Byron frowned at the photo. On Guaard, Tal’s picture had occupied Bassa’s desk. He didn’t recall seeing the photo when he packed and glanced around the room to be sure he hadn’t missed it. He’d visited his friend’s quarters often but failed to notice the absence of his brother’s photo. Shaking his head, he chastised himself on his poor observation skills.
Eyes returning to the image, Byron thought of his friend’s fondness for photos. Bassa had often recorded images with his computer pad. There were so few moments in Byron’s life worth remembering, but he wished he possessed photos of his time with Bassa.
A thought occurred to Byron and he reached for Bassa’s computer. His friend probably kept those images in a file. Since he’d been granted access to his navigator’s personal files, it was only a matter of transferring the information to his private database.
It felt odd that he could now view Bassa’s personal information. Rather than spending time examining the details, he simply assigned the files to his own. He proceeded down the list, saving each and every document and transcript. He paused to explore a file loaded with images, but the pictures all predated their meeting. He decided to examine the photos later and saved that file as well.
Reaching the last file in the database, he paused. Simply labeled ‘Byron,’ it gave no indication as to the contents within. Curious, he explored the file and discovered four separate areas. The first section contained information from his official and personal record. His complete history and profile were represented, and he frowned at the discovery. Noting his Cosbolt training record, Byron remembered that as his instructor, Bassa had enjoyed full access to his files. He’d apparently saved them for future reference.
Exploring the next file, Byron opened what appeared to be a journal chronicling Bassa’s personal experiences. Confused as to why this was located in his file, Byron scanned the entries. The first one was written not long after his arrival on Guaard. It described a pilot in training whose cocky, indifferent attitude stemmed from loneliness and insecurity rather than malice or rage. Bassa concluded his assessment that all the boy needed was a friend. Byron’s eyes widened in disbelief and he scanned the other entries. Every single one was about him.
Uncomfortable with the thought of invading Bassa’s privacy, Byron moved to the next file. A prerecorded video flashed on the screen and he leaned back in the chair. His chest tightened when Bassa’s image appeared, and he realized the recording had been made from his very position.
“Good day, Byron,” said Bassa’s image, a faint smile on his face.
Byron’s mouth fell open. Bassa had recorded a message for him.
“I’ve enjoyed flying with you, more than with any other pilot,” continued Bassa, leaning back in his chair. “However, I realize that one day we’ll be forced to part company. I’m not a youngster anymore and my stamina isn’t what it used to be. Therefore, you are watching this for one of two reasons. Either we have parted company, as I refuse to hinder your career as a pilot, or …”
Bassa took a deep breath, his gaze dropping. “Or I am no longer among the living. Either way, I’m sorry I cannot continue as your navigator. It’s been an honor.”
Byron swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. Had Bassa known he was going to die?
“I’m not a master with words, but there are several things you must know.
“When my brother was killed, I blamed myself. If I’d been his navigator, Tal wouldn’t have died. I felt my only absolution was to prevent other Cosbolt teams from meeting a similar fate. That is why I transferred to Guaard.
“But as time passed, I realized it wasn’t my refusal to join Tal that bothered me. It was the fact I didn’t even know my younger brother. We were never friends. And it wasn’t just Tal. I really wasn’t close to anyone.
“I wasn’t looking to save a talented young pilot. I was looking for a friend. And I found that in you, Byron. Your friendship is what I needed. There were days I doubted I’d ever earn your trust, but I knew I couldn’t give up trying. You’d had enough people give up on you. I wasn’t going to be one of them.
“You were my answer, Byron. Your friendship has finally set me free from guilt.”
A tear rolled unchecked down Byron’s cheek. His breath was ragged and forced. Unable to tear his eyes from the screen, he stared in stunned disbelief as his friend continued to speak his heart.
“I only have one request,” Bassa implored, leaning closer to the screen. His serious expression matched the intensity in his eyes. “Whatever you decide to do with your life, be sure the path is your choice. Don’t let anyone decide your fate. And don’t waste time running from your past, as I have done. You have nothing to prove, Byron. Not to me, not to anyone.
“Byron, you were never a replacement for Tal. He was a stranger to me. You are not. You are the brother I’d always wanted. And I couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.
“I love you, little brother. And Byron, I promise; you’ll be all right without me.”
Bassa leaned forward, his hand outstretched. Before the screen went black, Byron caught tears in his friend’s eyes, and that final image burned into his mind.
The ensuing silence was deafening. Byron allowed a soft gasp to escape his lips. He’d leaned closer to the screen during the course of the recording, resting one arm on the desk and clenching his fist so tight that his nails now dug into his palm. The emptiness of the room matched the emptiness in his heart. Unable to hold back the flood of grief, Byron let out a sob as his head fell onto his forearm.
