9780982713969 CassaFire E-Book

Alex J. Cavanaugh

• Herausgeber: Dancing Lemur Press LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 367

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

CassaStar was just the beginning…

The Vindicarn War is a distant memory and Byron’s days of piloting Cosbolt fighters are over. He has kept the promise he made to his fallen mentor and friend - to probe space on an exploration vessel. Shuttle work is dull, but it’s a free and solitary existence. The senior officer is content with his life aboard the Rennather.

The detection of alien ruins sends the exploration ship to the distant planet of Tgren. If their scientists can decipher the language, they can unlock the secrets of this device. Is it a key to the Tgren’s civilization or a weapon of unimaginable power? Tensions mount as their new allies are suspicious of the Cassan’s technology and strange mental abilities. 

To complicate matters, the Tgrens are showing signs of mental powers themselves; the strongest of which belongs to a pilot named Athee, a woman whose skills rival Byron’s unique abilities. Forced to train her mind and further develop her flying aptitude, he finds his patience strained. Add a reluctant friendship with a young scientist, and he feels invaded on every level. All Byron wanted was his privacy…

“…delivers on the promise of its predecessor, combining military action sequences and political intrigue with strong, memorable characters. Reminiscent of the action-driven stories of Robert A. Heinlein's early fiction…” - Library Journal

Leseprobe

Alex J. Cavanaugh

DANCING LEMUR PRESS, L.L.C.

Pikeville, North Carolina

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

“…hearkens back to Robert A. Heinlein’s early books in its appeal to a younger adult audience as well as military sf fans.”

- Library Journal

“This is a book of inner and outer journeys, of inner and outer adventures, mysteries and revelations. It is also a book of friendship, relationship and equality. CassaStar is the cake. CassaFire is the cherry.” - Edi’s Book Lighthouse

“A fun filled space opera of romance and adventure, CassaFire harkens back to its 80s influences like Battlestar Galactica, Buck Rogers in the 20th Century, and Star Wars. Family friendly and sure to please fans of classic space opera in the Golden Age Style.”- Bryan Thomas Schmidt, author “The Worker Prince”

“This is the ideal novel for anyone wanting to dip their toes into Sci-Fi. I can’t recommend this one highly enough.” - Fantasy Nibbles

“…perfect for someone looking for a light space adventure with… great characters and story. Highly Recommended.”

- Speculative Book Reviews

“Those looking for an unchallenging throwback will enjoy Byron’s adventure…”

- Publishers Weekly

“The author knows how to keep things moving... a real page turner. The best space opera fiction I've read in awhile.”

- Randy Johnson Not The Baseball Pitcher

Copyright 2012 by Alex J. Cavanaugh

Published by Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

P.O. Box 383, Pikeville, North Carolina, 27863-0383

http://dancinglemurpress.com

eBook ISBN: 9780982713969

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form – either mechanically, electronically, photocopy, recording, or other – except for short quotations in printed reviews, without the permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design by C.R.W.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data:

Cavanaugh, Alex J.

CassaFire / Alex J. Cavanaugh.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-9816210-6-7 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-0-9827139-3-8 (e-book)

1. Space travel —Fiction. 2. Outer space—Exploration—Fiction. 3. Teleportation—Fiction. 4. Psychokinesis—Fiction. 5. Science fiction. I. Title

PS3553.A964 C38 2012

[Fic]—dd22

2011937168

For my awesome friends

who guided me on this journey -

Rusty Webb

Jeffrey Beesler

I couldn’t have done it without you!

Also by Alex J. Cavanaugh:

CassaDawn

eBook ISBN: 9781939844354

“Alex J. Cavanaugh never disappoints with his tales of adventure. The story pulls you in and won’t let you go!” - Heather M. Gardner, author

CassaStar

eBook ISBN 978-0-9827139-3-8

Print ISBN 978-0-9816210-6-7

“…calls to mind the youthful focus of Robert Heinlein’s early military sf, as well as the excitement of space opera epitomized by the many Star Wars novels. Fast-paced military action and a youthful protagonist make this a good choice for both young adult and adult fans of space wars.” - Library Journal

CassaStorm

eBook ISBN 9781939844019

Print ISBN 9781939844002

"CassaStorM  is a touching and mesmerizing space opera full of action and emotion with strong characters and a cosmic mystery." - Edi's Book Lighthouse

“Cavanaugh makes world building on the galactic scale look easy. The stakes affect the entire known universe and yet Cavanaugh makes it intensely personal for our hero. The final installment of this series will break your heart and put it back together.” - Charity Bradford, science fantasy author of The Magic Wakes

CassaDark

eBook ISBN 9781939844859

Print ISBN 9781939844842

“Cavanaugh returns to the world of his Cassa Series…for a fourth inventive space opera.” – Publisher’s Weekly

“If you enjoy classic SF novels with interesting, new ideas and plenty of twists and turns, then grab a copy of CassaDark!” - Damien Larkin, author

Dragon of the Stars

eBook ISBN 9781939844057

Print ISBN 9781939844064

“...the storytelling is solid, with plenty of space-based military action...” - Publishers Weekly

“...follows the Heinlein tradition of coming of age by way of battle. It is a fast paced adventure that readers should find entertaining.” – SFRevu

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

Damned sloppy work!

