CassaSeries

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Arising early, Byron dressed in his new flight suit. Personal computer pad in hand, he went in search of the dining hall. He expected an assortment of personnel, but on this level, only officers resided at the tables. He received a few stares while retrieving his food but chose to ignore the curious onlookers. Securing one end of a table to himself, he used the time to scan the drills once more. Byron would not allow himself to break pattern or fail to perform a maneuver during his very first official flight.

The other pilots and navigators were just beginning to arrive when he entered the briefing room. Feeling uneasy after the earlier scrutiny, Byron elected to postpone social interaction and selected a seat on the far edge of the room. He tried to tune out the conversation and laughter of his fellow officers as they filled the room and waited for the meeting to begin.

Soon, few seats remained unoccupied, including the chair beside Byron. He glanced around the room, curious as to which of the men would become his navigator. Those present appeared familiar with one another and he suspected his new partner had yet to arrive.

The squadron leader entered the room and the men’s chatter subsided. Larnth surveyed those gathered, his gaze falling for a moment on Byron, before addressing the men.

“Today we will be patrolling sectors 74-107 and 73-107. There’s been no report of activity in this area, but that does not render today’s patrol routine. We’re still at the edge of Cassan boundaries, so be prepared for anything. Understood?”

His words were met with a round of affirmation from the men. Officer Larnth turned to the large monitor on the wall behind him and pulled up the sector of space scheduled for patrol today. The visual showed their proximity to uncontrolled space, and Byron understood the severity of his warning.

Larnth turned to face the men and paused, his gaze traveling to the back of the room. A wave of astonishment arose from the far side of the room. Curious, Byron peered in the direction of the doorway. Over the top of the heads of those seated, he caught sight of the late arrival, and his heart missed a beat.

Bassa!

“Glad you could join us,” Larnth said. Those closest to Bassa uttered sounds of excitement, some reaching out to shake his hand.

Byron stared the man, his mouth open in shock. He didn’t share the awe and excitement of the officers around him. Why was Bassa on board the Sorenthia? Was he here to oversee special training? After six months of the man’s presence on Guaard, Byron shuddered to think he’d be forced to endure more instruction from the senior officer.

“Now that both men are present, I’d like to introduce our newest team members,” Larnth said.

Bassa now searched for an empty seat. Byron’s eyes widened in horror as he realized the man moved in his direction. The other officers greeted the senior officer in passing, hindering his progress.

“Most of you already know Officer Bassa, as I’m sure he trained a good portion of those present,” the squadron leader said with pride. “He’s regarded as one of the most decorated and accomplished navigators in the fleet.”

Larnth paused. “We are also joined by Officer Byron, who will act as his pilot.”

The news fell on Byron with a resounding thud and his stomach sank to his toes. Bassa reached the empty seat beside him and slid into the chair. Byron stared at his former instructor, mind reeling with this latest development and not bothering to hide his indignation. Bassa met his eyes, his expression wary. If he expected a greeting, Byron refused to give him one.

Distracted by a comment, Bassa turned to the man behind him. Frustrated by the turn of events, Byron slumped in his seat and stared straight ahead. Life spun out of his control once again.

“Now, to continue going over today’s flight,” Larnth said with authority, silencing the excited murmurs.

Byron made every effort to focus on the squadron leader’s instructions. He didn’t want to commit an error during his first flight. Bassa’s presence distracted him, though. Several times, his attention drifted to the man at his right, and he suppressed the indignation that threatened to consume his mind. His first experience as a certified pilot, marred by Bassa’s presence.

Larnth concluded the meeting by wishing the men a safe flight and everyone rose to his feet. Byron stood and found himself trapped. Several officers now congregated around Bassa, creating a traffic jam. By the time he exited the briefing room, Byron brought up the rear of the procession. He followed the group to the hangar, his irritation growing with every step as he listened to the men around Bassa. The senior officer might be a veteran, which entitled him to some respect, but the others acted as if he was a hero bigger than life.

Byron located their ship and began the preflight check. Bassa joined him a moment later, a smile on his face. Staring hard at his navigator, Byron projected an angry thought.

Why are you here?

