CassaStorm

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  “Yeah, that bucket of junk you shot down didn’t even fly when I bought it for almost nothing,” said Piten. Despite his words, his tone carried no malice. “About the only thing that did work were the weapons. And those went out a month ago. Just didn’t have the funds to refuel them.”

  The ship banked to the right. Byron turned his attention to the view outside the cockpit. Blood red mountains of sand filled the view. Allowing Bassan and Piten to continue their conversation, he leaned forward and watched with interest. A Vindicarn ship dropped into position directly in front of the shuttle. Unable to see the landscape, his focus returned to the present company.

  “Maybe your son and I can play together someday,” Bassan said, his tone wistful.

  Piten shot Byron a wary glance. “I’m sure you’d have fun together.”

  Bassan kicked out his feet in frustration. “Wish I could meet him.”

  “I can show him to you. I can show you all of my family.”

  The Rogue’s gaze continued to linger on Byron. It dawned on him the offer included him as well as Bassan. Byron had no desire to enter the man’s mind, but he needed Piten’s assistance on the surface.

  “All right,” he said.

  Focusing on his son’s thoughts in addition to Piten’s, Byron touched the man’s mind. Until that moment, he’d sensed nothing from the Rogue. Piten didn’t project his thoughts in a manner similar to most Cassans. That alone marked him as unusual. However, the images in his mind couldn’t have been any more normal.

  Byron saw a boy younger than Bassan walking along the wing of a small fighter, and at once he recognized the ship he’d shot down over Tgren. The boy grasped the trailing edge of the wing and swung down, his feet dangling above the ground. Hands reached out to tickle the boy and he laughed so hard he lost his grip. The boy fell into his father’s arms, still giggling. The wrinkles on his skin were subtler than the Rogue’s, and the bluish tint of the Arellen race more dominant than the Vindicarn grey. His wavy hair was much lighter as well.

  The view shifted and a small room appeared. One side contained the basics of a kitchen while a round table filled the other side. Set for four people, the table held two bowls of food and a tiny loaf of bread. A little girl came into view, her frame but a wisp of flesh and bones. She tossed her frizzy yellow hair and offered a beaming smile. Her skin tone was even paler. Outside of a tinge of blue, Piten’s daughter possessed flesh similar in color to the Cassans. She was so thin though…

  Natural for Arellens, thought Piten. Although there have been times when my whole family looked as thin as my daughter.

  Those words bothered Byron. Annoyed with himself for caring, he turned his attention to the room. A single window resided on one wall, allowing a small stream of artificial light to enter. However, the room wasn’t dark. It glowed with unusual warmth. That’s when Byron noticed the candles. Resting on small shelves, they lined the walls everywhere he looked.

  My mate makes and sells them, Piten thought. Other races buy them because of their antiquarian appearance. Rogues buy them for a cheap light source.

  A woman came into focus. Byron assumed it was Piten’s mate. Frizzy hair longer than his daughter’s adorned her face. Her pale, blue skin carried a hint of yellow, and it stretched smoothly across her high cheekbones. Reaching out her thin fingers, she grasped the Rogue’s hand, and he led her to the table.

  With his mind open, Piten’s love for his mate flowed uninhibited. Stirred already by sympathy, Byron found the emotions too strong. He pulled out of the Rogue’s mind. Bassan withdrew as well, his thoughts curious but calm. The man gazed at Byron, waiting for a response.

  “You have a nice family,” Byron said, grasping at the first thing that came to mind.

  “Thanks. I’m damned lucky,” said Piten.

  A jolt signified the shuttle had landed. Bassan caught his breath and pressed his body deeper into the seat. Byron patted his knee.

  “We’ll be all right,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Piten said in a cheery voice. “Get in, download the code, and get out. Simple as that.”

  Bassan nodded, his fingers still grasping his harness.

  Byron glanced at the cockpit. The alien ship dominated the scene, its exterior awash in a red hue. They were very close to the alien ship’s main entrance. He unfastened his harness first and then helped Bassan to his feet. Anxiety colored his son’s thoughts but not to the point of overwhelming panic. The Rogue had kept him distracted during their descent and alleviated Bassan’s fears.

