CassaStar (11 page)

However, the validity of Trindel’s statement struck Byron even as he tried to deny the possibility. He’d not allowed any individual to penetrate his thoughts until their pairing over a year ago. The years of impersonal instructors and specialists probing his young mind had caused Byron to develop an impenetrable mental shield. The sensation of another’s presence in his head felt like an invasion of his privacy, and he’d gone through several navigators before discovering one whose thoughts didn’t feel hostile. Trindel had become his last option at that point, which lent truth to his statement. Byron only allowed the navigator access to his mind because he had no other choice.

Stunned by this realization, Byron didn’t know what to say. Closing his mouth, which had fallen open as he processed Trindel’s observation, he stared helplessly at his friend.

“
It’s okay,” Trindel offered, shrugging his shoulders. “Doesn’t bother me. You’ve got your reasons for privacy.”

Byron nodded, still searching for the right words to say. Trindel flashed him a smile and pushed away from the door.

“
Ready for the evening meal?” he asked, quick to dismiss the whole conversation.

Shoulders slumping, Byron shook his head. “I’m to report to Bassa’s office,” he sighed.

“
Oh? Why?”

“
He probably wants to berate me. I’ll find out soon enough,” he added, glancing at the time.

“
Maybe it’s something good!” Trindel offered, touching the door panel. “I’ll catch you later. Enjoy yourself!”

Enjoy myself, right, Byron thought. He did not relish the idea of sharing a meal with the man.

He did make an effort to adjust his attitude by the time he reached Bassa’s office, though. The senior officer bade him to enter and Byron cleared his mind as the doors opened. He entered and noted two trays of food on the desk.

“
Have a seat,” Bassa instructed.

Byron sat down and edged his chair closer to the desk. The senior officer had not touched his food yet. Bassa waited until Byron was situated before lifting his fork.

“
I think you will find this a more suitable meal,” he offered, stabbing a slice of meat.

Byron had wondered if the officers ate better than the trainees. Judging from the generous portions and appetizing smells, his assumptions were correct.

Byron had not felt like eating when he arrived, but his appetite returned as the delicious aromas enveloped his nose. Selecting a piece of meat slathered in sauce, he lifted the fork to his mouth. The taste and texture rivaled the best meal he’d ever experienced on Cassa.

Raising his gaze, he realized Bassa was watching his reaction. He swallowed and nodded, reaching for his napkin. The senior officer smiled.

“
More to your liking?”

“
Yes, sir.”

Bassa retrieved another piece of meat and Byron followed suit. The strips were fresh and bore none of the processed flavor predominant in the dining hall’s fare. He tried the vegetables next and was surprised by the crispness. The bread tasted fresh as well.

“
Today was our last session,” Bassa suddenly announced. “You and Trindel must be sharp for your final two weeks of training.”

“
We’re finished, sir?”

“
Yes, I believe we established your limit today. A dozen jumps is still ten above average,” he reminded Byron when the young man’s mouth opened. “You comprehend the parameters of your ability and can transfer your own energy to the teleporter without error. You and Trindel have performed to my satisfaction as navigator and pilot. If you complete the course, you will receive my recommendation.”

“
If, sir?” Byron asked.

Bassa cocked one eyebrow. “There are still two weeks remaining,” he reminded him.

“
Yes, sir,” replied Byron, his gaze returning to his food.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Byron sensed the senior officer was watching, but he refrained from making eye contact with Bassa. His mental shields were locked in place, protecting his private thoughts. Byron felt the instructor was gathering information by observation alone, though. The intense scrutiny further rattled his nerves.

As he finished his meal, Byron heard Bassa shift in his chair. The noise caused him to look up and the senior officer met his eyes.

“
Why did you want to be a Cosbolt pilot?”

Bassa’s question caught him off-guard, and Byron searched for a suitable reply. “For the prestige, sir,” he answered, affecting a nonchalant pose. “For the chance at a life beyond Cassa.”

The senior officer did not respond and continued to gaze at Byron. Sensing Bassa was waiting for more, he nervously swirled the remainder of his food with his fork. Contemplating the real reason behind his motives, Byron pressed his lips together and frowned.

“
And because it was the only profession for which I possessed any aptitude,” he admitted with reluctance. “Sir,” he added, aware he had responded without properly addressing the senior officer.

“
Piloting a fighter was your only option?” inquired Bassa.

Byron nodded, his eyes still on his plate.

“
The next two weeks will decide your fate then.”

Byron set down his fork, no longer interested in his food. The thought of failing as a Cosbolt pilot after almost a year and a half of intense training made him feel ill. If he did not pass the course, Byron had no idea what else he’d do with his life. There were few other options.

“
Has my fate already been decided, sir?” he asked, his voice bold despite the gnawing fear in his stomach.

Bassa reclined in his chair and crossed his hands in his lap. “No, it has not. It’s still up to you.”

Puzzled by the response, Byron stared at the senior officer. Something told him there was more to the senior officer’s statement than the obvious, though.

“
Is there something you wish to say?” Bassa inquired, breaking into his thoughts.