Byron scowled at the cargo. Twenty years ago, I helped end the Vindicarn War, received the fleet’s highest honors, and awarded the freedom to pursue any position worthy of a pilot of my caliber, he thought, grinding his teeth. Today, I’m supervising the loading of luggage. Damn, this is wrong!

Pulling on the straps, Byron tightened the latch one more time. The men who’d loaded his shuttle knew nothing about proper cargo storage. They had not even checked the restraints. It wouldn’t do to have the bins break free during flight. He was responsible for the cargo’s safe arrival on board the Rennather.

Satisfied the crates were secure, he returned to the shuttle’s central compartment. His boots echoed off the metal floor. One section squeaked in protest, but the sound comforted Byron’s ears. He’d piloted this particular shuttle for over twelve years and knew every rattle and groan. Only his knowledge of the Darten rivaled that intimacy, as twenty years in service together had bred a certain amount of familiarity with the tiny fighter.

Pausing at the open hatch, Byron scanned the encampment. The temporary structures, awash in pale blues, stood out against the green of the forest. With the cargo in place, all he lacked were three passengers. Last time Byron had seen the men, they were gathering personal equipment. Considering the urgency of their orders, he wished they’d speed up the process. Commander Korden wanted to reach their next destination in two days.

Noting three men ambling toward the shuttle, he continued forward and entered the cockpit. Judging from their pace, he had time to perform a systems check.

His fingers raced across the control panel, their movement automatic. Byron possessed more than enough experience and skill to fly an exploration shuttle. For twelve years now, the Rennather’s commander had reminded Byron of his qualifications and eligibility to transfer to any ship he cared to pilot. Claiming contentment with his current assignment, Byron saw no need to seek other opportunities. Byron’s outstanding skills were a luxury in his position. Despite moments of monotony, he found ways to challenge himself and avoid complacency in his position. Besides, he’d made a promise to a friend many years ago. Byron could not justify breaking that pact just because it bored him. Besides, Cassans lived long lives. He still had time for another career change and was in no hurry.

There were moments of excitement on the Rennather, though. Byron had seen more regions of space than even piloting a Cosbolt fighter would’ve provided. Exploration ships traveled beyond the allegiance borders, meeting new races and strengthening relationships with potential allies. Politics didn’t interest Byron but flying on the edge of known space held a certain mystique.

A door sensor alerted him that his passengers were boarding. Pressing one final button, he turned from the controls. Byron stood and placed himself between the cockpit and main cabin. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall and focused on the three scientists strolling up the ramp. The third man crowded the first two, pushing them forward.

At least someone understands the importance of our next mission, Byron thought.

“Officer Byron,” the first man stated, pausing to stand at attention. His voice was as thick as his midsection.

Byron nodded an acknowledgement, fighting to conceal the smirk that tugged at his lips. He recalled Vorsan’s presence on previous flights. The science officer didn’t handle space flight well.

“I hope you ate light,” said Byron.

Vorsan’s eyes narrowed, but he offered no answer. Byron wondered if he dared taunt the man today with a demonstration of his flying ability. The science officer was a dour sort. Byron might as well have some fun.

The second man hailed a greeting. His shrill voice matched his tall, lanky frame. He joined the first, stowing his gear in the empty compartment. Byron followed their every movement. Although science officers were precise by nature, they tended to forget those habits when traveling. More often than not, stowed gear required adjustments.

Aware that the third man had paused, Byron’s attention shifted to his final passenger. Wide eyes greeted the pilot, and the dark orbs appeared ready to pop out of their sockets. The lad’s expression mirrored the stunned recognition that arose in his thoughts. Byron frowned. Remote exploration assignments were assigned to those with experience. This boy was far too young.

As if sensing disapproval, the young man altered his expression and straightened his shoulders. “Officer Byron?” he gasped. The pitch of his voice confirmed his youth. The boy’s thoughts continued to project amazement and were filled with adoration.

While telepathic courtesies might be beyond the lad, Byron did not want his own mind exposed. Locking his mental shields into place, he nodded and gestured for the young man to join the others. He’d long grown weary of the recognition. The Vindicarn War many years past now, Byron wanted to curtail any further comments regarding his war hero status. He’d lost his closest friend during one of those battles. He didn’t want, or need, to be reminded of the tragedy that had changed the course of his life and career.

Byron sealed the hatch and returned to the controls. Engaging the engines, he listened with pleasure to the deep resonating roar. Connecting to the ship’s teleportation device with his mind, he confirmed the unit’s full strength. The teleporter’s force echoed in his chest and he smiled. Even if the device’s power were to fail, he could still jump the ship. Very few Cassans possessed that ability.

