CassaFire

by Alex J. Cavanaugh

  “You’re not canceling the Hlerre Festival tomorrow night, are you?” she asked. The semi-annual event, held to give thanks for another season of prosperity, was one of her favorites.

  “No,” Orellen announced. “In fact, I’ve invited Commander Korden and his crew to join us for the celebration. Relations always seem to improve over food and spirits.”

  “And dancing!”

  Her uncle’s expression exhibited astonishment and Orellen set down the papers in his hand. “You don’t intend to dance with the Cassan officers, do you?”

  Athee winked. “Just one,” she said, closing the door before her uncle could voice a protest.

  The Hlerre Festival wasn’t the largest of their celebrations, but it presented the most relaxed atmosphere. The formalities were brief, which meant more time for revelry. With good food and a variety of local spirits, inhibitions would lower as the evening progressed. Athee intended to take advantage of the situation and seek Byron’s company. Surely, he couldn’t maintain an air of professional detachment all night.

  Maybe I’ll finally see past that confounded shield of his, she thought.

  Chapter Seven

  Jump!

  Outside, the stars vanished. Athee maintained her lock on the teleporter and their destination. The device hummed in her mind, charged by psychic energy of her own creation. On cue, the sky over Tgren appeared. Clutching the throttle tighter, Athee confirmed the shuttle’s steady flight before glancing at Byron.

  “Did I do it all?” she gasped, doubting what she’d just experienced.

  “Yes, that was all you.”

  Athee let loose a jubilant cry. She confirmed their flight pattern before her gaze returned to her instructor. To her surprise, Byron grinned. His genuine pride in Athee’s successful solo jump displayed not only in his eyes, but in his thoughts as well. It was a rare moment the reserved Cassan allowed any emotion to escape his mind. Athee felt privileged.

  I felt your presence though, she thought, turning the shuttle on a gradual arc.

  Just as a precaution. I am still responsible for your safety, Byron reminded her. You had control of the ship and the teleporter, though.

  Was that the correct amount of power?

  Yes.

  She smiled, pleased with his assessment. Byron was the expert on the transference of mental energy into the teleporter; she was fortunate she shared his unique ability.

  Who trained you? Athee thought, curious if his teacher also shared that trait.

  My Cosbolt instructor and navigator.

  A stray thought flickered through his mind, one Athee had caught during previous exchanges. Bassa? she asked, hoping she’d interpreted the name correctly. As if on cue, Byron’s mind closed.

  “Yes,” he answered, shifting in his seat. “Now, let me guide you in landing this ship. It requires a smooth touch.”

  Together, they brought the ship down on the runway. Concentrating hard, Athee mimicked his moves. She observed with interest as he shut off the engines and essential system controls. Her plane boasted only a handful of gauges and switches, while the shuttle’s entire control panel glowed with buttons, dials, and screens. It was a complex vessel, but Athee thought she could fly it in a pinch. Perhaps next time he would allow her to take off as well.

  Byron released his harness, but made no move to rise from his seat. Athee realized his energy was waning and knew this was her window of opportunity.

  “You’re not missing the festival tonight, are you?” she asked, removing her harness and turning to face him.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, frowning with annoyance as he pulled at the strands. “I’ll be there,” Byron answered, shaking his head. “Damn, one of these days I need to make time for a haircut.”

  The locks fell back into place. Parted in the middle, the tips touched the top of his cheekbones. In Athee’s opinion, the thick strands framed his face well.

  “I think you look fine for the festival,” she assured Byron, rising to her feet. “Better get some rest, though.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll need energy for dancing.”

  Leaning forward, Byron slowly rose to his feet. “Sorry, I’ve no experience with Tgren dance moves.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  He met her eyes, his expression reluctant. Athee funneled her energy into persuading Byron to dance with her tonight. He was aware of her manipulative powers and was likely to balk at her efforts. Athee had learned subtlety, though. She could mask her mental persuasions and move the wills of others without detection. In his exhausted state, Byron’s mind was no match for hers.

