CassaStar (2 page)

Before entering the room, he glanced at the wide bench just outside the double doors. Soon errant young pilots and navigators would occupy those seats, awaiting their turn in his office with growing anxiety. Bassa smiled as he pictured the nervous expressions of those foolish enough to warrant a reprimand from the toughest instructor in the fleet.

As soon as he was seated behind the desk, Bassa began reviewing the first set of simulator lessons. He and the other instructors made minor adjustments after every group passed through the facility, fine tuning and altering the flight patterns. The next batch of young men would arrive in three days and he wanted to prepare for their first week on Guaard.

Satisfied with the changes, Bassa turned his attention to the upcoming roster. He liked to familiarize himself with each young man and the skills he brought to Guaard’s elite installation. Those entering the program arrived with over two hundred hours of simulator experience and were qualified for training in a fighter. Their skills were not in question, but rather their lack of actual experience. It was Bassa’s job to prepare the young men for service in the fleet and the real dangers of space flight and combat. Guaard was the final checkpoint, and the lead instructor only certified those who met and exceeded his expectations.

His brief inspection of the incoming pilots and navigators was not to just size up the young men; Bassa sought not only those with heightened skills but ones who were potential troublemakers. In twenty years, he’d seen his fair share of rebellious individuals. Those with even one mark on their record were flagged and would undergo close scrutiny. Bassa expected discipline and obedience, and would not tolerate disregard of either quality.

Often it was not merely disobedience, but an arrogant attitude that gave cause for concern. A self-centered or cocky pilot was an even greater threat. He liked spirit, but it had to be controlled in order to be effective. Bassa’s greatest challenge resided in such young men and he was twice as likely to require those individuals to repeat the entire course. Outstanding talent and skill combined with arrogance was what he most dreaded. Fortunately, those young men were few and far between.

Thirty new pilots and navigators were slated to converge on the facility in three days. The young men would arrive pre-paired, although the teams were not set in stone at this point. During simulator training, they were rotated as instructors attempted to discern the best combination. Bassa and his instructors would analyze the men and approve the final pairings. In order to properly function as a team, a high level of trust and familiarity had to be established between pilot and navigator. Without a strong bond, they were doomed in the field.

Bassa read through the history of each young man, making mental notes of potential problems. A navigator with a mark on his record was instantly flagged for observation. A pilot who’d barely passed the simulator test was also noted. Either was a potential danger to the other members of the squadron. The instructors would monitor those two carefully, prepared to remove either if necessary. Otherwise, the remainder of the men appeared manageable.

Retrieving the files on the last team, Bassa flicked first to the pilot. The young man’s image filled the screen and he caught his breath. Brows drawn, Bassa stared in disbelief at the fighter pilot’s photo. The features and expression were all too familiar.

Eyes traveling to the lone picture residing on his desk, Bassa compared the two images. The young man in the heavy frame possessed the exact same characteristics, right down to the cocked eyebrow and partially concealed smirk. Bassa also noticed similarity in the eyes that could only be attributed to extreme confidence. There was no denying that the same unbridled spirit resided in both young men.

Bassa scowled at the thought and turned to the young pilot’s record. There were no disciplinary marks, which surprised him, but an unusual amount of notes had been added over the years. The same words were repeated numerous times – possession of great skill marred only by attitude. The young man had excelled in every program, but his cocksure demeanor threatened to undermine those accomplishments at every turn.

Digging deeper, Bassa discovered that outside of his military record, the young man came with a load of baggage. His parents had died when he was a child, leaving him in the care of a much older sister who apparently couldn’t handle the young boy. Shuffled from one facility to the next, he’d been in trouble more than once and his irresponsible use of mental powers and poor attitude were often cited as the cause. He’d managed to keep his record clean long enough to begin training for a position in the fleet. However, while no formal marks or disciplinary action resided in his records, there were enough cautionary notes to fill an entire log book. The young man was an explosive problem just waiting for an opportune moment.

A chime signified a visitor. Bassa had summoned his senior pilot instructor and he granted permission to enter. As expected, the tall, lanky form of Rellen strolled into his office. He gave Bassa a proper salute, always respectful toward the senior officer, before a wry grin spread across his narrow face.

“
Reviewing our next assignment?” Rellen inquired, pausing at the edge of the desk.

Bassa leaned away from his computer, his gaze still on the young man’s image, which dominated the screen once more. “Yes,” he said with resignation.

Rellen frowned at Bassa’s response. Moving to the side of the desk, his instructor peered at the screen. His smile returned and Rellen emitted a chuckle.

“
I see you’ve discovered 715’s pilot, Byron,” he observed.

“
He’s got some skill,” Bassa admitted.

“
And attitude! He’ll provide you with a challenge, Bassa. Keep you from going soft!”

“
Soft?” demanded Bassa, eyeing his instructor with skepticism.

Rellen’s subtle wink was not unexpected. He relished pushing the envelope at every opportunity. Bassa rarely rose to the bait and felt annoyed with his quick reaction. This young man and the potential scenarios his presence could produce had clouded his thoughts.

“
Well, you’ve never allowed this type to simply slip through the program,” offered Rellen, crossing his arms and inclining his head toward the screen. “He’ll either change or he’ll fail!”

Bassa eyed the screen once more, his gaze slowly drifting to the picture on his desk. The similarity between the men was unmistakable.

