CassaStar

by Cavanaugh, Alex J.

  “Damn it, you can’t die on me! You’re the only friend I’ve got!”

  Bassa’s fingers tightened around his arm even as the rest of his body began to sag. His eyes opened and he met his pilot’s gaze. Uttering a short, desperate cry, Byron leaned closer.

  “Please,” he begged, his eyes filling with tears.

  Bassa’s lips slowly parted. “You’ll be all right, little brother,” he whispered.

  Byron stared at his friend, his mouth ajar. Unable to connect or stop the lifeblood as it poured from Bassa’s body, he could only watch as the light slowly faded from the man’s eyes. Bassa’s fingers lost their grip and his hand dropped into his lap. Byron felt his neck go limp in his grasp and Bassa’s head dropped against the seat. His navigator was gone.

  Byron leaned away, his eyes wide. The pounding in his head shifted to his chest, making it difficult to breathe. No one in Byron’s life had ever believed in him until he met Bassa. The senior officer had chosen to stand by a young man no one else wanted, gaining his trust and encouraging Byron. The man had become the one constant in his world of turmoil and uncertainty. Now his only friend was gone. Byron was alone again.

  “No!” he screamed, agony bursting from his chest. “No!”

  Closing his eyes and dropping his head, Byron shook violently as he sobbed, unable to contain his grief. The writhing, burning knots in his stomach overshadowed the scalding fire in his head, and Byron’s body felt twisted to the point of breaking. Convulsing with each racking sob, his lungs ached for air, and the mounting pain threatened to render him unconscious.

  Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Byron pulled Bassa’s limp body closer. He pressed the side of his head against his friend’s cheek, hoping for a measure of comfort as the tears continued to flow. Bassa’s parting words still rang in his ears, and only the sound of his own ragged breath penetrated the throbbing in his head. His senses numb, Byron wanted nothing more than for his body to cease feeling as well. Surrendering to his pain, he felt himself slip down that dark hole and into oblivion.

  Voices reached his ears and Byron felt hands on his shoulders. He protested the intrusion as his hold on Bassa slipped. He thought he heard his name spoken, but his focus remained on his friend as his fingers were pried free and physical contact broken. Forcing his eyes to open, Byron watched Bassa’s face vanish from sight as he was pulled over his seat. No longer able to see his navigator, he closed his eyes and allowed strong arms to lift his body from the cockpit.

  The sudden movement and jolt as his feet touched the planet’s rocky surface caused his nausea to return. Fighting the restraining hands, Byron broke free. Dropping to his hands and knees, he relieved his stomach of its contents. It eased his queasiness, but his head now pounded twice as hard, and he covered his eyes with his hand. Completely spent, he offered no further resistance as several men lifted his body and deposited him on the floating gurney.

  Once inside the medical transport, Byron felt someone wipe his face before placing a mask over his mouth. He opened his eyes and attempted to focus on the figure hovering over his body. Feeling his senses slip, Byron allowed the dark depths to overtake him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When he awoke, his head still ached, but it no longer felt as if consumed by fire. Byron refrained from opening his eyes and returned to the safety of sleep within minutes.

  He was roused long enough to consume a glass of water, and the medic escorted him to the bathroom. Once back in bed, Byron ignored the medic’s enticement to test his senses, preferring to recede into the depths once more. The lack of stimulus was preferable to the agonizing pain clutching his chest, and Byron drifted to sleep.

  We’re spinning out of control! Byron, pull up. Byron!

  He awoke with a start. His room was dark and devoid of medical personnel. Grasping the sheets in his fists, he forced the anxiety from his pounding chest. Gradually, his breathing returned to normal.

  Groaning, he pulled himself upright and leaned forward. Rubbing his forehead, Byron discovered his head no longer hurt. With great reluctance, he attempted to reach out with his mind and found he could hear the whispers of those beyond his room. His senses were returning. However, there was one voice absent in his mind, and Byron would never hear it again.

  The reality of that fact dropped like a boulder in his guts. Overwhelmed by grief and fear, Byron let out a sob. Grasping his head, he all but doubled over in agony. Pulling his knees to his chest, Byron muffled his tears in the bedcovers, worried the noise would attract attention. His whole body trembled as the ache in his heart threatened to consume him. Byron’s only friend in the world was gone and he was on his own.

  Spent at last, he dried his face. His ragged breath seemed loud and unnatural in the sparse room. The surroundings were as empty as his heart, and he closed his eyes. Exhausted, Byron fell back against his pillow and willed his body to return to the void of sleep. If he couldn’t feel Bassa’s presence, then he preferred not to feel anything at all.

  When he awoke, Byron discovered a medical technician in his room. Uttering a soft moan, he pulled himself upright.

  “How are you feeling?” the man asked, glancing away from the monitor over his head.

  “Better,” Byron muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  “Everything here looks good.” The officer turned to face him. “Senses returning?”

  Byron nodded, his eyes averted. He felt the man probe his mind, testing for a response, and Byron locked his shields into place.

