CassaDark E-Book

Alex J. Cavanaugh

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

Seitenzahl: 340

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

His world is unraveling…

Bassan’s father is stepping down from command. His best friend almost dies when Bassan freezes. Now, he’s being sent across the galaxy to speak at an important conference. Despite saving the eleven races years ago, he’s paralyzed by doubt. Could things get any worse?

Once there, new acquaintance Zendar convinces Bassan to visit his planet for a humanitarian mission. Bassan’s special connection to ancient technology is the key to saving Zendar’s people. One problem though—it’s a prisoner planet.

On Ugar, he discovers things aren’t so straightforward. As each truth reveals itself, the situation grows more desperate. If he can’t find the right answers, he might die along with Zendar’s people. Can Bassan summon the courage to be a hero again?

Leseprobe

Alex J. Cavanaugh

DANCING LEMUR PRESS, L.L.C.

Pikeville, North Carolina

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

“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

“Alex has done it again! CassaDark is an epic story that spans planets and cultures with ease.” – Jemi Fraser, author

“Riveting action-packed sci-fi adventure.” – Sherry Ellis, author

“CassaDark is a fast-paced, action-packed space adventure.” – Kathryn McKendry, author

“Highly recommended to fans of space opera and military-type fiction.” – Toi Thomas, author

“This is where Alex J Cavanaugh’s superb world-building comes into its own–not only with the planets, but also the tech inventions and experiencing Cassan technology.” – Jemima Pett, author

Copyright 2022 by Alex J. Cavanaugh

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

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

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

ISBN: 9781939844859

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.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021942173

To my wife and her endless patience while I’m off on this writing adventure.

And to my dear friend, Jeremy Hawkins. I will miss you, but Heaven is now a richer place.

Also by Alex J. Cavanaugh:

CassaStar

To pilot the fleet’s finest ship…

Print ISBN 9780981621067

EBook ISBN 9780982713938

CassaFire

CassaStar was just the beginning…

Print ISBN 9780982713945

eBook ISBN 9780982713969

CassaStorm

A storm gathers across the galaxy…

Print ISBN 9781939844002

eBook ISBN 9781939844019

Dragon of the Stars

The ship of legends…

Print ISBN 9781939844064

EBook ISBN 9781939844057

“…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

Table of Contents

Prologue: CassaFate

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Prologue:

CassaFate

CassaFate first appeared in Heroes of Phenomena, a collaboration of authors and musicians produced by Audiomachine.

Amessage from Drent!

Bassan scanned the note, eager to hear from his fellow Kintal friend. In five months, Drent would complete training on the planet Cassa. He could come home. But the last line stopped Bassan cold.

‘No guarantee I’ll return to Tgren though.’

Damn.

His mother’s voice rang in his head. Time to eat!

I’m coming, Bassan thought, replying in kind with his telepathic mind.

Bassan joined his parents. His father offered a nod as formal as the uniform he wore. His mother’s smile offset the tone, and Bassan dove into his breakfast.

His father scooped a chunk of the thick Tgren dish in front of him. “Your counsel session is tomorrow?”

Bassan swallowed and reached for his drink. “Yes, sir.”

“I understand you’re in the top ten percent?”

“Cassan standards.” Bassan shrugged off the accomplishment. “Top one percent Tgren though.”

His mother smiled and Bassan sat up straighter.

“What matters are your Cassan scores,” his father said. “Those determine acceptance to the Academy.”

Bassan bristled and stared at his father. Eyes as grey as the hair on the man’s head greeted him. The commander of the Cassan base presided now, leaving no room for argument.

But I can’t leave Tgren. I’m linked forever with the Kintal ship. It represents me, knows me. I can’t lose the connection.

His father scooped another bite. “Your work here on Tgren’s Kintal ship will definitely help.”

Drent’s message flashed in Bassan’s mind.

No guarantee I’ll return.

“I’m not going to Cassa.”

The words dropped with an audible crash in the room. Bassan’s innards dropped just as fast.

“Not going to Cassa?” his father demanded. “Why would you pass up such an opportunity?”

“Because,” Bassan said, mustering his courage, “I can attend the Tgren school here and complete my training faster.”