Bassa’s smile faded and he returned Byron’s cold expression. You needed a qualified navigator and we possessed the necessary training time.

Was there no one else available? Byron thought.

A few, Bassa thought, and your first assignment would’ve been patrolling a dead moon.

Annoyed with that likely truth, Byron dug in even deeper. I’m supposed to thank you then?

Bassa scowled, his displeasure with Byron’s attitude obvious. He stepped in front of his pilot and assumed an intimidating pose.

I sacrificed a high-ranking position, not only to ensure you a decent first assignment but to give you a chance to survive out here. You may not agree with my decision right now, but I do expect some measure of respect.

His tone left no room for argument. Byron shook his head, but did not pursue the discussion. With no further exchange of words, they completed the preflight check and prepared for launch.

His spirit subdued, Byron waited while Bassa navigated their vessel to the launch tubes. His muscles tightened as they wheeled into position and the second door closed behind them. At the end of the tunnel, he could see a starry expanse and a twinge of excitement rippled through his chest. Aware his navigator could detect his feelings, Byron suppressed his enthusiasm.

I’ve been here a thousand times, Bassa’s voice echoed in his head. This is your moment, Byron. Do not forget to enjoy it!

Taking a deep breath, Byron forced the tension from his body and cleared his mind. The countdown commenced and he braced his head in preparation. The final number sounded and the ship shot through the tube and out into open space.

Five other ships emerged with their vessel. Byron maneuvered into position and the Cosbolts joined those already waiting. The squadron assumed full formation and set off for the coordinates of their patrol.

The three-hour flight was routine and uneventful. Once Byron recovered from his initial dismay, he did indeed enjoy the experience. At least he was familiar with Bassa’s style of navigating and adjusted to his directions. During their training flights, Byron had been at the mercy of the senior officer’s commands. He expected a similar experience here as well, but during their first flight as a team, Bassa’s navigation felt more like guidance. Aware that could change without notice, Byron filed that thought away for future reference.

Tired but elated, he returned to the Sorenthia. Byron landed the ship with precision and Bassa locked their runners in place. As the vessel taxied into the hangar, Byron felt intense relief. Not only had he completed his first flight as a Cosbolt pilot, but he survived Bassa’s presence as his navigator. Both were monumental achievements.

Emerging from the ship, Byron turned to face his navigator. Resentment continued to linger in his heart, but regardless of his feelings toward their pairing, they flew well together. He didn’t know what to say to his new partner, but Bassa possessed no such inhibitions.

“You did well today,” he said, slapping together his gloves.

Byron shrugged. “It was a routine mission.”

Bassa regarded him with a steady gaze. “Sometimes those can be the most telling,” he explained. “You flew well for your first mission.”

Byron managed a brief nod of appreciation. He wasn’t ready to display acceptance of his new navigator, though. Grasping the ladder, Byron retreated from Bassa’s presence.

The men reconvened in the debriefing room, and listened to the squadron leader’s assessment of the morning’s mission. When Larnth finished, those around Bassa came to life and began to ask questions.

“What prompted you to come out of retirement?”

“Why were you assigned to the Sorenthia?”

“Is this assignment permanent?”

Annoyed with the enthusiasm of the other officers, Byron sidestepped the group surrounding Bassa. He escaped their notice and exited the room. Unprepared for scrutiny, Byron raced for the safety of the teleporter pod. It irritated him Bassa commanded such attention. It seemed to go beyond the senior officer’s accomplishments, and Byron found himself caught in a rare moment of envy. No one ever acted happy to see him.

Returning to his quarters, Byron showered and changed. He intended to complete his very first flight report before exploring the ship. If time permitted, he’d end the day with a solitary game of gravball. His first priority was food, though.

Emerging from his quarters, Byron proceeded toward the dining hall. As he passed the quarters beside his own, the door slid open. Surprised to see Bassa, he faltered as their eyes met. He intended to acknowledge the senior officer with a nod and continue on his way. It occurred to Byron that might not be the appropriate way to treat his new navigator, though. Fighting the urge to run, he paused for a moment.

“On your way to the dining hall?” said Bassa as he joined him in the corridor.

