“If that’s what you really want,” Bassa offered, his voice gentle.
Byron nodded. “Yes.”
Setting his computer pad on the bench, Bassa leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’d prefer to stay here as well,” he stated.
Bassa’s serious expression caused Byron to look away. He nodded again, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
“Can I ask why?” inquired Bassa.
Suppressing the thoughts and emotions that arose in his mind, Byron clenched his fists even tighter. “Well, I’d be an idiot to discard a navigator of your caliber,” he explained, hoping that answer would suffice.
Sensing his navigator’s touch on his mind, Byron tightened his shields out of habit. Opening his mind always felt uncomfortable; a result of invasive probes from analysts and instructors when he was a child.
You need to trust me, Byron.
Bassa’s sincere entreaty caused Byron to relax his shields. If they were to work together as a team, a certain level of confidence and trust was required. He might resist, but Byron needed that bond to fly the ship.
“I’m not very good at making friends, either,” he conceded. “I could probably use one.”
“I am your friend, Byron.”
Mustering courage he did not feel, Byron turned to his navigator. Bassa’s smile was genuine, as was the feeling of acceptance that drifted into Byron’s senses. It still puzzled him that the man wanted to be his friend. Byron didn’t feel likeable in any sense of the word. He’d resisted Bassa’s attempts to foster a friendship outside of the cockpit almost to the point of open hostility. His opposition stemmed from more than a reluctance to connect. Byron feared he would fail miserably as a friend.
Bassa’s expression softened and his thoughts revealed compassion. Byron suddenly noticed the transparency of his own feelings. Alarmed, he closed his mind.
With a sigh, Bassa leaned back. “It’s okay to open up every now and then. That’s what friends are for.”
Byron couldn’t think of a suitable reply, but Bassa didn’t seem to expect one. Stretching his back, the senior officer picked up his computer pad.
“So, what are your plans for your day off?” he asked.
“I was going to hit the courts before the midday meal.” An idea occurred to Byron. “Do you play gravball?”
Bassa arched one eyebrow. “Feel like losing?”
“Do you?”
“You’re on then!”
Byron rose to his feet, a genuine grin on his face. However, his elation went beyond the chance to play against an opponent. The prospect of a real friend held more meaning and satisfaction.
Chapter Ten
30.75 degrees!
Byron altered his course as instructed, his eye on the drone. Another fighter flew over their ship in pursuit of a separate drone, but he paid it no heed. Their target had begun to dive and he followed with all intensity.
Quadrant 749, incoming!
The drone continued on its path, but Byron was forced to pull up as a Cosbolt emerged from a jump. The split second was all the drone required and it accelerated to top speed.
Jumping, Quadrant 681! Byron announced.
Bassa relayed their intentions. The announcement consumed less than a second and Byron jumped before the thought vanished from his mind. Reappearing a few lengths behind the drone, he reduced speed and fired. The green light registered another direct hit.
That’s three today! he cried, banking left.
We’re on a roll, observed Bassa, calculating their next course of action.
Ever since Byron’s complete acceptance of Bassa’s place as his navigator, their performance in the cockpit had shown vast improvement. As promised, Bassa now trusted his judgment, permitting Byron the freedom to exercise his ability as a pilot. In return, Byron no longer balked when his navigator suggested a different tactic or approach. It was still a struggle to permit Bassa full access to his mind, but Byron felt he was making progress in that area as well. He couldn’t deny the results when they did connect and wanted the trend to continue.
One drone remaining, Bassa announced. Hannar’s on it.
Damn! I was hoping for one more.
Share the glory, Bassa answered, a hint of humor in his tone.
Once the final drone was neutralized, they returned to the Sorenthia and joined their squadron in the debriefing room. When every man was present, Larnth began to cover the day’s exercise.
“Good flying, everyone. All drones neutralized within reasonable time and no Cosbolt losses. The squadron has adapted well to the changes in programming, which seem to simulate the Vindicarn’s flight patterns with a bit more accuracy. There were numerous multiple kills today, including three by Byron and Bassa’s team. Good job, men.
“Now, a couple items we need to work on …”
Byron listened, but it was difficult to focus on Larnth’s words. That was the third time this week he and Bassa had scored the most kills. The other officers might still resent a rookie in their squadron, but they couldn’t deny the figures his team was posting. Those stats did not lie.
“For the last bit of news,” Larnth announced, his words cutting into Byron’s thoughts. “We are proceeding to a new location this afternoon, so tomorrow’s drills will take place in the simulator.”
There were scattered groans throughout the room. One look from the squadron leader silenced the protests.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you that we’ll be stopping at Spaceport 89 en route,” he chastised.
That announcement brought a round of cheers. Larnth permitted a reserved smile to cross his face as he viewed the men’s reaction.
“You are dismissed!” he ordered.
The room erupted with chatter. Byron smiled at his navigator, excited by the news.
“Do I sense trouble?” Bassa inquired as they rose to their feet.
