CassaStorm

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  Byron placed himself at the base of the ramp, hands behind his back. The trio stopped before him, the security officers holding the Rogue’s arms. The man’s hands were still bound, his fingers interlaced and arms dangling in a relaxed pose. Byron frowned and took a deliberate step forward.

  “These are the conditions,” he said. “You are confined to quarters on the Litheron and restricted from use of our computer system. Your sole purpose is to confirm the existence of the eleventh race. The Vindicarn may require medical tests to confirm this fact. If so, you will behave with respect toward the Vindicarn. If you step out of line, millions will die. Including many of your own people. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Piten replied, his jaw set. His eyes did not reflect his somber tone.

  Byron’s eyes narrowed. Taking a step closer, he placed his face close to the Rogue’s and stared hard at the man.

  “You kidnapped my son. You made it personal. If you do anything to jeopardize this mission, I will end you,” he said in a low voice. “That flagship has no room for dead weight.”

  The rebellious glow left Piten’s eyes. Satisfied his threat had achieved the desired result, Byron stepped off the ramp. The security officers escorted the Rogue into the shuttle and out of Byron’s sight.

  The sound of footsteps behind him alerted Byron to Athee and Bassan’s arrival. He smiled at his son, pleased to see him in clothes that weren’t torn and dirty. Glancing at Athee, Byron was greeted with haunted eyes and a closed mind. She pulled the bag off her shoulder and held it out for Byron. The moment his hand clasped around the strap, Athee dropped to one knee in front of her son.

  “You be good,” she said, one arm around him while her free hand stroked his hair. “You listen to your father and do what he says. And no wandering around the flagship by yourself.”

  “Mother, I’ll behave, I promise,”

  Athee kissed his cheek and gave Bassan a fierce hug. She rose to her feet with great effort and took a step back. Byron tried to reach her mind, but her shields continued to lock him out of her thoughts. Concerned, he touched her arm. Athee pulled free and took another step away from them. Her gaze met Byron’s for only a moment before she spun on her heels to leave.

  Dropping the bag, Byron moved to intervene. They could not part under these conditions. He needed their connection over the next five days. Seizing her arm, Byron yanked Athee to him. Her hands raised in protest, pushing against his chest. Ignoring her objection, he wrapped his arms around his mate and held her fast.

  “Athee,” he whispered in her ear.

  She grew still and Byron stroked her hair. In a flash, her shields dissolved. A flood of painful emotions washed over him and he tightened his grip around her waist. Athee threw her arms around his neck and uttered a sob. With all barriers removed, the intensity of the moment caught Byron by surprise. His surroundings became secondary. Closing his eyes, he focused on his mate.

  I can’t lose you, she thought. I can’t lose either of you!

  You won’t. No matter what happens, we’re both coming home. I promise.

  When her nerves settled, Byron eased his hold so he could see her face. Athee wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.

  Good to know you still have that fire I so admire, he thought.

  She offered a weak smile and dropped her gaze. Placing a finger under her chin, Byron forced Athee to look up. Without hesitation, he kissed her, unconcerned others might be watching. His duty resided with his title of commander, but his life and loyalty rested with his mate.

  Pulling away, Byron gave her cheek a stroke before releasing Athee. You’ll be with us the whole time.

  I know.

  Retrieving the bag, Byron placed a hand on Bassan’s back. Glancing one more time at Athee, she managed a faint smile and nodded. Her heart was still heavy but acceptance now colored her sorrow. His mate’s mind was open again; that mattered most to Byron. Guiding Bassan up the ramp, he entered the shuttle.

  Byron glanced at Piten, seated near the rear of the craft. If the man’s friends planned a rescue, the ride to the Litheron would be the best opportunity. Byron sat at attention, his body tense as the shuttle lifted up and teleported. He watched the view change beyond the cockpit, counting the seconds as the ship glided toward the cavernous maw.

