CassaSeries

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The small, formal ceremony came to a close, concluding with the joyous shouts of twenty young men. Thirty-six started the program six months ago, but of those gathered today, Byron doubted any thought about the ones who’d failed. They were officially Cosbolt pilots and navigators now.

Byron returned to his quarters to retrieve his gear. The men were departing at once for Cassa and three days of much needed leave. He couldn’t even remember his last free day. Byron intended to live it up until he reported for his first official assignment as a pilot. He still needed a navigator, which might require another month or two on Cassa, but that problem could wait. Three days to revel in his success sounded wonderful.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he surveyed his quarters one more time before departing. Byron jumped when the door panel opened and he discovered Trindel waiting. His friend appeared just as surprised.

“Sorry!” Trindel said, adjusting the bag in his hand. “Thought we could go down to the shuttle together.”

“Sure,” Byron replied with a shrug.

Trindel fell in step beside him as they moved toward the lift. Neither seemed inclined to speak; a testimony to the unease between pilot and navigator. Byron still resented his friend’s decision to pursue another career, although he’d suppressed his hostile feelings while they completed the program. Trindel apologized numerous times, almost to the point of annoyance. Byron knew he acted childish by ignoring his navigator’s attempts to make peace, but betrayal still nagged at his thoughts. They managed to set aside their differences during their flights, but the rift in their friendship continued to separate the two men.

Another team joined them in the lift, and the men’s eager banter regarding their trip to Cassa elicited a smile from Trindel. The young man’s amusement bubbled forth from his thoughts and a twinge of guilt for acting so harsh the past few days tugged at Byron. Despite his mixed feelings, he’d miss Trindel’s sense of humor and overzealous spirit. If not for his navigator, Byron’s smile would’ve remained hidden during their training.

The officers awaited the men at the transport. Each instructor offered his congratulations to the new junior officers as they boarded the ship. Byron accepted the handshakes and salutes with a grin, proud of his new title and rank.

The senior officer was the last to speak to the men before they entered the ship. Bassa wished Trindel well in his next career as the young man stepped on the ramp. Byron moved forward and offered the senior instructor a proper salute.

“Thank you, sir, for all of your assistance,” he said. And for believing in me.

“As you will soon discover, I have total faith in your abilities and skills, Byron,” the senior officer said, the hint of a smile on his lips.

His choice of words puzzled Byron. Before he could speak again, Bassa held out his hand.

“Safe flying, pilot.”

Byron returned his handshake and offered a rare smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He proceeded up the ramp and into the ship. Stowing his bag with the others, he glanced around for Trindel. Most of the men had spread out across the cabin in pairs. Byron located his friend sitting by himself. Another wave of guilt struck him. Trindel had tried so hard to seek forgiveness, and Byron returned his gestures with cold indifference. The return flight to Cassa might be their last opportunity to spend time together. Indeed, it might be the last time he ever saw his friend. Straightening his shoulders, Byron decided to bury his resentment and just enjoy Trindel’s company.

He paused by the open seat and his friend looked up in surprise.

“Can I sit here?” said Byron.

“Of course,” said Trindel, straightening his posture.

Byron dropped into the seat and stretched his long legs. He didn’t know what to say to Trindel, and battled with his reluctance to speak. Discussing his thoughts and feelings was not Byron’s strength, and admitting he mistakes even more difficult. However, he possessed precious few friends. Byron didn’t want this friendship to end on a sour note.

Still struggling with his words, Byron cleared his throat. “You do realize,” he said, his eyes on the hands in his lap, “that my next navigator won’t be half as good as you.”

Without raising his chin, Byron cast a sideways glance at his friend. Without a moment’s hesitation, Trindel flashed a broad smile.

“I appreciate that,” he said, gratitude reflected in his eyes.

“You were there when I needed you,” Byron said. “We made a damned good team, too.”

Trindel nodded, his eyes dropping. “Byron, I’m sorry…” he began, fingers plucking at the armrest.

“You’ve apologized enough!” said Byron, holding up his hand to forestall Trindel’s words.

His friend flashed a pitiful look, his eyes wide. Byron leaned his head against the seat and the final twinges of anger left his body.

“I just wish you the best,” he said, offering his friend a faint smile.