Byron nodded, aware that he was about to acquire a dining partner.

“Mind if I join you?”

“No,” Byron said before his true answer surfaced.

The men walked the short distance to the dining hall in silence. Once they retrieved their food, Byron and Bassa turned to face the crowded hall. Another officer flagged down the men, and Bassa moved to join him. With reluctance, Byron followed his navigator.

“Officer Bassa, please join us,” the man enticed.

Those present shifted their position, providing the newcomers room at the end of the table. Bassa sat next to the man and Byron took the seat across from his partner. The man at his elbow nodded at Byron and turned at once to Bassa.

“It’s an honor to have you join our squadron,” he said with pride. “Your service record and achievements are legendary.”

Bassa flashed a patient smile. “Legend implies I’m dead,” he said, lifting his drink. “And I am very much alive!”

The man beside Bassa chuckled. “Well, only a few of us remember your days of active service.”

“And the rest of us recall your training!” an officer further down the table said.

That elicited laughter from those present. The man beside Bassa offered his hand.

“Don’t know if you remember, but we served on the Masenna together,” he said.

Bassa exchanged handclasps, a wry smile on his face. “Deacer, how could I forget you? Even if that was many years ago.”

“More than I care to count!” said Deacer, the deep lines around his eyes and mouth reflecting the years. “Guess you remember my pilot, too.”

The officer beside Byron exchanged greetings with Bassa. Hannar’s deep voice resonated with experience, and while neither man appeared as old as Bassa, they were both many years Byron’s senior. The men at the table were all older by a decade or more, and he felt very conspicuous in his youth. Compared to the other officers, he was just a boy.

Bassa smiled at Byron. “And this is my pilot, Byron,” he said with pride.

Byron looked up from his food and realized everyone at that end of the table now stared at him. Swallowing his food in haste, he offered a curt nod.

“Good to meet you, son,” said Hannar, patting his shoulder.

Unaccustomed to physical touch, Byron flinched before regaining his composure. He could prevent the mental invasion of his privacy, but not the physical, and had learned to endure such gestures.

Deacer shook his hand, his eyes studying the young pilot. Byron returned to his meal, content just to listen to the discussions around him. The men continued to ask questions of Bassa, and Byron wondered if they’d permit his navigator to eat. Bassa knew how to control a conversation, though, and enticed the others to speak. Byron listened with interest as they spoke of past assignments and alien encounters.

“Most recent problems have been with the Vindicarn,” Deacer said, brushing the scraggly locks from his square forehead. “Their damned fighters are fast, too.”

“Yes, I’ve been monitoring the encounters,” Bassa said. “They seem to be increasing.”

Hannar nodded and leaned forward on the table. “Mostly skirmishes, but the Vindicarn have been patrolling the edge of Cassan space for the past month. And occasionally crossing that border, I might add.”

“Peaceful negotiations not effective?” said Bassa, reaching for his drink.

“Hardly!” scoffed Hannar. “The Arellens have dealt with them for years, but it’s an uneasy truce at best. At the moment, the Vindicarn show no interest in talking with the Cassan fleet.”

“They send out raiding parties to secure new territories. Guess they’ve decided to venture into our part of the galaxy,” Deacer said. “Now that they’ve developed new technology, they’re looking to expand their domain.”

“The disrupters?”

Bassa’s query perked Byron’s interest. Secluded on Guaard for the past six months, he’d heard only bits and pieces from the outside world. However, news of the Vindicarn’s disrupters had penetrated that protective bubble and created quite a stir among the trainees.

“Haven’t seen them in action yet,” said Hannar. “I understand the weapon not only knocks out teleporters, it fries a man’s senses. Couple that with the Vindicarn’s bold aggression, it makes them a dangerous enemy.”

“Well, they better not consider us an easy target,” Deacer declared, placing his fist on the table. “Just let them try to take any of our planets by force!”

Byron mulled this information over in his mind as the discussion shifted to lighter topics. Finishing his meal, he set down his fork and reached for his drink. Upon lowering the empty glass, he realized the officer beside Deacer stared at him in earnest.

“So, where was your last post?” the man said, his brows drawn together.

