CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  “Take a seat,” Kernen offered, gesturing with a glass in his hand.

  Byron slid into one of large chairs opposite the desk. He watched the commander pour two drinks before returning the bottle to the cabinet. Retrieving the glasses, he approached Byron.

  “I trust you’ve seen your quarters and met with your squadron leader?” he asked, handing Byron a drink.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, accepting the glass. “Thank you, sir.”

  The commander nodded and took a seat at his desk. Byron estimated Kernen was the same age as Guaard’s senior officer. He sported a similar weathered and seasoned appearance, and his eyes were filled with a wisdom that only came from age and experience. The commander possessed a persona of complete authority, which was certainly due an officer of his rank, but an air of openness exuded from him as well. Byron hoped this meeting would be more pleasant than the previous one.

  “I can’t recall the last time I accepted a pilot fresh from Guaard,” Commander Kernen admitted, taking a sip of his drink.

  Byron felt resentment rise in his chest and he quickly reinforced his mental shields. Fingers tightening around the glass in his hands, he prepared for another unsettling encounter. Kernen’s next words surprised him, though.

  “However, Officer Bassa assured me it would be beneficial to bring you on board,” the commander stated, regarding Byron with a thoughtful expression. “He said you were one of the best; precise in your flying and aim, and able to respond to crisis situations without hesitation. I also understand you have a rare ability.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Byron, adjusting his hold on the glass.

  Kernen raised his drink and cocked one eyebrow. “Take a drink before you spill it, son,” he suggested.

  Embarrassed, Byron lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. The liquid slid down this throat without so much as a tickle. Good alcohol was not to be wasted on low ranking officers, and he felt honored Kernen would share his private stock with him.

  The commander finished his drink and set the glass on his desk with a flourish. “I’ve been over your file. There are a couple questionable issues, but Officer Bassa assured me none were of great concern. I trust his assessment will prove correct?”

  “Yes, sir!” Byron said quickly. He had no intention of causing trouble during his first assignment.

  Leaning back in his chair, the commander’s eyes narrowed. However, Byron thought he detected a smile playing at the corner of the man’s lips.

  “I don’t imagine you’ll have the opportunity to cause problems, either,” Kernen observed.

  “Sir?” Byron inquired, uncertain of the commander’s implication. “I’m not here to cause problems, sir.”

  “What are your intentions, pilot?”

  Byron hesitated, his brain analyzing Kernen’s question. Searching for a suitable response, he decided to be bold.

  “I intend to be the best damn Cosbolt pilot in the fleet, sir!”

  This time Kernen’s smile was obvious. “Bassa said you had spirit, among many other qualities,” he said, fingers drumming the armrest of his chair. “He spoke very highly of you, young man.”

  “Of my abilities, sir?”

  The commander nodded. “Your abilities as well.”

  Byron felt puzzled and wondered what Bassa had told the commander. He shifted in his seat and the movement reminded him of the half-empty glass in his hand. Without further hesitation, he downed the contents and set the glass on the edge of the commander’s desk.

  “I suggest you take the remainder of the evening to study your squadron’s flight drills,” the commander instructed, leaning forward in his chair. “You will be expected to fly tomorrow.”

  That news surprised Byron. He’d have no time to train with his new navigator.

  Realizing he was being dismissed, Byron rose to his feet. He felt relieved the commander did not share Larnth’s resentment that an inexperienced pilot now resided on board the Sorenthia, He was now twice as determined to prove his worth. The identity of his navigator still eluded him, though.

  “Sir, if I may?” he inquired, waiting for Kernen’s signal to continue. “Who is my navigator?”

  “You will meet him tomorrow at your squadron’s briefing.”

  With those words, the commander turned his attention to the computer screen, ending all further discussion on the matter. Reluctant to press further, lest he lose favor with Kernen, Byron retreated from the man’s office.

  I’m in way over my head, he thought.

  Chapter Seven

  Arising early, Byron dressed in his new flight suit. Personal computer pad in hand, he went in search of the dining hall. He expected an assortment of personnel, but on this level, only officers were in evidence. He received a few stares while retrieving his food but chose to ignore the curious onlookers. Securing one end of a table to himself, he used the time to scan the drills once more. Byron would not allow himself to break pattern or fail to perform a maneuver during his very first official flight.

  The other pilots and navigators were just beginning to arrive when he entered the briefing room. Feeling uneasy after the earlier scrutiny, Byron elected to postpone social interaction and selected a seat on the far edge of the room. He tried to tune out the conversation and laughter of his fellow officers as they filled the room and waited for the meeting to begin.

  Soon, only a couple seats remained unoccupied, including the chair beside Byron. He finally dared to glance around the room, curious as to which of the men would become his navigator. Those present appeared familiar with one another and he suspected his new partner had yet to arrive.