This time, he did not have to contend with a scorching headache. No one threatened to intrude during his moment of pain. Secluded in Bassa’s quarters, Byron allowed his sorrow to flow without inhibition. The wrenching agony and frustration that burst forth from his thoughts hurt, but it was a relief to release the painful emotions and memories that filled his mind.
Empty and exhausted from his exertions, Byron raised his head and dried his face. He stared at the dark screen and felt a pang of regret.
“I never told you thanks, brother,” he gasped, his voice cracking.
Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Byron rubbed his eyes. When he refocused, his gaze fell upon the numbers in the corner of the screen. Leaning closer, he realized it was the date of the recording. That number felt so familiar and he searched his mind for its meaning. And then it hit him. It was the day after Bassa was struck by the disrupter blast, and the time stamp revealed the recording was made in the late afternoon.
You said you were tired, Byron thought. But you came back to your room to make this recording.
Byron leaned back in his chair, recalling the events of that particular day. He and Bassa had connected mentally that morning as they attempted to restore his friend’s senses. Byron had feared that moment, and not just because it would leave him exposed. He’d worried what he might find in his friend’s mind. Much to his surprise, he’d discovered understanding, acceptance, and genuine friendship within the thoughts of his navigator.
You knew how I felt, he suddenly thought, realizing that his feelings were equally apparent that day. The recording he’d just watched was proof. Bassa had looked into his heart and found the trust and friendship he so desired.
Byron quickly saved the recording in his own files, determined not to lose the video. It was probably the only recording of Bassa’s voice. He checked the fourth file and discovered a gallery of images. There were shots of Byron by himself as well as the two of them together. He even noted a couple photos of Bassa alone. He wished there were more, but at least he now possessed some visual account of the man who’d become his closest friend.
Finishing his task, Byron retrieved Bassa’s computer pad from its drawer and surveyed the room one last time. Nothing else remained. Stacking the crates, he carried them to his quarters. There was just enough room in his tiny closet and he set the two crates inside. There would be time later to explore their contents in depth. Right now, he craved sleep.
The announcement of a visitor at his door roused Byron. He swung his legs off the bed and staggered to his feet, his mind still groggy. Ordering the door to open, he grasped the back of a chair for support. Looking up as the door slid aside, he was not surprised to see Ernx and Nintal’s anxious faces.
“Were you asleep?” Ernx asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Byron rubbed his eyes. “That’s all right. I needed to get up.”
Nintal leaned forward. “It’s time to eat,” he announced.
Byron regarded his friends with caution. The thought of facing the other officers unnerved him. They probably blamed him for Bassa’s death. Those who didn’t would have a million questions.
“Not ready to go out yet,” he explained, reluctant to say more.
“Byron, we’ll be with you,” exclaimed Ernx, entering his quarters.
His friend’s company would be an asset, but Byron still felt hesitant and shook his head. Nintal stepped into the room, allowing the door to close. He stood up to his full height and fixed Byron with a stern expression.
“You can’t hide in here forever,” he said in a loud voice. “You’re still a pilot and a member of our squadron. I know you don’t want to, but you’ve got to face the other officers. And the sooner you do it, the better!”
Blinking in surprise, Byron stared at Nintal. His friends comprised one of the youngest teams in his squadron, but they were still several years his senior. Nintal had spoken with authority and from the look in his eyes, he was not about to back down.
“Byron, please come with us,” Ernx added in a softer tone.
Byron finally acquiesced to his friend’s request. They allowed him a moment to get ready, and then Ernx and Nintal escorted him to the dining hall. Byron’s relief at the sight of a small crowd was offset by the knowledge that many were absent due to injury or death. He felt grateful Ernx and Nintal weren’t killed yesterday. He’d have no friends at all aboard the Sorenthia.
Tray in hand, he followed Ernx to the table. It felt as if everyone was watching and he avoided making eye contact. Taking an end seat, his friend sat across from him while Nintal took the place at his side. Eager to escape the dining hall as soon as possible, Byron began to inhale his food.
His friends engaged in idle conversation while they ate, respecting Byron’s silence. He sensed their concern, but was afraid to reach out mentally beyond his immediate company. Focused on his food, he managed to consume half of his meal before nausea overtook him. Unable to finish, Byron pushed aside his tray. He retrieved his water and leaned against the table.
“Where are we now?” he asked when Ernx met his gaze.
“Sector 97-161.”
“Didn’t go far,” he murmured. Byron downed his water and set the glass on the table. Feeling self-conscious, he crossed his arms and pressed his elbows against the table.
Nintal cleared his throat. “The Vindicarn ship broke orbit and headed into deep space. The Sorenthia and Lathella remained long enough to gather downed crews before setting off in pursuit. Both ships were damaged, although I hear the Lathella is in far worse condition,” he added.