“Me?” cried Byron, eyes wide to feign innocence. “No trouble here! Just ready for some fun. You do remember fun, don’t you?”
“Yes, it was something I had before I met you!”
Bassa’s sarcastic reply was offset by a hint of mischief in his eyes. The older man had likely enjoyed adventurous exploits with reckless abandon when he was younger. Byron doubted his partner would repeat any of those escapades on Spaceport 89, but perhaps he could coax some of the stories from Bassa.
The Sorenthia docked at the spaceport two days later. The officers were given a ten-hour pass with implicit instructions to behave in a manner worthy of their position. Judging from the exchanges as the men walked down the ramp to freedom, that command was open to interpretation. Byron wondered how far Bassa would be willing to push the limit today.
The enclosed ramp spilled out into a secure hanger. Several minutes passed before they cleared the various checkpoints, and Byron grew restless. He sensed his navigator’s amusement regarding his eagerness to view his first spaceport. Unashamed of his feelings, he made no effort to contain or hide his enthusiasm.
Trust me, ten hours will be more than enough time to see everything, Bassa informed him as they followed Ernx and Nintal toward the exit.
Yes, but will it be enough time to do everything?
The women here are pretty fast, so I guess that depends on you.
Byron shot his partner a startled look. Bassa’s comments were always proper and reserved. His navigator winked, and Byron smiled knowingly. That thought was lost as he stepped through the oversized doorway at the end of the tunnel and viewed his very first spaceport.
An artificial sun shone from the vaulted ceiling, lighting the wide walkway that led to another tunnel at the far end. Rows of businesses and shops lined either side of the foot corridor, their designs unique and varied, and many boasted colorful signs and marquees. The glowing emblems and lights would undoubtedly take on a new life when the main lights dimmed at night, casting strange shadows across the crowds. Benches and computer terminals dotted the center of the walkway, and two large glass lifts
were moving up the far wall, their compartments full.
From his vantage point on the wide balcony, Byron noted several species in evidence. He’d encountered most of the alien races at one point or another on Cassa, but not in such vast quantities. The sea of beings moved like an ever-changing kaleidoscope, as colorful as the glowing shop signs. The spaceport boasted a wide variety of people and creatures, which meant the establishments would match the diversity represented. As promised, the men would not lack for entertainment while on Spaceport 89.
Someone brushed his arm in passing, and the sensation returned Byron to reality. He glanced at Bassa and noticed his navigator was grinning. Aware that his mouth hung open, Byron straightened his shoulders and regained his composure. Hopefully no one else observed his foolish expression.
“Come on, Byron!” Ernx cried.
Without further delay, he and Bassa followed their friends down the short ramp. Joining the throngs of people on the main walkway, they began navigating the obstacle course. The Sorenthia’s arrival had coincided with the midday meal and various aromas permeated the air. The enticing smell of food caused his stomach to growl.
“First thing, I want some real food!” he announced.
“Real spicy food!” Ernx exclaimed, flashing a grin Byron’s direction. His eager expression altered when his gaze shifted to Bassa. “If that’s all right with you, sir?”
Bassa exhibited a patient smile. “Sure.”
The young man glanced at Byron, who offered a sly wink. Ernx’s smile returned.
Riding a lift to the next level, the men found an establishment to their liking. The small dining area was well lit, offsetting the dark red tapestries on the walls, and the atmosphere felt comfortable. Several other officers were already present and indulging in the foreign cuisine. Hannar and Deacer occupied a large table in the corner and gestured for the newcomers to join them.
“A decent meal’s always the first order of business,” Deacer observed with a smirk.
“Some things never change,” said Bassa, taking the seat next to the man.
Byron dropped into the chair beside Bassa, unsure of the present company. Hannar and Deacer rarely spoke to him on board the Sorenthia. However, in this casual setting they were a little more congenial. Byron’s two friends were not at a loss for words and discussed their plans for the day in detail. Among good company and food, Byron discovered that he enjoyed sharing a meal with the other officers.
“I think it’s time,” Ernx announced, glancing at his navigator, “to do some gambling.”
Nintal grinned and rose to his feet. “Anyone care to join us?” he enticed, scanning the table.
Deacer waved the men away. “That’s an evening activity for me,” he declared, his smile suggesting amusement at their haste. “You young ones go waste your credits early.”
Ernx glanced at Byron, and he toyed with the idea of spending the day with his friends. He sensed Bassa held no interest in gambling, although he didn’t seem opposed to the idea. Byron decided to trust the wisdom of his partner and declined Ernx’s offer.
You could’ve joined them, Bassa commented as the young men departed.
Well, if I’m going to get into trouble, I’d probably fare better in your company, Byron explained.
Deacer and Hannar accompanied them when Bassa and Byron set out to explore the spaceport. The experience was new to Byron and he struggled to control his eager naiveté. Viewing the vast array of shops, shows and people, he realized that it would be easy for a young officer to run astray. Paired with Ernx and Nintal, Byron would’ve felt tempted to flirt with danger. Under normal circumstances, he resented supervision and authoritative control, but the company of seasoned veterans was a wiser choice.