“A smooth flight this time, Officer Byron,” Vorsan called from the main compartment.

“Last one a bit bumpy for you?” Byron asked, lifting the ship from the ground.

“I nearly lost my meal, damn it!”

Guiding the shuttle over the encampment, a sense of mischief crept over Byron. Yanking hard on the throttle, he pushed the engines to full capacity. Within seconds, the shuttle’s position changed from horizontal to vertical. It ascended skyward at a rapid pace. The engines screamed as they fought the planet’s gravitation. The sudden acceleration pressed Byron into his seat. He delighted in the sensation, despite the cries of dismay radiating from the main cabin and echoing through his mind.

“Byron!”

Ignoring the protests, he continued their steep climb. The ship shuddered in protest of such rough treatment, further rattling its contents. The thundering noise, coupled with the engine’s roar, drowned out all other sounds. Eyes focused skyward, Byron’s heart beat with exhilaration. He felt as one with the ship.

Sensing his passengers’ discomfort, he leveled the craft. Relieved moans resonated from the main compartment. Before any of the men could chastise such rough treatment, Byron selected a location within proximity of the Rennather and teleported the shuttle.

For a split second, a silent darkness enveloped the ship. As the shuttle reentered space, the sight of the exploration vessel filled the view outside the cockpit. Without slowing his pace, Byron communicated his intentions to land and steered the ship toward the open bay. The landing bay loomed closer, threatening to engulf the shuttle. Slowing his speed at last, he glided into the opening and brought the runners down without so much as a single jolt. Byron eased the ship into position with a steady hand. He then powered down the vessel as it was towed into the central hangar.

When the shuttle ceased its movements, Byron turned off the remaining systems and arose to open the hatch. His passengers were fumbling with their harnesses. He sensed a great haste to exit his ship. Byron grinned at the ashen complexions, noting drool on Vorsan’s chin.

“I hope you enjoyed your flight,” Byron said, releasing the hatch.

“Damn it, Byron,” the man exclaimed, wiping his face. “The ship’s commander will hear about this.”

Byron straightened his back and met the man’s gaze. “I’m sure he will,” he offered, “and that’s Senior Officer Byron to you, Officer Vorsan.”

The man hesitated as he reached for his pack. Pressing his lips together in resignation, Vorsan nodded. Yanking his bag free, he stormed out of the craft. The other two men gathered their items and followed at a slower pace. However, the youngest man paused before disembarking.

“Is that how you used to fly your Cosbolt, sir?” he asked.

Sensing admiration rather than malice, Byron allowed a grin to tug at the corner of his mouth. “No, if this were a Cosbolt, Vorsan would’ve thrown up.”

The boy’s broad face broke into a smile. “I’d like to hear about your adventures sometime, sir.”

Byron’s chest tightened. “Perhaps.”

The young man trotted down the ramp, his step light and hopeful. Hangar personnel appeared to retrieve the crates. Byron supervised the process while the crew emptied the shuttle. Relieved of all cargo, he made one final sweep of the ship before exiting his craft. The Rennather would remain in orbit, conducting system checks, until the middle of the night. He intended to take full advantage of their stationary position.

Approaching the hangar chief, he requested permission to take out the Darten. The man gestured toward the tiny fighter and announced he would inform control of Byron’s flight.

Byron conducted a visual inspection of his ship, running his hand down the sleek, metal surface as he circled the vessel. Slender by design for mobility, the Darten was the smallest fighter in the fleet. Completing his task, he mounted the short steps to the cockpit. Wiggling his body into position, Byron found his tall frame enveloped by the small compartment. Some men found it claustrophobic. Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to the cramped quarters. It paled in comparison to the spacious Cosbolt he’d once flown, but that fighter was no longer a viable option.

He ran through the pre-flight checklist before donning his helmet and lowering the canopy. Flashing an “all ready” thought to the hangar crew, Byron waited as the Darten moved into place.

Launching from the Rennather’s bay did not hold the same thrill as speeding down a narrow launch tube, but he still experienced a surge of exhilaration as the fighter raced toward space. Once clear of the opening, he banked left and circled around the ship. As instructed by the commander, a visual inspection of the Rennather was required whenever he took the Darten out for a run. Byron circled twice, his eyes scanning for minor damage or debris caught in one of the vents. Satisfied everything appeared to be in order, he steered away from the Rennather and out into space.

The small fighter saw little action these days, but Byron wanted to keep his skills sharp. He ran through several drills, executing each maneuver with precision. The Darten handled tight turns with ease, even better than the Cosbolt. Byron preferred the strength of the larger fighter, though. The Darten made up for its lack of engine and firepower with incredible maneuverability and speed. However, at the moment, its limitations meant nothing. Byron simply enjoyed the responsive controls and rapid flight.