  When the shuttle entered the flagship’s landing bay, his muscles eased. The Rogue’s only chance for escape vanished as the interior walls of the Litheron flew past.

  Setting down in the main hangar, the shuttle came to rest. Byron released his harness before assisting his son. The security guards pulled Piten to his feet and he staggered off balance.

  “Release his hands,” Byron told the officers.

  “Sir?” questioned one of them.

  “He will be confined to quarters and requires the use of his hands,” Byron explained.

  The Rogue stared at him as the guard released the metal bonds. Byron detected curiosity and wondered if it would alter the man’s attitude. Too many unknown factors surrounded the Rogue. Bassan’s promise would test Byron’s tolerance levels the next few days.

  The Litheron’s commander greeted them as they exited the craft.

  “Commander Byron, welcome,” he said, hands at his side and back straight. “I am Commander Wraint. It is an honor to have you on our ship.”

  His ready smile was at odds with his age, which Byron guessed to be a few more years than his own. The grey dusting his short hair and deep wrinkles around temples suggested years beyond the youthful gleam in his eyes. The man’s open and eager demeanor implied he knew Byron. Racking his brain, Byron tried to remember Wraint, but he couldn’t recall the man. At least it placed him in good standing for the duration of the trip.

  The commander’s pleasant smiled faded, and Byron glanced over his shoulder. Piten walked down the ramp, his stride wary as he scanned the hangar. Turning to face Wraint, Byron paused. Every Cassan in his line of sight had ceased their activity to gawk at the Rogue. His Vindicarn heritage caused a stir, sending ripples of hatred their direction. Byron had sent word of his prisoner to the commander, but those gathered in the hangar only saw one thing. Piten was their enemy despite any peace treaty.

  “Commander,” said Byron, taking control of the situation. “This man is to be confined to quarters and guarded at all times, for his safety and ours. He is needed as additional proof of the eleventh race once we reach the Vindicarn’s planet.”

  Regaining his composure, Wraint nodded. “Secure quarters have been arranged. As have quarters on the senior officers’ level for you and your son.”

  Bassan fell in step with Byron as the commander led them toward the exit. The boy stared in awe as the cavernous hangar, oblivious to the attention their group garnered as they moved across the room. Byron glanced over his shoulder and noted four security officers walked with Piten. Considering the reactions of those they passed, he hoped it would be enough.

  Commander Byron, thought Wraint. I knew your arrival would draw attention, but this is more than I’d anticipated.

  I know his presence complicates matters, but we need him. If the Vindicarn continue hostilities toward us, we can use him as an example. They might be more inclined to believe in the eleventh race if we have physical proof of one who shares their heritage.

  Piten was taken to a private section of quarters. Byron confirmed the room was well guarded before he permitted the security guard to lead him to the quarters he would share with Bassan. The three room suite was more than adequate and larger than anything Byron had experienced when he served on a flagship.

  Byron had forgotten to ask Bassan if he’d eaten at the medical facility. The boy was probably hungry. He requested a meal in their quarters and two dishes were delivered within minutes. Judging by the rapid inhalation of his food, Byron’s son hadn’t eaten since the morning meal. His own stomach growling, Byron allowed them to eat in silence.

  After a while, Bassan began to poke at his remaining food. Byron f
inished his meal and leaned back in his chair.

  “Was it good?” he said, amused by his son’s attempt to appear as if he were eating rather than shoving his food around on the plate.

  Bassan set down his fork and shrugged. “It was all right.”

  “This is the good stuff. You should’ve seen what I had to eat when I served on a flagship. Some days, the food had no taste at all.”

  His observation elicited a smile. The thoughts drifting from Bassan’s mind were calm and Byron decided to coax the day’s events from his son.

  “Can you tell me what happened today?” he said, maintaining a non-threatening tone.

  Bassan’s shoulders sagged and his hands dropped to his lap. Pressing his lips together, his gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Bassan, I saw you run into the cave,” said Byron, prodding his son to speak. “What happened after that?”