Trindel didn’t speak, but relief poured from his friend like cascading water. Nodding, Trindel returned his smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

The exchange lifted a great weight from Byron’s shoulders. His mind at once shifted to a new subject.

“So, what are you going to do for three days?”

“I’m not sure,” Trindel admitted. “I’ll probably go see my family. I guess I have a whole week to decide my next career path. I’ll stay with navigation, but not sure in which field.”

He paused. “What are you going to do?”

Byron shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

“Maybe we can spend a day or two together before I go see my family?” Trindel offered, his voice tinged with hope.

Meeting his friend’s gaze, Byron smiled. “That would be great!” he said, pleased with the offer.

Trindel’s grin grew to enormous proportions and Byron discovered he mirrored his friend’s expression.

The transport began to move and the men prepared for takeoff. As the ship taxied out of the hangar, a renewed sense of hope washed over Byron. His future partner might be uncertain, but at least his friendship with Trindel remained intact.

Bag slung over his shoulder, Byron maneuvered through the heavy foot traffic. The military terminal bustled with activity today, as evidenced by the crowds wandering the facility. He darted around the slower moving men, determined to catch his ship before it departed.

Locating the correct terminal and launch bay at last, Byron hesitated just inside the massive opening. His gaze fell on his ship and he realized it no ordinary transport occupied the space. A massive, deep space vessel filled the hangar, dwarfing the two smaller ships nearby. He gasped and stared in awe at the ship. Just where was the fleet sending him?

Noting cargo and equipment waiting at the loading dock, Byron realized he had a few minutes to spare. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied an open computer station in the hallway. His assignment unavailable earlier, Byron was eager to discover his destination. He slipped over to the computer station and punched in his security code.

Holding his breath, he watched his profile information scroll across the screen. He hoped the fleet wasn’t sending him to a remote base on a desolate moon. Without a navigator, though, his options remained limited.

Noting an update to his profile, he scanned the new information. Reading the notification under ‘Current Assignment,’ his mouth fell open in disbelief. He reread the first line again, afraid it was a mistake. Byron could not hide his foolish grin as he realized his incredible good fortune. His first assignment was the flagship Sorenthia!

His mind reeled at the news. The deep space cruiser was legendary. The ship had participated in numerous battles and her captain rumored as one of the top commanders in the fleet. The Sorenthia possessed an elite reputation, and men earned the right and honor to serve with her crew. Byron hadn’t even considered this assignment a possibility. Commander Kernen never accepted pilots fresh out of training. Experience and a high recommendation were required to serve on the Sorenthia. Bassa promised high marks, but Byron didn’t possess combat experience.

Byron scanned the information once more, but discovered no mention of a navigator other than ‘pending.’ He’d have to wait until he arrived on board the Sorenthia to satisfy that curiosity.

Even with multiple jumps, which required more energy but carried the ship a greater distance, the journey to reach the Sorenthia consumed most of the day. The deep space transport carried predominantly cargo and supplies. The only passengers besides Byron were three medical personnel. He conversed with the men during the first hour of flight, but after that, he kept to himself. The rhythmic pulses of the teleporter grew far more inviting, and Byron’s mind focused on the unique sensation. Soon he would take his first flight as an official Cosbolt pilot.

Past time for the evening meal, the transport arrived at last at the Sorenthia’s location. Byron regretted the lack of view from the shuttle. Adrenaline surged through his system as the transport landed and he couldn’t wait to disembark. After almost two years of training, his first official assignment awaited him!

Retrieving his bag, Byron exited the vessel behind the three medical technicians. A fellow medical officer greeted and welcomed them aboard the Sorenthia. As they stepped aside, Byron realized someone awaited his arrival as well.

“Officer Byron?” the ensign inquired.

“Yes,” he said.

“Welcome to the Sorenthia. Would you come with me please?”

Byron followed the young man as he led him out of the hangar. He did not want to appear unseasoned, but his gaze travelled across the hangar, absorbing his new surroundings. Once they entered the hallway, Byron kept his eyes on his escort. The ensign navigated two hallways before stepping into a lift, his gaze averted. Byron was curious, but refrained from asking questions.

From that point, they traversed another long hallway, passing several men as they walked. Byron observed their curious stares and maintained a neutral expression, his thoughts shielded. The scrutiny unnerved him, and it came as a great relief when his escort paused by a closed door.