Arcing to the left, Byron dove, sending the Darten racing toward the Rennather. His breath grew shallow and he pressed the throttle forward, increasing the vessel’s speed. Byron’s mind reached out for the ship’s teleportation device, located behind his seat and secure within the hull of his vessel. The unit’s hum was inaudible to the ear, but the sonic vibrations reverberated in his head, sending a rhythmic pounding down his spine. Locking his thoughts on the surging energy, his mental powers increased to match the power level of the teleporter. If the device’s energy failed, Byron could replace it with his own charge.

The hull of the Rennather loomed closer, filling the view. The Darten’s speed ensured no evasive action would prevent impact. Not even a pilot with Byron’s skill could avoid collision now…

Jump!

The blackness of space enveloped his senses. Byron spun the ship around, whipping the Darten with such force that it jostled him in his seat. His forward progress halted, he gazed in triumph at the view outside his cockpit. The Rennather’s massive engines filled his vision. He’d timed his jump perfectly.

A smile crossed Byron’s lips. His stunt had probably unnerved the newer crewmembers on the bridge, but the commander never voiced concern. Byron only performed maneuvers he’d mastered this close to the ship. This jump pushed his limits, but that’s when Byron felt most alive.

He returned to the Rennather, tired and ready for a decent meal. Voices reached his ears even before Byron entered the dining hall. He scanned its occupants before retrieving a tray of food. Most of the short tables were occupied. Byron spied an empty seat beside Garnce, the ship’s other small craft pilot. The man’s gruff nature matched his grizzled appearance, and his apathetic attitude surfaced at every opportunity. Byron had grown used to the abrasive words that often tumbled from his lips. It was the man’s lack of ambition that really annoyed Byron, but he could do worse this evening than Garnce’s company.

The pilot noticed his approach, offering a curt nod. Byron glanced at the other occupants as he circled the table. He realized the young man from the shuttle occupied the spot across from his empty seat. The lad met his gaze before Byron could look away. Straightening his back, the boy sat at attention. Unable to retreat without raising suspicion or implying offense, Byron set his tray on the table.

“You take the Darten out for a spin?” Garnce asked, still gnawing on a fruit core.

“Thought I’d take advantage of the down time,” said Byron, sliding into his chair.

Their exchange caught the attention of the scientist. “You fly a Darten too, sir?” he said, almost dropping the food on his fork.

Byron reached for his drink. “I have for twenty years.”

“But before that you flew Cosbolts, correct?”

“Just one,” he answered, hoping his casual reply would squash further questions. Byron just wanted some food in his empty stomach.

Fortunately, Garnce intervened. “Mevine here was telling us about the new discovery on Tgren,” he said, gesturing to the young man.

The boy’s face grew radiant. He grinned with obvious enthusiasm, which echoed from his unshielded thoughts. Byron took advantage of the distraction. He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and gestured for the science officer to elaborate.

“A recent excavation revealed an ancient underground facility,” Mevine explained, his voice quivering with excitement. “Four days ago, a team gained access to the interior and found what they believe is the control room. The technology is so advanced, it’s beyond anything we’ve previously discovered. Why, the possibilities of its application are endless!”

The young man’s voice had risen as he spoke, accompanied by frantic hand gestures. The opportunity to dissect alien technology seemed to excite Mevine, but experience had taught Byron caution and a healthy respect for the unknown. He glanced at Garnce, who shrugged with indifference.

“Sounds dangerous to me,” the pilot replied, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“Not necessarily,” protested Mevine.

“What do they know about it?” asked Byron. Despite Garnce’s apathy, curiosity stirred in him. A little danger sounded appealing, especially after months of routine assignments.

Mevine pulled his dark brows together, his shoulders sagging. “Very little at the moment. They’ve been unable to translate the language. Of course, no one stationed on Tgren specializes in alien script. I’m hoping to receive an upload from the team before we break orbit, so I can get a head start.”

Byron regarded Mevine with surprise. “You’re a linguist expert?”

“Yes sir, I’m trained in alien dialect, print, and code.”

Garnce offered a skeptical guffaw. “You’re rather young for deep space exploration,” he observed, frowning as he reached for his glass.

“I’m twenty-three,” Mevine announced, straightening his back and dropping his hands to his lap. “And I completed training at the top of my class.” Indignation flashed through his thoughts before the lad abruptly shielded his mind.

“What he means is we don’t see many men your age out here on the edge of space,” Byron offered in an attempt to sooth Mevine’s agitation. “You must be damned good to finish your training so quickly and acquire this assignment.”

Mevine nodded, his wide eyes fixed on Byron. “You were young when you began active duty, sir.,” he observed. “I understand you were one of the best pilots to train on Guaard.”

“I suppose.”

“Is that why you were assigned to the flagship Sorenthia?”

Byron shoved the last bite of food into his mouth. “One of the reasons,” he said, swallowing without chewing. He sensed the conversation’s direction. Byron wanted to escape before it drifted too far.