  “All right, one dance,” he declared, his eyes narrowing. “I refuse to make a fool of myself, though.”

  “Would I allow you to look foolish?”

  Athee exited the craft with an extra spring in her step. Persuading him to dance with her was a small victory. Tonight, she planned to accomplish even more.

  Byron made a trip to the Rennather before the evening’s festivities commenced. Several scientists accompanied him, including Mevine. Commander Korden had ordered everyone on Tgren to take a night off from their duties. The science officers had worked nonstop since their arrival, and the men were due for a break. Proper casual attire was required, as the men were to blend with the natives while still maintaining a certain level of professionalism. Judging from the prevailing odor in the shuttle’s main cabin, Byron hoped that included a shower. No one would approach the science officers in their current condition.

  Upon his return to the surface, Byron retreated to his quarters to change. Dressed in his finest tunic and pants, he emerged from the Cassan facility. The night air felt comfortable; devoid of the customary stifling heat. He took several deep breaths to clear his head. He had to remain in control tonight.

  Following two junior officers to the festival, Byron entered Ktren’s primary courtyard. The Tgrens had gone to great lengths decorating for the event. Flowers were strung on wires across the court, the thin cords twining around the light poles that dotted the main square. Vendors occupied the edges of the yard, taking advantage of the gathering crowd. Tables filled with local cuisine occupied the inner row of booths, free and available for consumption. Byron hoped the accompanying spirits were also free of charge. He wondered if he possessed anything of value to trade should he find payment was required.

  Music filled the air and he noticed a group of musicians near the center of the square. At the moment, no dancers moved in rhythm to the beat. Hearing the complexity of the piece, Byron cringed. Why had he promised Athee a dance? He couldn’t keep pace with the music, let alone manage un known dance steps. His mind began to scheme ways in which to break their agreement.

  The smell of food diverted Byron’s attention. He approached the nearest table, laden with exotic fruit and vegetable dishes. An older woman beckoned him to try a bite. He sampled the dish with hesitation. The vegetables were sweet and he licked the spoon clean. Nodding to the woman, he waited while she filled a bowl. Thanking her for the food, he scanned the square for refreshments. Catching sight of Officer Illenth with a drink in his hand, he approached the man.

  “Byron!” the psych officer called in greeting. “Glad you decided to join the festivities.”

  “I could hardly refuse Korden’s order,” Byron answered with a wry grin.

  “And why would you want to?” Illenth demanded, holding up an overladen plate of food. “No one throws a party like the Tgrens.”

  “Well, all I need right now is a drink.”

  The man led Byron to another booth and he secured a glass of dark purple spirits. The fruity taste was more subtle than the smell, which threatened to overpower his senses. He decided it would suffice. Illenth moved through the gathering crowds and toward a string of tables. Over the commotion, Byron heard his name called. He caught sight of Mevine at one of the long tables. Indicating his choice to Illenth, they joined Mevine and another science officer.

  “Have you t
ried the berry wine?” Mevine asked, holding up his glass. A small trace of red liquid remained. Judging from the lad’s relaxed expression, it was not his first drink of the evening.

  “I’ll try it next,” Byron answered, peering into his glass. “Not sure what I have now.”

  “It’s made from rtrax,” Illenth announced, holding up his drink. “A small, round fruit that grows near the river. It’s a Tgren staple.”

  “You’ve been here a while,” Byron observed, scooping a spoonful of vegetables into his mouth.

  Illenth grinned. “I arrived here a week before the last Hlerre Festival. Tgren’s the best assignment I’ve had in years.”

  Mevine finished his drink and rose from the table. “I need to try rtrax wine,” he announced before scurrying away from the table. His rapid movement did little to hide his uneven gait.

  Byron shook his head. Guess I better keep an eye on the boy, he thought.