  Thank you, he thought privately to Piten.

  “Thought it would help him relax,” the man said in low voice.

  Byron glanced at Bassan, but his son hadn’t heard Piten’s response. You don’t use your telepathy often, do you?

  Piten’s eyes narrowed with concentration. It’s not very strong, he thought. “Another gift from the Vindicarn.”

  Cocking his head, Byron permitted a grin to tug at his lips. “That’s good to know.”

  The comment elicited a scowl from the Rogue.

  That means we have an advantage over the Vindicarn, Byron thought, clarifying himself. If something goes wrong, I can warn the Litheron faster than they can send a message.

  “Ah…” said Piten. “Just hope none of them put a clamp over your mind first.”

  “Sir?” said the security officer as he entered the main compartment. “The Vindicarn have signaled they’re ready for you.”

  Byron placed his arm around Bassan’s shoulders and pointed him toward the hatch. The Rogue stepped into position on the other side of Bassan and cast a sideways glance at Byron.

  Remember our deal, Byron thought in a private message to Piten. “Open the hatch.”

  The security officer pressed the button and returned to the cockpit. With a pop, the seal broke and the hatch opened. A blast of hot air hit Byron, reeking of dust and sand. He squinted against the bright light that poured into the shuttle. Not even the deserts of Tgren could’ve prepared him for the harsh environment of the Vindicarn’s home world. Small wonder their skins were so wrinkled and charred. No other race could survive on this planet.

  His vision adjusted to the intensity of the light. Byron noticed several Vindicarn soldiers waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Gripping Bassan tighter, he stepped forward. The Vindicarn watched their every move with black eyes full of contempt. Byron had been in tight situations before, but none compared to this. He and his son were walking into a potential deathtrap.

  Once on the ramp, he became aware of men on either side, their weapons drawn. Grateful Bassan was in the middle, Byron hoped his son couldn’t see the armed Vindicarn. The fear pounding in Bassan’s chest already had Byron worried. They needed to maintain their wits.

  As they reached the bottom of the ramp, the attention of the Vindicarn shifted to Piten. No longer in the shadows of the shuttle, his dark skin revealed his heritage. Byron heard murmurs, but the expressions of those waiting didn’t change.

  “Halt,” one man said, his voice grating from the depths of his chest.

  They stopped and Bassan pressed close to Byron.

  “Search them for weapons.”

  Forced to release his son, Byron resigned himself to a search.

  Just relax, Byron thought, watching a Vindicarn pat down Bassan. I’m right here.

  Satisfied, the Vindicarn held up a small communication device and announced they were on their way. He turned toward the alien ship and the other men stepped aside. Byron and Piten exchanged glances before following the soldier.

  Close the hatch, Byron thought in a private message to the officer on the shuttle. No reason to tempt a bitter Vindicarn who might want to exact revenge.

  Now that they were in the open, Byron viewed their surroundings. They were inside a massive hole. The loose sand pulled at his boots, slowing his pace. Ahead of them, the alien ship resided in the middle of the cavity. A large portion of it was still buried, but the top and a section of the side lay reve
aled. Once discovered, the Vindicarn had apparently dug it out in great haste. Even after a thousand years buried under the sand, the vessel’s surface still sparkled a brilliant blue in the sunlight. The outer hull of Tgren’s ship was hidden by rock, and Byron had expected the same drab grey as the probe.

  I’ll have to let Mevine access this image when I return, Byron thought.

  He glanced back at the shuttle and confirmed its hatch secured. Six Vindicarn vessels sat on the cleared swatch of sand, and several more rumbled overhead. Byron wondered if the extra security was due to Cherzta’s presence, or theirs. At least the Cassan shuttle was closest to the exit. If the code didn’t work or one leader failed to acknowledge the peace treaty, they had about thirty minutes to get clear of the planet.

  Armed guards stood at attention as the Vindicarn entered the ship. Byron caught their hateful glares as they passed. He tightened his jaw muscles in an effort to conceal his own revulsion.

  The soft blue lights of the alien corridor came as a relief after the glaring sun. Byron’s eyes struggled to adjust to the gentle glow. Relying on the sound of the Vindicarn’s boots striking the floor, he guided Bassan to the right. The man’s form loomed not far ahead of them.

