CassaSeries

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Patrols filled the next three days and their squadron pulled double duty. Officer Larnth sent the men through an exhaustive training exercise on the fourth day, focusing on intricate tactics and maneuvers. Byron felt as if he were on Guaard again with Bassa occupying the navigator seat in his cockpit. To his credit, the senior officer was quite familiar with the drills. Bassa prevented Byron from committing errors during the more complex maneuvers. He remained uneasy with his new navigator, but Bassa did bring skill and experience to their team.

Byron tried to ignore the prevailing sense of displeasure from the other officers. No one voiced his opinion in Bassa’s presence, but that did not prevent stray bitter thoughts from drifting in Byron’s direction. Aware of the mental conversations, he suspected the others were trying to rattle him on purpose. That did not curb his annoyance, though, and Byron kept to himself whenever possible.

Outside of their flights together, he only saw Bassa during meals. Aware of the importance of connecting with his navigator, Byron didn’t protest Bassa’s presence or his attempts at conversation. However, his thoughts were conflicted between developing at least one friend on the Sorenthia and a deep desire to avoid contact with his former instructor. Their discussions were awkward at best, but if not for Bassa, Byron wouldn’t be on speaking terms with anyone.

A week after their arrival, the ship was placed on alert. The men were in the dining hall when ordered to the briefing room. Already dressed in flight suits, the officers leapt to their feet. Bassa saw Byron reach for his tray and he signaled for him to leave it.

No time! he thought, one hand on Byron’s shoulder.

Eyes wide, Byron moved toward the exit and Bassa followed his pilot. Every telepod boasted a line and Bassa guided his partner past the crowds. Rounding a corner, they discovered the lines were much shorter and secured a telepod within seconds.

Once in the briefing room, the squadron leader wasted no time. The last officers to arrive scrambled for their seats as Larnth began to speak.

“Several minutes ago, we detected a small squadron of Vindicarn fighters in sector 67-146,” he said.

The screen behind Larnth flashed the coordinates. A dozen ships were visible in the corner and moving in the same direction as the Sorenthia.

“Yesterday, the Islanta endured a heavy Vindicarn attack, so they are to be treated as hostiles. We will approach from this direction,” he said, indicating the position on the screen.

Bassa listened with keen interest. Many years had passed since his last real dogfight and he’d never encountered the Vindicarn. He’d investigated every report since the first engagement with this enemy, though. They were aggressive and not interested in peace talks or negotiations. Bassa suspected it was only a matter of time before open war commenced.

“Remember to watch for disruptor fire,” Larnth said, his expression grim. “If your teleporter is hit, it drains all power, and you’ll be unable to jump. If you are hit, it scrambles your senses. And the effects can be permanent.”

Larnth dismissed the squadron and the men moved with haste.

We’ll have to guard against disrupter fire, Bassa warned his pilot as they entered the hangar. I understand a direct hit is quite painful.

Byron nodded, his stride rapid as they moved across the hangar. His pilot’s thoughts were shielded as usual, but the young man couldn’t suppress all emotion. The young man projected anxiety in regards to this flight. Bassa became determined to keep his inexperienced pilot from committing any serious mistakes.

They burst into space and joined the squadron. Bassa reached out with his mind. As always, he met with resistance. After a moment’s hesitation, his pilot lowered his shields just enough to allow a connection. Bassa suppressed his annoyance with his pilot’s inhibitions. They might be a new team, but at some point, Byron would have to show him a measure of trust.

Four squadrons assembled and prepared to jump to the enemy’s position. Bassa conveyed the proper coordinates to Byron and they waited for the signal. Two squadrons vanished, and a moment later, they received the signal to jump. Byron performed the maneuver, and Bassa glanced at the teleporter’s power level. As expected, he detected no drain on the device. He sent a brief thought of praise for the conservation, and his pilot acknowledged his approval before his attention shifted to their current situation.

The first two squadrons approached the enemy fighters. The thin, silver ships were outnumbered, but the Vindicarn held their ground as the Cosbolts drew near. Their squadron received orders to hold position and Byron assumed a hovering thrust. Bassa kept one eye on his navigational equipment and the other on their fellow comrades as the first two squadrons drew closer to the target. An unexpected surge of memories flooded his mind as he watched the situation unfold. The enemy was different, but their predicament the same.

Flying in tight formation, the squadrons closed the gap. The enemy ships had yet to respond and remained motionless in space. Their actions carried a menacing tone as sharp as their narrow vessels. Bassa held his breath as he waited.

The Vindicarn ships came to life. With an enormous burst of speed, the fighters shot into the ranks of the waiting squadrons, lasers blasting. The Cassans were not caught unaware, though, and returned fire at once. Several enemy ships were neutralized, but a flash of light told Bassa the Cassans had not escaped injury.

“Intercept!” commanded Larnth as the Vindicarn ships passed through the first two squadrons.

Byron reacted without hesitation, eager to engage the enemy. Selecting a Vindicarn ship bearing down on their location, Bassa directed his pilot toward the target. Byron complied and prepared to engage.