  “I need to access your recovery,” the technician admonished.

  Irritated by the request, Byron lowered his shields. He hated the sensation of another man poking around in his mind and did not hide his disdain. The experience was brief, though.

  The medical officer straightened his shoulders. “You will recover,” he stated. “And since we are in desperate need of beds right now, I see no reason to hold you here any longer. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

  Byron was content to put on the clean clothes and retreat from the medical facility. The hour was very late and he reached his quarters unnoticed. Too tired to shower, he crawled into his bed and was asleep within minutes.

  He awoke feeling stiff and his muscles protested as he arose. Painkillers probably suppressed the soreness while he was in medical, but those drugs had apparently worn off now. Staggering to the bathroom, Byron went through the motions of showering. He discovered numerous bruises on his body as a result of the rough landing. Considering how hard his Cosbolt had struck the ground, he was surprised his injuries were not more severe.

  Recalling that moment caused his chest to ache once again. Unwilling to dwell on such a painful memory, Byron requested a meal in his room. He’d not eaten since yesterday morning and was beginning to shake from a lack of food. When the meal arrived, he forced every morsel into his mouth despite the unappealing aroma.

  The unpleasant task of his mission report was all that remained. Sitting in front of his computer, Byron cleared his mind. He preferred to forget yesterday’s tragedy and wipe it from his thoughts forever. Determined to get through the report quickly, he disconnected all feeling and concentrated on the facts.

  His ship’s recorder had been recovered and uploaded. He watched it only once, recording the details as it played. Byron could not bring himself to watch the final moments, especially after witnessing the laser hit that ultimately killed Bassa. He completed his report and discovered he was trembling.

  Leaning away from the screen, Byron closed his eyes. His mind could not shake the image of Bassa’s dying face. He could still smell the blood, mixed with the foul stench of burnt metal and charred flesh. Bassa’s final words hung in his ears, mocking him with the implausibility of his navigator’s dying statement.

  I’m not going to be all right without you, he thought.

  Annoyed with the rising tightness in his chest, Byron sent his report and rose from the chair. A message from medical flashed on the screen, requesti
ng his return for a full evaluation. Eager to complete the procedure and be done with medical personnel, he departed at once.

  The facility was busy and it was over an hour before he returned to his quarters. His senses had fully recovered and he supposed he should feel grateful the disrupter hadn’t hit him full force. Considering what was lost yesterday, he almost wished his Cosbolt had crashed into the planet and ended his misery all together.

  Byron had no sooner requested the midday meal when his door chime announced a visitor. He was tempted to ignore the request. Byron just wanted to be alone in his misery. With reluctance, he permitted entry and his door slid open to reveal Ernx and Nintal’s anxious faces.

  “Byron?” Ernx asked with obvious hesitation.

  Irritated by the invasion of his privacy but relieved to see a friendly face, he offered a solemn nod. Ernx entered his quarters and approached Byron with caution.

  “We were worried about you,” he offered, gesturing toward his navigator as Nintal entered the room.

  “I’m fine,” muttered Byron, although it was far from the truth. He grasped the back of a chair with one hand and affected a casual pose.

  Ernx paused at his side, his eyes full of sympathy. Byron found it difficult to meet his gaze, and he grasped the chair even tighter. Raising his hand, Ernx touched Byron’s shoulder.

  “Byron, we’re really sorry about Bassa,” he said in a hushed voice.

  Nodding once, Byron’s chin dropped and his gaze shifted to the table’s surface. His mind remained closed and feelings restrained. Byron refused to reveal the depths of his agony to anyone.

  Ernx’s fingertips squeezed his shoulder before releasing Byron. The pilot glanced at Nintal and took a deep breath.

  “We’re on our way to the dining hall,” he announced. “Thought you might like some company.”

  The prospect of facing the other officers caused Byron to feel ill. “I’m still tired. I’ll take my meal here.”

  Nintal appeared about to protest, but Ernx nodded. “All right. Let us know if you need anything,” he offered.

  Turning to depart, Ernx paused in the doorframe. He frowned, his eyes filled with concern.

  “We’ll come by before the evening meal, all right?”

  Byron did not respond. His friends departed and the door closed.

  He choked down half of his meal before discarding the remainder. This morning he’d been starving, but food held no appeal now. His body still ached and he wondered if he could entice it to sleep all afternoon. Slumber was preferable to consciousness at the moment.

  Byron was about to remove his boots when a message flashed across his computer screen, accompanied by an urgent beep. His presence was required at once in the commander’s office. Sighing with resignation, he indicated that he would comply.

  Passing several officers in the hallway, Byron kept his eyes averted and mind closed. Arriving at the commander’s office, he was permitted entry the moment he announced his presence. The senior engineer was speaking with Kernen, explaining the figures in his damage report, and the commander indicated Byron was to wait. Kernen finished with the engineer and dismissed the man.