His father rested his fist on the table. “The Cassan program may take longer, but you’ll be accredited to work across the galaxy. The Tgren schooling is only accepted here. Don’t narrow your opportunities.”

“But I want to remain here.” His chest tight, Bassan struggled to prevent his mental voice from projecting. Or his raging emotions.

“Bassan.” His mother stretched her hand across the table. “I know you don’t want to leave, but it’s an enormous honor.”

“I know,” Bassan said, slumping in his chair. “But I can’t leave the Tgren ship.”

His father shoved his plate forward and arose. “We’ll discuss it later.”

Those words haunted Bassan all day.

Nobody understands me.

Even the prospect of his final class of the day didn’t elicit joy. He rode his cycle to the Kintal ship in a daze. The glittering blue haze of ancient metal greeted him as he rounded the last corner. The sight of the ship, exposed and inviting, did little to lift his spirits.

Bassan located his instructor in the control room. Translating the once-lost language held scarce challenge for him. Not when his mix of Cassan and Tgren blood assisted him with his Kintal ancestors’ language. But the class placed Bassan on the ship, and that pleased him.

He became aware of someone behind him. As he spun around, the wide eyes of the senior science officer greeted him.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Officer Mevine said, holding up his reedy hands.

“Sir!” Bassan straightened his posture. Drent’s father deserved his respect. No one outside of the Kintal community knew more about this ship than Senior Officer Mevine.

“Your instructor said I could borrow you,” Mevine said.

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

Curious, Bassan followed the senior officer out of the control room. They traversed the glow of the corridor. The rings of blue light were the same in every hallway, but their route struck a chord. Even the ramp to the next level carried familiarity. He’d been here before.

The control room over the pods!

Excitement grew with each step. He’d not entered this area in ten years. Not since he’d touched a forbidden console, downloading a special code into his mind. Drent had warned him…

Bassan! Mevine thought, a patient smile coloring his lips. You saved all eleven races because you held the code. I’m glad you touched that console.

Mouth gaping, Bassan nodded. Why am I so bad at shielding my mind?

They entered the room and he glanced to his left. That particular console sat in an alcove, its panel now alive with data. They strode past to a station at the end of the room. A curved screen dominated the wall, shimmering with light.

Mevine’s hand waved over the console. “This system recorded the journey of your mother’s ancestors to Tgren, including the period when the people disembarked. Would you like to see it?”

Bassan snapped to attention. The moment the Tgrens awoke from their long sleep and left their pods to begin a new life here? “Yes, please!”

Mevine ran his fingers across the crystal surface, tapping a sequence. He gestured to the metallic orb at the base. Nerves tingling, Bassan placed his hand over the cold ball.

The screen sparked to life. It grew dark and Bassan leaned forward, excited to catch the first image. Streaks of green appeared, forming a pattern that trailed into the distance. The pods!

Dark forms moved, their thin bodies outlined against the green capsules. One passed across the sensor. The body’s gentle curves glistened with moisture. A Tgren woman!

Bassan grinned. So realistic. He lifted his free hand to grasp the top of the console. He missed and staggered forward.

Wait a minute!

He no longer watched on a screen. He stood in the pod room itself.

What’s happening?

He searched for the woman. She continued walking, following the others toward a distant yellow glow.

Wait!

His left foot came forward. He fought to maintain balance and swung his right foot. It was difficult to see in the gloom. And yet the glowing, empty pods stung his eyes. Dampness permeated the air, humid and thick, but dryer air beckoned ahead. Cleaner air. What surrounded him now reeked of recycled air and perspiration.

On cue, sweat dripped from his brow and fell on his bare arms. It stung.

He raised his hands to his face. Globs of a yellow-green substance covered his palm. The slime slithered down his arm, and Bassan realized it covered his whole body. His breath quickened.

“Bassan?”

The room’s light faded. Bassan grasped for the nearest empty pod. He needed to reach that yellow glow. He had to get out.

“Bassan!”

