CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  Lifting his gaze, he noticed a man standing in the doorway to his left. Byron scrambled to his feet, his muscles protesting the rapid movement. Holding his breath, he waited for the medic to speak first.

  “We’ve stabilized Officer Bassa,” he announced in a low voice. “He’s sleeping at the moment, but you may see him now.”

  Byron nodded, afraid to trust his voice just yet. He followed the man through the doors and down a short hallway, his anxiety rising with every step. They turned to the right and entered a long corridor dotted with many open doorways. The technician proceeded to the third door on the left and gestured for Byron to enter. Taking a deep breath, he moved closer and peered into the room.

  The lights were dim, but he had no trouble discerning the occupant of the oversized bed. Monitors filled the wall over Bassa’s head, their functions unknown to Byron. Wires were attached to his temples, the lines snaking up to connect with the various displays. A tube filled with a clear fluid pumped medication into his arm and a gentle beeping signified Bassa’s heartbeat. While the sight was unnerving, what struck Byron was the lack of pain on his friend’s face.

  “Will he regain his senses?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  “We won’t know until tomorrow morning,” the medic replied. “You can stay with him until he awakens if you like.”

  Byron nodded in affirmation and entered the room. He paused by Bassa’s side, his eyes on his navigator’s face. At least his friend no longer felt excruciating pain. Feeling his emotions surge, he glanced at the doorway. To his relief, Byron realized he was alone.

  A padded stool sat to one side and he pulled it closer to the bed. Once seated, Byron stared at the still figure. He didn’t know what to do and felt helpless.

  “Bassa, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, aware his words would go unheard. Raising his hand, he hesitated before touching Bassa’s arm. “You have to be all right, Bassa. Damn it, I’m not flying with another navigator.”

  Byron swallowed hard, his eyes on the unmoving figure. Bassa had sacrificed so much, giving up a high-ranking position just to follow an arrogant young pilot into space. In the hands of a less qualified navigator, Byron doubted he’d still be alive. As he sat staring at Bassa, he realized the man’s contribution extended far beyond the cockpit. The senior officer had become Byron’s first real friend.

  He remained at Bassa’s side while the man slept. Unable to communicate mentally, the lack of sensation would unnerve his friend when he awoke and the physical presence of his pilot might provide some comfort. Byron’s stomach began to protest the lack of food, but he refused to leave. He could not indulge his meager needs while Bassa’s body was still held captive by pain.

  The appearance of a medical officer roused Byron from his thoughts. The man approached the bed and turned off one of the monitors.

  “He’ll wake up soon,” the technician explained as he removed the tube from Bassa’s arm. “His head will still hurt, but the burning sensation will have subsided. His senses will remain numb until tomorrow, at which time we hope they will return.”

  The medic adjusted another monitor and departed. Releasing his friend’s hand, Byron stretched his arms. He ran fingers through his unkempt hair, still matted from his helmet. Shifting his position on the stool, he peered closely at Bassa, watching for signs of life.

  After a few minutes, Bassa’s breathing changed in pitch. The peaceful expression faded and his friend’s eyes closed even tighter. A soft moan escaped Bassa’s lips and pain once again colored his face.

  “Bassa?” Byron gasped. He cleared his throat. “The medic said your head would still hurt.”

  His friend did not appear to comprehend his words. Concerned, Byron grasped Bassa’s hand once more. His navigator’s grip tightened around his palm and Byron realized that physical contact was all his friend understood. Determined to provide a measure of comfort, he wrapped both hands around Bassa’s and waited.

  Bassa raised his other hand to his face. Byron started to reassure his navigator before remembering that Bassa wouldn’t hear his mental voice either. His partner rubbed his forehead and uttered a soft moan. His hand dropped, and Bassa opened his eyes, blinking to focus on his surroundings. Byron leaned a little closer.

  “Bassa?” he asked, hoping to reach his friend this time.

  His navigator turned his head and met Byron’s gaze. His eyes were dull, but he obviously recognized the man at his bedside. Managing a weak smile, Byron nodded.

  “Welcome back,” he said with relief.

  Bassa took a deep breath. “How long was I out?” he asked, his voice faint.

  “A few hours. They kept you under during the worst of the pain.”

  Brows coming together, Bassa appeared puzzled. “Head still hurts,” he murmured, “but I can’t feel anything else.”

  “Your senses won’t return until tomorrow morning,” Byron explained, speaking with conviction. He hesitated, disturbed by the fear now evident on his friend’s face.

  “Can you feel this?” he asked, squeezing Bassa’s hand.

  The man’s grip tightened around Byron’s fingers. “Yes,” he replied.

  Byron smiled, hoping to reassure his friend. Bassa’s gaze dropped and he frowned.

  “You’re still in your flight suit,” he observed, his voice still shaky.

  “I haven’t had time to change, you know.”

  His navigator appeared surprised. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

  “Well, of course,” Byron stammered.

  A smile played at the corners of Bassa’s mouth. “Thank you.”