The suspicious tone alerted Byron at once. Stalling for time, he licked his lips and returned the glass to the table. His answer would not please those gathered.

“Guaard,” he said.

Deacer frowned. “You’re too young to be an instructor.”

The man beside the navigator gasped. “You just finished training?” he said in a loud voice. “A wet-behind-the-ears rookie?”

The rest of the table grew still. Byron’s defenses rose as shock and indignation rippled through the group. He formed a sharp retort on his tongue, but Bassa intervened.

“Yes, and he’s one of the best damn pilots to ever complete the program!”

Byron knew that tone all too well and wondered if any dared challenge his navigator’s assessment. Despite Bassa’s words, the mood of the table changed. The men resented the presence of an unproven pilot in their squadron. Byron struggled to contain the anger that rose in his chest and clenched his fists under the table. They had passed judgment without allowing him the opportunity to prove himself.

“That’s a first,” someone muttered.

Deacer shifted his position but no one else spoke.

Don’t let it bother you, Bassa’s voice echoed in his head. You will prove your worth in time.

Byron lifted his chin and met Bassa’s gaze. In time?

Rising from the table, he cast an icy glare at those seated before departing. There were things Byron wanted to accomplish today.

He completed his report and then set out to explore the ship. For the most part, he enjoyed the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. Those he passed were busy with duties and paid the young pilot little heed. Ending his investigation of the Sorenthia with the ship’s workout facility, Byron spent the remainder of his afternoon taking out his frustrations on one of the gravball courts.

Arriving late in the dining hall on purpose, he discovered the room less than half occupied. Bassa still remained, surrounded by other officers. Byron didn’t want to endure another unpleasant scene and selected an unoccupied table in the corner. The hall continued to empty as men departed in small groups, but Byron’s presence failed to attract attention.

He noticed Bassa as the man rose to his feet. Several other officers followed suit and Byron assumed his navigator would remain with his present company. To his surprise, the senior officer broke away from the group and approached Byron’s table. Straightening his posture, he waited while Bassa took the seat opposite him at the table.

“I wondered if you were skipping the evening meal,” Bassa said, assuming a relaxed pose.

Byron regarded his partner with suspicion, contemplating his response. “Just skipping the company.”

“I told you not to worry about the others. You’ll earn their respect from the cockpit.” Bassa leaned against the table, his hands clasped together. “At any rate, you can’t let it affect your attitude or become a distraction. Just ignore the negative jabs.”

“Ignore the fact they don’t want me here?” Byron growled.

“They don’t know your capabilities, yet,” said Bassa. He pointed a finger at Byron. “You can only control your attitude, not theirs. Take the high road and let it slide. The men will trust and like you when they know you better.”

Lowering his gaze, Byron stabbed at the remains of his meal. “I don’t exactly excel at making friends, you know.”

Stunned by the bluntness of his own words, Byron brought his fork down with great force on a chunk of meat. He tossed it into his mouth, hoping to prevent further thoughts from tumbling unchecked from his lips. On the other side of the table, he heard Bassa sigh.

“Yes, of that I am well aware,” his navigator said in a low voice.

Lifting his head, Byron flashed Bassa an angry look, but there was neither malice nor condemnation in the man’s eyes. Quite capable of appearing cold and indifferent, the senior officer’s current expression lacked harsh judgment. To his surprise, Byron detected regret in his partner’s thoughts.

Feeling exposed and self-conscious, he shifted his position. “Fine, I’ll try to work with them,” Byron offered.

Bassa slapped his hands on the table and rose to his feet. “Appreciate it. Well, the commander requested my presence this evening, so I’ll leave you to your meal. Evening, Byron.”

Byron nodded. “Evening.”

He stabbed at his food for a moment before rising to deposit his tray on the counter and return to his quarters. The shock of Bassa’s appearance waned but not Byron’s resistance to the man’s presence on the Sorenthia. Bassa’s navigational style felt awkward and Byron missed Trindel’s gentle guidance. Inhibition strangled him, as if every move now fell under the scrutiny of the senior officer.

The status of Cosbolt pilot implied freedom, but not while Byron lay chained to the one person he’d hoped to escape.