Seeing his friend double over in pain, Byron reacted first. Without any thought for his own safety, he charged Cerenth and buried his shoulder into the man’s exposed side. Throwing all of his weight into the maneuver, Byron knocked Bassa’s attacker into Deacer’s outstretched hands. Grasping the man’s shoulders, the navigator pulled Cerenth away from his intended target, and in one fluid, twisting motion, shoved the antagonist into Durn.
“I see you still can’t control that temper, Cerenth!” observed Deacer.
Regaining his footing, Cerenth appeared ready to attack Deacer as well. Hannar moved to his navigator’s side, their shoulders just touching. Byron held his position on the other side of the senior officer, and together, they formed an impenetrable barrier. Eyeing the living wall before him, Cerenth hesitated in a crouch. He face appeared flushed from his exertions, but he showed no signs of yielding.
“This isn’t your fight!” he exclaimed, staring at the others with hate-filled eyes. Cerenth shook off the restraining hand of his navigator, who seemed more concerned than his pilot with the situation.
“If you want a fight,” began Bassa, his voice strained, “let’s take it from the streets to the circle, Cerenth.”
Byron glanced at his navigator, his body still prepared to react should Cerenth charge again. Bassa’s posture remained stooped, but Byron knew that threatening tone all too well. The senior officer might appear shaken, but his threat was not empty. He intended to make good on the promise to fight Cerenth in a legitimate fight.
“Come on, Cerenth, we’re creating a scene,” his navigator admonished, seizing the man’s forearm.
Shoving aside his partner’s hand in obvious disgust, Cerenth scowled. He glanced at the mingling crowd, and Byron sensed reluctance in the man’s thoughts. Flashing another angry glare at Bassa, he lowered his head and set his lips in a thin line. Byron felt sure private words were exchanged between the men, although he couldn’t hear the conversation. Prepared for another attack, he squared his shoulders.
To his surprise, Cerenth decided not to pursue the issue any further. Surrendering to Durn’s insistent prodding, he retreated from the scene, and his angry footsteps were as loud as his resentful thoughts.
Feeling his muscles unknot, Byron turned at once to his navigator. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Straightening his posture, Bassa nodded. “Just winded,” he replied, one hand over his stomach.
Sensing the man’s discomfort, Byron wondered if he shouldn’t offer assistance. Deacer responded first and moved to Bassa’s side.
“Cerenth hasn’t changed one damn bit!” he growled, grasping Bassa’s elbow.
“Wish he’d taken you up on the offer of a fair fight in the circle,” Hannar added. “I would’ve enjoyed seeing you put him in his place.”
Bassa offered a weak smile. Hannar turned to Byron and nodded.
“You showed some gumption young man, taking on Cerenth like that. He didn’t expect it, that’s for sure!” Hannar proclaimed, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
Byron inclined his head in appreciation. Those were the first encouraging words ever offered by Hannar. Ironic that his comment had nothing to do with Byron’s flying ability, though, but it was a step in the right direction.
“Let’s get out of here,” asserted Deacer, grasping Bassa’s shoulder. “Traders always attract a rough crowd.”
Byron and Hannar followed behind the two men. They rode a lift to the next level and discovered the crowds were thinner in this section of the spaceport. Most of the establishments in the area seemed geared toward entertainment and spirits. At this time of day, patronage appeared light, but the glow of the evening probably attracted the multitudes.
An ornate set of double doors attracted his attention and Byron glanced up at the marquee as they passed. He frowned at the strange words. He detected the Cassan words for virtual and simulation, but the remainder of the phrase lay beyond his understanding.
Bassa paused and glanced at his pilot. “Have you ever viewed a Fesellan light display?” he asked, inclining his head toward the double doors.
Byron recalled reading about the incredible feature of light and sound created by the Fesell. The display was designed to immerse the viewer and he would enter a state more complete than any simulator. The involvement of the audience’s emotions supposedly invoked an intense and realistic response. That aspect unnerved him, as it invaded his privacy. The concept intrigued him, though, and Byron realized his curiosity outweighed his caution.
His gaze shifted from the front of the building to his navigator. Judging from his partner’s smile, Byron’s thoughts on the matter were already apparent.
“You need to experience it at least once,” Bassa proclaimed.
“I think I’ll skip this adventure,” Deacer announced. “Makes me dizzy.”
Hannar chuckled. “And my flying doesn’t?”
The two men elected to pass on the light show and they parted company. Feeling uncertain of his decision, Byron followed his navigator inside. If the experience proved too intense or intrusive, he could always leave.
Entering the main room, he was surprised by the simplicity of the set. The theater-styled facility was lit by low light, revealing a round stage situated prominently in the center. Otherworldly music floated on the air, although not loud enough to overwhelm. Thin tables with oversized, padded chairs circled the stage in a spiraling pattern, rising in altitude and providing every patron with a clear view of the action. Byron noted that many of the seats were already occupied. He suspected that the prospect of an afternoon drink drew in many of the men, but the Fesellan display was clearly a popular attraction.