Entering a new section, the men hadn’t gone far when Hannar paused at the entryway of a small shop. The others stopped as the pilot let out an exclamation of surprise.
“They carry Torbethian artifacts,” he observed, nodding at Deacer. “Sorry, I’ve got to go inside. My mate, she collects those things.”
Deacer gestured for his pilot to enter. Hannar stepped into the shop and Deacer glanced at Bassa.
“We’ll wait,” Bassa offered. Unless you want to go inside, he asked Byron.
No thanks! Byron answered, his response punctuated by a mental chuckle.
Turning to face the mingling crowd, he scanned the other businesses. This level boasted predominantly independent vendors from across the galaxy and the collage of cultures and planets was almost overwhelming. Byron entertained little desire for material possessions, and none of the displays presented items of interest. He was eager to continue exploring and hoped Hannar wouldn’t delay his selection longer than necessary.
“Damn, look who we have here!”
The sarcastic tone caught Byron’s attention and caused a ripple of annoyance in his thoughts. He turned to face the speaker and observed two officers bearing down on his and Bassa’s location. They were not members of the Sorenthia, and their appearance was scraggly and unkempt. The man in the lead smiled at Bassa, but there was nothing friendly in his evil grin. His tall, wiry frame and uneven gait suggested a rough life coupled with an even more difficult attitude. Sensing trouble, Byron braced himself as the officer came to an abrupt halt in front of Bassa, his shoulders back and chest forward in defiance.
“Cerenth,” Byron’s navigator said by way of acknowledgement, his voice calm but cold.
“Bassa,” the man replied, drawling the name on purpose.
Animosity sparked between the two men, as evidenced in their defensive postures and narrowed eyes. Despite the man’s toughness as an instructor, others tended to like and respect Bassa. Byron wondered what circumstances could’ve invoked such resentment in Cerenth and regarded the stranger with caution.
“So what brings an instructor from Guaard all the way to Spaceport 89?” Cerenth demanded, crossing his arms.
Bassa’s expression tightened. “I am assigned to the Sorenthia now, and we are here on leave.”
The man’s eyes widened and anger exuded from his thoughts. “You’re flying again?” Cerenth demanded, his lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Yes,” Bassa replied with resignation.
Cerenth’s gaze shifted to Byron, who stood just behind and to one side of his navigator. “With him?”
“Yes, this is my pilot, Byron.”
That answer did not seem to please Cerenth. He stared at Byron with hostile eyes and an indignant sneer.
“A boy?” he cried. “You swore you’d never navigate again and you return to the fleet with an inexperienced child?”
Anger stirred in Byron and he clenched his fists. Those thoughts were demeaning enough coming from the officers of his squadron but intolerable from a complete stranger. It was but a small consolation when he sensed Bassa’s enraged feelings toward Cerenth as well.
“This young man is one of the best damn pilots I’ve ever encountered,” Bassa countered. “And the reasons for my return to active duty are none of your business, Cerenth.”
“Do you plan to abandon this boy, too?”
“No, I don’t!” replied Bassa, fury pouring from his thoughts like water. “And I didn’t abandon you. Cerenth. You knew the reason why I couldn’t continue as your navigator.”
The man took a step back and rolled his eyes. “Oh, I remember!” he announced, his arms dropping to his sides. “You and your guilty conscience turned tail and ran, leaving me without a navigator. Do you know how many years it took me to find a decent replacement? How many degenerate, low-ranking assignments I endured due to incompetent navigators? By the time I acquired Durn, I no longer qualified for the better posts – and all thanks to you!”
The hostility in Cerenth’s voice rose with each syllable. Sensing the man’s fury, Byron realized the exchange might turn physical. He edged closer to Bassa, his gaze locked on Cerenth and the man accompanying the irate pilot.
My fight, not yours, Bassa told Byron.
&nbs
p; We’re a team, remember?
“I am not responsible for your uneven career,” Bassa said aloud, still focused on his antagonist. “You had every opportunity after my departure.”
“Opportunity?” Cerenth demanded, his fists clenched. “You left me with no options!”
“Your lack of leadership qualities left you with no options.”
Enraged by Bassa’s words, Cerenth swung his right fist, moving with incredible agility. Bassa reacted with equal speed, jostling Byron out of position, and avoiding a direct hit. This only infuriated the man and he pressed forward, fist raised again. Hannar and Deacer appeared in the shop’s doorway as the two men braced and Bassa appeared to hesitate. Cerenth swung his fist, which Bassa avoided, but it was the man’s left jab coming in low that he missed. Before Byron or the others could intervene, Cerenth slammed his fist into Bassa’s midsection. Uttering an expletive, Deacer moved forward to seize Bassa’s attacker.
CassaStar Page 15