  The gratitude in his friend’s eyes embarrassed him and Byron dropped his gaze. “I couldn’t just leave you here alone,” he explained, a lump rising in his throat.

  A noise distracted him and Byron looked up just as a medical officer entered the room. He leaned away from the bed but did not relinquish his hold on Bassa’s hand.

  “I see you are awake now,” the technician observed, inspecting a monitor. “Head still hurt?”

  “Yes,” Bassa answered.

  The man nodded and adjusted a setting. “It will subside in the next few hours. Unless there is permanent damage, your mental abilities will resurface tomorrow morning.

  “In the meantime, I’ll have a meal brought to you,” the medic announced as he moved toward the doorway. “You’ll probably sleep for a few more hours after that.”

  Once they were alone, Bassa turned to his pilot. “You should go eat, too,” he said, his voice a little bit stronger.

  “I can wait.”

  “Byron …”

  Raising his eyebrows, Byron flashed a wry smile. “I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders right now.”

  Byron remained at his side until Bassa had eaten and drifted to sleep again. Slipping out of the infirmary, he reached his quarters without being spotted. Requesting a meal in his room, Byron stripped off his flight suit and jumped in the shower. His food arrived as he was dressing and he all but inhaled the contents on his plate in his haste to return to Bassa’s side.

  He discovered his friend still sleeping. It felt odd to watch Bassa sleep, but after the man’s earlier distress, he wanted to be in attendance when he awoke. If his physical presence provided stability, Byron refused to deny his friend that small consolation.

  He’d not waited long when a figure appeared in the doorway. Byron’s eyes widened as he recognized the ship’s commander and he rose to his feet. Kernen nodded at the young pilot as he entered the room. His gaze shifted to the figure in the bed.

  Officer Bassa still sleeping? he asked, pausing at the foot of the bed.

  He awoke earlier, sir, Byron replied. He fell asleep again after eating.

  The commander stared at Bassa, his brows furrowed. Kernen’s thoughts were guarded, but Byron thought he detected genuine concern in the man’s eyes.

  Shifting his gaze to Byron, the commander’s eyes narrowed. Bassa’s tough, Officer Byron. It will take more than a
Vindicarn disrupter to bring him down.

  Byron lifted his chin, buoyed by the conviction in the man’s words. I hope so, sir.

  A faint smile crossed Kernen’s lips. You’ve certainly given Bassa a reason to recover, he offered, his tone kind.

  Surprised by the man’s observation, Byron could only nod in agreement.

  Please inform Bassa I came to see him, the commander requested, turning to depart.

  Yes, sir, Byron replied as Kernen disappeared from the room. He continued to ponder the implication of the commander’s words for several minutes. His presence here might encourage Bassa, but he couldn’t imagine his life a motivational force in any situation.

  An hour later, Bassa roused again. He seemed far more coherent than his first awakening although still bothered by the lack of mental connection. Byron didn’t need to read his thoughts to realize his friend appreciated his presence, either, as it was reflected in his eyes and the tight grasp on his pilot’s hand.

  Bassa had no difficulty rising when a medic arrived to assist with necessities. Outside of groggy from so much sleep, his physical condition was much improved. He protested when the technician insisted he return to his bed, claiming he was ready to return to his quarters.

  “The senior officer must evaluate your condition first,” the medic advised, prodding Bassa back into bed.

  Annoyed by the delay, Bassa adjusted the bed to an upright position. He consumed the water left by the technician before fiddling with the controls again. His pilot chuckled at Bassa’s disgruntled attitude.

  “I see I’m not the only one who questions orders,” Byron observed.

  “I feel fine,” Bassa protested, shifting the pillow behind his back.

  “Head feels better?”

  Bassa nodded and settled against the pillow at last. No longer distracted by petty annoyances, his thoughts turned to the void within his mind. The lack of all sensation was unsettling.

  “Just feels … numb,” he mumbled. “I can’t feel a damn thing.”

  Byron patted his shoulder. “Your senses will return tomorrow,” he promised.

  Meeting his pilot’s gaze, Bassa emitted a sigh. “I never realized how much we rely on those mental links. Even if it’s only temporary, now that I find myself without any connection at all …”

  A senior medial officer appeared and he inspected every monitor, asking several questions in the process. Bassa confirmed the lack of pain and sensation, assuring the man he felt fine otherwise. Unnerved by his condition, he wanted to return to the familiar surroundings of his quarters as soon as possible.

  “Your condition is stable,” the officer announced, regarding Bassa with a patient smile. “However, until we’ve determined whether or not your senses will return, you’ll require observation.”

  “Observation?” Bassa asked, perplexed. He didn’t want to remain here overnight.

  “Someone must stay with you until full recovery is achieved. Either that or we monitor your progress here.”

  The man’s gaze shifted to Byron. Catching the implication, Bassa turned to look at his pilot. Byron’s eyes widened and he glanced from one man to the other.

  “Me?” the young man asked, an anxious waver in his voice.

  “Yes, someone must remain with Bassa to assist with the recovery process. Since you share a familiar connection, your presence would be the most beneficial.”

