CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  CassaStar

  Alex J. Cavanaugh

  “…calls to mind the youthful focus of Robert Heinlein’s early military sf, as well as the excitement of space opera epitomized by the many Star Wars novels. Fast-paced military action and a youthful protagonist make this a good choice for both young adult and adult fans of space wars.” - Library Journal

  “An exciting science fiction novel. Cavanaugh has…a successful career ahead of him.” - Speculative Book Reviews

  "CassaStar excels at both fast-paced action sequences, and more intimate character moments. A truly enjoyable read, and a must for any Science Fiction fan." - The SFF Hub

  “Forgoing the usual stale syfy plot, Cavanaugh has created a believable world of his own filled with page turning adventure and characters so real that you ache for them. It has everything that you could possibly want in good science fiction…”- Jamieson Wolf, Author of The Written Word Series

  “… friendship is at the heart of CassaStar. This character-driven story will widely appeal to even those who don't read sci-fi. I'd recommend CassaStar not only to adults but also to fans of YA.” - Jaded Love Junkie

  CassaStar

  Alex J. Cavanaugh

  DANCING LEMUR PRESS, L.L.C.

  Pikeville, North Carolina

  www.dancinglemurpress.com

  Copyright 2010 by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  Published by Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

  P.O. Box 383, Pikeville, North Carolina, 27863-0383

  www.dancinglemurpress.com

  eBook ISBN 978-0-9827139-3-8

  Print ISBN: 978-0-9816210-6-7 / 0-9816210-6-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form – either mechanically, electronically, photocopy, recording, or other – except for short quotations in printed reviews, without the permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by C.R.W.

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

  Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  CassaStar / Alex J. Cavanaugh.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-9816210-6-7

  1. Space warfare —Fiction. 2. Science fiction. 3. Friendship —Fiction. I. Title

  PS3553.A964 C38 2010

  [Fic]—dd22

  2010927005

  For my loving wife who’s supported me all these years!

  Prologue

  Slipping between two asteroids, the fighter continued in tight pursuit. The drone had attempted to elude destruction by hiding in the asteroid field, but the pilot was not about to lose his target. The teleportation device on board his ship still registered just enough power for a single jump, and he’d call upon its ability if necessary.

  “There you are!” the pilot exclaimed, spying the drone’s shiny surface against the darkness of space.

  He sent his Cosbolt into a sharp nosedive. His navigator calculated their chances of catching the drone and relayed the information. Gritting his teeth, the pilot pushed his vessel even harder. Continuing on its course, the drone attempted to duck under a large asteroid. Fearing he would lose his opportunity, the pilot hugged the rock’s surface as he closed the distance.

  It’ll be close! his navigator warned, the mental thought loud in his head.

  Just as the nose of the drone disappeared from sight, the pilot fired, and two lasers sped toward their target. Sensing his navigator’s growing panic, he pulled away from the asteroid just as his shots struck the tail of the drone. Recovering from his fright, the young man in the back seat confirmed the vessel’s destruction.

  Uttering a triumphant cry, the pilot eased back on the throttle. Gliding out of their tight arc, he realigned the ship and requested another target. A voice over the com cut him short.

  “Damn, you’re insane!”

  Glancing to his left, the pilot caught sight of an approaching Cosbolt. He laughed at his comrade’s observation, feeling pleased with his daring maneuver. Guiding his ship closer, he fell into position beside the other vessel.

  “Ease back, rookie,” the other pilot suggested, his tone implying concern rather than a command. “It’s just an exercise. What are you trying to prove?”

  “That I’m the best!”

  And if that doesn’t get your brother’s attention …? he asked, his question concealed from both ship’s navigators.

  Eyes narrowing, the young pilot tightened his grip on the throttle. Before he could form a response, his navigator announced the presence of another drone not far behind them. Snapping into action, the pilot made a sharp turn.

  “Bet you a week’s pay I get to him first!” he challenged.

  The second ship veered as well. “You’re on!” the other pilot exclaimed.

  With a distinct lead, the young pilot approached the drone. Their target took evasive action and dove toward a cluster of small asteroids. The pilot fired one laser blast, hoping to catch the drone before it entered the tight arrangement of rocks. His shot just grazed the wingtip, and their target vanished into the cluster.

  A lot of movement, his navigator warned.

  Glancing at his screen, the pilot noticed the second Cosbolt had adjusted its trajectory. The other team intended to go around the asteroids and catch the droid on the far side. Unwilling to lose the bet, he made a rash decision. Feeling his muscles tighten in anticipation, the young man followed the droid.

  That cluster’s too unstable! the other pilot exclaimed.

  I can handle it!

