CassaSeries

Chapter One-2

In two days, I report to Guaard to begin the final stage of training, he thought, pleased with his accomplishment.

His triumphant thoughts faded when the door opened. A woman with features quite different from Byron appeared in the doorway. Sherdan regarded him with caution, her eyes scanning his face even as her mind probed his thoughts. Annoyed by the invasion of his privacy, Byron shielded his mind. Sherdan frowned with obvious displeasure.

“Just as guarded as ever,” she said, her tone neutral.

“Did you really think I’d change?” Byron said, offering a smug smile he knew would irritate his sister further.

“Of course not. That would be asking the impossible.”

This time it was Byron’s turn to scowl. He enjoyed exchanging words with his sister, but only when he held the upper hand. Judging from her sarcastic tone, Sherdan’s expectations for her brother remained low. He’d struggled with feelings of inadequacy as a child and refused to be saddled with her poor opinion now.

“I didn’t have to come here you know,” he said, prepared to beat a hasty departure.

His sister sighed and set her lips in a thin line. Offering a curt nod, she stepped aside. Wary from the cold reception, he entered Sherdan’s home.

Her new dwelling appeared much larger than her previous home. Byron’s sister had bonded with a mate and now shared his abode, although he did not appear to be present at the moment. Relief settled over Byron. He could imagine the image Sherdan had painted of her troubled younger brother.

Byron followed his sister into the food preparation room. Several vegetables lined the counter, their colors bright in an otherwise colorless room. He’d viewed so many white rooms as a child, shuffled from one facility to the next, that the surroundings caused unease. He slouched against the counter as Sherdan reached for a cutting knife.

“So,” she said in a loud voice, her eyes focused on the vegetables, “are you still in training?”

“I just completed simulator training,” he stated with pride, still leery of Sherdan’s tone. “I leave for Guaard in two days. In six months, I’ll be certified.”

Sherdan shook her head. “My brother, piloting a Cosbolt!”

“And why is that so difficult to imagine?” Byron said, grasping the edge of the counter with both hands.

“It requires a great deal of discipline.”

“And you think I’m incapable? I finished at the top of my class.”

Sherdan ceased her activity and regarded her brother. Byron met her steady gaze, his fingers almost digging into the counter in an effort to control his anger. His sister might still doubt his abilities, but she could not argue with the facts.

“Then that is quite an accomplishment,” she said at last.

Relief rather than pride colored her tone. Sherdan’s indifference jabbed at his heart. Outside of their blood ties, bond existed between the siblings. Without further thought, Byron blocked that painful realization from his mind. He’d wasted his time coming to see his sister.

“Were you staying for dinner?” she said.

“No,” Byron said, leaning away from the counter. “I’m heading back tonight, so I need to go.”

“I wish you well then,” Sherdan said, returning to her task.

Hands dropping to his sides, Byron stared at his sister. She paused in her cutting and turned to face him.

“You never cared,” he said, his words more of a statement than an accusation.

Sherdan set down the knife. “Byron …” she began, her thoughts filled with exasperation.

“That’s all right,” Byron said with a shrug. “Makes this all the easier.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the door and retreated from the unpleasant scene. If his sister asked Byron to return, he missed her entreaty, as his mind’s shield prevented all mental voices from entering his thoughts.

His resolve to pursue a life far from Cassa entrenched even deeper in his heart now. Most of his life had been spent without family or friends, and his last tie to this planet never existed. No bonds or restrictions remained and Byron freed to do what he wanted. Success at last.

And yet after the exchange with his sister, a shallow victory at best.

Rolling his head to the right, Byron peered out the tiny portal window. The vast expanse of space appeared dark and uninviting, the blackness consuming and surrounding everything. Even two hundred hours in the simulator couldn’t prepare him for the emptiness of endless space. Byron wondered if the unnerving sensation would affect his first actual flight in a Cosbolt.

“We’re approaching Guaard,” said a voice near his ear. A shoulder pressed against his own. “Do you see anything yet?”

Byron shook his head and frowned, his eyes still on the distant stars. If they drew near the dark moon, his vantage point provided no view.

“We’re probably on the wrong side of the ship,” he said.

“Damn!” came the immediate reply, and his seatmate’s position shifted.

Turning to confirm his assumptions, Byron discovered the young man leaning into the aisle in an attempt to see out the windows on the other side of the vessel. His eagerness to see Guaard bordered on comical.

You’ll never grow up, Byron thought.

Trindel possessed a childlike spirit at total odds with his actual age. He viewed every new experience with wonder, and made no attempts to hide his zealous curiosity. Byron was eager to view their new home as well, but revealing that fact to his navigator might fuel his behavior.