The Cosbolt beside them announced intensions to fire. Bassa relayed the information to Byron, concerned he’d continue his pursuit regardless. Reluctance arose in the young man’s mind, but Byron conceded to the other ship’s request. With one shot, their comrades eliminated the approaching vessel.

I had him! Byron thought even as he sought another target.

Menth called his shot first, Bassa reminded him.

They circled around, hoping to pursue the enemy ships that escaped the initial fire. Bassa experienced a strong pull as Byron performed a tight curve at full speed. He located several Vindicarn ships, but before they had time to engage, the fighters vanished from sight.

Byron’s disappointed exclamation rang loud in his head. The Vindicarn’s reaction did not surprise Bassa, though.

They knew they were outnumbered, he thought, guiding his pilot back into formation.

Why did they wait to jump? thought Byron. Shooting through our squadron–that was suicide!

They’re testing us.

Bassa listened for the damage report. They suffered no loss of life, but three ships were damaged. A request was issued to the Sorenthia for a transport, as two of the ships were out of commission. One boasted teleporter damage due to a disrupter blast, but the crew remained unharmed.

That wouldn’t be a problem for us! Byron thought.

Let’s just avoid getting hit, Bassa thought.

They spent an additional four hours patrolling the sector, but there were no further encounters. When other squadrons appeared to assume their position, the fighters returned to the Sorenthia. The men were hungry, but they had to undergo debriefing first. Well past the midday meal when they finished, Bassa suggested food as the first priority.

“Sounds good,” said Byron as they entered the telepod. “I’m starving!”

“Get used to it,” Bassa warned. “You’ll miss a lot of meals out here.”

The dining hall filled with others who shared their sentiments. Most of the conversations centered on the morning’s brief battle and included speculation on the next Vindicarn encounter. Bassa preferred to avoid second-guessing the enemy’s moves, though. One had to be prepared for anything.

He tried to include Byron in the discussion, but his pilot said little. He’d hoped to penetrate Byron’s defenses and gain his trust, but so far, Bassa’s attempts remained unsuccessful. He understood the young man’s frustrations with the other officers, but Byron made no effort to fit in with the squadron. It was challenging enough to entice the young man to speak when they were alone. In mixed company, the boy refused to speak at all.

Finishing his meal, Bassa leaned away from the table and stretched his back. Hunger sated, a long, hot shower beckoned him. His ears caught a conversation at the table behind him and Bassa’s attention shifted.

“Didn’t think you’d get that kill, Menth.”

“I wasn’t about to let that rookie claim it,” Menth said in a low voice. “Boy has no business in our squadron.”

“He certainly doesn’t deserve to be on the Sorenthia,” someone else muttered.

Bassa detected resentment in Byron’s thoughts and realized he’d overheard the exchange as well. Meeting his pilot’s gaze, Bassa noted anger and hurt in the young man’s eyes. He reached out to comfort Byron but met resistance as his pilot’s mental shields locked into place. Byron grabbed his tray and rose to his feet.

Byron, Bassa entreated.

Don’t worry about it, his pilot answered and turned from the table. Bassa watched him retreat, regret gnawing at his mind.

I don’t envy you, Bassa, Deacer thought, his tone solemn.

He just needs time to adjust, Bassa thought, hoping his explanation sounded convincing.

Bassa did not linger in the dining hall and returned to his quarters. He enjoyed a long shower before tackling his report. Once his task complete, he decided to have a word with Byron. Bassa doubted his pilot would be receptive, but he had to make the attempt. Byron could not remain in mental seclusion forever.

Byron was not in his quarters. Bassa contemplated other options for privacy on the ship. His pilot often retreated to the courts to take out his frustrations and Bassa decided to try that location first.

His missing partner was not in the workout facility. Bassa could not touch his mind, either. Growing impatient, he resorted to the ship’s computer to locate Byron, and discovered him in the hangar.

Well, at least that narrows my search, Bassa thought as he entered the nearest telepod.

Several squadrons were on patrol but activity in the hangar appeared light. Glancing at the rows of fighters, Bassa decided to seek Byron among the Cosbolts. He wondered why the young man would select the company of the ships and assumed his pilot considered it a good place to hide.

Weaving in among the fighters, Bassa detected angry voices. Concerned, he quickened his pace. Stepping around the tail of a Cosbolt, he caught Byron and another pilot exchanging words. A small group of officers encircled the antagonists, watching the verbal battle. The men were laughing at the pilot’s words, which Bassa had missed. Byron’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists.

“I’ve seen your flying and you’ve got no business operating a garbage shuttle, let alone a Cosbolt,” Byron said in his most arrogant tone of voice.

Infuriated, the pilot took a swing at him. Byron leaned back and the man’s fist passed through empty air. His arm already c****d and ready, Byron delivered a quick blow. His fist connected with the side of the pilot’s face. The man staggered off balance and Bassa’s partner followed up with another blow to the stomach.