“Wasn’t your navigator accomplished as well? I forget his name…”

The boy’s question, while innocent enough, sparked anger in Byron. He’d grown accustomed to deflecting questions regarding his involvement in the Vindicarn War, but inquiries involving his navigator cut deep. That Mevine couldn’t even recall the man’s name was an affront to the senior officer’s memory.

“Bassa was the most decorated navigator in the fleet and a true legend,” he replied, rising quickly to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get out of this flight suit.”

Mevine leaned away from the table, mouth open in surprise. Byron nodded at Garnce and exited the dining hall, his mental shields secure. He slipped into the first available telepod. Envisioning his destination, he transferred to the officers’ level.

He began yanking off his flight suit the moment he entered his quarters. The fabric felt melded to his muscles as he peeled it from his body. Dropping into the room’s only chair, he removed his boots, allowing the air to circulate around his warm feet. Byron dumped his suit into a bin located within the wall and retreated to the bathing room for a much-needed shower.

Dressed, refreshed, and hunger sated, Byron pulled the chair closer to his workstation. He updated the logs for both spacecraft, reviewing each one’s flight recordings in detail. Neither revealed numbers outside of the safety parameters, although the shuttle’s rapid acceleration had pushed the limits of the vessel’s capabilities. Scanning the passenger list once more, Byron glanced at his personal record. Despite Vorsan’s threat, no complaints were listed regarding today’s flight. Byron smiled as he recalled the man’s request for a smooth ride. Those words had almost demanded a response, and his fighter pilot instincts were too strong to pass up the opportunity.

Shifting his weight, he leaned back in his chair. Byron’s gaze traveled to a photo resting beside his console. The dark metal frame showed signs of wear around the edges despite the durability of the alloy. Fortunately, the picture within was untouched by time. Over twenty years old, it presented a memento of his days as Cosbolt pilot. His image revealed a much younger man, but Byron did not linger on that thought. It was the other man in the photo who held his attention.

You would’ve advised against my stunt today, he thought, recalling his navigator’s views on discipline and proper procedures. However, Bassa had never denied his pilot the pleasure of an outlandish maneuver.

But, it would’ve amused you, Byron concluded, a smile tugging at his lips.

Mevine’s comment returned to his thoughts. The boy had meant no disrespect. However, it annoyed Byron that the young man knew so much of his past accolades while Bassa’s accomplishments were lost to memory. At one time, every man in the fleet knew the navigator’s name and regarded Bassa as a living legend. Byron could not think of another man he’d admired more. He would always consider Bassa his closest friend and brother in spirit.

He reached for the photo, his hand lifting it with care into his lap. Byron stared at the figures leaning against the Cosbolt and felt a pang of regret. If only Bassa were alive to experience the life of exploration they’d planned. Byron had continued the course, but the experience lacked without his friend and navigator.

Grasping his computer pad, Byron pulled up an image of Tgren. The planet looked similar to Cassa, although less water dotted her surface. The site of the alien ruins was clearly marked and situated next to a city called Ktren. He needed to read up on their next destination, but fatigue overwhelmed him and he could not focus on the information. Yawning once, his eyes returned to the photo in his hand.

So, what awaits us on Tgren? he thought, arching one eyebrow. The remains of a superior race? A weapon, perhaps? Think I might finally meet my match on this assignment?

No reply echoed in his mind. The silence was as complete as the day Bassa had died.

Byron sighed and returned the photo to his desk. Slapping his knees, he rose to his feet.

I guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we brother?

Chapter Two

By the time Byron awoke the next morning, the Rennather had broken orbit and proceeded to the edge of the solar system. Once it reached that point, the ship would perform its first jump. Checking the timetable, Byron calculated the exact moment the teleporter would engage. The incredible amount of power required to jump a vessel the size of the Rennather resulted in an internal vibration unlike any other. He relished the sensation and planned his day around the event.

Most of the science personnel were missing during the morning and midday meals. Byron inquired into their absence. Senior Science Officer Seheller explained that they were working on transcribing the alien language.

“The transmission came through late last night,” the man informed him. “We spent half the night processing data and started again early this morning. I don’t think Mevine ever went to sleep. He’s certainly dedicated.”

Byron shook his head, amused by the young man’s eagerness. He suspected they would find Mevine this evening draped over a workstation in a heap and unconscious from exhaustion. However, the diversion was well timed. Mevine’s focus now resided on his work rather than Byron’s past glories.

Before the evening meal, Byron visited the ship’s grav court. He’d delayed his daily regiment to coincide with the Rennather’s jump. He longed for privacy and hoped to find the court empty this time of day.

Better not be occupied, he thought. I’m in no mood for competition tonight.

Noting the green light above the press plate, he entered the court and sealed the door. A slight change in pressure signified a reduction in gravity. Byron shifted his feet, allowing his body to adjust. The alteration minor, it scarcely affected his movement. He was still able to put a fierce spin on the ball, though.

