa’s query perked Byron’s interest. Secluded on Guaard for the past six months, he’d heard only bits and pieces from the outside world. However, news of the Vindicarn’s disrupters had penetrated that protective bubble and created quite a stir among the trainees.

  “Haven’t seen them in action yet,” Hannar admitted. “I understand the weapon not only knocks out teleporters, it fries a man’s senses. Couple that with the Vindicarn’s bold aggression and it makes them a dangerous enemy.”

  “Well, they better not consider us an easy target,” Deacer declared, placing his fist on the table. “Just let them try to take any of our planets by force!”

  Byron mulled this information over in his mind as the discussion shifted to lighter topics. Finishing his meal, he set down his fork and reached for his drink. Upon lowering the empty glass, he realized the officer beside Deacer was staring at him.

  “So, where was your last post?” the man asked, his brows drawn together.

  The suspicious tone alerted Byron at once. Stalling for time, he licked his lips and returned the glass to the table. His answer would not please those gathered.

  “Guaard,” he replied.

  Deacer frowned. “You’re too young to be an instructor,” he observed.

  The man beside the navigator gasped. “You just finished training?” he exclaimed in a loud voice. “A wet-behind-the-ears rookie?”

  The rest of the table grew still. Byron felt his defenses rise as shock and indignation rippled through the group. He was about to offer a sharp retort when Bassa intervened.

  “Yes, and he’s one of the best damn pilots to ever complete the program!” he stated.

  Byron knew that tone all too well and wondered if any would dare challenge his navigator’s assessment. Despite Bassa’s words, he sensed the mood of the table had changed. The men resented the presence of an unproven pilot in their squadron. He struggled to contain the anger that rose in his chest and clenched his fists under the table. They had passed judgment without allowing him the opportunity to prove himself.

  “That’s a first,” someone muttered.

  Deacer shifted his position but no one else spoke.

  Don’t let it bother you, Bassa’s voice echoed in his head. You will prove your worth in time.

  Byron lifted his chin and met Bassa’s eyes. In time?

  Rising from the table, he cast an icy glare at those seated before departing. There were things Byron wanted to accomplish today.

  Byron completed his report and then set out to explore the ship. For the most part, he enjoyed the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. Those he passed were busy with duties and paid the young pilot little heed. Ending his investigation of the Sorenthia with the ship’s workout facility, Byron spent the remainder of his afternoon taking out his frustrations on one of the gravball courts.

  Arriving late in the dining hall on purpose, he discovered the room less than half occupied. Bassa was present and surrounded by other officers. Byron didn’t want to endure another unpleasant scene and selected an unoccupied table in the corner. The hall continued to empty as men departed in small groups, but Byron’s presence failed to attract attention.

  He noticed Bassa as the man rose to his feet. Several other officers followed suit and Byron assumed his navigator would remain with friendly company. To his surprise, the senior officer broke away from the group and approached Byron’s table. Straightening his posture, he waited while Bassa took the seat opposite him at the table.

  “I wondered if you were skipping the evening meal,” Bassa observed, assuming a relaxed pose.

  Byron regarded his partner with suspicion, contemplating his response. “Just skipping the company,” he answered, his eyes scanning the room.

  “I told you not to worry about the others. You’ll earn their respect from the cockpit.” Bassa leaned against the table, his hands clasped together. “At any rate, you can’t let it affect your attitude or become a distraction. Just ignore the negative comments.”

  “Ignore the fact they don’t want me here?” Byron growled.

  “They don’t know your capabilities, yet,” explained Bassa. He pointed a finger at Byron. “You can only control your attitude, not theirs. Take the high road and let it slide. The men will trust and like you when they know you better.”

  Lowering his gaze, Byron stabbed at the remains of his meal. “I don’t exactly excel at making friends, you know,” he stated.

  Stunned by the bluntness of his own words, Byron brought his fork down with great force on a chunk of meat. He tossed it into his mouth, hoping to prevent further thoughts from tumbling unchecked from his lips. On the other side of the table, he heard Bassa sigh.

  “Yes, of that I am well aware,” his navigator said in a low voice.

  Lifting his head, Byron flashed Bassa an angry look, but there was neither malice nor condemnation in the man’s eyes. The senior officer was quite capable of appearing cold and indifferent, but his expression lacked harsh judgment. To his surprise, Byron detected regret in his partner’s thoughts.

  Feeling exposed and self-conscious, he shifted his position. “Fine, I’ll try to work with them,” he offered.