  Wiggling in his seat, Bassan lifted his chin. Anxious eyes met Byron’s, wide with worry. Adjusting the position of his chair, Byron assumed a more relaxed position and waited.

  “When I realized you were chasing those ships with the shuttle, I wanted to watch, so I went back to the cave opening,” said Bassan, his fingers twitching in his lap. When he hesitated, Byron gestured for him to continue.

  “I saw you shoot down that ship.”

  Spoken with awe, Bassan’s comment reminded Byron his son had never seen him in action prior to today. He admitted such a sight would’ve intrigued him as well.

  Bassan’s gaze dropped. “I wanted to know what kind of ship it was. I thought it would impress Drent and the others. So I went down to look. That’s when I ran into Piten.”

  I wondered how he’d captured you, Byron thought. “Is that when he took you hostage?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bassan. He lifted his head. “I think we scared each other.”

  “I imagine you did.”

  Bassan slumped farther in his chair, threatening to slide right under the table. “I’m sorry, Father.”

  Byron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Bassan, do you realize what would’ve happened if we’d lost you? If your mother and I lost you?”

  Distress poured from his son. Hands clenched tight in his lap, Bassan’s spine curled farther. His son’s shields lacked the strength to hold his emotions in check in Byron’s presence. Shame poured from Bassan’s mind like a raging river.

  Regret tugged at Byron for placing so much guilt on his son. Bassan had acted with incredible bravery today, returning safe and in time for their departure, despite the odds. He’d even managed to turn his captor into a prisoner. No small feat for a ten-year-old.

  A tear fell on Bassan’s hand. That single drop cut through Byron’s anger. Sliding off his chair, he dropped to one knee in front of his son. Bassan looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. Without hesitation, Byron wrapped his arms around his son. Bassan was still for a moment before he wiggled his arms free and placed them around Byron’s neck.

  I love you so much, Byron thought, pouring his affection into his son. I don’t ever want to lose you. Outside of your mother, you are the best that ever happened in my life.

  Byron closed his eyes against the strong tide of emotions in his son’s response. Bassan’s view of the world and those around him was so pure and innocent. Byron hoped it would be years before reality tarnished that vision. His own childhood might’ve been lost, but Byron was determined such would not be the case for his son.

  I know you’ve been through a lot the past few weeks. It ends in two days, I promise. I’ll be with you the entire time. You have my word.

  His son’s thoughts settled. Releasing Bassan, Byron placed his hand atop the boy’s head. His son wiped his tears and peered at Byron with anxious eyes.

  “You look really tired,” Byron said. “Why don’t you take a nap while I go speak with Commander Wraint?”

  Expecting a protest, Byron was surprised when his son agreed. He helped Bassan remove his boots and tucked his son into bed. Running his hand through Bassan’s thick hair, Byron smiled,

  “I won’t be gone long,” he said. “No bad dreams, all right?”

  “No bad dreams,” said Bassan, wiggling further under the covers.

  Exiting their quarters, Byron paused in the hallway. The exchange with Bassan had drained his energy. He hoped they would both get some rest over the next two days.

  What awaits us will take everything we’ve got, he thought, his heart heavy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bassan followed his father into the dining hall for the evening meal. The room buzzed with a thousand conversations, both mental and verbal. Those closest looked up as they passed, gazing at the pair with curiosity and awe. Casting wary glances at the men, Bassan stayed close to his father as they collected their food.

  They selected an empty table, but it didn’t take long for the seats to fill around them. Bassan tried to focus on his food, aware it was rude to listen in on others’ conversation. But mention of the Vindicarn War caught his attention. Pretending indifference, Bassan took note of the comments and questions directed at his father. He knew his father’s role in the war and subsequent status as a hero. But to hear real fighter pilots talk of his father’s actions added meaning to the event. Once again, Bassan felt inadequate next to his father. As much as he disliked flying, he’d never pilot a Cosbolt, let alone attain such achievements.

