CassaStar (17 page)

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. He was aware of the mental conversations and 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, the only time he saw Bassa was during meals. Aware that it was vital he connect with his navigator, Byron did not 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 men 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 announced.

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 stated, indicating the position on the screen.

Bassa listened attentively. Many years had passed since his last real dogfight and he’d never encountered the Vindicarn. He’d followed 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 was declared.

“
Remember to watch for disruptor fire!” Larnth instructed, 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 quickly.

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

Byron nodded, his stride rapid as they moved across the hanger. Bassa sensed his pilot was anxious for this flight. His thoughts were shielded as usual, but the young man couldn’t suppress all emotion and his pensive expression revealed his nervousness. Bassa was determined to keep his inexperienced pilot from committing any serious mistakes.

They burst into space and joined the squadron. Bassa reached out mentally. 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 were instructed 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 now approached the enemy fighters. The thin, silver ships were horribly outnumbered, but the Vindicarn held their ground as the Cosbolts drew near. Their squadron was ordered 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 was 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.

Suddenly 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, and Bassa sensed his eagerness to engage the enemy. Selecting a Vindicarn ship bearing down on their location, he 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. He sensed reluctance 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 had escaped initial fire. Bassa felt the 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 explained, guiding his pilot back into formation.

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

They’re testing us.

Bassa listened for the damage report. They had 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 completely out of commission. One had lost its teleporter due to a disrupter blast, but the crew was all right.

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

Let’s just avoid getting hit,
Bassa cautioned.

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. It was well past the midday meal and Bassa suggested food as the first priority.

“
Sounds good,” agreed 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 rapidly 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 were 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, but the boy refused to talk in mixed company.

Finishing his meal, Bassa leaned away from the table and stretched his back. Hunger sated, he felt ready for a long, hot shower. 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 growled 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 suddenly 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 only 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.

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

He just needs time to adjust,
Bassa offered, 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 was completed, 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 hanger.

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

Several squadrons were currently on patrol but activity in the hanger was 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 it was simply 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 replied 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 cocked 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 immediately. 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, absently 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!” exclaimed 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.