  Byron hesitated, his mouth slightly ajar. He glanced at his navigator, his expression uncertain, and Bassa wondered if the young man was up to the task. Byron treasured his privacy.

  Straightening his shoulders, Byron nodded. “I’ll stay with him.”

  The medical officer nodded and turned back to Bassa. “I’ll have a technician bring a change of clothes. He will also instruct your pilot on the recovery techniques.”

  Bassa remembered to thank the man before he departed. Turning his attention to Byron, he noticed his pilot’s wary expression. Bassa’s head dropped against the pillow and he offered a weak smile.

  “Thanks, Byron.”

  Crossing his arms, the young man shifted his position. “Well, I’m sure you don’t want to stay here all night,” he stammered.

  “Not really,” Bassa answered, amused by his friend’s nervous behavior. A total lack of confidence was a rare thing in Byron.

  Bassa was allowed to dress in private, for which he felt grateful. However, his lack of mental connection meant he completely missed the conversation between Byron and the technician outside his door. Bassa retrieved his flight suit before stepping into the hallway and discovered his pilot waiting alone. Flashing an uneasy smile, Byron gestured toward the exit.

  When the telepod doors opened across from his quarters, Byron poked his head out first. Indicating that the coast was clear, the young man allowed Bassa to exit and followed him across the hall. Bassa passed his hand over the press plate and entered his quarters just as the sounds of heavy boots echoed down the corridor. Byron breathed as sigh of relief as the door closed.

  “Didn’t think you were ready to be assaulted just yet,” he explained.

  Bassa dropped his flight suit in the appropriate bin. “Not yet,” he admitted, feeling strangely antisocial. All he wanted was a shower and his own clean clothes.

  “Let me grab a couple things from my quarters and I’ll be right back.”

  “Be quick!” Bassa called as his pilot darted from the room.

  Byron was not long in returning and Bassa retreated to the bathroom. The cold water felt good, but he did not linger. The lack of mental sensation was unpleasant. Bassa couldn’t even sense Byron in the next room. He felt disconnected, as if no one else in the universe existed. Dressing quickly, Bassa escaped the confines of the small room before anxiety set into his brain.

  Byron awaited him at the table. “Feel better?” he asked, sitting up straight in his chair.

  “I suppose,” Bassa answered with a shrug. “Could use some food. Are you hungry?”

  “I am now.”

  Bassa requested two meals in his room. The men said little as they consumed their food. The hour was late and he suspected sleep was not too far in his future. Bassa felt as if he’d slept for days, but it still wasn’t enough.

  “I’ve done nothing but sleep all day,” Bassa moaned, shoving aside his tray, “and yet all I want to do is sleep some more.”

  Byron leaned back in his chair, his shoulders sagging. “I’m pretty beat, too. We probably both need a good night’s sleep.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Bassa rose to his feet. “I’ll request a cot for you.”

  A portable cot and extra blankets were delivered within minutes. The men each took a turn in the bathroom before retreating to their respective beds. Bassa stretched out on his back, pleased to feel his own bed under his body again. Once Byron had settled on the cot, he dimmed the lights.

  “Goodnight,” he called.

  “Goodnight,” Byron answered, stifling a yawn. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  Bassa’s eyes remained open for a few minutes, adjusting to the darkness of the room. His lack of mental awareness was eerie. He could discern the form lying on the cot, but he couldn’t sense Byron’s presence. Bassa finally succumbed to exhaustion and the opportunity to escape the silence in his mind.

  Restless even in sleep, Bassa finally arose. Disturbed to discover he was alone in his quarters, he went in search of Byron. Bassa wandered the Sorenthia and entered the hanger just as the ship was placed on alert. Without hesitation, he joined the officers boarding the Cosbolts. His ship was wheeled into position and shot into space without even a countdown. Alarmed to discover enemy fighters swarming the ship, he instructed Byron to take evasive action.

  His pilot didn’t answer. Bassa called again, but there was no reply from the pilot’s seat. Reaching out with his mind, he realized he was all alone in the fighter …

  With a gasp, Bassa awoke. The darkness of his quarters matched the black expanse of empty space in his dream. He reached
out mentally, desperate for contact, but no mind returned his touch. Chest tightening as panic swept through his system, Bassa sat upright and reached out with one hand, his mind disorientated.

  “Bassa?” came a sleepy voice.

  Turning in the direction of the sound, he attempted to focus on the dark form. Bassa detected movement, but his lack of mental connection with the voice’s owner unsettled him further. Only an empty void loomed within his mind.

  “Bassa, you all right?”

  Realizing he was in his quarters, Bassa sought to dispel the darkness. “Lights!” he cried.

  He caught a fleeting image of Byron on the cot before the brilliance blinded him. Hand covering his eyes, Bassa requested the lights to dim. Adjusting to the subdued light, his thoughts focused and he recognized his pilot. The reality of his situation became clear and Bassa remembered why he was unable to hear Byron’s thoughts.