  “Officer Byron, have a seat,” the commander instructed, his eyes on his computer screen.

  Byron slid into a chair, straightening his shoulders to prevent slouching. The commander completed his task before turning his attention to the pilot.

  “Medical has cleared you to return to active duty tomorrow,” Kernen announced. “You are to report to the simulator for Darten training.”

  Byron’s eyes widened in surprise. “The Darten, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes. You are one of my best pilots and I need you in a fighter.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, unsure how he felt regarding his new assignment. At least it did not force him into partnership with another navigator.

  “I’ve been over your report and discovered no errors in judgment,” the commander continued. He leaned back in his chair and cocked one eyebrow. “Actually, I’m amazed you were able to land your ship in one piece. The course you selected would’ve been next to impossible under normal circumstances, let alone when subjected to a disrupter blast.”

  Byron merely nodded. The commander’s assessment of his abilities meant little now. His piloting skills had not been enough to save Bassa yesterday.

  Folding his hands in his lap, Kernen gazed silently at the young pilot. Mental shields in place, Byron maintained a neutral expression. The commander’s brows came together, his eyes scrutinizing Byron. The harsh lines on his face smoothed away as Kernen’s expression softened.

  “I lost a lot of good men yesterday,” he admitted, his voice slow and full of purpose, “including Bassa. We are now deprived of his incredible skill and wealth of knowledge, and that can never be replaced. I lost a good friend yesterday, Byron. I know you lost even more.”

  Gritting his teeth, Byron forced the ache in his chest to subside. However, the lump in his throat remained and he was unable to respond beyond a curt nod. The commander leaned forward and pressed several buttons on his computer pad.

  “You have been given access to Bassa’s quarters. I suggest you spend your afternoon gathering his personal belongings and data files.”

  “Me, sir?” Byron gasped.

  “Bassa had no living relatives and listed you as beneficiary,” Kernen informed him, his gaze flicking to the computer screen. “You will have access to all of his files.”

  Byron swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” he answered with uncertainty. He’d not anticipated this development and felt unworthy to receive all that remained of Bassa.

  Kernen leaned back in his seat, his expression thoughtful. “I’ll never forget Bassa’s request for a special consideration,” he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “A pilot of incredible talent was completing his training and despite a lack of experience, I’d be a fool not to request his assignment to the Sorenthia. He promised I wouldn’t regret the decision. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I was acquiring the best navigator in the fleet in the deal as well.”

  Byron’s shoulders relaxed, although he could not bring himself to return the commander’s grin. He knew Kernen would’ve refused had Bassa not accompanied him.

  The commander’s eyes narrowed. Placing his elbows on the desk, he leaned forward, his expression earnest.

  “I asked him why he’d return to flying under such conditions and his answer surprised me. Bassa stated you were the opportunity he’d been seeking.”

  Byron shifted in his chair. “He was waiting for a pilot who could jump?” he asked, aware his talent was quite rare.

  The commander’s eyebrows rose. “Son, he wasn’t referring to your skills as a pilot.”

  His controlled expression dissolved, giving way to surprise. Byron felt perplexed by the commander’s response. Before he could request an explanation, Kernen spoke again.

  “Perhaps you will find the answer this afternoon,” he offered. Kernen’s gaze flicked to his door as another visitor was announced. “Dismissed.”

  Retreating from Kernen’s office, Byron pondered their exchange. He arrived at the officers’ level and approached Bassa’s quarters. What would he discover behind that door? As much as his heart ached, did he really want to know?

  Passing his hand over the press plate, Byron watched as the door slid aside without hesitation. Glancing down the hallway to verify he was alone, he entered his navigator’s quarters and surveyed the main room.

  Bassa’s quarters were immaculate, as they had been two nights ago when they shared a drink. It was a trait he and Bassa had in common, although his abode appeared far more sterile. His navigator had decorated the walls with his numerous plaques, and several personal items dotted the room. The table sat empty, but Byron could still see the two glasses and bottle of spirits. The memory of that moment felt like a knife in his side. Their plans to explore space together were now shattered. Byron turned away from the table, his heart heavy.


  Locating two travel cases in the closet, he set them on the bed and began to remove the plaques from the walls. Byron cleaned out the cabinets and discovered Bassa’s medals in the process. Stunned by the additional honors, as his friend had never discussed his awards, he wondered what else he might find. Carefully packing the medals in the first travel chest, he secured the fragile cargo with one of Bassa’s flight suits. He didn’t bother with military issued items or clothing outside of the one flight suit. Only personal belongings mattered to Byron.

  The last remaining item was Bassa’s desk. The workspace was clean, save for one lone photo. Byron picked up the frame and gazed at the image. Taken just before the Sorenthia visited Spaceport 89, the picture showed Bassa and his pilot beside their ship, arms crossed as they leaned against the Cosbolt. Byron recalled trying to present a serious expression, but a private thought from Bassa had elicited a smile from his pilot. Coupled with Bassa’s grin, the resulting image was very candid and natural.