CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  That jump was unnecessary, his navigator charged. Rorth had that drone.

  I had the better angle initially. You need to trust my judgment!

  And you need to listen to my instruction!

  Annoyed with the whole situation, Byron closed his mind, silencing any further conversation. He was tired of the limitations placed upon him by Bassa. Unless he was permitted to achieve his full potential, his assignment to the Sorenthia was a waste of time. He might as well transfer to a remote moon base than squander his talent here.

  “We cannot work as a team if you refuse to hear me!” exclaimed Bassa over the com system.

  Gritting his teeth, Byron contemplated ignoring his navigator’s words. Banking to the left, he channeled his frustration into a very tight turn that would annoy his navigator. The sudden burst drained some of his anger and with reluctance, he lowered the barrier around his mind.

  Rejoin the squadron. Now! Bassa ordered, his thoughts burning with fury.

  Gripping the throttle even tighter, Byron steered toward the formation. The remaining drones hung lifeless in space as a testimony to the squadron’s success. Byron had been responsible for two of those drones, but the victory felt hollow. He wanted nothing more than to return to the Sorenthia and escape the confines of the cockpit.

  Their ship was the last to enter the hanger. Byron burst from his seat the moment the canopy opened. Leaping onto the platform before the flight crew had even secured it to their ship, he grabbed the outside rung of the ladder and slid to the floor.

  Byron!

  He glanced up at the platform and scowled. Unwilling to engage in further conversation with Bassa, he closed his mind and turned to join the others in the debriefing room.

  “Byron!”

  The fury in his navigator’s voice was unmistakable and it caused a passing member of the hanger crew to jump. The man’s gaze fell on Byron and he stared at the pilot in surprise. Feeling foolish, Byron stopped dead in his tracks, his fists clenched to his sides. He heard Bassa’s boots strike the floor of the hanger and he turned to face his navigator.

  “You do not close your mind while we are in that ship!” Bassa exclaimed, squaring his shoulders as he approached. “We’re ineffective as a team and vulnerable without mental communication.”

  Byron’s frown deepened. “We are ineffective regardless,” he growled.

  “We are when you defy my instructions!” Bassa countered, coming to a halt in front of his pilot.

  “You don’t trust my judgment!” Byron retorted, no longer concerned their heated exchange would attract attention. “You tell me I’m one of the best damned pilots you’ve ever seen and yet you hold me back at every opportunity.”

  “I am trying to instill some caution in you.”

  “Why? You think I’m going to make some reckless mistake?”

  “I’d like to prevent that,” Bassa countered, leaning closer.

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yes! I’m here so you don’t get yourself killed,” Bassa replied, brandishing his gloves to emphasize his point.

  Byron stared at his navigator. Bassa’s solemn expression was at odds with his anger. The memory of a photo on Bassa’s desk and the story of the young pilot killed fresh out of training crossed Byron’s mind. Suddenly he understood the real reason why Bassa had followed him into space. However, despite the senior officer’s intentions, it infuriated Byron.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t prevent your brother from a tragic death,” Byron offered, his eyes narrowing, “But damn it, I am not your brother!”

  His cold words caused Bassa to lean away, his eyes full of doubt. Sensing he’d struck a nerve, Byron abandoned all pretense of remorse or tact.

  “I didn’t ask you to follow me and I don’t need your protection,” he growled, standing up to his full height. “I certainly don’t need someone riding my tail every damn day. I don’t need or want your help! Got it?”

  Bassa’s stern expression dissolved, replace by stunned disbelief. Byron’s words were meant to hurt and he realized he’d achieved the desired result. The bitterness he felt inside was now apparent in the older man’s eyes. Byron had successfully transferred his pain, and he was prepared to revel in that minor victory. To his surprise, Bassa did not speak. His navigator stared at him as if mortally injured, and Byron’s moment of satisfaction was suddenly marred by regret.

  Desperate to escape the unpleasant scene, Byron turned on his heels and strode from the hanger. He retreated to the back of the debriefing room and not even an encouraging word from Ernx could elicit more than a curt nod. He didn’t want to connect with anyone, himself included. Slipping into survival mode, Byron turned off all thoughts and feelings.

  If only I could turn them off forever, he thought.

  Byron and Bassa avoided each other that evening in the dining hall. The young pilot sat at the far end of the table with Ernx and his navigator, Nintal. Despite Byron’s solemn expression upon entering the hall, his new friend enticed him to talk, and in no time, they were bantering back and forth. Bassa could only watch with a heavy heart, aware that he would never share such a jovial moment with his pilot. Byron had made his feelings very clear in the hanger.

  After the meal, Bassa retreated to his quarters to read. Unable to concentrate, his thoughts continued to drift to the exchange with Byron. Not since Tal’s death had Bassa’s heart felt so heavy. Any hopes of connecting with Byron now lay shattered on the hanger floor. He’d failed to reach the boy.

