Byron managed to suppress his surprise as a wave of astonishment filtered through the room. Korden frowned, his thick brows forming a grimace far more imposing than his lips.
“The Tgrens have not welcomed this discovery with enthusiasm. They view our telepathy and ability to teleport with caution, claiming it unnatural.”
Officer Narunva gasped. “But they wanted advancements in communication…” he protested.
“You think they’d be grateful,” another officer added.
“Well, it’s up to us to convince them otherwise,” Korden said. “Remember, we can only push so far. We cannot cause relations to crumble into disrepair. While on Tgren, we are all ambassadors of Cassa. Understood?”
Byron joined the others in affirmation. Korden punched another key.
“We’ve also had reports of rogue ships in the area,” he said. “These multi-race raiders are to be treated as hostile. They have not bothered the Tgrens, but the last Cassan ship to visit this system was attacked by a small band of fighters. Officer Byron, you and Garnce are to remain on alert. These rogues recently captured one of our neighbors’ ships, but the Zerrens were able to track down the raiders and retrieve their vessel. I want to avoid a similar incident. We’ve enough to deal with on the planet’s surface.”
With that, the commander dismissed the room. Before he could depart, Korden’s thoughts reached his mind.
Officer Byron, remain.
Stepping aside, Byron turned to face the commander. The door closed behind the last officer and he stood at attention, expecting an even stricter warning from Korden regarding his behavior on Tgren. The men had served together for many years and Byron’s tricks were no secret to the commander. The pilot doubted those ploys would be tolerated on Tgren. If relations were strained, he needed to remain on his best behavior.
“You will be pulling double duty on this assignment,” Korden announced, sinking into his chair.
Puzzled by the lack of reprimand or warning, Byron stared at the commander. “Sir?”
Leaning back in the padded chair, Korden scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. Byron could sense nothing in the commander’s thoughts, although he did not press past the mental shields. However, humor tugged at Korden’s lips. The man liked to toy with his senior pilot.
“In addition to pilot training, which will be restricted to their best men I assure you, I want you to assist the current psychic technician on the planet. Officer Illenth has only tested a small percentage of the men thus far, but the Tgrens possess great potential.”
Korden leaned forward, his frame causing the chair to creak in protest. “At all times, I want you listening for those with potential mental abilities. Report your findings to Officer Illenth. And if anyone displays exceptionally strong powers, I want to know about it. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Byron replied. It was a step up from pilot training, but probing the minds of others didn’t rate high on his list, either. This assignment would stretch the limits of his patience.
“Dismissed!”
Byron turned to leave. As he reached the door, the anticipated order rang in his head.
And try to stay out of trouble, Byron.
He flashed the commander a grin. I don’t cause trouble, sir. It just seems to find me.
Korden cocked an eyebrow. I’ve heard that before.
Chapter Three
The dining hall buzzed with excitement during the midday meal. The Rennather was approaching Tgren, and those working on the alien encryptions were eager to reach the surface. Byron watched with amusement as Mevine inhaled his meal, shoveling food into his mouth at a frightening pace. The lad leapt to his feet the moment he finished and bounded out of the hall.
Boy’s got too much energy for his own damn good.
Garnce’s thought made Byron drop his chin to hide a smirk. No one could accuse Garnce of possessing ambition, and the man scoffed at the quality in others.
He’s young and naïve, Byron countered. Let him enjoy the moment.
A guffaw from the pilot signified Garnce’s opinion on the matter. Byron finished his meal and departed before the man’s sour attitude sullied his day.
Byron retrieved his pack from his quarters en route to the hanger. Once the Rennather established orbit around Tgren, both shuttles were scheduled to carry personnel and supplies to the surface. Byron would return to the ship on occasion, but the bulk of the transports would fall to Garnce. The man had grumbled over this development, claiming he’d be run ragged during this assignment. Byron ignored his protests. Garnce never failed to comply with orders in the end, even if it required a verbal prompt. As the senior officer and pilot, Byron had made it clear he expected Garnce to follow commands. He preferred a lack of attitude as well, but at least Garnce’s skills in the cockpit placed value on his presence.