Something wrapped around his wrist, severing the connection. He gasped and pulled his arm free. Bassan’s eyes adjusted. No longer surrounded by pods, he stood in the control room again. Mevine leaned against the console, hands raised in warning. Bassan caught his breath and gasped.

“What happened?” Mevine said.

Bassan glanced at his hands. They glistened with sweat, but the slime had vanished.

“I was there,” he said.

“Where?”

“When the Tgrens were leaving the ship.”

“Bassan, that’s impossible.”

He lowered his hands and faced Officer Mevine. “Sir, I was there. It was hot. And humid. It even smelled damp. It was dark, and yet my eyes burned from the pod’s light. And this yellow-green slime covered my body. We were all moving to a yellow glow and I could smell fresh air…”

Mevine’s mouth opened. “How could you know that?”

Bassan clenched his fists. “Because I was there. I tell you, I’m connected to this ship. Ever since I touched that console, I’ve felt the bond. It remembers the first Kintal. It remembers me!”

The science officer’s gaze shifted. Bassan spun around. The cold eyes of his father greeted him, and Bassan’s enthusiasm wavered.

His father stepped closer and peered at the console. Placing his hands behind his back, the commander turned his attention to Bassan.

“Wait for me on the first level.”

Father, please…

Now.

His father’s mental voice left no room for argument. Bassan’s heart tightened and he raced for the exit. He barreled down the ramp and didn’t stop until he’d reached the pod room entrance. He grasped the edge of the door frame and sighed, clinging to his vision.

I was there. Among the Tgrens leaving this ship. Maybe I could experience more if I connected again. Damn, if I’m forced to leave, I’ll never have another opportunity.

Bassan stared at the empty room, lost in his cheerless thoughts. A touch on his mind caused him to jump. He turned and a steel gaze greeted him.

Father, he thought, dropping his chin. He didn’t trust his voice yet.

You really witnessed Tgrens leaving this room?

The question startled him. Bassan met his father’s eyes. For once, they didn’t appear so unforgiving.

I saw them! he thought. Bassan pulled his fists to his chest. I was with the Tgrens as they left the pods. Father, the ship knew it was me. It connected with me. I believe it could show me more.

Bassan…

His name shot through the fiber of his being. Bassan stepped closer and straightened his shoulders.

Father, you trusted me before. Please, let me stay on Tgren. Let me fulfill the new role this ship has given me.

His father shook his head. Bassan steeled himself for disappointment.

“Bassan, I want the best for you,” his father said. “And that means giving you the opportunity to pursue your own goals. I had to fight for my future and prove myself.” He paused, his stoic expression softening. “You can attend the Tgren school.”

Shock rippled through Bassan and his mouth fell open. I can stay?

Yes. This is where you belong.

Weight fell from his shoulders. Bassan stepped forward and hesitated. His father offered a wry grin. Bassan accepted the invitation and hugged his father.

If your mother asks, it was my idea, his father thought.

Bassan smiled. I won’t say a word.

Chapter 1

“We give him back to the desert. Say-vee!”

Bassan dug fingernails into his palms. Unable to look away, he focused on his uncle and mother holding the urn high. His mother closed her eyes and Bassan wished to do the same. Nausea welled up in his guts and he shifted his gaze to the urn.

Such ornate carvings. Fitting for a former prefect.

The urn tipped. Its contents flew into the wind and away from those gathered. The ashes swirled in the breeze, spreading wider with each passing moment. The sight mesmerized him. Say-vee. Transformed. Changed. A life so full reduced to such tiny particles…

A gasp tore his attention from the ashes. Tears streamed down his mother’s face. Seeing her resolve broken, Bassan’s slipped. Great-uncle Orellan was truly gone. Unable to breathe, or even move, his body stiffened. Trapped in the moment, Bassan reached out with his mind.

Fingers curled around his and Bassan returned the grasp with gratitude. The delicate touch on his mind matched the hold on his hand. He closed his eyes. Sirella.

I am here, she thought.

Unwilling to show weakness in front of Sirella, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. The urn now in place atop the pillar, his mother and uncle stood facing each other. His Uncle Istaner’s expression remained guarded, but Bassan noted the quiver in his chin. He dared not look at his mother again though. Intent on the urn and the sandy-red hills behind it, Bassan held still.

