CassaSeries

Chapter Five-1

Chapter Five

Byron landed his ship with the utmost precision, pulling back on the throttle as the fighter glided down the runway. Easing into position, his navigator’s assistance joined in and took over. A second later, the runners locked into place and ship came to a halt.

Closing his eyes, Byron willed his muscles to relax. Today’s session exceeded intense. Bassa had run him through numerous scenarios and multiple jumps, pushing his limits to the extreme. Byron performed the maneuvers without error, but it required every ounce of energy to maintain the necessary level of concentration. Adjusting to the nuances of Bassa’s style of navigating added to the challenge as well.

Once his initial solo sessions completed, Byron assumed all subsequent lessons would involve Trindel. To his dismay, Bassa insisted on one flight a week with his pupil. Byron found these flights uncomfortable. He was familiar with Trindel’s subtle guidance and presence in his head. Bassa’s navigation was more assertive and commanding. Byron didn’t enjoy sharing his thoughts with the senior officer, either.

Their vessel taxied into the hangar and Byron shut off the engines. His emerged from the cockpit slow, his nerves still on edge from the flight. Grasping the side of the ship to steady his trembling body, he realized Bassa waited for him at the foot of the ladder.

Your flight today was good! Bassa thought as Byron descended the steps with care. I sensed fatigue after the final jump, though.

I was still able to perform, sir, Byron thought, turning to face the senior officer.

You must understand your limits. That is the primary purpose of our solo flights.

Yes, sir, Byron answered, his thoughts guarded.

Bassa’s eyebrows came together, his gaze scrutinizing the young man’s face. Byron couldn’t hide his physical exhaustion, but he refused to divulge his mental state. He tolerated the invasion of his mind during their flights out of necessity. However, outside of the cockpit he preferred privacy.

I will be taking the evening meal in my office, Bassa thought. You will join me.

Dining with the senior officer held no appeal, but it was order rather than a request. Yes, sir.

With a nod, Bassa took his leave. Apprehensive, Byron retreated to the flight room to change. Bassa had a purpose for their meeting tonight. Byron wondered what aspect of his attitude required adjustment this time.

Trindel visited his quarters just before the evening meal. Byron’s navigator had enjoyed a couple hours of free time today and his high spirits reflected that liberty. His afternoon anything but relaxing, Byron resented his lack of opportunity to rejuvenate during the meal.

“How was the flight?” Trindel said, leaning against the door.

“Exhausting,” said Byron, rising from his chair. “I’d rather fly with you.”

Trindel grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Appreciate that! So, it was tough today?”

“Very!” said Byron, rubbing his eyes. His temples still throbbed from the multiple jumps and he contemplated taking a sedative for the pain. His headache would only increase during the evening meal.

“Just hate having him in my head,” he said.

His navigator shifted his feet. Frowning, Byron gestured for Trindel to speak.

“Byron, you don’t like anyone in your head,” he said.

“I don’t object to your presence.”

“Only because I’m your navigator,” explained Trindel. “Otherwise, I doubt I’d enjoy that privilege.”

Taken aback by his words, Byron stared at his navigator in disbelief. His friendship with Trindel wasn’t just out of necessity. Their exchanges were genuine. Byron remained open with his friend, and the trust ran beyond their professional relationship.

However, the validity of Trindel’s statement struck Byron even as he tried to deny the possibility. He’d not allowed any individual to penetrate his thoughts until their pairing over a year ago. The years of impersonal instructors and specialists probing his young mind caused Byron to develop an impenetrable mental shield. The sensation of another’s presence in his head invaded his privacy, and he’d gone through several navigators before discovering one whose thoughts didn’t feel hostile. Trindel become his last option at that point, which lent truth to his statement. Byron allowed the navigator access to his mind because he had no other choice.

Stunned by this realization, Byron didn’t know what to say. Closing his mouth, which had fallen open as he processed Trindel’s observation, he stared at his friend.

“It’s okay,” Trindel said, shrugging his shoulders. “Doesn’t bother me. You’ve got your reasons for privacy.”

Byron nodded, still searching for the right words to say. Trindel flashed him a smile and pushed away from the door.

“Ready for the evening meal?” he said, quick to dismiss the whole conversation.

Shoulders slumping, Byron shook his head. “I’m to report to Bassa’s office.”

“Oh? Why?”

“He probably wants to berate me further. I’ll find out soon enough,” he said, glancing at the time.

“Maybe it’s something good!” Trindel offered, touching the door panel. “I’ll catch you later. Enjoy yourself.”

Enjoy myself, right, Byron thought. He did not relish the idea of sharing a meal with the man.

He did make an effort to adjust his attitude by the time he reached Bassa’s office, though. The senior officer bade him to enter and Byron cleared his mind as the doors opened. He entered and noted two trays of food on the desk.

“Have a seat,” said Bassa.

Byron sat down and edged his chair closer to the desk. The senior officer had not touched his food yet. Bassa waited until Byron situated himself before lifting his fork.

“I think you will find this a more suitable meal,” he said, stabbing a slice of meat.

Byron wondered if the officers ate better than the trainees. Judging from the generous portions and appetizing smells, his assumptions were correct.

Hunger eluded him when Byron arrived, but his appetite returned as the delicious aromas enveloped his nose. Selecting a piece of meat slathered in sauce, he lifted the fork to his mouth. The taste and texture rivaled the best meal he’d ever experienced on Cassa.

Raising his gaze, he realized Bassa watched his reaction. He swallowed and nodded, reaching for his napkin. The senior officer smiled.