The others reacted at once. Three men charged Byron and pinned him against a Cosbolt. He fought to break free, but there were too many. Yanking him forward, they restrained Byron, their hands wrapped around his arms. The downed man approached, wiping blood from his nose. He hesitated before striking Byron in the face. Before Bassa’s pilot could recover, another blow struck his stomach. Byron doubled over in pain and Bassa decided it was time to intervene.

“That’s enough!” said Bassa in his most authoritative voice.

Startled, the men holding Byron released him. Bassa’s pilot dropped to his knees and clutched at his midsection. The antagonists stared at the senior officer, their panicked thoughts echoing in his head.

Damn, we’ve been discovered!

It’s Bassa!

The rookie called for help!

“No, I didn’t!” gasped Byron. “I don’t need his help.”

Bassa stared at the offenders, seething with indignation. “What is the meaning of this?” he interjected over the clamor.

The voices ceased. Byron’s attackers stared at the senior officer, their eyes wide. No one appeared inclined to explain the situation. Still on his knees, Byron emitted another gasp.

“Six against one?” said Bassa, stepping forward. “That is unbecoming of an officer in this fleet. I could have all of you thrown off the ship for such behavior.”

The men cringed at his threat. Bassa no longer had the authority to carry out such punishment, but he doubted these men realized that fact. Regardless, his status as a senior officer still carried weight. Their squadron leader would value his opinion above all others.

“Sorry, sir,” one of the men offered, still cowering in fear.

“If you’ve a problem with my pilot, you can take it up with me,” Bassa said, still appalled by their conduct.

A fleeting thought of resentment escaped one of the men before he could suppress his feelings. Bassa decided to address that issue once and for all.

“And if you doubt Byron’s skills as a pilot, then you doubt my abilities as well. Not to mention my capacity to select a quality partner. If you have anything intelligent to say on the matter, then speak up now!”

The men glanced at one another, but no one spoke. Bassa shook his head in disgust.

“I suggest you return to your quarters for the remainder of the day,” he said. “Now!”

“Yes, sir,” the men mumbled as they beat a hasty retreat from the senior officer. Bassa confirmed their compliance with his order before moving to Byron’s side.

“You all right?” he said, extending his hand.

Brushing the back of his hand across his bleeding nose, Byron growled in disgust. “Yes.”

Grasping Bassa’s outstretched arm with his other hand, Byron rose to his feet. Bassa ensured the young man remained steady on his feet before patting his back.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He escorted Byron to his quarters without further incident. The young man retreated to his bathroom and Bassa eased into a chair. Glancing around the room, he noted few possessions of significance. His partner was either very neat or lacked an affinity for material items.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he said when Byron returned to the room.

Still dabbing his nose with a wet washcloth, Byron sank into the other chair. He shook his head, his eyes on the floor.

“Not much to tell,” he said.

Bassa frowned, annoyed by his pilot’s reluctance to speak. “What started the fracas?”

Byron at last met his gaze. Bassa allowed his scowl to fade and presented a patient expression to his pilot. Emitting an exasperated sigh, Byron slumped in his chair.

“They told me I hadn’t earned the right to be here,” he said in a low voice. “That inexperienced rookies don’t belong on the Sorenthia.”

“How did you respond?”

Byron guffawed. “How do you think?”

Bassa shook his head. “Six against one?”

“I’ve faced worse.”

Byron wiped his nose again and tossed the washcloth on the table. Bassa leaned forward, determined to reassure his pilot.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t qualified,” he said.

“No, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you!”

He couldn’t mistake the accusation in his voice or Byron’s emphasis on the final word. Bassa stared at his young protégée, stung by his resentful attitude. He fought the urge to call Byron to task for such insolence, as he’d done on Guaard. However, he wanted to avoid the role of senior instructor here on the Sorenthia. They were supposed to be teammates now.

His disapproving thoughts were revealed in his expression, as Byron’s gaze once again dropped to the floor. He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging even further.

“Damn Trindel for giving up on me,” he murmured.

Sensing Byron’s dejection in a rare moment of unshielded thought, Bassa adjusted his own attitude with haste. It was imperative that he reach the young man. Byron didn’t need instruction or a reprimand. He needed a friend.

“That is why I am not giving up on you,” Bassa said in a quiet but convicted voice.

Raising his eyes, Byron’s doubt of that fact grew apparent. Bassa held his gaze steady, hoping to convince the troubled young man of his sincerity. He needed to restore Byron’s confidence if they hoped to survive as a team.

“You have the talent and ability,” said Bassa, “regardless of what the others believe. I have total confidence in your skills as a pilot. Given time and opportunity, you will prove your worth to those who doubt.”

He leaned back in his chair and flashed Byron a wry expression. “You may think you wouldn’t be here if not for me, but I promise, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you”

Byron managed a faint smile. “Thanks.”

“Now, are you going to be all right?” Bassa said.

“I’ll recover,” Byron answered, rubbing his midsection.

Bassa rose to his feet. “I’ll see you at the evening meal, then.”

Byron nodded and Bassa left the young man’s quarters with a trace of hope. Perhaps he might reach his pilot yet.