“We pray you might receive and care for him until we meet again.”

Emanating from the far right, the presiding cleric’s words landed with a dull thud in Bassan’s heart. Until they met again? It would be a long, long time.

A soft moan escaped from his mother, and his father stepped forward. Uttering a sob, his mother fell into his arms. Bassan dropped his chin and fought against his own tears. Orellan might have been Istaner’s father, but his mother regarded the man as her own father, and he’d acted as both great-uncle and grandfather toward Bassan.

So unfair. Why do people have to die so soon? Maybe our ancestors knew how to cheat death a few years.

A hand curled around his arm, pulling him close. Comfort poured from Sirella. Bassan let his head drop against hers. And why does it have to hurt so much?

It hurts because you loved him. There’s no shame in that.

Sirella’s thoughts filled him. Bassan clung to her gentle and caring support, grateful for her presence and the ability to communicate in private with their minds.

Still hard to watch it upset my mother so much.

She offered no response, only continued comfort. As she’d done for years. So much quiet strength in his girlfriend’s tiny frame. Bassan needed to draw upon that.

He took a deep breath and gave her fingers a squeeze. I need to be strong for my mother, he thought, releasing her hand and stepping forward. Thanks.

Bassan approached his parents, determined to show a brave face. His mother moved away from his father, her tear-stained face turning to her son. With a sob, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Bassan held his mother close. Years of devotion and support flashed through his mind and he tried to convey those feelings to his mother. Her arms tightened.

You were always his favorite.

Stunned, Bassan didn’t know how to respond. His mother didn’t appear to need an answer, much to his relief. Sighing deeply, she released him and stepped back. Bassan’s father pulled her close and she wiped away her tears. Resignation and acceptance flowed from his mother’s thoughts and Bassan wished he felt the same. He didn’t deal well with loss. Or change.

Sirella fell in beside him as the crowd retreated from the funeral shrine. Most of Ktren’s population had turned out for the ceremony. A feast was planned afterwards to celebrate Orellan’s life.

Not that I feel like celebrating.

Use the time to remember him, then.

He fumbled for her hand. You always know what to say.

She squeezed his fingers in response, the digits so petite in his hand. My mother’s family always spent time reflecting on the deceased afterward, sharing stories to uplift and adventures to honor. Your great-uncle was the prefect for many years. He touched countless lives. There will be much to share about him this evening.

Is that a Kintal tradition?

I’m not sure. It could be Arellen.

Sharing stories. My great-uncle accomplished so much in his life. Will people have time to discuss even half the events connected to Orellan?

That sent his thoughts down a new path.

I wonder what people would say about me? ‘He was a quiet kid who saved the eleven races when he was ten’?

Bassan observed the throng of people around them, most of whom knew him for that single event fifteen years ago. And outside of being the commander’s son, they knew little else.

Yeah, that probably sums up my life.

* * *

“You’re stepping down as commander?” Bassan said. He reached for the kitchen counter behind him, the news catching him by surprise. His father had commanded the Cassan base on Tgren for most of Bassan’s life.

“Son, it’s time,” his father said, running fingers through grey hair. Bassan stared at his father’s head, watching the pale strands fall into place.

When did that happen?

“I scaled back my duties years ago to spend more time with you and your mother. But it’s time I step down and focus my energies on her. Neither of us is getting any younger. And I want my final years spent making your mother happy.”

A force hit Bassan’s chest. “Father, you’re not…?”

His father waved his hand and shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Mother?”

“She’s also fine. I want to give her everything I possibly can in our last years, though.”

Bassan’s arms dropped to his sides. Last years? His great-uncle’s funeral the day before filled his mind.

I’m not ready to lose either of you.

His father smiled. Bassan gritted his teeth and brought up his shields. Too late, of course.

“We’re not going anywhere for a good many years,” his father said, his tone soothing. “But considering recent events, I need to give her more time. And that means resigning as commander.”

Bassan’s fists clenched but he nodded in acceptance. His father approached and grasped his shoulder. The lines around his eyes deepened with his wry smile.

“When you have a mate, you’ll understand.”

