Old habits die hard, she thought.
Locking with his mind, she joined Byron in performing the teleportation jump. The Vindicarn ship appeared overhead and Byron fired once. Latching onto new coordinates as the enemy ship exploded, Athee led them in the jump to safety.
Looking out the canopy, she relaxed her death grip on the throttle. Rapid, successive jumps relied heavy on her ability to navigate. While she never doubted her abilities, Athee always experienced pressure.
Update!
Athee made a quick assessment of remaining enemy ships. Seven targets eliminated, she thought, zeroing in on the closest Vindicarn fighter.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Byron pursued the vessel. Athee calculated the best approach and their Cosbolt dove to the right. The ship moved into position for an underside attack. Athee held her breath as he fired. In a flash, the Vindicarn fighter vanished.
Athee realized all enemy ships had disappeared. They’ve retreated, she thought, switching her screen to view the main battle. Almost on cue, five ships appeared near the large Vindicarn vessel.
Squadrons assume formation! Byron thought. Full damage report.
Gritting her teeth, Athee tried to concentrate on the distant battle. The responses from the six squadron leaders were silenced, but she couldn’t block Byron’s voice. Biting her lip, she listened to her mate’s replies. Athee lowered her head and sighed when she heard no mention of casualties. Three damaged Cosbolts and one team out of commission due to a disrupter blast didn’t sit well with Byron, though.
Every squadron will undergo extra Vindicarn combat simulation this week, he thought, his mental voice laced with anger. I will not have a repeat of today’s sloppy execution.
Athee adjusted her position, easing the pressure on her sore buttocks. She didn’t envy the pilots and navigators under Byron’s command. Twenty years with the man had reinforced his low tolerance for mistakes. It was a quality inherited from his mentor, now many years gone from this life.
I assume that means additional simulator drills for us as well? she thought. Byron never demanded anything of his men that he wasn’t willing to do.
We must be ready. Today was your first Vindicarn encounter. It’s been years since I faced this enemy. We need the practice as much as the squadrons.
Agreed.
She continued to monitor the main battle. When the enemy fighters thinned and the two larger vessels pulled back, Athee informed her pilot. Byron maintained their defensive position until a full retreat was confirmed by the Nacinta. He ordered Squadron Five to remain on patrol while the others returned to base for a full debriefing.
The younger pilots have much to learn about fighting the Vindicarn and Narcon, he thought in a private message to Athee.
Upon landing on Tgren, Athee reached out for her son’s mind. We’re back on the surface now.
Are you all right?
Athee closed her eyes, moved by the concern in her son’s mental voice. We’re fine. We still have to go to a debriefing and then deal with reports. I don’t know when we’ll be finished, so go home with Drent.
Yes, Mother.
Athee’s head listed to the side, her energy spent. At least Bassan had someplace safe to go. It wasn’t the first time Andra had taken care of Athee’s son while they were away. She owed Mevine’s mate a world of gratitude.
Between the debriefing, meetings, and reports, it was several hours past the evening meal before she and Byron left the main facility. Athee’s feet drug across the sand as they made their way up the slope to their home. The day had exhausted her on every level. Her one saving grace resided in the fact she was the commander’s navigator. Byron’s stern words during the debriefing and various conferences didn’t include her.
“Let’s get cleaned up before we send for Bassan,” he said as they entered their dwelling.
Byron let her shower and change first as he continued reading reports on the day’s events. She went through the motions, her thoughts split between a quick and easy meal and their son. It comforted her to know Bassan had already eaten. She hoped he’d attended to his studies as well.
Before Byron finished in the bathroom, Athee sent for Bassan. She suspected Byron preferred to eat first, but she didn’t want to impose upon Mevine’s family any longer than necessary. Her son arrived within minutes, bursting through the main door in dramatic fashion. His chest heaved and his cheeks appeared flushed from his exertions.
“Did you run all the way home?” said Athee, setting the warmed bowl of soup that would serve as their meal on the table.
Yes! Bassan thought, dropping his computer tablet on the counter.
Athee was about to ask if he’d eaten when her son’s arms wrapped around her middle. Her body flooded with warmth and she returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm. She hoped Bassan would never outgrow his genuine and loving nature.
“We’re all right,” said Athee, kissing the top of his head.
Bassan broke free, his hands sliding into hers. “I overheard Drent’s father mention Vindicarn fighters to his mother.”
Squeezing his hands, Athee nodded. “We faced the Vindicarn and Narcon today.”
“Over Tgren?”
“Two Cassan flagships engaged battle cruisers from both the Vindicarn and Narcon in our solar system,” she said, choosing her words with care. She never lied to Bassan, but Athee did not want to cause unnecessary panic in her son. “A few Vindicarn fighters jumped close to Tgren, but we were ready for them.”
Bassan’s grasp on her fingers tightened. “They were coming here?”
“No, they were just jumping away from the main battle for a moment and didn’t realize we were waiting.”
“But what if more come?”
Releasing one of his hands, Athee ran her fingers through his hair. She touched his mind and tried to sooth his troubled thoughts. If more come, we will fight to defend Tgren.