“More to your liking?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bassa retrieved another piece of meat and Byron followed suit. The strips were fresh and bore none of the processed flavor predominant in the dining hall’s fare. He tried the vegetables next and the crispness surprised him. The bread tasted fresh as well.

“Today was our last session,” Bassa announced. “You and Trindel must be sharp for your final two weeks of training.”

“We’re finished, sir?”

“Yes, I believe we established your limit today. A dozen jumps is still ten above average,” he reminded Byron when the young man’s mouth opened. “You comprehend the parameters of your ability and can transfer your own energy to the teleporter without error. You and Trindel have performed to my satisfaction as navigator and pilot. If you complete the course, you will receive my recommendation.”

“If, sir?” said Byron.

Bassa c****d one eyebrow. “There are still two weeks remaining.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Byron, his gaze returning to his food.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Byron knew the senior officer watched him, but he refrained from making eye contact with Bassa. His mental shields sat locked in place, protecting his private thoughts. The instructor appeared to be gathering information by observation alone, though. The intense scrutiny further rattled his nerves.

As he finished his meal, Byron heard Bassa shift in his chair. The noise caused him to look up and the senior officer met his gaze.

“Why did you want to be a Cosbolt pilot?”

Bassa’s question caught him off-guard, and Byron searched for a suitable reply. “For the prestige, sir,” he said, affecting a nonchalant pose. “For the chance at a life beyond Cassa.”

The senior officer did not respond and continued to gaze at Byron. Sensing Bassa waited for more, he swirled the remainder of his food with his fork. Contemplating the real reason behind his motives, Byron pressed his lips together and frowned.

“And because it was the only profession for which I possessed any aptitude,” he admitted with reluctance. “Sir,” he added, aware he’d responded without addressing the senior officer in a proper manner.

“Piloting a fighter was your only option?”

Byron nodded, his eyes still on his plate.

“The next two weeks will decide your fate then.”

Byron set down his fork, no longer interested in his food. The thought of failing as a Cosbolt pilot after almost a year and a half of intense training sent a wave of nausea through his stomach. If he did not pass the course, Byron had no idea what else he’d do with his life. So few options remained.

“Has my fate already been decided, sir?” he said, his voice bold despite the gnawing fear in his stomach.

Bassa reclined in his chair and crossed his hands in his lap. “No, it has not. It’s still up to you.”

Puzzled by the response, Byron stared at the senior officer. Something told him more resided the senior officer’s statement than the obvious.

“Is there something you wish to say?” said Bassa, breaking into his thoughts.

Shifting in his seat, Byron realized that while his mind remained shielded, his expression was not so easily concealed. Frustrated by Bassa’s powers of observation, he decided to take a bold approach.

“Do I have what it takes to successfully complete this course, sir?”

“As far as your skills as a pilot, yes,” Bassa said. “It’s your mental state that concerns me. All that talent and ability requires discipline and responsibility. Overconfidence leads to mistakes. I need to be certain that when I send you out to the fleet, you are capable of making the right choices. If I haven’t properly prepared you on all levels, then not only have I failed, I’ve cost the life of a valuable young man and pilot. And your death would be a terrible waste, Byron.”

The senior officer’s words perplexed Byron. “A waste, sir? I’m not sure I understand.”

Bassa’s expression turned solemn. “Before I became an instructor, another talented young pilot trained here on Guaard. He did not possess your talent for multiple jumps, but he was just as skilled. He entered the fleet determined to prove his worth and gain the attention of his fellow officers. His career was cut short less than two months later when a bold maneuver and jump resulted in a collision with an asteroid.”

Leaning forward in his seat, Bassa regarded Byron with a stern look. “I don’t want you to suffer a similar fate. I will do everything in my power to ensure you have a long and successful career. Understood?”

Byron could only nod in agreement, caught off-guard by the rare hint of emotion in Bassa’s voice. His concern appeared genuine, although Byron couldn’t imagine why. His previous instructors possessed no need for a troublesome young man, and he suspected the senior officer despised him as well.

“That is why I have gone to great lengths to ensure you are prepared,” Bassa said. “It is now up to you, Byron.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, still confused.

Bassa moved his tray aside and leaned back in his chair. “That was all I wanted to discuss with you, pilot. Unless you have another question, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” said Byron, pushing back his chair.

His gaze fell on the photo adorning Bassa’s desk. Feeling brave, he decided to satisfy his curiosity.

“Sir?” he said, rising to his feet. “If I may ask, who is that in the photo?”

Bassa’s gaze flicked to the frame. “That was my younger brother, Tal.”

“Was, sir?”

“He died many years ago.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Byron, feeling awkward. “Thank you for the meal.”

Retreating from the room, he emitted a sigh of relief. He’d survived the experience, which in fact was not as agonizing as he’d anticipated. Bassa gave him much to ponder.

His future was in his hands. Byron’s performance had to be perfect the next two weeks. He could not fail now.

The men dressed in silence, the weight of the day’s exercise suppressing the normal chatter. Byron’s thoughts were somber as he pulled on his flight suit and even Trindel uttered not a sound. The instructors had placed a great deal of emphasis on the success of their flight, proclaiming it the trainees’ greatest test. Considering it was only the first day of their weeklong assessment, Byron felt wary.

Upon entering the hangar, he noticed a transport shuttle near the drones. A single officer waited by the open hatch, and even from that distance, he could see the man’s security badge. Byron assembled with the other men, he gaze still on the visiting ship. The last trainee fell into place and Bassa began to speak, diverting Byron’s attention.

“The next few days are critical. They will determine your success or failure,” he said, his jaw line tight. “We begin the testing process today with what will be your most difficult task. Shooting drones is easy, as they are but mere machines. Once you have joined the fleet, the ships you destroy will contain living beings.