Performing the preliminary checks, Byron prepared his shuttle. Several pieces of cargo were brought on board, the hanger crew struggling under the weight of the large crates. Once secured in the hold to his satisfaction, Byron returned to the cockpit to await his passengers.
He confirmed the landing site one more time, calculating the best approach. Their destination was a high desert city nestled in between two mountain ranges where severe crosswinds were possible. The shuttle could withstand gale force winds, but he doubted the inhabitants’ ships were as sturdy. Byron wondered how many of the Tgren’s first attempts at flight had ended in disaster.
Officer Byron?
Byron spun around in his chair and discovered Mevine just inside the shuttle’s open hatch. Several large packs were slung across his shoulders. It was miraculous Mevine could even move under the weight, let alone enter the shuttle without making a sound. Rising to his feet, Byron gestured toward the cargo hold.
“Stow your gear in an empty hold,” he ordered. “Then take a seat.”
Mevine shifted his feet, his gaze traveling to the cockpit. “Sir, could I ride up front in the co-pilot’s seat?”
“Why?”
“I’ve never seen the view from the cockpit.”
Byron frowned and the shields around his mind tightened. Garnce rode with him on occasion, but the sensation of another person in the cockpit unnerved him. Byron preferred the seat to remain unoccupied and prepared to deny the young man’s request.
“Please, sir, I won’t get in your way,” Mevine offered, his eyes wide with hope.
Beyond Mevine, the remaining passengers approached the shuttle. Judging from the size of the group, every seat would be occupied, including the co-pilot’s chair. His gaze returned to the young officer who was still waiting for an answer.
Fine! Stow your gear first.
By the time he’d closed the shuttle’s hatch and returned to the cockpit, Byron discovered Mevine secured in the co-pilot’s seat. The lad lifted his chin and his lips broke into a grin. Still at odds with his decision, Byron offered a nod in return. He slid into his seat, eyes focused on the control panel. His thoughts remained guarded, but eagerness bubbled forth from Mevine’s mind. Distracted by the unshielded thoughts, he worried his passenger might also develop an overactive tongue during their decent to the planet’s surface.
You are not to interrupt me in any manner while flying, understood?
Yes, sir, Mevine replied, his hands dropping into his lap as he sat at attention. The young man’s emotions ceased to broadcast, plunging the cockpit into blessed silence.
The shuttle loaded and secure, Byron commenced ignition. Engines humming on low power, Byron guided the shuttle across the hanger and through the first set of doors. There was a moment’s pause as the atmosphere within the compartment adjusted. The second set of doors opened, revealing the full length of the landing bay. The moment he had clearance, Byron accelerated. Engines roaring, the shuttle shot out into the blackness of space.
As instructed, Mevine remained silent. However, his exuberance escaped the confines of his mental shields. Within moments, his excitement filled the cockpit. Annoyan
ce flitted through Byron’s mind, but was squelched by an unexpected memory. His first navigator had exhibited a similar lack of inhibition, allowing his emotions to bubble forth like a fountain. Thoughts of Trindel cheered Byron, and he allowed Mevine to enjoy the ride in full, reckless abandon.
Jumping into the planet’s atmosphere, Byron led the way toward their destination. Cloud cover obscured the view, but he didn’t require visual confirmation of their location. Guiding the ship in lower, he lined up their approach. The clouds began to disperse and the rusty hues of mountain desert came into view. Byron cleared a plateau and descended into a wide valley.
Mevine gasped. This time, Byron shared his sentiment. He’d expected rock and sand strewn across the desert floor and an inhospitable terrain. To his surprise, the valley boasted an array of vegetation. The ground below them was splashed with green, blue, and yellow plant life, concentrated around a river that snaked through the valley. At once Byron’s opinion of Tgren raised a few notches, although he refused to share his excitement over the impressive landscape. He was here to work, not enjoy the scenery.