“We won’t fight alone, either.”
Turning to face her mate, she shot him a puzzled look. Byron approached them, his fingers adjusting his fresh shirt.
“Another flagship, the Litheron, will arrive tomorrow. Three Cassan flagships should discourage them from getting too close to Tgren,” he said.
Bassan’s fingers slipped from hers, and he moved toward his father. Byron’s arms dropped to his side and he looked down at his son. Without speaking, Bassan reached for one of his father’s hands. They stared at each other for a moment, and Athee waited for her mate’s reaction. Byron was tired and hungry, his mind preoccupied. He handled their son better after an hour or two of relaxation time. To her surprise, he smiled and tousled Bassan’s hair.
“If the Vindicarn come anywhere near Tgren, they won’t know what hit them,” Byron said.
“Did you shoot any today?” said Bassan, bouncing on his toes.
“I’ll tell you about it before you go to bed. Right now I need some food in me.”
Athee retrieved two bowls, a smile on her face. Her mate had handled that well. Even after twenty years, Byron still knew how to impress her.
Chapter Three
Byron could hear the angry voices emitting from the counsel room all the way down the hall. He grasped his computer tablet tighter and clenched his teeth. Today’s meeting would be volatile at best.
His liaison officer strode ahead of him, her boots striking the floor with force. Pausing just inside the doorway, Athee waited until Byron joined her before announcing his presence to those gathered.
“Cassan Commander Byron, in attendance!” she said, using her mental voice as well to draw attention.
The voices paused. Byron surveyed the room of prefects and council members with caution. Judging from the numbers, every city and tribe had sent representatives. Those gathered stared at Byron and his senior squadron leader for a moment before launching a volley of questions and accusations their direction.
Byron’s body went rigid and his head pounded. He was in no mood for this today.
“If you don’t want us here, we can pack up and leave!” Byron said, broadcasting loud enough to silence the protests. “Let the Vindicarn come in and strip Tgren clean of all resources. Is that what you want?”
“You don’t have the authority…” said a visiting prefect, his words spluttering with indignation.
Byron glared at the man. “I am commander of the Cassan base, and if you were to determine we’re not wanted, I’d instruct the Nacinta to retrieve all personnel before nightfall.”
The room fell into shocked silence, broken only by the scuffling of shoes. His mind shielded, Byron caught only a whisper of his mate’s surprise. It wasn’t an empty threat, although not the path he would choose. Byron forced his anger to subside. He had to remain in control of this meeting.
“However, it is not my intention to abandon Tgren,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “The war has entered your solar system, whether you like it or not. The Vindicarn and Narcon will invade your planet regardless of your position.”
Those gathered shifted in their seats. One prefect leaned forward on the table, his grizzled features contorted. “Those races wouldn’t be here now if not for your presence,” Anchore said.
Holding his indignation at bay, Byron scowled at the man. “If we weren’t here, then the Vindicarn would’ve already come and gone.”
The man’s lip twitched, his dark eyes giving no sign of acceptance. Before Anchore could utter another word, Prefect Enteller intervened.
“Gentlemen, we are not here to throw accusations or threats. We are here to resolve this dilemma.”
Prefect Enteller shot Byron a warning glance before gesturing to the three empty chairs to his right. Ignoring the inference, Byron strode toward his seat. He sensed the hostility as he rounded the large table. Selecting the middle seat, he allowed Athee to take the chair beside the prefect. He required a cushion around him if he was to keep his head for the duration of this meeting.
The others murmured amongst themselves as they waited. Sensitive to mental emissions, Byron was aware of the unease and anger permeating the room. He detected a hint of fear but not enough to sway the overriding stubbornness of those present.
You should be afraid, he thought, pulling up the latest war report on his tablet.
“Order!” Prefect Enteller said. “Commander Byron, we have already deliberated our position on this war, but we want full details before we declare our intentions. What is the extent of Cassan involvement in the war?”
Byron didn’t need to refer to his computer for that answer. “What began as skirmishes involving the Fesell and the Narcon and Vindicarn have now grown to encompass nine of the known races. Cassa officially joined defenses with the Fesell, Arellens, and Charren while the Torbeth, Jerril, and Lorvendera joined with the Narcon and Vindicarn.”
Several prefects gasped, but Byron suspected most didn’t comprehend the implications of such an alliance. The races had often bickered with one another, but never were the lines drawn so clearly as now. And at the moment, the Cassan’s enemies had the advantage.
One of the older prefects rapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Has no truce been offered on either side?”
“The uneasy truce we had with the Vindicarn has dissolved,” Byron said, leaning back in his seat. “They have refused all attempts at negotiations, as have the Narcon. We are past that point now. A truce will come when one side emerges the victor.”
“They won’t listen to reason?”
“The Vindicarn are desperate for resources and will stop at nothing to expand their territory. Because we have such a checkered history, they won’t listen to reason. An agreement might have been reached with the Narcon, but once the Vindicarn became involved, reconciliation was not an option.”
“So the Cassans are to blame for the Vindicarn’s path of destruction?” another Tgren said.
