CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

Bassa chuckled. “At least you’re good company.”

  His pilot smiled. It occurred to Bassa that Byron’s mental shields were down and his mind unguarded. Under normal circumstances, the young man was protective of his privacy. He was not actively blocking now, though. Bassa considered testing his partner’s open stance, but decided to save that experience for another time.

  Byron glanced at the other tables and Bassa sensed unease. Byron turned to his navigator with troubled eyes.

  “Is it true Corten lost his senses?” he asked in a wary voice.

  Bassa emitted a heavy sigh. Corten had received a direct hit from a Vindicarn disrupter as well as physical injuries to both he and his navigator. Their wounds would heal, but Corten’s senses had failed to return. Unable to communicate telepathically, he could no longer function as a Cosbolt pilot.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Bassa replied.

  “What’s he going to do now?”

  Bassa shook his head. “I think he’s still in shock. His navigator hasn’t decided if he’ll continue without Corten, either.”

  Byron sighed, his gaze dropping to the table’s surface. Bassa sensed discomfort and indecision as his pilot’s mind processed the information. The possibility that either of them could lose their senses bothered Byron on multiple levels. The conflicting emotions flit through his mind at a rapid pace before the young man settled on anger.

  “Need to blast every damn one of the Vindicarn out of existence,” Byron growled.

  Bassa pushed his chair back and stretched his legs. “Tomorrow! Right now, let’s go get some sleep.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” answered Byron, pulling himself to his feet.

  Despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come easy to Bassa that night. He’d faced many enemies in his career, but none as frightening as the Vindicarn. Casualties were bad enough without the threat of losing one’s senses forever. He’d survived hundreds of battles in his long career, but his pilot was still just a boy. Bassa worried Byron would not enjoy a similar tenure in the fleet. Despite his guidance, his greatest fear resided in the thought that the young man still wouldn’t escape tragedy. Bassa was now more determined than ever to ensure that Byron survived.

  Chapter Twelve

  Byron fired two shots, determined to hit the elusive target. The second blast sheared off a wing, sending the ship into a violent tailspin.

  Jump! commanded Bassa, the coordinates flashing into Byron’s mind.

  He felt a slight impact as they teleported to safety. Upon re-entry, he scanned for damage.

  Just nicked the hull, Bassa announced. We can still fly.

  That was too close, Byron replied, turning the ship to rejoin the fight.

  Incoming!

  Byron noted the enemy fighter bearing down on their position and went on the defensive. Their ship dove, spiraling downward. The Vindicarn followed, taking the bait. Laser blasts shot past their nose, the flashes almost blinding. Byron caught his breath as he conveyed his intentions. Bassa’s reply was instant affirmation.

  In the blink of an eye, they were behind the enemy fighter and bearing down at full speed. Byron’s thumb pressed hard on the trigger and a single bolt emanated from their vessel. In a brilliant flash of light, the Vindicarn ship exploded.

  Gotcha! exclaimed Byron, soaring past the scraps of debris.

  Watch your jump count, cautioned Bassa.

  Only seven! Byron protested. He still had several jumps remaining.

  Rorth’s in trouble!

  Following his navigator’s direction, Byron located Rorth’s team amidst the confusion. Their weapons damaged and jump capabilities exhausted, the ship was defenseless against the Vindicarn. They were trying to outrun the enemy in a desperate attempt to return to the Sorenthia.

  Don’t know if I can catch him, he thought, contemplating another jump.

  Full thrusters. You can!

  Byron saw two other enemy fighters join the pursuit. Damn them!

  Almost in range …

  Pushing the Cosbolt as hard as it would fly, Byron gritted his teeth. He couldn’t allow those vessels to reach their mark. Bassa informed him that another Cassan ship had joined the chase, which tipped the odds in their favor.

  Coming into range at the same time, Byron and the other pilot fired. One enemy ship exploded while another’s flight pattern turned erratic from tail damage. The other Cosbolt pursued the struggling craft and Byron set his sights on the third Vindicarn vessel.

  Tell Rorth to dive! he cried.

  Bassa relayed the request. The crippled Cosbolt altered course and the enemy ship followed, firing two shots that grazed Rorth’s wing. However, the new route reduced the distance between ships. Byron fired the instant he was in range and emitted a triumphant cry as the Vindicarn ship exploded.

  “Much obliged!” Rorth exclaimed over the com as he resumed course to the Sorenthia.

  Byron did not have the opportunity to respond as Bassa announced the arrival of another wave of enemy fighters.

  Do they have a replicator that just keeps spitting out ships? he gasped.

  Let’s go ask!

  Upon hearing his navigator’s dry but witty response, Byron felt his enthusiasm return. Coordinating with other Cosbolts in their squadron, they approached the new Vindicarn fleet. The enemy showed no signs of slowing and Byron prepared to meet the newcomers head on.