  He sampled two more dishes and a yellow bread that crumbled sweetly in his mouth. Byron located the source of Mevine’s berry wine and sampled that brew as well. The young man’s penchant for nervous chatter increased with each sip of his drink. The alcohol revealed a bolder side to Mevine. His antics amused rather than annoyed Byron. At least Mevine was a happy drunk. Garnce’s negative and belligerent attitude grew even more unpleasant when he drank. Byron preferred to avoid the sour pilot tonight at all costs.

  The music came to an abrupt halt. A voice over the crackling intercom system announced the arrival of the prefect. Byron glanced over his shoulder, mildly curious. He caught sight of the man as he entered the main square. Attired in elegant and regal clothing, Orellen was not alone. His son accompanied him, dressed in similar attire and strutting with his chin held high.

  Unimpressed, Byron’s attention shifted to the woman on the prefect’s arm. His mouth fell open when he noticed a familiar trail of long hair. He pivoted in his seat to get a better view.

  Clad in a bright red, sleeveless shirt and long, multi-colored skirt, he hardly recognized his protégé. Athee’s hair was pulled away from her face and tied with red ribbons, the length of her tresses brought forward across one shoulder. Her gait was graceful as her uncle led her to the center of the square. Orellen faced his niece and the music began again in earnest. Istaner extended his hand to a young woman waiting at the edge of the square. The two couples began to dance while everyone else watched. Mesmerized by the change in the woman’s appearance, Byron’s eyes were on Athee as she danced with her uncle. She couldn’t be the same person.

  “It’s tradition,” said Illenth, breaking into his thoughts.

  “What is?” Byron asked, glancing briefly at the man before his attention returned to the main square.

  “The prefect and his family enjoy the first dance of the evening,” the man explained, leaning closer. “The prefect normally dances with his wife. I guess Orellen began dancing with his niece after the death of his wife.”

  “From her thoughts, I perceive they are close.”

  “The prefect considers her part of the immediate family. Athee lost her father shortly after the prefect’s wife died. I understand her mother died some years ago.”

  Byron shot Illenth a startled look. “I didn’t realize both her parents were dead.”

  Illenth’s brows came together. “You’ve been working with her for weeks now,” the man stated, implying Byron should’ve known.

  “I haven’t delved that far into her mind.”

  If you’re not connecting on all levels, then how do you know the full capacity of her abilities? Illenth thought, not bothering to conceal his stunned disbelief.

  Remember, I can hear what others can’t. I don’t need to go deep to access her powers.

  The man’s brows remained furrowed. However, his answer apparently pacified the psychic officer. Illenth turned his attention to his glass, downing the last of his drink. Byron returned to observing the center court. He continued to follow the Tgren woman as she moved across the dance floor. He knew the extent of her abilities. Illenth might object to his lack of full connection, but Byron didn’t need to dig deeper to know Athee’s powers rivaled his own.

  The music ended, eliciting a round of applause from those gathered. The prefect escorted Athee from the dance floor. Byron lost sight of them in the swirling crowd. He glanced at his companions and realized only Mevine remained at the table. The lad tipped back his glass and emptied its contents.

  Better slow down, Byron thought, taking another sip of his wine.

  Why? Am I drunk? Mevine thought, his eyes wide as disbelief resounded in Byron’s head.

  No, but you will be soon, and you’re not sleeping it off in my quarters.

  The dance square filled as the music began once more. Commander Korden stopped by their table, pleased to see the men enjoying their evening. Byron held his breath, worried Mevine’s deteriorating condition would reveal itself in the boy’s words or uninhibited mental transmissions. Somehow Mevine managed to shield his thoughts long enough to fool the commander, and Korden continued on to the next table. Byron permitted the young man to refill his drink with the promise that this glass would last more than ten minutes.

  He’d just finished his wine and risen to his feet when Byron noticed Athee approaching. Their eyes met and her face lit up with joy. Feeling trapped, Byron set his empty glass on the table and waited. Athee stopped in front of him, a full glass of spirits in her hand.