Clasping his hands together so as not to strike out at the man, Byron dropped his chin. He chose his response with care. “Would you rather we’d let them conquer all known space forty years ago instead?”
He felt his mate’s touch but ignored it. Byron didn’t want consolation.
“Forty years ago, they would’ve passed right over Tgren, knowing we weren’t a threat,” another man stated. “Now we are a target because of Cassan occupation.”
His words broke Byron’s resolve to remain calm and he slammed his fist on the table. “You are a target because of the rich supply of letrellium on this planet! Only five races have mastered teleportation, and the Vindicarn and Narcon are two of them. They would rape your planet for that compound and level your cities in the process.”
“Gentlemen, this isn’t solving anything!” said Prefect Enteller. “I’m not happy with the circumstances that brought this war to our part of the galaxy, but now we must deal with enemy ships prowling the edge of our solar system. We must prevent this war from involving Tgren.”
Enteller’s statement confirmed Byron’s suspicions. Disgusted with the situation, he crossed his arms. Diplomacy was not his strong suit. His leadership skills and familiarity with Tgren had secured him the position of commander. Moments such as these reminded him why he preferred the cockpit of a Cosbolt.
They are scared, Athee thought, her words intended for him alone.
Not scared enough.
“Commander Byron?”
Turning to the speaker, Byron recognized the prefect from the city closest to Ktren. The man was several years younger than the others and the most open minded of the group. Byron had often wished he dealt with Ubarce rather than the obstinate Enteller.
The young prefect leaned forward. “What must we do to protect Tgren?”
Feeling calmer, Byron uncrossed his arms and reached for his computer tablet. “The Cassan High Command wishes to know if you are joining the alliance. If so, they are willing to bargain not only for the protection of Tgren but the training of your pilots in Cassan ships.”
“Our pilots in your space ships?” someone exclaimed with a bark of laughter.
Prefect Ubarce turned toward the offender. “It wouldn’t be the first time!” he said, pointing at Athee. “We haven’t ventured into space yet, but our pilots and aircraft have made great strides over the past twenty years. With the proper training, our men could learn.”
“Would there be enough time?” a man to Byron’s left said, his voice as thin and weedy as his body.
“Proper training requires years,” Byron admitted, “but we could have your best pilots ready to go within a month or two.”
“Well, unless I’ve misinterpreted the situation,” began Anchore, “we don’t have a month. That makes your offer meaningless.”
Grinding his teeth, Byron stared hard at the old prefect. To his right, his squadron commander shifted in his seat. His mate’s frustrations reverberated in his head. They weren’t getting anywhere.
“Unless anyone has something to add, I think it’s time we took a vote,” said Enteller, rising to his feet. “All those in favor of supporting the Cassans with occupation of Tgren and the continued harvest of letrellium but not declaring open war on their enemies, give your consent with a show of hands.”
Nearly every hand went up. Perspiration formed on his skin as Byron’s anger began to boil. They were all ignorant fools.
“All those opposed?”
It was a small consolation that three hands shot into the air, including Prefect Ubarce’s. Twenty-two to three meant no formal declaration of war, though. It also confirmed that the Tgrens were truly oblivious to the danger their planet faced.
“Commander Byron,” said Prefect Enteller, his lips revealing a smug satisfaction with the outcome, “please inform your High Command of our decision. We will not actively take part in this war.”
Too angry to speak, Byron nodded. Snatching his computer tablet from the table, he rose to his feet and shoved aside his chair. Without waiting for his squadron commander or Athee, he strode from the counsel room. He glanced at Prefect Ubarce in
passing and noted the man’s distraught expression.
Your people will regret this path, he thought in a private message to the prefect.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His boots striking the stone surface with force, Byron exited the council chambers. He wanted to place distance between himself and the idiots that governed this world.
Sir, they’re making a mistake, thought Hurend. His senior squadron commander caught up to Byron just outside the room. Despite our treaty with the Tgrens and the supply of letrellium, High Command still might decide to remove us.
The prefects are too caught up in their own world to comprehend the dangers beyond this planet, thought Byron, casting a disgusted look at Hurend.
High Command will not like their answer.
I’m not going to enjoy sending it either.
Athee fell in step beside Byron. We might be able to motivate Prefect Ubarce and a couple of the others to change their minds, she thought.
They had reached the outer doors and Byron paused. Lips pressed together, he nodded at her. Remain here and see what you can accomplish. Impart on Ubarce and the others the gravity of the situation. It’s in their best interests to formally side with our alliance.
Athee grasped his arm, her thin fingers pressing hard on his muscles. Would they really remove everyone from the base?
It’s a possibility.
Even after all these years of working together?
If the situation grows desperate, that won’t matter to High Command.
Her hand dropped from his arm and Athee stared at him. The indignation in her thoughts matched the scowl on her face. His patience strained from the council meeting, Byron was in no mood to pacify his mate.
Athee! Nine of the ten races have declared war. Never in our history have the races aligned so decisively into two sides. With Tgren uncommitted, it sends the wrong message to High Command.
And what message is that? she thought, chin raised in defiance.
If we’re not for you then we must be against you.
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