  Bassa slapped his hands on the table and rose to his feet. “Appreciate it. Well, the commander requested my presence this evening, so I’ll leave you to your meal,” he said briskly. “Evening, Byron.”

  Byron nodded. “Evening.”

  He stabbed at his food for a moment before rising to deposit his tray on the counter and return to his quarters. The shock of Bassa’s appearance had worn off but not Byron’s resistance to the man’s presence on the Sorenthia. Bassa’s navigational style felt awkward and Byron missed Trindel’s gentle guidance. He felt inhibited, as if every move now fell under the scrutiny of the senior officer.

  The status of Cosbolt pilot implied freedom, but not while Byron lay chained to the one person he’d hoped to escape.

  Chapter Eight

  Patrols filled the next three days and their squadron pulled double duty. Officer Larnth sent the men through an exhaustive training exercise on the fourth day, focusing on intricate tactics and maneuvers. Byron felt as if he were on Guaard again, especially with Bassa occupying the navigator seat in his cockpit. To his credit, the senior officer was quite familiar with the drills. Bassa prevented Byron from committing errors during the more complex maneuvers. He s
till felt uneasy with his new navigator, but Bassa did bring skill and experience to their team.

  Byron tried to ignore the prevailing sense of displeasure from the other officers. No one voiced his opinion in Bassa’s presence, but that did not prevent stray bitter thoughts from drifting in Byron’s direction. He was aware of the mental conversations and suspected the others were trying to rattle him on purpose. That did not curb his annoyance, though, and Byron kept to himself whenever possible.

  Outside of their flights together, the only time he saw Bassa was during meals. Aware that it was vital he connect with his navigator, Byron did not protest Bassa’s presence or his attempts at conversation. However, his thoughts were conflicted between developing at least one friend on the Sorenthia and a deep desire to avoid contact with his former instructor. Their discussions were awkward at best, but if not for Bassa, Byron wouldn’t be on speaking terms with anyone.

  A week after their arrival, the ship was placed on alert. The men were in the dining hall when ordered to the briefing room. Already dressed in flight suits, the men leapt to their feet. Bassa saw Byron reach for his tray and he signaled for him to leave it.

  No time! he thought, one hand on Byron’s shoulder.

  Eyes wide, Byron moved toward the exit and Bassa followed his pilot. Every telepod boasted a line and Bassa guided his partner past the crowds. Rounding a corner, they discovered the lines were much shorter and secured a telepod within seconds.

  Once in the briefing room, the squadron leader wasted no time. The last officers to arrive scrambled for their seats as Larnth began to speak.

  “Several minutes ago, we detected a small squadron of Vindicarn fighters in sector 67-146,” he announced.

  The screen behind Larnth flashed the coordinates. A dozen ships were visible in the corner and moving in the same direction as the Sorenthia.

  “Yesterday, the Islanta endured a heavy Vindicarn attack, so they are to be treated as hostiles. We will approach from this direction,” he stated, indicating the position on the screen.

  Bassa listened attentively. Many years had passed since his last real dogfight and he’d never encountered the Vindicarn. He’d followed every report since the first engagement with this enemy, though. They were aggressive and not interested in peace talks or negotiations. Bassa suspected it was only a matter of time before open war was declared.

  “Remember to watch for disruptor fire!” Larnth instructed, his expression grim. “If your teleporter is hit, it drains all power, and you’ll be unable to jump. If you are hit, it scrambles your senses. And the effects can be permanent!”

  Larnth dismissed the squadron and the men moved quickly.

  We’ll have to guard against disrupter fire, Bassa warned his pilot as they entered the hanger. I understand a direct hit is quite painful.

  Byron nodded, his stride rapid as they moved across the hanger. Bassa sensed his pilot was anxious for this flight. His thoughts were shielded as usual, but the young man couldn’t suppress all emotion and his pensive expression revealed his nervousness. Bassa was determined to keep his inexperienced pilot from committing any serious mistakes.

  They burst into space and joined the squadron. Bassa reached out mentally. As always, he met with resistance. After a moment’s hesitation, his pilot lowered his shields just enough to allow a connection. Bassa suppressed his annoyance with his pilot’s inhibitions. They might be a new team, but at some point, Byron would have to show him a measure of trust.

  Four squadrons assembled and prepared to jump to the enemy’s position. Bassa conveyed the proper coordinates to Byron and they waited for the signal. Two squadrons vanished, and a moment later, they were instructed to jump. Byron performed the maneuver, and Bassa glanced at the teleporter’s power level. As expected, he detected no drain on the device. He sent a brief thought of praise for the conservation, and his pilot acknowledged his approval before his attention shifted to their current situation.