  Swinging around a drifting asteroid, the young pilot requested assistance from his navigator. Guiding him under another rock, his partner relayed the location of the drone. The close proximity of so many asteroids blocked the galaxy’s star, preventing proper illumination. The pilot relied on his navigator’s direction, hugging the uneven surfaces as he flew around the giant boulders.

  The drone came into view once more. A drifting rock brushed the vessel’s wingtip, sending it into a slow spiral. Pressing forward, the pilot closed the distance. His thumb hovered over the laser’s trigger, prepared to shoot at the first opportunity.

  Swinging around another asteroid, their target regained control and dove. The Cosbolt followed and the pilot realized the drone intended to slip between two rocks. Determined his quarry would not escape, he conveyed his intentions just as the drone adjusted its angle and shot between the two asteroids.

  We got him! he thought, pressing the button. Firing two shots, he requested teleportation coordinates.

  His navigator hesitated but a split second before relaying a location. Jump!

  The blackness of folded space consumed the ship for a moment. Entering space again, an enormous asteroid filled the pilot’s view outside the cockpit.

  Pull up! screamed his navigator.

  Yanking back on the throttle, the pilot realized it wouldn’t be enough. His mind touched the teleporter, but there wasn’t enough energy for a jump. There was no escape.

  I’ll never fly with you now, brother, he thought as the Cosbolt struck the asteroid.

  Chapter One

  Straightening his jacket, Bassa adjusted the fall of the heavy fabric across his chest. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, conscious of the gradual changes in his features. The uniform was still a perfect fit, as he’d kept up his physique, but his face no longer reflected the same youthful qualities. Lines were forming around his eyes and the skin stretched across his chiseled features had grown rough. He wasn’t sure at what point the subtle alterations had appeared, but he could no longer deny the inevitable. Bassa was finally showing his age.

  “Still have a ways to go,” he murmured, brushing aside the wa
vy locks that fell across his brow.

  At fifty-nine, he was still considered in his prime. Cassans lived an average of one hundred and thirty years if they abused neither body nor mental powers. Bassa had served as a fighter ship navigator for almost eighteen years, a position that certainly took its toll on an individual. However, the past twenty years had been spent in a less strenuous manner. As the lead instructor on Guaard, he still flew daily but without the stress of deep space battles.

  Satisfied with his appearance, Bassa retrieved his personal computer pad from the desk. In passing, his eyes caught the flicker of light through his tiny portal window. Shifting his position, he took note of the small, glowing orb in the black sky. The training facility resided on a dark moon far from the galaxy’s star. Its light graced two habitable planets in the system, including his home world of Cassa, but the warmth of the sun never reached Guaard. The moon did not reside at the far end of the system, but it felt as if the inhabitants were on the very edge of existence.

  Bassa exited his quarters and strolled down the short hallway. He paused at the lift, his gaze falling on the telepod’s open door. New pilots and navigators were not permitted to use the teleporter pods until properly trained, but Bassa’s rank granted him full access to the devices. The invitation to stretch his powers rather than his legs was too tempting, and he opted for the faster form of transportation.

  Stepping inside the pod, Bassa waited for the gentle pop of the sealed door before visualizing his destination. Feeling the strength of the teleporter’s power source, located in a compartment over his head, he tapped into the device’s ability to fold space. The resulting jump was so brief that Bassa did not even notice its effects.

  The door slid open, revealing the entrance to his office, which resided at the far end of the complex. Bassa strode across the hall and waved his hand over the press plate. The double doors moved aside without a sound and he surveyed his office. The wall over his desk was adorned with the Cassan fleet’s insignia; the black, five-pointed star with double planets a sharp contrast to the white walls. His numerous medals and awards covered the two side walls, representing almost eighteen years of service as one of the top navigators. Two bookshelves occupied the far wall, and every book and file resided in perfect order. Bassa’s large desk and chair were imposing figures in the spacious room, flanked by two smaller chairs for visitors. To the young and uninitiated, the room appeared daunting and intimidating, and it smacked of authority. That was exactly the impression Bassa wanted to impart as lead instructor on Guaard.

  Before entering the room, he glanced at the wide bench just outside the double doors. Soon errant young pilots and navigators would occupy those seats, awaiting their turn in his office with growing anxiety. Bassa smiled as he pictured the nervous expressions of those foolish enough to warrant a reprimand from the toughest instructor in the fleet.

  As soon as he was seated behind the desk, Bassa began reviewing the first set of simulator lessons. He and the other instructors made minor adjustments after every group passed through the facility, fine tuning and altering the flight patterns. The next batch of young men would arrive in three days and he wanted to prepare for their first week on Guaard.