The small city resided on the far side of the open valley and to the right of the river. The plant life may have caught him by surprise, but the Tgren city’s appearance was as expected. Short, squat buildings of white stone clustered together in an uneven pattern. From the air, it appeared as if a giant, complex maze was under construction. Byron hoped the city’s amenities compensated for what it lacked in appearance. Of course, he could always spend his nights in the shuttle if the Tgren culture proved too primitive.
Inching the shuttle closer to the ground, he aimed for the flat stretch that was the designated runway. Reducing speed to a near hover, Byron landed the ship on the mark indicated by the coordinates. As he powered down the engines, his eyes were drawn to a group waiting outside the nearest hanger. Three men and two women stood at attention, their gaze upon the shuttles. Their burnt umber-colored uniforms fluttered lightly in the breeze. Another man emerged from the hanger, stepping out into the bright sun. Byron at once recognized a fellow Cassan. The man’s light skin and brown hair were in sharp contrast with the others, not to mention the deep blue of his military attire marking him as an outsider. While his own skin was pale, Byron’s jet-black hair would help him to blend with the natives.
Maybe after a week in the sun, I’ll tan enough to pass for a Tgren, he thought.
Mevine began fumbling with his harness. Byron was still shutting down systems when the scientist bolted into the main compartment of the shuttle, an urgency to disembark emanating from his thoughts. Byron leapt from his seat, determined to reach the hatch before his overeager passenger. He didn’t want Mevine to press the wrong button and cause the door to jam.
Byron waited until the shuttle was clear of passengers before exiting the craft. The dry air tickled his nose as the scent of dusty, sand and exotic plants filled his senses. It was a sharp contrast to the odorless, recycled air aboard the Rennather. The desert sun felt hot on his face. It wouldn’t be long before the arid heat caused him to break out in a sweat. A strong breeze tousled his hair as he stepped away from the shuttle, reminding Byron that he needed a trim soon. Korden was not as strict as some commanders, but Byron didn’t want to press his luck. He bucked enough rules and regulations.
Once those on both ships had convened outside, the group by the hanger approached. The Cassan reached them first, pausing long enough to offer a proper salute and greetings to Second-in-Command, Anceptor. The man beckoned the newcomers into the hanger to acquire their security clearance before proceeding further.
Byron understood the need to follow protocol, but the formality obviously frustrated Mevine. The lad bounced on his heels, the heavy packs across his shoulders limiting his movement. Mevine glanced around and paused when he noticed the pilot staring at him.
Relax! You’ll hurt yourself, Byron thought.
Mevine’s eyes widened. He brought both heels down with great force. Sorry, sir, Mevine answered. And thank you for allowing me to ride in the cockpit with you.
You’re welcome.
The security check complete, Anceptor ordered the retrieval of the cargo. Byron oversaw the operation, chastising a clumsy science technician when the man shoved a crate into the shuttle’s interior wall. Tempers flared among the men and an exchange of words threatened to bring a halt to the process. Byron maintained order, asserting his authority lest they forget he was the second highest-ranking officer present. The science officers were eager to begin their work but Byron didn’t want exuberance to overrule proper procedure.
The cargo was loaded onto a large, motorized cart for ground transpiration to the site. Byron eyed the oversized engine with skepticism, concerned the weight of the crates would be too much for the primitive machine. One of the Tgrens climbed into the open seat and pressed several buttons. The cart lurched forward with a roar. The engine emitted a black cloud in response. A couple more false starts and the device achieved a slow but steady speed. The science team followed on a similar cart lined with wood benches. Byron caught Mevine’s worried expression as that cart’s forward progress proved just as awkward.
Damn, wonder if their ships emit the same smoke when they fly? Garnce speculated in a private thought to Byron..
Byron chuckled. Make them easy targets, wouldn’t it?
Movement near the hanger caught his eye, and Byron noticed a man with a patch of yellow on his uniform. The two Tgrens who remained turned to Anceptor.
“Sir, our prefect has arrived,” the woman announced, speaking slow and with care.