Grasping the racket, he squared his shoulders in preparation. Clasping the ball, Byron hesitated before dropping it to the floor. Striking the surface, it sprang into the air and hovered near the release point. Before the ball could drop, he snatched it out of the air. Pivoting his body, Byron raised his racket. He tossed the ball toward the tall ceiling. With a resounding whack, his racket connected with the small object, and the ball shot toward the far wall.

Byron raced from one side of the court to the other, challenging his skills with difficult volleys. Because of the size of the court, hardly large enough to house a Cosbolt, he felt the temperature rise as his body generated heat from his exertions. Sweat poured from his skin, running unchecked down his arms and legs, soaking his clothes. Byron paused several times to wipe his brow, pushing the damp hair away from his face. He’d forgotten a towel, but this far into his session it wasn’t worth the effort to retrieve one from his quarters. Certainly not with the ship’s jump approaching.

A wild shot sent the ball out of reach. Pausing to catch his breath, a familiar hum echoed within the depths of his mind. Staggering back toward the wall, Byron slid to the floor, still clutching the racket. Resting his head against the wall, he took a deep breath and cleared his mind. The hum had increased in strength; it vibrated down his spine, causing his nerves to tingle. Closing his eyes, Byron focused on the intoxicating sensation of the ship’s teleporter as it prepared for the jump.

His mental abilities had grown in strength over the years. In addition to his unique capacity to channel his own power into a ship’s teleporter, he was now more aware of psychic emissions from all sources. Byron sensed the Rennather’s pilot as the man tapped into the device to perform the jump. Concentrating on the teleporter, he felt the connection of man and machine as the pilot locked onto new coordinates. Even through lidded eyes, the room’s lights vanished, enveloped by darkness as the ship jumped. The teleporter’s power at its peak, he felt the surge of energy as the ship transferred to a new point in space.

The process complete, the device’s discharge began to fade. Byron dropped his chin to his chest, his eyes still closed. Had he chosen to pilot an exploration ship, he would’ve performed the jump instead. On occasion, he assisted with multiple jumps, but the Rennather was not his responsibility. He preferred the mobility of the smaller ships. Certified on five different models, including the Darten, his skills were in high demand. Coupled with his unique ability to jump, not to mention accomplishments as a Cosbolt pilot, Byron had his choice of any ship in the fleet. He’d chosen to remain here.

Flexing his muscles, he pulled himself upright and reached for the ball. The door panel chirped, breaking into his thoughts. Byron scowled, annoyed by the interruption. Only a dimwit would miss the red light that signified the court’s occupancy. Normal gravity resumed and the door slid aside. Byron assumed an authoritative pose, prepared to take the intruder to task for not observing court protocol. A young man entered the room, his head down. At once Byron recognized the gangly figure. He cleared his throat, hoping the noise would alert the intruder of the court’s original occupant. The lad looked up, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Officer Byron, my apologies!” Mevine stammered, rocking hard on his heels. “In my haste, I didn’t notice the court was occupied. Forgive me for interrupting your game.”

By all rights, Byron should’ve scolded him, but Mevine’s unshielded embarrassment made Byron assume a less threatening pose. “I thought you were holed up in the lab.”

“Yes sir, I’ve been there all day,” Mevine replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The movement caused his unkempt hair to bob in rhythm, the curls swinging across his forehead.

“I understand you were in the lab all night, too.”

Mevine ceased his nervous movements. “Yes, sir. But I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Thought some exercise would rouse me. I’d assumed the court would be empty at this hour. I’m sorry I interrupted you, sir.”

The quaver in his voice tugged at the pilot’s sense of compassion. Byron could not miss Mevine’s red eyes or drooping posture, and the final traces of his irritation disappeared. Considering the boy’s exhaustion, Byron could forgive an honest mistake. It had not interrupted his connection with the teleporter, either. Now that the moment had passed, Byron felt less reclusive. Besides, Mevine’s presence provided an opportunity for a little competition.

Bouncing the ball once, Byron narrowed his eyes. “Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well lose a couple games.”

Straightening his back, Mevine’s face broke into a smile. “Sir, I’d be honored to play a round with you.”

Despite his fatigue, Mevine proved adept at grav ball. Byron relished the challenge. Pleased with the situation, he stepped up his game to match Mevine’s strategic hits. Experience prevailed, leaving both men gasping for breath and exhausted.

“Not bad,” Byron offered as he retrieved the ball before it rolled to the far end of the court.

“Been a few months since I played,” said Mevine, rubbing his sleeve across his brow.

“We’ll have to play when you’re not rusty then.”

The boy nodded, brushing the damp locks away from his face. Curls sticking straight out, his face reflected a youth beyond his years. Did I appear as immature and young when I entered active duty? Byron wondered.

“And sir?” Mevine asked, his brows furrowed. “I’m sorry if I offended you last night.”