  The squadron leader entered the room and the men’s chatter subsided. Larnth surveyed those gathered, his gaze falling for a moment on Byron, before addressing the men.

  “Today we will be patrolling sectors 74-107 and 73-107. There’s been no report of activity in this area, but that does not render today’s patrol routine. We’re still at the edge of Cassan boundaries, so be prepared for anything. Understood?”

  His question was met with a round of affirmation from the men. Officer Larnth turned to the large monitor on the wall behind him and pulled up the sector of space they would patrol today. The visual clearly showed their proximity to uncontrolled space, and Byron understood the severity of his warning.

  Larnth turned to face the men and paused, his gaze traveling to the back of the room. Byron sensed a wave of astonishment from the far side of the room. Curious, he peered in the direction of the doorway. Over the top of the heads of those seated, he caught sight of a late arrival, and his heart missed a beat.

  It was Bassa.

  “Glad you could join us,” Larnth said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  Byron could only stare, his mouth open in shock. He sensed the awe and excitement of the officers around him but did not share in their elation. Why was Bassa on board the Sorenthia? Was he here to oversee special training? After six months of the man’s presence on Guaard, Byron shuddered to think he’d be forced to endure more instruction from the senior officer.

  “Now that both men are present, I’d like to introduce our newest team members,” Larnth announced.

  Bassa was now searching for an empty seat, and Byron’s eyes widened in horror as he realized the man was moving in his direction. His progress was hindered, as the other officers eagerly greeted the senior officer in passing.

  “Most of you already know Officer Bassa, as I’m sure he trained a good portion of those present,” the squadron leader stated with pride. “He’s regarded as one of the most decorated and accomplished navigators in the fleet.”

  Larnth paused. “We are also joined by Officer Byron, who will act as his pilot.”

  The news fell on Byron with a resounding thud and his stomach sank to his toes. Bassa finally reached the empty seat beside him and slid into the chair. Byron simply stared at his former instructor, mind reeling with this latest development and scarcely bothering to hide
his indignation. Bassa met his eyes, his expression wary. If he expected a greeting, Byron was too stunned to respond.

  Distracted by a comment, Bassa turned to the man behind him. Feeling dejected, not to mention frustrated by at the turn of events, Byron slumped in his seat and stared straight ahead. Life was beyond his control once again.

  “Now, to continue going over today’s flight,” Larnth said with authority, silencing the excited murmurs.

  Byron made every effort to focus on the squadron leader’s instructions. He didn’t want to commit an error during his first flight. Bassa’s presence was distracting, though. Several times, his attention drifted to the man at his right, and he had to suppress the indignation that threatened to consume his mind. His first experience as a pilot would be marred by Bassa’s presence.

  Larnth concluded the meeting by wishing the men a safe flight and everyone began to rise to his feet. Byron arose and realized he was trapped. Several officers now congregated around Bassa, creating a traffic jam. By the time he exited the briefing room, Byron was at the rear of the procession. He followed the group to the hanger, his irritation growing with every step as he listened to the men around Bassa. The senior officer might be a veteran, which entitled him to some respect, but the others acted as if he was a hero bigger than life.

  Byron located their ship and began the preflight check. Bassa joined him a moment later, a smile on his face. Staring hard at his navigator, he projected an angry thought.

  Why are you here? he demanded.

  Bassa’s smile faded and he returned Byron’s cold expression. You needed a qualified navigator and we possessed the necessary training time.

  Was there no one else available? Byron replied.

  A few, Bassa stated, and your first assignment would’ve been patrolling a dead moon!

  Annoyed that it was probably the truth, Byron dug in even deeper. I’m supposed to thank you then? he retorted.

  Bassa scowled, his displeasure with Byron’s attitude obvious. He stepped in front of his pilot and assumed an intimidating pose.

  I sacrificed a high-ranking position, not only to ensure a decent first assignment but to give you a chance to survive out here. You may not agree with my decision right now, but I do expect some measure of respect.

  His tone left no room for argument. Byron shook his head, but did not pursue the discussion. With no further exchange of words, they completed the preflight check and prepared for launch.

  His spirit subdued, Byron waited while Bassa navigated their vessel to the launch tubes. His muscles tightened as they wheeled into position and the second door closed behind them. At the end of the tunnel, he could see a starry expanse and felt a twinge of excitement. Aware his navigator could detect his feelings, Byron suppressed his enthusiasm.

  I’ve been here a thousand times, Bassa’s voice echoed in his head. This is your moment, Byron. Do not forget to enjoy it!

  Taking a deep breath, Byron forced the tension from his body and cleared his mind. The countdown commenced and he braced his head in preparation. The final number sounded and the ship shot through the tube and out into open space.