  He dodged the initial fire and even took out one vessel before diving under the enemy’s wing. A beam of blue light crossed their nose and he veered left. Suddenly, multiple shots streaked past their ship. Bassa guided Byron through the obstacle course of destruction. He had no time to think as they avoided numerous disrupter beams before their ship pulled out of range.

  What was that? he exclaimed, his heart pounding in his chest.

  Multiple direction disrupter shots, Bassa answered. His mental voice was calm but strained, and Byron sensed genuine alarm.

  They can shoot in every direction now? he gasped, bringing the ship around for another attack.

  It would seem so!

  The new Vindicarn ships hadn’t paused to engage their squadron and were continuing toward the center of the main battle. Multiple disrupter blasts emanated from the enemy vessels. The centralized weapons atop the Vindicarn ships were firing laterally at Cosbolts as they passed, creating confusion.

  Damn, it’s about to get crazy, Byron warned as they rejoined the fight.

  Larnth issued a caution to all ships, warning of the new technology. Byron could foresee only one course of action.

  We’ve got to stay below them, he told Bassa.

  If we can!

  Several other pilots shared their idea. A dozen Cosbolts dove in an attempt to get below the enemy fleet. However, the Vindicarn refused to cooperate and provide the Cassans with an easy target. Once the enemy reached the edge of the battle, which now resided dangerously close to the Sorenthia, the vessels scattered like leaves on a blustery day.

  Hang on!

  Selecting a suitable target, Byron spun the ship to the right. The Vindicarn returned his fire with several disrupter blasts. Avoiding a direct hit, Byron managed to clip the ship’s wing. Another enemy craft approached from the left and he realized they were caught in the crossfire.

  Jump!

  Their new position provided Byron only a second to collect his thoughts. Two enemy ships bore down on them, placing their team on the defensive once more. The Vindicarn fired lasers and disrupters, sending their ship scurrying. It required several maniacal maneuvers before Byron could eliminate one target and level the odds again.

  Every time he felt they were making progress, they were forced to take evasive action. The endless stream of random disrupter shots kept them on the run. Byron’s hands trembled as he struggled to navigate the incoming blasts and he relied heavily on Bassa’s guidance. They eliminated three more ships, but he was forced to jump three times as well. His nerves tingled from the repeated teleportation and he wondered if h
e’d last until the end of the fight.

  Dive! cried Bassa.

  Byron obeyed his navigator’s order. Laser blasts flew over the canopy of their ship as they avoided a direct hit. The new course placed them in line with an incoming Vindicarn fighter. Assured by Bassa that the first ship was not on their tail, Byron opened fire on the new target. His shots disabled the vessel without destroying it, and he pulled up to prevent a collision. Suddenly, a disrupter beam brushed the nose of their ship.

  Left!

  Byron yanked hard on the control, catching his breath at the force of the pull. Out of the corner of his eye, another beam flashed. He physically ducked, but the shot did not strike him. However, Bassa’s excruciating cry of pain filled the cockpit, and Byron’s heart missed a beat.

  Bassa!

  There was no reply except an agonizing gasp. Fear washing over his body, Byron realized what had happened.

  Aware of their exposed position, he turned his attention to the radar. A Vindicarn ship passed below them. With his navigator’s painful gasps echoing in the cockpit, Byron’s rage consumed him. Without pausing to consider the dangers, he pursued the enemy fighter.

  “Damn Vindicarn scum!” he cried, repeatedly firing his lasers.

  The ship eluded him for only a moment before one shot found its mark. Byron did not stop firing until all that remained were particles.

  Pressing his back against the seat, Byron gasped, too spent to feel any satisfaction with the kill. A moan from Bassa jolted him back to reality.

  “Hang on, Bassa!” he exclaimed, locating the position of the Sorenthia.

  Using the final traces of his mental ability and what remained of the teleporter’s energy, he jumped the fighter to the entrance of the hanger. Control would protest the location of his appearance, but his navigator needed immediate help. He landed the ship and the moment the runners locked into place, he pressed the com button.

  “Requesting medical assistance!” Byron shouted. “Senior officer injured by disrupter blast.”

  Byron powered down the ship as the conveyor pulled the Cosbolt into the transfer shaft. Stripping off his gloves and helmet, he impatiently waited as the outer doors closed.

  “Come on, come on!” he cried when the inner doors were slow to open.

  Another moan from Bassa distracted him. Byron felt a wave of nausea and fear wash over him as he recalled Corten’s fate. He could not lose Bassa now.

  “Stay with me!” he called, unable to reach his navigator mentally. “You hear me, Bassa? Stay with me! We’re almost there.”

  Their fighter slid into the hanger and came to a halt. Releasing the canopy, Byron scrambled to his feet and turned to view Bassa. His navigator’s head was down, his body curled almost in a fetal position. Byron could hear the man’s labored breathing, which was as erratic as the tremors that shook his body. Yet, despite his physical agony, Bassa’s mind was silent.

  Byron leapt onto the platform as the crew wheeled it into position. Grasping Bassa’s shoulders, he forced his body back against the seat. His navigator’s eyes were squeezed tight and his face contorted by pain.