Byron adjusted the racket in his hand. “Don’t worry about it. And we’re off duty, so you can drop the sir.”

“Yes…” Mevine replied, his voice trailing off before finishing the phrase. “I’m sorry, it’s just such an honor to meet you. Your part in the Vindicarn War is legend.”

Mevine’s observation sent a ripple of regret through Byron. “I’m just a pilot,” he muttered. “Besides, that was years ago.”

And I’m not in the mood for adoration, he thought. Byron certainly didn’t want his past accomplishments drawing attention to his current situation. Not wanting to hear more, he strode past the young man with a purpose. Mevine’s next words caused him to pause.

“I almost became a fighter pilot because of you.”

He turned to cast Mevine a skeptical look. “You think flying a Cosbolt is the path to glory? That facing death is what it takes to succeed?”

Mevine’s shoulders drooped, matching the grimace on his face. “At least I’d have a chance to do something brave and prove myself.”

A wave of dejection rolled unchecked from his thoughts. Byron sensed a desire to please and live up to expectations. Who in Mevine’s life had placed such a heavy burden on the young man?

Lowering his racket to his side, Byron approached Mevine. The lad met his gaze, his eyes brimming with resignation as he awaited the older man’s next words. Mustering patience he did not feel, Byron shifted the grav ball to his other hand. He touched Mevine’s shoulder.

“Don’t be so eager to throw yourself into the face of danger. It’s a greater sacrifice than you’d ever imagine.”

Mevine’s thoughts remained in turmoil, but he offered a curt nod. Byron patted his shoulder.

“Besides, who says you won’t do something heroic on Tgren?” Byron offered. “You might just be the one who cracks the alien code and unlocks a great discovery.”

Mevine smiled. A renewed sense of purpose colored his thoughts, although not enough to hide all traces of dejection. It was enough to put Byron at ease, and his muscles unknotted. He gestured toward the door.

“Go get something to eat,” he ordered. “And I’d recommend a shower or your fellow officers might refuse you entry to the lab.”

“Men, I can’t stress the gravity of the situation enough. I want everyone on their toes when we reach Tgren.”

“Yes, sir!” all voices clamored.

Commander Korden leaned forward, his knuckles pressing hard against the surface of his desk. Byron and the other senior officers stood at attention as they received final briefing on their new assignment. Exploration carried many risks, but Byron sensed far more at stake than just the lives of those aboard the Rennather.

“Despite the enthusiasm of our science crew,” Korden drawled, his gaze passing over Officer Seheller, “I want us to take every precaution. The alien technology on Tgren could be benign in nature, but it could also be a weapon. Until we’ve assessed the situation and confirmed its purpose, I am treating it as a threat. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Glancing at his computer screen, Korden punched the keypad with force. “Complicating matters is our current relationship with the Tgrens. Their initial gratitude toward our presence has waned with our refusal to share more in the areas of communication and transportation until their own technology advances. Since their planet boasts a large supply of the chemical compounds required to manufacture our teleportation devices, we’ve done our best to pacify the Tgrens by offering training for their pilots. That gesture will continue while we are present.”

The commander’s eyes fell on his senior pilot. Byron nodded in acceptance of his expected duties while on Tgren even as he cringed inside. Training a group of primitives who’d only recently taken to the sky sounded tedious at best. He hoped they possessed at least a basic understanding of aerodynamics.

Straightening his posture, Korden glanced again at his computer screen and raised an eyebrow. “After recent testing of the citizens of Ktren, the city closest to the ruins, it was discovered that the Tgrens possess minor mental abilities as well.”

Byron managed to suppress his surprise as a wave of astonishment filtered through the room. Korden frowned, his thick brows forming a grimace far more imposing than his lips.

“The Tgrens have not welcomed this discovery with enthusiasm. They view our telepathy and ability to teleport with caution, claiming it unnatural.”

Officer Narunva gasped. “But they wanted advancements in communication…” he protested.

“You think they’d be grateful,” another officer added.

“Well, it’s up to us to convince them otherwise,” Korden said. “Remember, we can only push so far. We cannot cause relations to crumble into disrepair. While on Tgren, we are all ambassadors of Cassa. Understood?”

Byron joined the others in affirmation. Korden punched another key.

“We’ve also had reports of Rogue ships in the area,” he said. “These multi-race raiders are to be treated as hostile. They have not bothered the Tgrens, but the last Cassan ship to visit this system was attacked by a small band of fighters. Officer Byron, you and Garnce are to remain on alert. These Rogues recently captured one of our neighbors’ ships, but the Zerrens were able to track down the raiders and retrieve their vessel. I want to avoid a similar incident. We’ve enough to deal with on the planet’s surface.”

With that, the commander dismissed the room. Before he could depart, Korden’s thoughts reached his mind.

Officer Byron, remain.