During his year of simulator instruction, Byron endured seven different navigators. Three lasted less than a week, while the others fared little better in his company. He’d run out of choices when the instructors placed Trindel in his cockpit. Sensing the desperateness of the situation and troubled by potential failure from no suitable partnership established, Byron made every effort to work with this navigator. At first, he doubted their pairing would last, given Trindel’s lighthearted and open nature. He came to trust the enthusiastic and often naïve young man, despite the differences in personality and style.

Maybe we balance each other, he thought as Trindel continued to strain for signs of the moon.

Their simulator flights improved once he accepted Trindel. Byron realized Trindel’s hyperactive mind lent itself well to the many duties required of a good navigator. His partner projected his thoughts rapid fire, almost to the point of reckless inhibition, but that resulted in an incredible reaction time. Byron learned not to question those swift judgment calls. Whereas the other navigators’ thoughts came across as commands, something he detested, Trindel’s words were but suggestions and snippets of information. Byron responded better when in command of his decisions. As a result, they completed simulator training at the top of their class.

“You’re right! Damn, why didn’t we sit on that side of the ship?” said Trindel.

Byron glanced beyond his navigator to the seats on the other side. The young men were all staring out their windows, their excited voices filling the craft. They had a fine view of the ship’s final destination. This fact caused Byron’s navigator a great amount of distress, and anxiety emanated from Trindel’s mind.

Byron took a deep breath and suppressed the exasperation that rose within his mind. Be patient with him. He’s your only friend.

“Trindel, you’re going to see it every single day,” he said.

“I know,” said Trindel, glancing at his pilot. “I just want to see it now. I’ve never been off Cassa before.”

Neither have I, Byron thought, his words audible only to his navigator.

Trindel ceased his desperate efforts to peer out the far windows and settled in his seat. I just wanted to see our new home, he thought, his head still turned.

Smiling to himself, Byron stretched his arms. It continues to amaze me our pairing is so successful. Your overeager behavior ground on the nerves of your previous potential pilots. We mesh well as a team though. And you penchant for mischief and foolish antics aligns well with my rebellious inclinations. Just as long as we always maintain a high level of precision and perfection during flights.

Glancing out his window, Byron realized the ship had altered its course. “Well, if you really want a view of the moon…”

Trindel pressed against his shoulder, the young man’s excitement projecting in his thoughts. Forcing his body deep into the seat, Byron leaned closer to the window in an effort to avoid being crushed. Why hadn’t he taken the aisle seat?

“It fills the sky!” Trindel said, his voice loud in Byron’s ear.

On a direct course with the moon, the ship’s current speed brought them closer at a fast rate, and Guaard loomed larger by the second. Craters and mountains were visible, but Byron could not locate the training facility. Judging from their trajectory, the complex sat on the dark side of the moon at the moment.

Trindel leaned back in his seat and Byron glanced at his navigator. His expression full of anticipation, Trindel grinned and winked.

“Welcome to our new home,” he said with pride.

Byron mulled over that statement. Guaard is just a dead moon orbiting a cold and lifeless planet. I doubt it will feel like home. Then again, I’ve never resided in a location I called home.

The transport ship soon reached the base. From his vantage, Byron watched as the giant hangar doors opened while the vessel’s progress slowed to a mere hover. The ship’s pilots maneuvered the nose forward and the transport slid into the hangar. A moment’s pause ensued after the ship came to rest while the exterior doors closed. The walls began to move and Byron realized they were moving down a tunnel toward another set of doors. His eyes widened when the transport entered the main hangar.

The facility stretched beyond his sight. Room for a dozen transports existed in the massive building, and several vessels were in evidence. However, it was the rows of Cosbolts that caught his attention. Lined in perfect formation, the sleek fighters rested on the far side of the hangar. His eyes remained on the ships until the transporter’s course took them out of view.

When the ship’s movement ceased, the men received instructions to disembark and retrieve their bags. They were to then follow the escort and assemble in the receiving room. The facility’s instructors awaited their arrival.

“Here we go!” Trindel said with an enthusiastic smirk.

Rising to his feet, Byron followed his navigator. Trindel’s eager steps were slowed by the process of thirty young men exiting the ship, but soon they were trotting down the ramp. The moment Byron’s feet touched the hangar floor, he glanced in the direction of the Cosbolts. Provided just a brief moment in which to admire the sleek fighters, the escort instructed the men to secure their bags. Fighting the urge to defy his very first order on Guaard, he located his bag in the accumulating pile on the floor and joined the men waiting in line.