  “Bassa, I’m right here,” Byron assured his friend.

  He released the helmet’s seal and pried it off his partner’s head. Tossing it aside, he reached for Bassa’s hands to remove his gloves.

  “I just have to unfasten the harness,” he explained, pulling off the second glove.

  Free at last, Bassa’s left hand curled around his own. Byron hesitated, his gaze on the firm and desperate grasp. He felt his chest tighten as a wave of emotion flooded his thoughts. Unable to communicate with his mind and not likely to comprehend verbal words due to the pain, that handclasp was Bassa’s only means of contact.

  Roused by the tumult in his head, Byron’s anger resurfaced. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “I need medics now!” he screamed.

  Two medical personnel scurried across the hanger, a floating gurney in tow. Byron turned his attention to the harness and unfastened the latches with his free hand. He heard frantic steps on the ladder and a technician crouched at his side.

  “Disrupter?” the man asked, lifting Bassa’s head to check his eyes.

  “Yes,” Byron answered, keeping his voice calm despite the panic in his chest.

  “Let’s get him out of the cockpit,” the medic instructed, glancing at his partner. “We need to get him to medical right away.”

  “I’ll help him out,” Byron stated, daring the second man to intervene as he reached for Bassa’s other hand.

  They extracted Bassa from the cockpit, and his navigator sagged against Byron. Positioning himself under his friend’s arm, he guided Bassa to the ladder and into the waiting arms of the medics below. Leaping off the platform, Byron rejoined his navigator as his body was eased onto the gurney. Bassa uttered a deep moan, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “Hang on, Bassa,” he ordered, grasping his partner’s hand again.

  The senior officer’s fingers curled around Byron’s as if holding on for dear life. Afraid to relinquish his grasp, Byron trotted along beside the gurney as they moved toward the exit.

  They took the first available telepod and entered the medical facility seconds later. Byron’s gaze traveled to the set of double doors as they loomed closer with every step. With great reluctance, he pried free his hand.

  “You just hang in there,” he told Bassa, patting his arm.

  The doors opened and Byron stepped aside as the procession continued. The medics guided the gurney to the left and out of his line of sight. A moment later, the doors closed with an audible sigh.

  Byron stared at the barrier, his fists at his sides. His rapid breath sounded loud in the spacious entry room, overpowering the other sounds of the medical facility. In a daze, he spun around and surveyed his surroundings.

  The bench near the entrance was occupied by a lone, hunched figure. The man met his eyes and then dropped his gaze to the floor. Byron glanced at the wall to his left, noting the large glass windows that revealed a testing lab. The frosted glass was too thick to discern more than shadows in the next room, but the close proximity bothered Byron. Right now, he just wanted his privacy.

  Retreating to the other side of the room, Byron approached the wall. Halting just inches from its surface, he dropped his gaze to the floor. Closing his eyes, he attempted to calm his shattered nerves.

  All his incredible talent and skill had failed today. His error in judgment had cost his team and now Byron’s navigator lay writhing in pain beyond those double doors. That single disrupter blast might mean the end of Bassa’s career. If his senses were gone, he’d be unable to continue as Byron’s navigator. The one person he trusted would no longer hear his thoughts. The absence of Bassa’s reassuring mental voice frightened him. Even now, the silence in his mind was almost deafening. What if the sensation was permanent?

  Consumed with fury and unable to convey his hurt in any other manner, Byron raised his fist and slammed it against the wall. His angry and tormented cry accompanied the sound, which reverberated throughout the room. He struck the wall again, ignoring the pain in his hand. With a gasp, he lowered his head against his forearm. Byron now understood Ernx’s resolve. Regardless of the outcome, he refused to fly with anyone but Bassa.

  He turned around and slid to the floor. Propping his elbows on his knees, Byron let his head drop against the cold, hard surface of the wall. His energy was drained, but his mind would not be still. Locking his shields into place, he contained the anxiety that chewed at his thoughts and bore into his heart. Not even the admittance of several more officers elicited a response from him, and he ignored the other men now waiting in the room.

  His mind continued to rehash the events leading up to the disrupter shot. Byron berated himself for allowing Bassa’s injuries to occur. After the first disrupter blast crossed their nose, he should’ve jumped to another location. Byron wondered if his navigator had sensed fatigue and selected the evasive maneuver t
o prevent the overtaxing of his abilities. Teleporting would’ve removed both men from danger, though. He never questioned Bassa’s judgment, but Byron wished this once he’d taken the initiative and jumped the ship to safety.

  A medical officer retrieved the first man, and Byron watched as the pair disappeared through a second set of double doors to his left. He shifted his position, his muscles sore and stiff. The pervading medicinal smell and distant echoes of urgent voices continued to assault his senses. His mind racked with fear and guilt, he doubted he could wait much longer. If he didn’t receive word soon, Byron’s patience and rationality would come to an abrupt end.

  “Officer Byron?”