Stepping aside, Byron turned to face the commander. The door closed behind the last officer and he stood at attention, expecting an even stricter warning from Korden regarding his behavior on Tgren. The men had served together for many years and Byron’s tricks were no secret to the commander. The pilot doubted those ploys would be tolerated on Tgren. If relations were strained, he needed to remain on his best behavior.

“You will be pulling double duty on this assignment,” Korden announced, sinking into his chair.

Puzzled by the lack of reprimand or warning, Byron stared at the commander. “Sir?”

Leaning back in the padded chair, Korden scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. Byron could sense nothing in the commander’s thoughts, although he did not press past the mental shields. However, humor tugged at Korden’s lips. The man liked to toy with his senior pilot.

“In addition to pilot training, which will be restricted to their best men I assure you, I want you to assist the current psychic technician on the planet. Officer Illenth has only tested a small percentage of the men thus far, but the Tgrens possess great potential.”

Korden leaned forward, his frame causing the chair to creak in protest. “At all times, I want you listening for those with potential mental abilities. Report your findings to Officer Illenth. And if anyone displays exceptionally strong powers, I want to know about it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Byron replied. While a step up from pilot training, probing the minds of others didn’t rate high on his list, either. This assignment would stretch the limits of his patience.

“Dismissed!”

Byron turned to leave. As he reached the door, the anticipated order rang in his head.

And try to stay out of trouble, Byron.

He flashed the commander a grin. I don’t cause trouble, sir. It just seems to find me.

Korden cocked an eyebrow. I’ve heard that before.

Chapter Three

The dining hall buzzed with excitement during the midday meal. The Rennather was approaching Tgren, and those working on the alien encryptions were eager to reach the surface. Byron watched with amusement as Mevine inhaled his meal, shoveling food into his mouth at a frightening pace. The lad leapt to his feet the moment he finished and bounded out of the hall.

Boy’s got too much energy for his own damn good.

Garnce’s thought made Byron drop his chin to hide a smirk. No one could accuse Garnce of possessing ambition, and the man scoffed at the quality in others.

He’s young and naïve, Byron countered. Let him enjoy the moment.

A guffaw from the pilot signified Garnce’s opinion on the matter. Byron finished his meal and departed before the man’s sour attitude sullied his day.

Byron retrieved his pack from his quarters en route to the hangar. Once the Rennather established orbit around Tgren, both shuttles were scheduled to carry personnel and supplies to the surface. Byron would return to the ship on occasion, but the bulk of the transports would fall to Garnce. The man had grumbled over this development, claiming he’d be run ragged during this assignment. Byron ignored his protests. Garnce never failed to comply with orders in the end, even if it required a verbal prompt. As the senior officer and pilot, Byron had made it clear he expected Garnce to follow commands. He preferred a lack of attitude as well, but at least Garnce’s skills in the cockpit placed value on his presence.

Performing the preliminary checks, Byron prepared his shuttle. Several pieces of cargo were brought on board, the hangar crew struggling under the weight of the large crates. Once secured in the hold to his satisfaction, Byron returned to the cockpit to await his passengers.

He confirmed the landing site one more time, calculating the best approach. Their destination was a high desert city nestled in between two mountain ranges where severe crosswinds were possible. The shuttle could withstand gale force winds, but he doubted the inhabitants’ ships were as sturdy. Byron wondered how many of the Tgren’s first attempts at flight had ended in disaster.

Officer Byron?

Byron spun around in his chair and discovered Mevine just inside the shuttle’s open hatch. Several large packs were slung across his shoulders. Rather miraculous Mevine could even move under the weight, let alone enter the shuttle without making a sound. Rising to his feet, Byron gestured toward the cargo hold.

“Stow your gear in an empty hold,” he ordered. “Then take a seat.”

Mevine shifted his feet, his gaze traveling to the cockpit. “Sir, could I ride up front in the co-pilot’s seat?”

“Why?”

“I’ve never seen the view from the cockpit.”

Byron frowned and the shields around his mind tightened. Garnce rode with him on occasion, but the sensation of another person in the cockpit unnerved him. Byron preferred the seat to remain unoccupied and prepared to deny the young man’s request.

“Please, sir, I won’t get in your way,” Mevine offered, his eyes wide with hope.

Beyond Mevine, the remaining passengers approached the shuttle. Judging from the size of the group, every seat would be occupied, including the co-pilot’s chair. His gaze returned to the young officer who still waited for an answer.

Fine! Stow your gear first.

By the time he’d closed the shuttle’s hatch and returned to the cockpit, Byron discovered Mevine secured in the co-pilot’s seat. The lad lifted his chin and his lips broke into a grin. Still at odds with his decision, Byron offered a nod in return. He slid into his seat, eyes focused on the control panel. His thoughts remained guarded, but eagerness bubbled forth from Mevine’s mind. Distracted by the unshielded thoughts, he worried his passenger might also develop an overactive tongue during their descent to the planet’s surface.

You are not to interrupt me in any manner while flying, understood?

Yes, sir,