“These are your quarters, sir,” he said, gesturing to the press plate.

Byron waved his hand over the panel and the door slid aside. He stepped into a room larger than his quarters on Guaard, although just as sterile. In addition to a bed, workstation, and storage area, a small table and two chairs occupied the room. Another door opened to a bathroom, which also appeared more spacious than his previous quarters.

“Sir, you just missed the evening meal, so someone will bring you food shortly,” the young man informed him, his high-pitched voiced almost squeaking from the effort. “Further instructions are located in your file. You are to report to Officer Larnth this evening. You can access the ship’s layout for the location of his office on your computer.”

Byron nodded, and without another word, the ensign departed. The door closed, leaving Byron in the silence of his quarters.

Dropping his bag on the bed, he decided a shower was in order before anything else. The cold water felt good on his face, but he did not linger in the bathroom. He still needed to eat and locate Officer Larnth’s office before his appointed meeting with the man.

An ensign arrived with his meal and Byron consumed his food in front of the computer, studying the floor plan of the ship. Locating the appropriate section, he calculated the quickest route. He smiled as he realized the teleporter pods were now available for use. No longer would he be forced to rely on slow and cumbersome lifts!

Departing early, he located the nearest teleporter pod. Once again, local personnel noted his presence. Curious eyes fell on him as Byron passed each man, questioning his right to be in that area. He pretended not to notice and acted as if he was at complete ease with his surroundings. One aspect he could not ignore, though; every man he encountered was several years his senior.

Teleporting to the appropriate corridor, Byron emerged just a few steps from Officer Larnth’s door. Hearing sounds in the distance, he glanced down the hallway. Satisfied his passage would go unobserved, he approached the office. Pausing at the closed door, he adjusted his uniform and took a deep breath. Unable to delay any longer, he reached for the panel.

“Enter!” a voice commanded over the com link.

The door slid aside and Byron lifted his chin as he entered. He took three steps and came to an abrupt halt. He’d grown accustomed to Bassa’s immense office, but this room lacked even a third of the size. Byron regained his composure and waited by the chair opposite of Larnth’s desk. He stood at attention, his eyes facing forward, and waited for the officer to speak first.

The man behind the desk leaned away from his computer screen. “At least you’re punctual.”

“Yes, sir,” Byron said, wary of the man’s opening words.

Out of the corner of his eye, Byron noticed Officer Larnth’s skeptical expression. The man’s dark, thick hair carried over to his eyebrows, which were pulled together in a scowl. Byron’s thoughts already guarded, the sight of Larnth caused his defenses to lock into place. They had just met, but already Byron could sense the man didn’t like him.

“You have been assigned to my squadron, Officer Byron,” he said in a voice as cold as death. “Under normal circumstances, I’d protest the inclusion of a rookie pilot fresh from Guaard.”

Byron met his gaze, but did not speak. He’d not expected a warm welcome, but the resentment in Larnth’s words did not set him at ease.

“However, I’ve been informed your navigator is one of the best in the fleet. I will expect your performance to match his excellence, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Byron said with as much respect and enthusiasm as he could muster.

Officer Larnth glanced at his screen. “I understand you’re a jumper,” he said, his tone less severe.

“Yes, sir.”

“You are to maintain a low profile of the ability. I’ll not have my pilots performing reckless multiple jumps.”

“Understood, sir.”

Leaning back in his chair, Larnth stared hard at Byron. “Your navigator arrives tomorrow morning. You will both report to briefing room nine at 700 hours for squadron assignments.

“Commander Kernen is expecting you as well. His private office is on level fourteen, section two. Dismissed.”

With a nod, Byron turned on his heels and beat a hasty retreat from Larnth’s office. Nerves still quivering, he entered the teleporter pod and visualized his destination.

The prospect of an assignment on the Sorenthia, once so inviting, now soured in his gut. Byron questioned his own desire to remain at this post, despite the honor. The resistance toward his presence unsettled him. Bassa’s glowing recommendation had placed Byron in yet another awkward situation.

Emerging from the telepod, he glanced in both directions before proceeding. Byron stood at attention as two senior officers passed, but they didn’t notice his presence. Annoyed by his failure to study the ship’s layout in depth, Byron elected to move away from the officers and try his luck at that end of the corridor first.