  Same layout as our alien ship, Byron thought to Bassan, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

  On the other side of Bassan, the Rogue kept pace with them. Byron was surprised Piten had given no indication of interest or amazement since exiting the shuttle. If he lived on the fringes of civilization, the Rogue had probably seen as many wonders as Byron during his years of exploration. However, when they followed the Vindicarn into the main control room, Piten’s stoic expression melted.

  Byron cast a quick glance at the plasma ball and its surroundings. They were similar to the Tgren’s ship. However, he was more interested in the group gathered around the main console. Several Vindicarn dotted the room, their weapons at the ready. He ignored them and followed their guide, his grip on Bassan strong. Maintaining a neutral expression, Byron approached the group.

  The Vindicarn in the middle stepped forward and he at once recognized Cherzta. Attired in a dark red military suit adorned with numerous medals, the man’s lean frame towered even over Piten. His black eyes and dark scowl were more imposing in person. The air surrounding Cherzta suggested he knew no mercy. Byron clenched his teeth and shielded his mind. He had to maintain his cool.

  The soldier who’d led them into the ship paused to confer with the Vindicarn leader. He stepped aside and gestured toward the Cassans.

  “So you are the one with the code?” Cherzta said, his gaze on Bassan. The man’s words dripped with hatred and Byron felt his son’s arm around his back as Bassan pressed closer.

  “Yes, sir,” his son said, his voice trembling as much as his body.

  Cherzta approached, his hands behind his back. Byron held his ground even as those around the Vindicarn leader raised their weapons.

  He needs that code. He won’t hurt you, Byron thought to Bassan. And I won’t let him.

  Pausing in front of them, Cherzta scowled at Bassan before raising his gaze to Byron. A glint of recognition flashed in the man’s eyes, but Byron suspected it had nothing to do with their previous encounter.

  “You would so bravely bring your son here, where no Cassan has ever dared to tread?” the Vindicarn said. “I wonder what would motivate a Cassan to make such a sacrifice?”

  “We are here to save the remaining races,” said Byron.

  “Including ours? I find that hard to believe coming from a Cassan.”

  Fighting the conflicting thoughts in his head, Byron swallowed before answering. “We all signed the peace treaty.”

  The man’s lips pulled back in an unnatural sneer. “And I still question the implication our races have anything in common. You might share traits with the backward Tgrens, but Cassans have nothing in common with the Vindicarn,” Cherzta stated.

  “The races have more in common than you imagine.”

  At the sound of Piten’s voice, Cherzta jerked his head. Byron shot a word of warning to the pilot but his thoughts couldn’t penetrate the pilot’s shields. The Rogue stepped forward from the shadows and stood beside Bassan. The Vindicarn recoiled, his face twisted with shock.

  “A Vindicarn who would side with the Cassans?” he spat in disgust.

  “I am half Vindicarn and half Cassan,” said Piten with no trace of apology, “and my allegiance lies with my own people.”

  “Your people?”

  “The Rogue. What some have now deemed the eleventh race.”

  Cherzta bristled at that answer. Concerned, Byron glanced at Piten and willed the man to hold his tongue. The Rogue’s example was supposed improve relations, not agitate the Vindicarn further.

  Trust me.

  Byron held Bassan closer. Their lives and the future of the races now relied on one Rogue who might very well possess his own agenda. Never had Byron felt so out of control.

  “A few half-breed monstrosities doesn’t mean the races are compatible,” Cherzta said, flicking his hand in dismissal.

  “No,” said Piten, “but ten thousand multiracial Rogues is significant.”

  The Vindicarn moved closer to Piten. “Ten thousand? That is impossible!”

  The Rogue stood even taller, his arms taut at his sides. “We are there, on the fringes of your society, existing on neglected space stations and moon bases, taking up residence on planets no one wants. There are thousands of us, representing every race and every mixture imaginable. My own mate claims a heritage of Arellen and Narcon. I can show you if you don’t believe me.”

  Cherzta took a step back. Two men with weapons moved closer, their guns aimed at Piten’s head. Byron pulled Bassan behind him. If tempers continued to flare, his son didn’t need to witness the Rogue’s death.