  Five other ships emerged with their vessel. Byron maneuvered into position and the Cosbolts joined those already waiting. The squadron assumed full formation and set off for the coordinates of their patrol.

  The three-hour flight was routine and uneventful. Once Byron recovered from his initial dismay, he did indeed enjoy the experience. At least he was familiar with Bassa’s style of navigating and adjusted to his directions. During their training flights, Byron had been at the mercy of the senior officer’s commands. He expected a similar experience here as well, but during their first flight as a team, Bassa’s navigation felt more like guidance. Aware that could change without notice, Byron filed that thought away for future reference.

  Tired but elated, he returned to the Sorenthia. Byron landed the ship with precision and Bassa locked their runners in place. As the vessel taxied into the hanger, Byron felt intense relief. Not only had he completed his first flight as a Cosbolt pilot, but he’d also survived Bassa’s presence as his navigator. Both were monumental achievements.

  Emerging from the ship, Byron turned to face his navigator. Resentment continued to linger in his heart, but regardless of his feelings toward their pairing, they had flown well together. He did not know what to say to his new partner, but Bassa possessed no such inhibitions.

  “You did well today,” he offered, slapping together his gloves.

  Byron shrugged. “It was a routine mission,” he replied.

  Bassa regarded him with a steady gaze. “Sometimes those can be the most telling,” he explained. “You flew well for your first mission.”

  Byron managed a brief nod of appreciation. He was not ready to display acceptance of his new navigator, though. Grasping the ladder, Byron retreated from Bassa’s presence.

  The men reconvened in the debriefing room, and listened to the squadron leader’s assessment of the morning’s mission. When Larnth finished, those around Bassa came to life and began to ask questions.

  “What prompted you to come out of retirement?”

  “Why were you assigned to the Sorenthia?”

  “Is this assignment permanent?”

  Annoyed with the enthusiasm of the other officers, Byron sidestepped the group surrounding Bassa. He escaped their notice and exited the room. Unprepared for intense scrutiny, Byron felt relief as he reached the safety of the teleporter pod. However, it irritated him that Bassa commanded such attention. It seemed to go beyond the senior officer’s accomplishments, and Byron found himself caught in a rare moment of envy. No one was ever happy to see him.

  Returning to his quarters, Byron showered and changed. He intended to complete his very first flight report before exploring the ship. If time permitted, he’d end the day with a solitary game of gravball. His first priority was food, though.

  Emerging from his quarters, Byron proceeded toward the dining hall. As he passed the quarters beside his own, the door slid open, and he was surprised to see Bassa. He faltered as their eyes met. His inclination was to acknowledge the senior officer with a nod and continue on his way. It occurred to Byron that might not be the appropriate way to treat his new navigator, though. Fighting the urge to run, he paused for a moment.

  “On your way to the dining hall?” Bassa asked as he joined him in the corridor.

  Byron nodded, aware that he was about to acquire a dining partner.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “No,” Byron said quickly before his true answer could surface.

  The men walked the short distance to the dining hall in silence. Once they’d retrieved their food, Byron and Bassa turned to face the crowded hall. Almost immediately, another officer flagged down the men, and Bassa moved to join him. Reluctantly, Byron followed his navigator.

  “Officer Bassa, please join us,” the man enticed.

  Those present shifted their position, providing the newcomers room at the end of the table. Bassa sat next to the man and Byron took the seat across from his partner. The man at his elbow nodded at Byron and turned at once to Bassa.

  “It’s an honor to have you join our squadron,” he stated with pride. “Your service record and achievements are legendary.”

  Bassa flashed a patient smile. “Legend implies I’m dead,” he said, lifting his drink. “And I am very much alive!”

  The man beside Bassa chuckled. “Well, only a few of us remember your days of active service.”

  “But the rest of us recall your training!” an officer further down the table offered.

  That elicited laughter from those present. The man beside Bassa offered his hand.

  “Don’t know if you remember, but we served on the Masenna together,” he said.

  Bassa exchanged handclasps, a wry smile on his face. “Deacer, how could I forget you? Even if that was many years ago.”

  “More than I care to count!” Deacer exclaimed, the dee
p lines around his eyes and mouth reflecting the years. “Guess you remember my pilot, too.”

  The officer beside Byron exchanged greetings with Bassa. Hannar’s deep voice resonated with experience, and while neither man appeared as old as Bassa, they were both many years Byron’s senior. The men at the table were all older by a decade or more, and he felt very conspicuous in his youth. Compared to the other officers, he was just a boy.

  Bassa smiled at Byron. “And this is my pilot, Byron,” he announced with pride.

  Byron looked up from his food and realized everyone at that end of the table now stared at him. Swallowing his food in haste, he offered a curt nod.

  “Good to meet you, son,” said Hannar, roughly patting his shoulder.