  The words on his computer pad appeared to blur and Bassa leaned away from the screen. Arching his stiff back, he glanced around the room. His gaze fell on the picture of Tal, nestled beside his main computer on the desk. His brother’s image reminded Bassa of the young man who was now his pilot, but he realized their looks and skills no longer seemed so similar. The only common thread was the fact that he’d lost both men.

  Rising to his feet, Bassa slipped on his boots and stepped into the hallway. He proceeded to Byron’s quarters and paused at the door. After their earlier exchange, he wondered if the young man would even grant him access. Straightening his shoulders, Bassa passed his hand over the press plate and announced his presence.

  There was no response. He was about to turn and leave when the door slid aside. Bassa peered into the room and caught sight of Byron stretched out on his bed. The young man did not acknowledge Bassa’s presence in any fashion and his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. Sensing resistance, Bassa grasped the edge of the doorframe.

  “May I enter?” he asked, hoping courtesy might break the ice.

  Byron’s gaze briefly flicked his direction before returning to the ceiling. He nodded and crossed his arms, assuming a defensive posture.

  Entering his pilot’s quarters, Bassa stared at the unresponsive and withdrawn young man. How am I supposed to reach him? he thought. Pulling out a chair, Bassa took a seat and leaned against the table. He had to find the right words tonight.

  “When I first saw your profile,” he began, “your similarity to my brother was striking, from your appearance to your skills. And in dealing with you that first month, Tal crossed my mind more than once. I’ll always regret denying my brother’s request to be his navigator.”

  Leaning forward, Bassa placed both elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he stared at the rough texture of his skin as he pieced together his next sentence.

  “Despite my feelings, though, you’re right, Byron. You are not my brother. And the more I got to know you, the more I realized you were very much your own person. Your qualities go beyond your skills in the cockpit or your unique ability to jump. You possess a quiet strength. You’re focused, determined, and more capable than most men twice your age, and I admire those traits in you.”

  He paused, hoping for a sign that his words were registering with Byron. The young man had not changed his position and his mind remained closed. However, resentment no longer dominated his expression.

  “I didn
’t come out here because of my brother or to harass you,” said Bassa, his voice as heavy as his heart. “I’m here because I care about a young man named Byron.”

  Confusion rolled across Byron’s face and he shifted his position. Bassa leaned back in his chair and assumed a relaxed stance. His next words were the most difficult, as he was about to reveal his most personal feelings. Byron was not the only one accustomed to privacy and Bassa struggled with his thoughts.

  “During those brief moments when you’ve permitted me past that barrier of yours, I’ve liked what I’ve seen. Even the darker aspects haven’t scared me. In truth, I can relate. I don’t have anyone either, Byron. No mate, no family.” Bassa admitted. “I’d hoped that once we got to know each other better, we might even be friends.”

  Arms dropping to his sides, Byron finally turned to face Bassa. His eyes were no longer filled with spite.

  “I want the best for you, Byron, I really do,” Bassa stated, mustering every ounce of conviction to convey his sincerity. “I know how much piloting a Cosbolt means to you. I want you to be successful.

  “But if that success cannot be achieved with me, I will relinquish that privilege to another officer.”

  Those words dropped from his lips as if made of lead. Bassa could not discern if Byron’s wide-eyed expression stemmed from dismay or joy. The young man rolled onto his side, propping his body on one elbow.

  “Don’t make a decision tonight,” Bassa instructed before Byron could speak. He might only be delaying the inevitable, but it was important that the young man consider all of his options first. “Give it until tomorrow. If you request a new navigator, I will do everything in my power to secure the best man for the position.

  “And if you want me to remain, I promise I will trust your judgment in the cockpit. Do those terms sound fair to you?”

  Byron nodded. His mind remained guarded, but Bassa sensed the young man was deep in thought. With any luck, Byron would deliberate his decision with care.

  Bassa rose to his feet, weary from the emotional exertion tonight’s one-sided conversation had required. “Give me your decision tomorrow,” he announced, clearing his throat.

  Bassa moved to the exit and the door slid aside. Pausing in the doorframe, he noticed Byron had slid his feet to the floor and sat upright, his troubled gaze on his navigator. Bassa flashed a faint smile even as he felt his heart sinking.

  “I care about you, Byron, and I really want the best for your life.”

  Bassa stepped into the hallway and the door closed. Clenching his fists, he lowered his chin to his chest. Tomorrow would likely lead to disappointment. It wouldn’t be the first time a pilot had let him down, but it would hurt the most.

  He’d done everything within his power. It was all up to Byron now.

  Rising with a headache after a restless night, Byron could not seem to get moving the next morning. He arrived late for the morning meal and received the last scraps of food in the pans. Eyeing his cold and overdone meal with disdain, he staggered toward the tables. Scanning the remaining occupants of the room, Byron noticed Ernx and Nintal at the far end of the hall. Bassa was nowhere to be seen, so Byron sought the company of his new friends.