  “You can continue this path of hatred,” said Piten, his tone somber. “You can deny the chance to save your world because it comes from a Cassan and his half-breed son. In doing so, you will condemn all races to die. And once the probe has reduced your numbers to a fraction of what they were before, then you will see us. You will see the thousands of Rogues who have lived at peace with one another for generations. Maybe then you will realize–all of you will realize–that coexistence is not only possible, but necessary for survival.”

  Byron’s gaze shifted to Cherzta. He held his breath, waiting for the Vindicarn to respond. In the back of his mind, Athee lingered in fear. The probe was approaching and they were running out of time.

  Piten shook his head and gestured toward Byron and Bassan. “This Cassan and his son risked everything to come here. They came to save your people. That is the ultimate gesture of peace.”

  Still Cherzta didn’t respond. One of his men moved closer to whisper into his ear. He pointed at the large computer tablet in his hand, his movements frantic.

  Byron! Athee’s voice rang in his head. Mevine says the probe has arrived. You must get Bassan into place now.

  Pulling his son forward, Byron gripped his shoulders. “Let us upload the code,” he said. “Let us fulfill our end of the bargain.”

  The weapons trained on Piten shifted to Byron. He kept his attention on Cherzta, hoping for a sign. If they’d come all this way for nothing…

  “Please, sir,” said Bassan. His voice cracked and Byron felt his son’s frame shiver. “Please, I don’t want anyone to die.”

  The Vindicarn stared at Bassan, his eyes cold. Uttering a growl of disgust, Cherzta gestured toward the main console.

  Pushing Bassan from behind, Byron propelled them to the main computer. The crescent-shaped apparatus glowed with energy. Every light and display radiated power, including the metallic ball at the base. Byron grasped his son’s right hand and held it up.

  The Vindicarn with the computer tablet appeared at his side. “You are to transmit the code as soon as the probe makes contact. I’ll give you the signal.”

  Byron nodded. Interweaving his fingers with Bassan’s, he hel
d his son’s hand tight. Wrapping his arm around Bassan’s middle, he pressed his cheek against his son’s and closed his eyes.

  One last time, he thought, pouring every ounce of reassurance into Bassan. I’ll be right here with you. We’ll do it together, all right?

  All right, Bassan thought. His fear subsided, replaced by determination. I won’t let you down.

  Byron sighed and kissed his son’s cheek. You’ve never let me down. And I love you so much.

  Relief and joy flooded his son’s thoughts. Byron’s chest tightened as Bassan reciprocated his affection with no inhibitions. All his son had ever wanted was to know his father approved of him. His complete surrender to what was about to occur tore at Byron’s heart. If it took Bassan’s life…

  A noise from the console forced Byron to open his eyes. The display screen flashed data at an astounding rate, pulsating brighter by the second.

  Byron, the probe is transmitting now! Athee thought.

  Holding his son’s hand over the metallic ball, he held his breath. The images flashing across the screen came to an abrupt end.

  “Now!” the Vindicarn shouted.

  Together! Byron thought.

  He pressed his son’s hand around the metallic receptacle. The images haunting Bassan for the past few weeks erupted from his mind. Locked with his son’s thoughts, Byron closed his eyes against the brilliance. The code raced through Bassan with a ferocious roar, drowning out all sound. Byron felt, rather than heard, his son’s excruciating cry of pain as it vibrated through his body. Squeezing his eyelids tighter, Byron pressed harder on Bassan’s hand. They had to maintain contact. Despite the agony, his son had to deliver the full code.

  Almost done! Byron thought, fighting through the onslaught to reach his son.

  As abruptly as it began, the stream of images ceased. Byron gasped and opened his eyes.

  Mevine says the probe received the code! thought Athee.

  Bassan’s body was limp against his, though. Byron touched his mind and sensed nothing.

  Byron!

  Athee’s terrified cry fueled his own fear. Releasing his son’s hand, Byron let Bassan’s body drop into his arms. Placing a hand on his chest, Byron felt for a heartbeat. It was there, although very faint. But his son’s mind registered no activity. And they were far from the mental healing power of the Tgrens.