Byron nodded, his eyes on his tray. “Was the mission a success?” he asked. If Bassa had sacrificed his life for nothing …
“Three of the Dartens were able to transmit data,” Ernx replied, setting down his fork. “The information is being analyzed now.”
“How many Dartens made it back?”
Ernx and Nintal exchanged nervous glances.
“Only one,” Ernx answered, his expression solemn.
The news was sobering. Byron decided not to inquire how many men were lost during the course of the fight. He’d discover that soon enough. The teams had gathered information, though. It didn’t ease the loss of Bassa, but at least his death held meaning now.
When his friends finished, Byron indicated he was ready to depart. They rose together and he led the way toward the exit. As he passed the first table, a man rose to his feet. Byron scowled as Wentar touched his shoulder. After their previous exchange, he wanted nothing to do with the man.
“Byron,” Wentar said, his fingers squeezing Byron’s shoulder. The pilot’s expression mirrored his sympathetic feelings. “I am truly sorry about Bassa. He was a damned fine officer.”
Sensing the man’s words were genuine, Byron nodded in acceptance. He felt a hand touch his other shoulder and turned to discover Hannar at his side. Ernx and Nintal moved closer to protect him, but Byron did not feel threatened. The officers surrounding him, and those seated at the nearest table, expressed only sympathy and understanding. He departed the dining hall a little more secure in his position with the squadron.
He scanned through some of Bassa’s files, but reading his navigator’s words only made the man’s absence more pronounced. Byron retired early to his bed and the opportunity to empty his mind. Tomorrow he’d return to active duty alone and he didn’t relish the idea.
After the squadron briefing the next morning, he reported to the simulator for training. The Darten handled much lighter than the Cosbolt and he spent the session adjusting to the movement. Navigating on his own was also a challenge. He missed Bassa’s guidance. He’d not realized how much his friend’s presence bolstered his confidence and he missed the support.
Displeased with his first efforts, he requested an afternoon session and returned after the midday meal. His second attempt in the Darten proved more successful and Byron felt his proficiency improve. One more day of simulator runs and he’d master the craft well enough to rejoin the squadron.
As he finished eating that evening, an announcement came over the com system. The presence of all officers was required at once in the main hanger. Those gathered in the dining hall rose to their feet and Byron followed suit.
“I wonder if they have a plan for destroying the Vindicarn ship,” said Ernx, falling in step beside Byron.
“We can only hope,” he declared.
Officers had just begun to gather when they arrived. Byron and his friends waited as the men assembled. The commander and senior squadron officer were deep in discussion while squadron leaders and senior officers congregated to one side. Byron listened with interest to the whispered speculations ofthose nearby. The buzz in the room grew as more officers entered and soon he could not hear his own thoughts. The close proximity of so many bodies was growing uncomfortable. He was about to move toward the side when the senior squadron leader called for silence.
“The battle with the Vindicarn vessel claimed the lives of many good men,” he began when the room grew quiet, “and we honor those who gave their lives for this mission.
“Three of the Dartens successfully transmitted data on the enemy ship. We now have a much clearer view of the inside.”
The screen behind Forllen lit up, displaying a transparent image of the Vindicarn ship. The majority of the vessel was only a shell, but three areas revealed interior details. The image enlarged, focusing on one specific area.
“Team Two’s pilot managed to navigate to the core of the ship,” he announced, gesturing toward the screen. “He had to make one jump to clear a vent grating before locating the disrupter core behind this wall.”
The image enlarged again, and the chamber housing the main disrupter filled the screen. Byron eyed the view with interest. A ship the size of the Darten would be but a speck in comparison.
“The chamber can only be accessed by teleportation. The pilot could locate no direct access from the outside vents and the walls are too thick to blast through. However, he was able to scan the chamber and provide us with a clear view of the interior. From the information gathered, we believe a direct hit on the disrupter core would
set off a chain reaction and destroy the ship.
“Intelligence scouts confirm this is the only disrupter ship in the Vindicarn fleet,” Forllen declared, his voice loud as he scanned the men. “We take out this ship, we eliminate the Vindicarn’s greatest weapon.”
A small commotion broke out as the men murmured to one another. Byron took a deep breath, his gaze on the disrupter core. Destroying the ship would tip the scales in their favor and might even end the war.
“However,” the senior squadron leader exclaimed, his voice rising above the noise. The men fell silent, their attention on Forllen.
“However, there remains one obstacle. While the heat encountered inside the core’s chamber can be reduced by reinforcing the Darten’s shields, hopefully protecting the pilot’s mind as well, the effects of the disrupter on the teleporter’s power cannot. Team Two’s pilot reported a slow drain on his device’s energy even through the reinforced walls, so we speculate that once inside the chamber, the teleporter’s power would be drained instantly. A pilot teleporting into the chamber would have no means of escape.”
CassaStar Page 24