  “Enjoying the festival?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am,” he told her, his fingers on his empty glass. “Good food and good drink.”

  “Have you tried Jtal?” Athee said, holding up her glass.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  She held it out for him to sample and Byron hesitated. “I’ve not even had a sip yet,” Athee promised. And I assure you it’s not poisoned.

  Byron took the glass from her hands and raised it to his lips. The difference in quality struck him immediately. This was the good stuff.

  “Knew you’d like it,” she said, retrieving her glass and setting it on the table. “Now, I believe you promised me a dance.”

  “One! And you better make me look good.”

  Athee’s expression was one of amusement. Before she could respond, Mevine’s voice broke into their conversation.

  “Damn, have you tried the Jtal?” he gasped, coming to an abrupt halt at Byron’s side. His eyes widened as Byron and Athee turned to face the young man.

  “Officer Byron, I’m sorry,” he stammered, his speech further impeded by his state of intoxication.

  “That’s all right, Mevine,” Byron answered. “Can you watch Athee’s drink while we dance?”

  Mevine stood at attention, the movement causing the liquid in his glass to slop over the edge. “Yes, sir.”

  Byron let Athee lead him onto the dance floor. She positioned his hands and instructed him to follow her movements.

  You taught me how to fly a shuttle, now I’ll teach you how to dance.

  Her comment elicited a smile from Byron. Fair enough.

  The music began and she stepped to the left. He followed her movement, feeling self-conscious. Athee projected her next move, visualizing the steps in his mind. With that assistance, he mirrored her actions with more accuracy. Allowing her to guide him with her thoughts, Byron’s confidence grew with each step. Smiling at his partner, he realized that she was grinning in return.

  You don’t feel foolish, do you? Athee thought.

  Straightening his back to his full height, Byron eyed her with suspicion. Not unless you intend to embarrass me.

  Not tonight anyway.

  The tempo picked up and Byron was again forced to concentrate on her mental guidance. He followed Athee as they glided across the dance square, weaving around the other couples with ease. By the time the music stopped, he’d mastered the steps.

  Offering a round of applause for the musician’s skillful playing, they returned to the table. Mevine flashed Byron a foolish grin. F
eeling strangely self-conscious, Byron avoided meeting his eyes. Athee retrieved her drink and cocked her head at Byron.

  “Would you like a glass of Jtal?” she said.

  Byron nodded and she pressed her drink into his hands. “Take mine. I’ll get a fresh glass.”

  Before he could protest, she whirled away and vanished into the crowd. Sinking onto the bench, Byron took another sip. It was by far the best spirit of the evening, smooth and not too sweet. He wished he’d discovered it first.

  Setting his glass on the table, he noticed Mevine staring at him. The young man grinned, mischievous thoughts dominating his mind.

  “Is that the pilot you’ve been training?” he said, enunciating his words with care.

  “Yes, that’s Athee.”

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  Byron leaned his arm on the table. “Mevine, she’s a Tgren.”

  “She’s really pretty,” the lad offered.

  “She’s also the prefect’s niece,” he said with exasperation.

  “And she obviously likes you,” Mevine countered, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm.

  Byron leaned away and grasped his glass. There was no arguing with the lad in his present condition, though he did ponder Mevine’s observation. He’d not considered Athee’s interest anything but a desire to satisfy her own curiosity regarding flying and her psychic abilities. If the intrigue extended beyond their professional relationship, Byron didn’t want to encourage the situation.

  Athee returned, a fresh drink in her hand. “Have you explored the booths around the courtyard?” When Byron shook his head, she extended her hand. “Let me point out the finer delights of Ktren then.”

  With reluctance, he accepted her hand and rose to his feet. Byron glanced at Mevine, reluctant to leave the young man alone. If he was to explore the grounds with Athee, he preferred an escort as well.

  “Can you walk?” Byron asked, suppressing his skepticism.

  Mevine arose, grasping the edge of the table to steady his actions. “I can walk,” he declared, his fingers curling around what remained of his drink.