Shifting in his seat, Byron realized that while his mind was shielded, his expression was not so easily concealed. Frustrated by Bassa’s powers of observation, he decided to take a bold approach.

“
Do I have what it takes to successfully complete this course, sir?” he asked.

“
As far as your skills as a pilot, yes,” Bassa announced. “It’s your mental state that concerns me. All that talent and ability requires discipline and responsibility. Overconfidence leads to mistakes. I need to be certain that when I send you out to the fleet, you are capable of making the right choices. If I haven’t properly prepared you on all levels, then not only have I failed, I’ve cost the life of a valuable young man and pilot. And your death would be a terrible waste, Byron.”

The senior officer’s words perplexed Byron. “A waste, sir? I’m not sure I understand.”

Bassa’s expression turned solemn. “Before I became an instructor, another talented young pilot trained here on Guaard. He did not possess your talent for multiple jumps, but he was just as skilled. He entered the fleet determined to prove his worth and gain the attention of his fellow officers. His career was cut short less than two months later when a bold maneuver and jump resulted in a collision with an asteroid.”

Leaning forward in his seat, Bassa regarded Byron with a stern look. “I do not want you to suffer a similar fate, and I will do everything in my power to ensure you have a long and successful career. Understood?”

Byron could only nod in agreement, caught off-guard by the rare hint of emotion in Bassa’s voice. His concern was genuine, although Byron could not imagine why. His previous instructors had no need for a troublesome young man, and he was sure the senior officer despised him as well.

“
That is why I have gone to great lengths to ensure you are properly prepared,” Bassa added. “It is now up to you, Byron.”

“
Yes, sir,” he replied, still confused.

Bassa moved his tray aside and leaned back in his chair. “That was all I wanted to discuss with you, pilot. Unless you have another question, you are dismissed.”

“
Yes, sir,” said Byron, pushing back his chair.

His gaze fell on the photo adorning Bassa’s desk. Feeling brave, he decided to satisfy his curiosity.

“
Sir?” he asked, rising to his feet. “If I may ask, who is that in the photo?”

Bassa’s gaze flicked briefly to the frame. “That was my younger brother, Tal.”

“
Was, sir?”

“
He died many years ago.”

“
I’m sorry, sir,” Byron answered, feeling awkward. “Thank you for the meal.”

Retreating from the room, he emitted a sigh of relief. He’d survived the experience, which in fact was not as agonizing as he’d anticipated. Bassa had given him much to ponder.

His future was in his hands. Byron’s performance had to be perfect the next two weeks. He could not fail now.

The men dressed in silence, the weight of today’s exercise suppressing the normal chatter. Byron’s thoughts were somber as he pulled on his flight suit and even Trindel was quiet. The instructors had placed a great deal of emphasis on the success of their flight, proclaiming it the trainees’ greatest test. Considering it was only the first day of their weeklong assessment, Byron felt wary.

Upon entering the hanger, he noticed a transport shuttle near the drones. A single officer waited by the open hatch, and even from that distance, he could see the man’s security badge. Byron assembled with the other men, he eyes still on the visiting ship. The last trainee fell into place and Bassa began to speak, diverting Byron’s attention.

“
The next few days are critical. They will determine your success or failure,” he stated, his expression grave. “We begin the testing process today with what will be your most difficult task. Shooting drones is easy, as they are but mere machines. Once you have joined the fleet, the ships you destroy will contain living beings.

“
That is why today’s exercise is so vital.”

Pivoting to face the shuttle, he signaled to the officer standing guard. The man nodded and entered the ship. A moment later, he and another officer emerged, leading a group of men bound by security cuffs. The procession moved toward the waiting drone ships.

“
Those men,” Bassa announced, “are prisoners slated for execution. One man will be placed in each drone ship, all of which have been programmed for battle.”

He placed his hands behind his back and stared at the young men. “This will be your ultimate test. Today, you will each destroy a live target.”

Beside him, Byron heard Trindel’s sharp intake of breath. Suppressing his own surprise, he kept his eyes on the senior officer.

“
Now, to your ships!”

No one spoke as the men moved to their Cosbolts. Byron sensed Trindel’s anxiety pulsating like a beacon and one glance revealed his navigator’s ashen complexion. He kept his own emotions in control as they performed the preflight check. Occasionally his gaze wandered to the group of prisoners. The first man was being placed in a drone as their fighter wheeled into position.

Once every Cosbolt had launched, the squadron assembled and set a course away from the base. On his radar, Byron noted the drones emerging from the launch tubes. He caught his breath, a moment of doubt grasping at his throat. They were about to shoot down real people. Prisoners or not, his first live kill would be a fellow Cassan.

They’re still the enemy, he told himself. They were scheduled for execution because they’d committed a crime.

Satisfied with his reasoning, Byron wiped all thought of the drone’s passengers from his mind and prepared for battle. He would not fail this first test.

Aware that Trindel had not uttered a word, he reached out to his navigator.
You okay?

Yes,
came the hesitant reply.

Don’t fade on me now!
Byron ordered.
We can do this.

He sensed Trindel’s reluctant compliance and decided not to pursue the issue. As long as his navigator maintained awareness of their position, Byron would ensure their success today.