Bassa gestured to an open table in the back row. A server appeared and Byron permitted his navigator the honor of ordering drinks. His thoughts were on the empty stage and the show that would soon ensue. From his vantage point, the stage appeared liquid, although there were no ripples across the surface to confirm his suspicions. Perplexed, Byron continued to stare at the apparatus until the server returned with their drinks.
“So this show will really amaze me, then?” he asked, reaching for his drink.
Bassa had already raised his glass to his lips. “You won’t be disappointed,” he promised, setting his drink on the table. “At any rate, I needed a moment to sit and collect myself.”
His admission caught Byron’s attention. “Are you all right?” he inquired, concerned for his older partner.
Taking another drink, Bassa nodded. “I will be.”
Byron did not have time to ponder his navigator’s words. The lights dimmed and the room plunged into darkness. The surface of the stage now glowed with flowing swirls of color, proof that his earlier assumptions were correct. The glow from the spectrum rose above the stage, and Byron followed the trails of light to the ceiling, where he noticed the pattern was repeated on an inverted stage. Fascinated and yet still cautious, he leaned back in his chair and prepared for the spectacle.
A burst of light erupted, filling the space between the mirrored stages with color. The flash of luminance was accompanied by music, and the sound filled the room with a physical presence. Byron felt it vibrate in his chest although it did not hurt his ears. The colorful lights began to twist and spiral, presenting a kaleidoscope of shifting images and shapes. His senses enveloped in a manner more consuming than reality, Byron felt mesmerized by the display and did not fight the sensation.
At some point, he realized that his emotions were captivated as well. The sights and sounds were inviting, prompting the release of his mental shields. He sensed Bassa’s mental surrender, but balked at the revelation of his own feelings. Fighting the exposure and reckless inhibition, not to mention panic rising in his chest, Byron struggled to close his mind.
Don’t fight it, echoed Bassa’s voice within his head. There’s nothing to fear. No one else can hear you.
His steady tone appealed to Byron’s thoughts, as did Bassa’s reasoning. Forcing h
is mind to relax, he realized the sights and sounds held no real threat. Byron at once felt foolish. His greatest fear did not stem from the possibility of death every time he climbed into the cockpit. It resided in his inability to open his mind.
The churning lights began to fade. The music dwindled to a few soft notes, punctuating the last flashes of color. Within seconds, the room plunged into darkness. The sudden lack of input startled him, and Byron reached out with his hands for a tangible object. His fingers grasped the edge of the table, providing a physical connection. Byron’s eyes caught the lights as they returned to full illumination, and the eager voices of the other participants reached his ears. His heart continued to race from the emotional charge of the show. Still grasping the edge of the table, Byron shot his navigator an accusing glare.
“You didn’t tell me it would invade my mind!” he hissed.
Bassa chuckled and reached for his drink. “No, because you would’ve refused and missed out on an incredible spectacle.”
Annoyed by the violation of his privacy, not to mention his childish fear of such an occurrence, Byron reached for his glass. To his chagrin, his hand trembled as he raised the drink to his lips. He downed the contents in one gulp, hoping to settle his agitated nerves. The Fesellan light display had penetrated his mind further than he preferred. In such close proximity, Bassa had obviously heard his exposed thoughts.
I did.
Startled, Byron almost dropped his glass. He didn’t realize his thoughts were continuing to project.
“You need to learn to relax,” Bassa continued aloud, stretching his legs under the table. “Fesellan lights are supposed to still a troubled mind. I think you needed it. I know I did.”
Byron caught the emotional charge of his friend’s voice. He did not need to read Bassa’s thoughts to know the incident with Cerenth troubled his navigator. Leaning back in his seat, Byron regarded his partner with concerned interest.
“Cerenth was your pilot,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Before I became an instructor on Guaard, yes,” Bassa replied, eyeing the empty glass in his hands. “And we obviously did not part on friendly terms.”
The server appeared once again, bringing two more drinks. Byron waited until the man had moved to the next table before speaking again.
“I really can’t picture Cerenth as your pilot,” he declared in a firm voice.
A smile tugged at Bassa’s lips. “He was my pilot for over ten years. I’d flown with two other pilots prior to Cerenth. By the time we joined forces, my skills were at their peak. Cerenth was a talented and daring pilot and together we made a decent team. It did not take long before we were the talk of the fleet. No one else could match our talent and ability in the cockpit.”
Byron frowned. “But you gave it all up?”