  Finished with his meal, Bassan set down his fork. His attention strayed to the table behind them.

  “Did you see that half-breed they brought on board?” a man growled.

  “He has Vindicarn in him!” another man replied.

  “Damn freak. Half Cassan and Vindicarn is an abomination,” the first man said. “Ought to blow him out an airlock.”

  Bassan gasped and turned to look at the men. Several laughed, but none noticed Bassan. Distraught, he turned to his father.

  Father? he thought, placing a hand on his father’s arm.

  His father finished his drink and met Bassan’s gaze. I heard. Don’t worry about it.

  Concern for his Rogue friend gnawed at Bassan’s mind. What if every man on this ship despised Piten? Would the security officers protect the pilot?

  When they left the dining hall, Bassan grabbed his father’s hand. “Can we go see Piten?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Father, please. I want to make sure he’s all right. Everyone on board seems to hate him.”

  “The guards will protect him.”

  “Please?” Bassan repeated, tugging hard on his father’s hand. He had to confirm Piten’s safety with his own eyes. The man was trapped on this ship because of Bassan. He’d feel terrible if something happened to Piten.

  His father hesitated at the telepod door, his gaze penetrating Bassan’s very thoughts. Offering a soulful expression that usually only worked on his mother, Bassan attempted to back it up with mental determination. The moment his father looked away, he knew his ploy had met with success.

  “Just for a moment,” his father said as they entered the telepod.

  Two security officers guarded Piten’s quarters. His father was granted access and led the way into the room. Peering around his father, he discovered the Rogue pilot stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head. When Bassan stepped into view, Piten sat up and swung his feet to the floor. The man offered a smile, which Bassan returned at once.

  “Hello, Bassan,” he said, grasping the edge of the bed with both hands. “What brings you here?”

  “I…I just wanted to see if you were all right,” he replied, anxious in front of his father.

  Piten cocked his head and rocked forward. “Sure, never better! I’ll have five days to do nothing but eat and sleep. Don’t think I’ve enjoyed that many days of rest my entire life.”

  “You don’t spend time with your family?” said Bassan. Even his father took days off, although those were rare.

  “Oh, whenever possible. Those moments are just
so fleeting.”

  Bassan, we should go, his father thought.

  Ignoring the request, Bassan stepped forward. “Tell me more about the Rogues. How many are there?”

  “How many?” Piten cast a smug glance at Bassan’s father. “Probably close to ten thousand of us across the galaxy.”

  “Really?” Bassan cried. After living with the term half-breed for years, Piten’s answer provided hope. He wasn’t alone after all.

  “Now, I admit there aren’t any with Tgren blood, but that’s only because the race hasn’t ventured into space. There are quite a few like me with Cassan heritage, though.”

  “Bassan,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Fingers pressed into his skin and Bassan flinched. Flashing his father a disappointed look, Bassan noted the angry glow in his eyes.

  “I have to go,” he told Piten.

  The man leaned back, his expression hardening. His gaze shifted to Bassan’s father and Piten’s lip curled into a sneer. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said.

  “Don’t count on it,” Bassan’s father replied.

  The grip on Bassan’s shoulder tightened as his father spun him around. Bassan bit his lip, afraid he’d crossed the line. He waited for his father to open the door, eager to escape into the hallway. His father held fast until they reached the closest telepod. The moment the door opened, Bassan darted inside. He kept his distance as they returned to their quarters, resentment building within him with every step.

  Why can’t I speak with Piten tomorrow? This might be my only chance to learn about the Rogue.

  Once in their quarters, his father took a seat in front of the computer. Bassan stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his shoulder. He wanted to say something but feared a reprimand from his father. Torn between indignation and obedience, Bassan remained glued to the spot. After a moment, his father glanced over his shoulder.

  “You’re tired. Go get ready for bed,” his father said, his attention returning to the computer screen.

  “Why can’t I talk with Piten tomorrow?” Bassan blurted.