  The first two squadrons now approached the enemy fighters. The thin, silver ships were horribly outnumbered, but the Vindicarn held their ground as the Cosbolts drew near. Their squadron was ordered to hold position and Byron assumed a hovering thrust. Bassa kept one eye on his navigational equipment and the other on their fellow comrades as the first two squadrons drew closer to the target. An unexpected surge of memories flooded his mind as he watched the situation unfold. The enemy was different, but their predicament was the same.

  Flying in tight formation, the squadrons closed the gap. The enemy ships had yet to respond and remained motionless in space. Their actions carried a menacing tone as sharp as their narrow vessels. Bassa held his breath as he waited.

  Suddenly the Vindicarn ships came to life. With an enormous burst of speed, the fighters shot into the ranks of the waiting squadrons, lasers blasting. The Cassans were not caught unaware, though, and returned fire at once. Several enemy ships were neutralized, but a flash of light told Bassa the Cassans had not escaped injury.

  “Intercept!” commanded Larnth as the Vindicarn ships passed through the first two squadrons.

  Byron reacted without hesitation, and Bassa sensed his eagerness to engage the enemy. Selecting a Vindicarn ship bearing down on their location, he directed his pilot toward the target. Byron complied and prepared to engage.

  The Cosbolt beside them announced intensions to fire. Bassa relayed the information to Byron, concerned he’d continue his pursuit regardless. He sensed reluctance in the young man’s mind, but Byron conceded to the other ship’s request. With one shot, their comrades eliminated the approaching vessel.

  I had him! Byron thought even as he sought another target.

  Menth called his shot first, Bassa reminded him.

  They circled around, hoping to pursue the enemy ships that had escaped initial fire. Bassa felt the pull as Byron performed a tight curve at full speed. He located several Vindicarn ships, but before they had time to engage, the fighters vanished from sight.

  Byron’s disappointed exclamation rang loud in his head. The Vindicarn’s reaction did not surprise Bassa, though.

  They knew they were outnumbered, he explained, guiding his pilot back into formation.

  Why did they wait to jump? asked Byron. Shooting through our squadron – that was suicide!

  They’re testing us.

  Bassa listened for the damage report. They had suffered no loss of life, but three ships were damaged. A request was issued to the Sorenthia for a transport, as two of the ships were completely out of commission. One had lost its teleporter due to a disrupter blast, but the crew was all right.

  That wouldn’t be a problem for us! Byron thought.

  Let’s just avoid getting hit, Bassa cautioned.

  They spent an additional four hours patrolling the sector, but there were no further encounters. When other squadrons appeared to assume their position, the fighters returned to the Sorenthia. The men were hungry, but they had to undergo debriefing first. It was well past the midday meal and Bassa suggested food as the first priority.

  “Sounds good,” agreed Byron as they entered the telepod. “I’m starving!”

  “Get used to it,” Bassa warned. “You’ll miss a lot of meals out here.”

  The dining hall filled rapidly with others who shared their sentiments. Most of the conversations centered on the morning’s brief battle and included speculation on the next Vindicarn encounter. Bassa preferred to avoid second-guessing the enemy’s moves, though. One had to be prepared for anything.

  He tried to include Byron in the discussion, but his pilot said little. He’d hoped to penetrate Byron’s defenses and gain his trust, but so far, Bassa’s attempts were unsuccessful. He understood the young man’s frustrations with the other officers, but Byron made no effort to fit in with the squadron. It was challenging enough to entice the young man to speak when they were alone, but the boy refused to talk in mixed company.

  Finishing his meal, Bassa leaned away from the table and stretched his back. Hun
ger sated, he felt ready for a long, hot shower. His ears caught a conversation at the table behind him and Bassa’s attention shifted.

  “Didn’t think you’d get that kill, Menth.”

  “I wasn’t about to let that rookie claim it,” Menth growled in a low voice. “Boy has no business in our squadron.”

  “He certainly doesn’t deserve to be on the Sorenthia,” someone else muttered.

  Bassa suddenly detected resentment in Byron’s thoughts and realized he’d overheard the exchange as well. Meeting his pilot’s gaze, Bassa noted anger and hurt in the young man’s eyes. He reached out to comfort Byron but met only resistance as his pilot’s mental shields locked into place. Byron grabbed his tray and rose to his feet.

  Byron, Bassa entreated.

  Don’t worry about it, his pilot answered and turned from the table.