To his relief, the commander’s office was clearly marked. He paused at the door and reached for the press plate.

One moment, echoed a voice in his mind.

Startled by the non-verbal response, Byron stepped aside to wait. A moment later, the doors slid open. Two officers emerged, and he was told to enter.

The layout of the commander’s office appeared inviting and a sharp contrast to Larnth’s. Byron had only a split second to observe the numerous personal effects, photos, and awards before a deep voice commanded his attention.

“Officer Byron?”

He turned to face the commander. “Yes, sir” he said, standing at attention.

The man retrieved a bottle from an ornate cabinet. “Take a seat,” Kernen said, gesturing with a glass in his hand.

Byron slid into one of large chairs opposite the desk. He watched the commander pour two drinks before returning the bottle to the cabinet. Retrieving the glasses, he approached Byron.

“I trust you’ve seen your quarters and met with your squadron leader?” he said, handing Byron a drink.

“Yes, sir,” he said, accepting the glass. “Thank you, sir.”

The commander nodded and took a seat at his desk. Byron estimated Kernen the same age as Guaard’s senior officer. He sported a similar weathered and seasoned appearance, his eyes filled with a wisdom that came from age and experience. The commander possessed a persona of complete authority due an officer of his rank, but an air of openness exuded from him as well. Byron hoped this meeting would be more pleasant than the previous one.

“I can’t recall the last time I accepted a pilot fresh from Guaard,” Commander Kernen said, taking a sip of his drink.

Resentment rose in his chest and Byron reinforced his mental shields. Fingers tightening around the glass in his hands, he prepared for another unsettling encounter. Kernen’s next words surprised him, though.

“However, Officer Bassa assured me it would be beneficial to bring you on board,” said the commander, regarding Byron with a thoughtful expression. “He claimed you were one of the best; precise in your flying and aim, and able to respond to crisis situations without hesitation. I also understand you have a rare ability.”

“Yes, sir,” said Byron, adjusting his hold on the glass.

Kernen raised his drink and c****d one eyebrow. “Take a drink before you spill it, son.”

Embarrassed, Byron lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. The liquid slid down this throat without so much as a tickle. Good alcohol was not to be wasted on low ranking officers. An honor Kernen shared his private stock with him.

The commander finished his drink and set the glass on his desk with a flourish. “I’ve been over your file. There are a couple questionable issues, but Officer Bassa assured me none were of great concern. I trust his assessment will prove correct?”

“Yes, sir!” Byron said. He had no intention of causing trouble during his first assignment.

Leaning back in his chair, the commander’s eyes narrowed. However, Byron thought he detected a smile playing at the corner of the man’s lips.

“I don’t imagine you’ll have the opportunity to cause problems,” Kernen said.

“Sir?” said Byron, uncertain of the commander’s implication. “I’m not here to cause problems, sir.”

“What are your intentions, pilot?”

Byron hesitated, his brain analyzing Kernen’s question. Searching for a suitable response, he decided to be bold.

“I intend to be the best damn Cosbolt pilot in the fleet, sir!”

This time Kernen’s smile filled his face. “Bassa said you had spirit, among many other qualities,” he said, fingers drumming the armrest of his chair. “He spoke very highly of you, young man.”

“Of my abilities, sir?”

The commander nodded. “Your abilities as well.”

Byron wondered what Bassa had told the commander. He shifted in his seat and the movement reminded him of the half-empty glass in his hand. Without further hesitation, he downed the contents and set the glass on the edge of the commander’s desk.

“I suggest you take the remainder of the evening to study your squadron’s flight drills,” the commander said, leaning forward in his chair. “You will be expected to fly tomorrow.”

That news surprised Byron. He’d have no time to train with his new navigator.

Realizing he was being dismissed, Byron rose to his feet. The commander did not share Larnth’s resentment that an inexperienced pilot now resided on board the Sorenthia, That came as a relief. He was now twice as determined to prove his worth. The identity of his navigator still eluded him, though.

“Sir, if I may?” he said, waiting for Kernen’s signal to continue. “Who is my navigator?”

“You will meet him tomorrow at your squadron’s briefing.”

With those words, the commander turned his attention to the computer screen, ending all further discussion on the matter. Reluctant to press further, lest he lose favor with Kernen, Byron retreated from the man’s office.

I’m in way over my head, he thought.