The senior officer nodded, his thoughts and expression solemn. “After Tal was killed, I didn’t have the heart to continue. I couldn’t change his fate, but I wanted to prevent other young men from meeting a similar demise. I resigned my position as squadron leader and transferred to Guaard. Cerenth did not follow.”
“Is that why he’s so damn bitter?”
“He thinks I let him down and ruined his career.” Bassa turned to meet Byron’s anxious gaze. “But Cerenth had already sealed his own fate. He was very volatile and difficult to work with under the best of circumstances. We functioned well in the cockpit, but it was a strain. At the time, our esteemed reputation outweighed the challenges and aggravation of dealing with Cerenth.
“After my departure, no one wanted to be his partner. It was months before a navigator accepted the position. Cerenth’s attitude grew worse and he was demoted. For years, he sought a suitable replacement, never realizing the real problem resided with the pilot of his ship, not the navigator.”
Byron shifted in his seat. “Hope I’m not as difficult as Cerenth,” he murmured, his eyes on his glass.
Feeling a wave of acceptance, he turned and noticed Bassa’s genuine smile.
“You’re not,” he stated with conviction.
“I’m sure I have my moments,” Byron countered, dismissing the compliment with a shrug.
“Oh, you still have your moments.”
That elicited a smile from Byron. He possessed no false assumptions when it came to his attitude and behavior. He was far from the perfect teammate. However, he was trying to change.
“And thanks for coming to my assistance back there,” Bassa added, finishing his drink.
“You could’ve taken him without my help.”
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be setting the right example.”
Byron cocked his eyebrows in exasperation. “Damn, forget about impressing me. Just hit him next time!”
Bassa laughed at his pilot’s words. In a rare moment of friendship, he patted Byron’s shoulder.
“Are you ready to explore again?” he enticed, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“You bet!” Byron cried, eager to continue.
“Then let’s go,” Bassa answered, rising to his feet. “And hopefully we’ll have no more surprises!”
Chapter Eleven
Scurrying up the ladder, Byron hastened to his seat. Bassa joined him in the cockpit and they ran through the emergency checklist in record time. The moment the ship’s canopy sealed, their ship began moving into position.
“Seven squadrons of Vindicarn ships confirmed,” Larnth announced over the com. “Engage immediately. Repeat, engage immediately!”
Seven? Guess they’re serious this time, Byron observed.
They’re making an attack run on the ship, Bassa replied. We’re going to be shot out into the thick of it, so be prepared.
Damn, they’re not giving us much chance.
Welcome to war.
Byron checked the weapons again as they slid into the launch tube. The outer door opened and even at that distance, he could see enemy fighters against the stars. The moment they left the safety of the Sorenthia, Vindicarns would be upon them.
“Three … two … one …”
Byron kept his eyes on the section of space they were about to occupy and hoped their ship wouldn’t collide with enemy craft. A Vindicarn ship flew past just as they emerged and Byron pulled a hard left to avoid impact. Before he could acquire his bearings, laser fire streaked over their canopy.
Jump! Bassa cried, the coordinates flashing in Byron’s mind.
Without hesitation, he teleported to the new position. Bassa’s calculations placed them on the trail of an enemy ship and Byron fired. In the blink of an eye, they went from potential casualty to victor.
“Defend that launch tube!” Larnth ordered.
Give the others a fighting chance, commented Bassa as Byron maneuvered their ship through the ensuing confusion.
They returned to the launch tubes. Vindicarn ships swarmed the area, waiting like scavengers for an easy kill. Byron brought the ship in at an angle and engaged the first enemy vessel that crossed his path. Before the ship had time to evade, he dispatched the Vindicarn with one shot.
Five more Cosbolts about to launch! Bassa forewarned.
Hannar’s ship joined them and the teams flew cross patterns across the launch tubes, determined to prevent the slaughter of their fellow pilots. Byron focused solely on the ships in front of him and Bassa’s voice in his head. This was their fifth encounter since the declaration of war, and he’d learned to rely on his navigator’s guidance. If they were to remain alive, Byron and Bassa had to trust each other implicitly.
Once their squadron was in the air and other ships assumed defense of the launch tubes, they moved away from the Sorenthia and engaged the enemy one-on-one. Byron ignored the flashes of light around their ship. If the explosions were their own ships, he couldn’t help those teams now.
Caught up in the fight, he wasn’t sure at what point the enemy’s numbers began to dwindle. Adrenaline continued to course through his body, but not at the same frantic pace as earlier. Byron pursued every ne
w target and Bassa guided his pilot. If the older officer preferred they rein in their attack, he did not voice his thoughts to Byron.
Without warning, the enemy fighters closest to the Sorenthia turned and headed for deep space. Byron followed the Vindicarn ships, hoping for one more kill.
Pull back, ordered Bassa.
With great reluctance, Byron eased back on the throttle. He watched as the enemy vessels convened, and in a flash of light, vanished from view.
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