He’ll change or he’ll wind up dead, Bassa thought.

Waving his hand in front of the press plate, Byron announced his presence when the speaker inquired and waited for his sister’s response. The door did not open right away, which came as no surprise. Sighing, he turned to view the city, spread out across the valley floor for miles in every direction.

This was his first visit since his acceptance into the service. Byron had maintained contact with his sister but only through telecom transmissions. He’d felt obliged to keep Sherdan informed of his progress, although he was now past he need for supervision or her approval. He was sure his sister relished that fact as well.

Byron’s sister had been absent for much of his life. After their parents’ death, Sherdan had assumed responsibility of her younger sibling, but not for long. Byron’s bond with her was fragile at best, and he’d rebelled against her authority. When he turned six, his sister decided she’d had enough and relinquished her guardianship. She shipped him off to a facility designed to handle troubled and abandoned children. Deprived of family and all he’d ever known, Byron was forced to survive by any means possible.

It was during those fourteen miserable years that Byron learned he could trust nothing but his own skills and wits. Sherdan’s occasional visits did little to bolster his belief in people and he resisted all attempts to connect with her or anyone else on an emotional or mental level. Those in a position of authority bore the brunt of his anger and defiance. Despite his refusal to interact or bond with other Cassans, Byron’s mind did not permit him to disconnect completely from the world. He relished knowledge and its potential to provide freedom, and he’d applied himself to his studies with obvious zeal.

By the time he was fifteen, his instructors began to notice his dexterity skills. They praised his talents and encouraged the young man to increase his proficiency. Byron had always excelled in his classes, but this form of recognition pleased him even more. Rigorous physical training soon occupied his spare time, reducing the occurrences of mischievous behavior. Byron had discovered a life driven by purpose as he contemplated the opportunities his skills could provide.

The day of his twentieth birthday he applied for military service. Despite his instructors’ cautions that he might not gain admittance for another year, Byron was accepted as a trainee in the fleet. His high academic scores and reflexive skills, coupled with strong mental powers, earned him the right to apply for pilot training. Unwilling to compromise his potential, and determined to prove his worth to those who’d doubted, Byron decided to pursue the prestigious position of Cosbolt pilot. The two-seat fighter ship was the fleet’s elite weapon of choice and the first into combat. Only the most skilled pilots flew Cosbolts. Confident in his abilities, Byron had applied himself to the program and finished at the top of his class. In two days, he would report to Guaard to begin the final stage of training, and he could not be more pleased with his accomplishment.

His triumphant thoughts were diverted when the door opened. A woman with features quite different from Byron appeared in the doorway. Sherdan regarded him with caution, her eyes scanning his face even as her mind probed his thoughts. Annoyed by the invasion of his privacy, Byron quickly shielded his mind. Sherdan frowned with obvious displeasure.

“
Just as guarded as ever,” she declared, her tone neutral.

“
Did you really think I’d change?” Byron replied, offering a smug smile he knew would irritate his sister further.

“
Of course not! That would be asking the impossible.”

This time it was Byron’s turn to scowl. He enjoyed exchanging words with his sister, but only when he held the upper hand. Judging from her sarcastic tone, Sherdan’s expectations for her brother remained low. He’d struggled with feelings of inadequacy as a child and refused to be saddled with her poor opinion now.

“
I didn’t have to come here you know,” he growled, prepared to beat a hasty departure.

His sister sighed and set her lips in a thin line. Offering a curt nod, she stepped aside. Feeling wary, he entered Sherdan’s home.

Her new dwelling was much larger than her previous home. Byron’s sister had recently bonded with a mate and shared his abode, although he did not appear to be present at the moment. Byron had never met the man and felt relieved. He could only imagine the image Sherdan had painted of her troubled younger brother.

Byron followed his sister into the food preparation room. Several vegetables lined the counter, their colors bright in an otherwise colorless room. He’d viewed so many white rooms as a child, shuffled from one facility to the next, that the surroundings caused Byron a sense of unease. He slouched against the counter and watched as Sherdan reached for a cutting knife.

“
So,” she said in a loud voice, her eyes focused on the vegetables. “Are you still in training?”

“
I just completed simulator training,” he stated with pride, still wary of Sherdan’s tone. “I leave for Guaard in two days. In six months, I’ll be certified.”

Sherdan shook her head. “My brother, piloting a Cosbolt!”

“
And why is that so difficult to imagine?” Byron demanded, grasping the edge of the counter with both hands.

“
It requires a great deal of discipline.”

“
And you think I’m incapable? I finished at the top of my class!”

Sherdan ceased her activity and thoughtfully regarded her brother. Byron met her steady gaze, his fingers almost digging into the counter in an effort to control his anger. His sister might still doubt his abilities, but she could not argue with the facts.

“
Then that is quite an accomplishment,” she answered at last.

He sensed relief rather than pride in her tone and Sherdan’s indifference stabbed at his heart. Outside of their blood ties, there was no bond between the siblings. Without further thought, Byron blocked that painful realization from his mind. He had wasted his time coming to see his sister.

“
Were you staying for dinner?” she asked.

“
No,” Byron growled, leaning away from the counter. “I’m heading back tonight, so I need to go.”

“
I wish you well then,” Sherdan replied, returning to her task.