The last man secured his bag and the line began to move forward. They marched across the hangar and exited through a set of double doors. Turning to the left, the men entered a large room.

“Three rows of ten!” the escort commanded.

Byron’s gaze fell upon five officers standing at attention on a raised dais, observing the men. The new arrivals began to fall into place as instructed. Byron paused, allowing Trindel to reach his pilot, and his moment of hesitation placed him at the far end of the second row. This pleased Byron, though. He relished his accomplishments and status as the best team but preferred to blend in as an individual.

Once everyone stood in position, bags resting on the floor, the young men snapped to attention. Facing forward, Byron’s gaze soon drifted to the five officers. The elevated level of authority permeated the room and he knew they would not tolerate any foolish pranks here on Guaard. Judging from the stern expression on the senior officer’s face, the next six months promised the most unpleasant of the young men’s short lives.

The senior officer stepped forward, his hands behind his back. He set his jaw and scanned the trainees.

“You have been sent here for the final stage of Cosbolt training,” he said, his deep voice echoing in the large room. “And I will be sending half of you home before it’s over.”

He paused, his gaze traveling across the men’s faces. Byron kept his expression neutral and eyes forward.

“For the next six months, we will instruct and evaluate each and every one of you. This facility boasts the most decorated officers in the fleet. To my left are Officers Char and Morden,” he announced. “They oversee all navigator training. Officers Jarth and Rellen are responsible for the pilots.

“And I am Senior Officer Bassa,” the man stated in a voice that smacked of authority. “I am in charge of this facility. I decide who becomes Cosbolt pilots and navigators and who goes home.”

Byron clenched his teeth. He refused to be sent home in shame. Too many years of his life had been lost at the hands of others for Byron to allow one man to decide his fate now.

The sound of a boot striking the floor returned him to the moment. Officer Bassa stepped down from the platform and began to examine the line.

“There are no days of rest here,” he said. “You will train each and every day for six months. Time will be spent in the classroom, the simulator, and in actual flight. And just as in real life, one mistake will cost you. If your judgment proves faulty or you lack discipline, you will suffer the consequences.”

Bassa moved as he spoke, inspecting each young man’s appearance. He finished his statement just as he reached the second row, and the senior officer hesitated at Byron. With the man’s final words ringing his ears, the intense scrutiny of Bassa’s gaze fell on Byron. Resentment rose in his thoughts. Bassa knew of his chequered past. He suppressed his feelings, lest the senior officer detect his negative attitude. Judging from Bassa’s hardened expression, he’d already interpreted Byron’s unguarded thoughts.

To his relief, Bassa moved to Trindel. His shoulders relaxed as the weight of the senior officer’s scrutiny transferred to another man. Byron had just arrived and already he was tempting fate. He resolved to maintain a tighter rein on his feelings.

“You will be escorted to your quarters and then to the dining hall,” Bassa said. “After the midday meal, you will be provided an extensive tour of the facility. Tomorrow, you will be expected to know the layout by heart. Those who fail to report on time…”

Bassa paused at the end of the second row, his penetrating gaze falling on every pilot and navigator. The men awaited his next words.

“…will find themselves on the first transport home. Dismissed!”

All thirty men turned and filed out of the room. Byron took a deep breath as he exited.

Bass might be tough, but I’ve survived worse, he thought.

Bassa remained in place, watching their departure. The other instructors fell in line behind the young men, with the exception of Rellen. He paused at Bassa’s side and waited until the last person exited before speaking.

“Too early to tell,” he said.

“We’ll know more by the end of the week,” he said, sensing a purpose behind Rellen’s casual comment.

His senior officer nodded and moved from Bassa’s side. Rellen hesitated, flashing his superior an inquisitive look.

“He bears a resemblance,” he said in a low voice.

Bassa’s gaze flickered to Rellen. “Yes, he does.”

Taking a deep breath, Bassa considered that fact. The young pilot’s appearance caught him off-guard, and the momentary hesitation uncharacteristic of him. In person, Byron appeared almost identical to his brother. Shocked by the similarity, he failed to take Byron to task for his obvious resentment of the scrutiny. Bassa would be careful to monitor future meetings and exchanges with the young pilot.

“And I fear his attitude is even worse,” he said.

“We’ll watch him close, then,” Rellen said.

Bassa remained in the receiving room after Rellen’s departure, his mind mulling over the situation. He could not allow his feelings regarding Tal to interfere with the handling of this young man. Judging from his background information and unguarded thoughts today, Byron was capable of challenging his authority without assistance. To maintain control, a higher standard needed implentation, and that applied as much to him as to Byron.

“Damn you, Tal,” he muttered under his breath.