The commander nodded at Garnce. Remain here with the shuttles, he ordered.
Gladly, Garnce thought in a private exchange with Byron.
A security officer from the Rennather accompanied Byron and Anceptor. As they approached the building, a large Tgren in a dark yellow uniform appeared in the hanger’s open door, flanked on either side by guards. The man’s uniform was stretched across his frame, although the fabric appeared new. He didn’t bulge from the uniform, but judging from his thickness, the Tgren’s years were catching up to him. Byron suspected the man didn’t partake in heavy exertions either.
Their escort came to an abrupt halt and snapped to attention, saluting the man. “Prefect Orellen, I present Commander Anceptor, from the Cassan ship Rennather.”
“Prefect Orellen,” Anceptor stated in his most diplomatic tone.
“Commander Anceptor,” the man replied, his deep, gravel voice resonating with authority. “Welcome to Tgren. I trust your team is now on its way to the ruins?”
“Yes sir, and I hope to take a look at the site before returning to the Rennather.”
“Of course.”
Byron sensed caution in the man. While his expression remained neutral, Orellen’s eyes spoke of mistrust as he sized up the commander. The prefect was several years older than the ship’s second-in-command. Orellen might use that to his advantage. However, Anceptor was tough and poised for command of his own vessel soon.
The prefect glanced at Byron before returning his gaze to the commander. “Come, let us step out of the heat,” he offered.
They followed the Tgren leader as he led them toward an open door. “Our heat can be quite stifling this time of day,” said Orellen, his strides long, but slow. “It would not do for our guests to experience heat stroke their first day on Tgren.”
“We will do our best not to expire on you,” the commander replied.
The doorway led from the hanger into a small office; its stone walls providing some protection from the sun. The room was several degrees cooler than the outside air even with multiple windows open. Byron noticed maps and charts tacked across the walls. The lone shelf in the room was stacked several feet high with rolled parchments, the light breeze causing the papers to rustle. The row of gauges and computer screens to his left reminded Byron of his history lessons as a child. Cassan technology had advanced so far since those early days.
The person
nel in the room stood at attention until the prefect signaled for them to resume their work. Their Tgren escort pulled two chairs together and Orellen indicated for Anceptor to take a seat. Byron stood to one side, his hands clasped behind his back. Since he was not directly involved in the conversation, he could spend time examining the room.
A woman brought them drinks, offering Byron a sweet smile. Her short hair framed a face that was wide, but proportioned for true beauty. He managed to return her smile and his gaze followed the young woman’s retreat to an alcove off the main room. Alien races weren’t high on his list of choices for female companionship; however, he might make an exception while on Tgren.
Officer Byron!
Anceptor’s commanding tone echoed through his mind. Byron returned his attention to the senior officer at once. He discovered both men staring at him and Byron realized he’d missed part of the conversation. Anceptor’s eyes displayed patience, but the prefect’s scowl threatened to burn holes in Byron’s skin.
“Yes, sir,” he responded, focusing on his commander.
“Officer Byron,” said Anceptor, turning to face the prefect, “is to assist Officer Illenth with the psychic testing. He is also available for the continued instruction of your best pilots.”
The prefect rolled his eyes and assumed a disinterested pose. “Psychic testing,” he grumbled, dismissing the importance of mental abilities with those words. Orellen’s angry stare fell on Byron and his lips curled in a threatening manner. “And our pilots have been fully instructed by several shuttle pilots.”
Byron shielded his indignation at the man’s attitude. Before he could speak, Anceptor responded first.
“Prefect Orellen, I’m sure you’ve had several excellent shuttle pilots assist your fighters,” he said. “That is why I’m sure you’ll find Officer Byron’s qualifications and skill level of interest. He is a fighter pilot, fully trained on two of our military’s best ships. With over twenty years of experience and high recommendations from all commanding officers, Officer Byron is one of our best. He is also,” added Anceptor as he glanced at Byron, “a decorated war hero.”
CassaFire Page 3