  “Morning!” Ernx cried, greeting him with an enthusiastic but sleepy grin.

  “Morning,” Byron replied, dropping into his seat. Dumping his tray on the table, he reached for his fork.

  Nintal leaned away from the table and stretched. “Glad we have the day off. I couldn’t have flown today to save my life.”

  “Me neither,” admitted Byron, poking at his food. “Seen Bassa this morning?” he asked in a nonchalant tone.

  “No, but we arrived late,” replied Ernx.

  Byron managed to choke down half his food before the smell became too nauseating. The camaraderie of his friends as they chatted unsettled him, as he did not share a similar relationship with his partner. Excusing himself at the first opportune moment, Byron retreated from the dining hall. He hesitated as he passed Bassa’s quarters, aware that his navigator awaited his response. That conversation required a clear head, though, and Byron continued to his quarters.

  He straightened his living space before checking for new messages. Trindel was the only person who ever sent messages and the last note from his friend had arrived two days ago. Feeling cut off from the outside world and yearning for a word of encouragement, he reread Trindel’s previous messages. His friend sounded so content with his transporter training, passing along several amusing stories regarding the differences between shuttle and fighter ship. Byron could hear his friend’s jovial tone as he read and missed Trindel’s lighthearted outlook on life.

  Reading in reverse order, he soon found himself scanning the very first message. Byron had informed Trindel of his new navigator, and Trindel’s reply was quite amusing. The final line caught his eye and he read it twice, pondering the implication. Trindel had ended his message with a comment that Bassa must’ve seen something special in him. Byron stared at those words for several moments.

  As if a switch were thrown, his mind reached a decision. Rising from his desk, Byron exited his quarters. He came to an abrupt halt outside Bassa’s door and eyed the press plate with trepidation. Straightening his shoulders, he waved his hand over the sensor. There was no reply.

  Perplexed, it dawned on Byron that he’d no idea what Bassa did with his free time. He couldn’t begin to imagine where to search first. Returning to his quarters, he requested the whereabouts of Bassa. The ship’s computer indicated his navigator currently occupied the hydroponics bay.

  That’s an odd place to hang out, he thought.

  His curiosity overrode anxiety and he plotted a path to reach the hydroponics bay. He recalled seeing the ship’s eco-terrarium during his exploration of the Sorenthia when he’d first arrived, but never felt a desire to return. Using the telepod, he traveled to the appropriate level and approached the hydroponics bay. The double glass doors slid open and he entered the facility.

  A large percentage of the eco-terrarium was devoted to food crops. Those areas were restricted and required an escort. It was the other portion of the facility, a garden created for both oxygen production and recreation, that Byron focused his attention. At some point along the winding trails, he hoped to locate his missing navigator.

  The air was ripe with a thousand exotic scents, all vying for his attention. Byron tried to ignore the overwhelming aroma of plants and flowers as he traversed the path, but it tickled his nose. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a sharp contrast to the ship’s customary smells. He wondered why Bassa would seek the company of foliage when he obviously possessed many friends and admirers on the Sorenthia. Once again, he was reminded how little he knew about his navigator.

  Rounding a corner, Byron caught sight of Bassa sitting on a bench, his computer pad in his lap. He slowed his rapid pace, now hesitant to approach the man. Bassa looked up from his screen and noticed Byron’s presence. He nodded and gestured for the pilot to approach.

  “Morning,” he offered as Byron took a seat at the other end of the bench.

  “Morning. I’ve been trying to locate you.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Bassa, stretching his arm across the back of the bench. “I come here sometimes to work.”

  Byron glanced at the colorful foliage, most of which appeared foreign. “You like exotic plants?”

  “It’s peaceful,” Bassa explained. “I like this part of the garden, with its alien flowers and vines. I’d originally wanted to navigate an exploration vessel and view this type of scenery in its natural habitat.”

  “Really?” exclaimed Byron, surprised by the divergent vocation. “You didn’t want to navigate a Cosbolt?”

  “Exploring space was my first love. I scored so well in initial tests that a different path was suggested, though.”

  “Oh,” Byron answered, at a loss for words. He couldn’t imagine Bassa navigating an exploration vessel.

  “I believe you o
nce told me that piloting a Cosbolt was not your first choice, either.”

  “No,” he admitted. “I guess the aptitude tests affected my decision as well.”

  Byron shifted his position on the bench. Dropping his gaze to the path at his feet, he attempted to quell his growing anxiety. Bassa knew why he was there. If Byron didn’t speak soon, he’d lose the nerve.

  “I thought about what you said last night, and I’ve made my decision.”

  He’d tried to sound calm and collected, but his voice faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bassa raise his eyebrows. Feeling vulnerable, he clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

  “I want us to remain a team,” he announced.

  His thoughts out in the open, Byron glanced at Bassa. His navigator appeared skeptical of his decision, but Byron sensed relief in the man’s thoughts.