  Satisfied with the changes, Bassa turned his attention to the upcoming roster. He liked to familiarize himself with each young man and the skills he brought to Guaard’s elite installation. Those entering the program arrived with over two hundred hours of simulator experience and were qualified for training in a fighter. Their skills were not in question, but rather their lack of actual experience. It was Bassa’s job to prepare the young men for service in the fleet and the real dangers of space flight and combat. Guaard was the final checkpoint, and the lead instructor only certified those who met and exceeded his expectations.

  His brief inspection of the incoming pilots and navigators was not to just size up the young men; Bassa sought not only those with heightened skills but ones who were potential troublemakers. In twenty years, he’d seen his fair share of rebellious individuals. Those with even one mark on their record were flagged and would undergo close scrutiny. Bassa expected discipline and obedience, and would not tolerate disregard of either quality.

  Often it was not merely disobedience, but an arrogant attitude that gave cause for concern. A self-centered or cocky pilot was an even greater threat. He liked spirit, but it had to be controlled in order to be effective. Bassa’s greatest challenge resided in such young men and he was twice as likely to require those individuals to repeat the entire course. Outstanding talent and skill combined with arrogance was what he most dreaded. Fortunately, those young men were few and far between.

  Thirty new pilots and navigators were slated to converge on the facility in three days. The young men would arrive pre-paired, although the teams were not set in stone at this point. During simulator training, they were rotated as instructors attempted to discern the best combination. Bassa and his instructors would analyze the men and approve the final pairings. In order to properly function as a team, a high level of trust and familiarity had to be established between pilot and navigator. Without a strong bond, they were doomed in the field.

  Bassa read through the history of each young man, making mental notes of potential problems. A navigator with a mark on his record was instantly flagged for observation. A pilot who’d barely passed the simulator test was also noted. Either was a potential danger to the other members of the squadron. The instructors would monitor those two carefully, prepared to remove either if necessary. Otherwise, the remainder of the men appeared manageable.

  Retrieving the files on the last team, Bassa flicked first to the pilot. The young man’s image filled the screen and he caught his breath. Brows drawn, Bassa stared in disbelief at the fighter pilot’s photo. The features and expression were all too familiar.

  Eyes traveling to the lone picture residing on his desk, Bassa compared the two images. The young man in the heavy frame possessed the exact same characteristics, right down to the cocked eyebrow and partially concealed smirk. Bassa also noticed similarity in the eyes that could only be attributed to extreme confidence. There was no denying that the same unbridled spirit resided in both young men.

  Bassa scowled at the thought and turned to the young pilot’s record. There were no disciplinary marks, which surprised him, but an unusual amount of notes had been added over the years. The same words were repeated numerous times – possession of great skill marred only by attitude. The young man had excelled in every program, but his cocksure demeanor threatened to undermine those accomplishments at every turn.

  Digging deeper, Bassa discovered that outside of his military record, the young man came with a load of baggage. His parents had died when he was a child, leaving him in the care of a much older sister who apparently couldn’t handle the young boy. Shuffled from one facility to the next, he’d been in trouble more than once and his irresponsible use of mental powers and poor attitude were often cited as the cause. He’d managed to keep his record clean long enough to begin training for a position in the fleet. However, while no formal marks or disciplinary action resided in his records, there were enough cautionary notes to fill an entire log book. The young man was an explosive problem just waiting for an opportune moment.

  A chime signified a visitor. Bassa had summoned his senior pilot instructor and he granted permission to enter. As expected, the tall, lanky form of Rellen strolled into his office. He gave Bassa a proper salute, always respectful toward the senior officer, before a wry grin spread across his narrow face.

  “Reviewing our next assignment?” Rellen inquired, pausing at the edge of the desk.

  Bassa leaned away from his computer, his gaze still on the young man’s image, which dominated the screen once more. “Yes,” he said with resignation.

  Rellen frowned at Bassa’s response. Moving to the side of the desk, his instructor peered at the screen. His smile returned and Rellen emitted a chuckle.

  “I see you’ve
discovered 715’s pilot, Byron,” he observed.

  “He’s got some skill,” Bassa admitted.

  “And attitude! He’ll provide you with a challenge, Bassa. Keep you from going soft!”

  “Soft?” demanded Bassa, eyeing his instructor with skepticism.

  Rellen’s subtle wink was not unexpected. He relished pushing the envelope at every opportunity. Bassa rarely rose to the bait and felt annoyed with his quick reaction. This young man and the potential scenarios his presence could produce had clouded his thoughts.

  “Well, you’ve never allowed this type to simply slip through the program,” offered Rellen, crossing his arms and inclining his head toward the screen. “He’ll either change or he’ll fail!”