“Yeah,” Bassan said, his thoughts straying to Sirella. A fellow Kintal, Piten’s daughter loved him. Bassan cared immensely for the thin, pale girl. Her adoring eyes greeted him with affection the first time they met and never faltered in their admiration, even after fifteen years. They were not committed mates though.

His father nodded and turned away. Bassan’s mind returned to the present.

“Will you stay here?” he said, his words tumbling out.

His father snapped to attention. “Of course. This is our home. I wouldn’t take your mother’s heart away from Tgren. Or my own.”

“Yours?”

Standing straighter, he crossed his arms. “Cassa was never my home. Tgren is where I belong. Despite its damn sand penetrating every crack and seal.”

Bassan smiled. His father had long complained about the gritty dust that permeated life on Tgren. Came with living on a half-desert planet.

“Our family and friends are here. You are here,” his father said, placing extra emphasis on the word you. “With your special connection with the ancient Kintal ship, I know you’re not going anywhere. Neither shall we.”

“You know I’m not leaving Tgren.”

That’s a change I can’t handle at all.

Bassan exited his parents’ dwelling and paused. Desert winds caught his face. Heat curled around his cheeks, blowing the shaggy strands of hair from his sight. Parched sand burnt his nose. The glow of the late afternoon sun, vibrant in the clear, dry air, caused him to squint.

He ducked his head and strode to his desert rider. Hunkering over the vehicle, Bassan started the engines and blasted off when they attained the appropriate charge. He couldn’t reach the sanctuary of his own home fast enough.

Not a chance I’m leaving Tgren! Not when the Kintal ship shows me so much. I wouldn’t give up slipping into the past for anything. Viewing previous worlds through the eyes of our ancestors—that’s the reason I stayed here for training rather than be shipped off to Cassa five years ago.

Bassan sailed past the Cassan base checkpoint. He careened through the streets of Tgren, mindful of pedestrians but determined to reach his destination in record time. Despite his frequent journeys down this path, he tried to increase his speed every time. The pale sand structures flashed by in a blur. The monotonous shapes and tone, causing one street to look like the others, might confuse casual visitors. Bassan knew the journey home all too well. After five years, nothing obscured the route.

He pulled up outside a two-story dwelling. Securing his desert bike in its alcove, he raced up the stairs to his flat. He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the press plate. All Tgren residences now boasted one, an electronic scanning device for entry, and his building received theirs recently. The merging of Cassan and Tgren culture now complete, the former manual locks represented the last vestige of Tgren customs. While Bassan appreciated the convenience, he wondered at its implication. What else would be lost of Tgren’s history and culture?

Think how much we lost of the Kintal way of life.

He shoved his hand against the device and waited for the chime. His door slid aside, and he entered the cool room. Slapping his gloves on the counter, he then brushed his hair with vigorous strokes, freeing the loose sand.

Father’s right, this stuff is everywhere.

Fighting the itch across his scalp, Bassan strode into his media and entertainment room. Tgrens called it the receiving room, designed for guests and socializing. Since he rarely entertained guests outside of Drent and Tarn, the focus of the room turned to multimedia and the center of all things visual and sound. With its windows, narrow though they might be, facing the mountain slope and open desert, Bassan found it the perfect place to relax.

Slumping onto the dark couch, a sharp contrast to the room’s sandy orange walls, he dropped his head against the cushions. The softness comforted him, and he closed his eyes.

“Music! Playlist ninety-three.”

A swelling chorus of music and vocals filled the room, its sound as alien as those who created it. Bassan drew strength from the rhythmic melody. His shoulders unknotted, and he smiled.

My first Kintal composition. And all from memory.

His thoughts traveled back to that day. His unique connection with the old Kintal ship provided information in a manner no other could experience—a dreamlike state placing him in the body of one of his ancestors. In that moment, he gained full access to the person’s surroundings. Bassan often reached back into Tgren history before the ancient ship brought his mother’s people to the planet. Those moments, experiencing life as another race, thrilled him.

It also revealed new data regarding the eleven races, which included his mixed-breed heritage, the Kintals. A blend of all races, people today knew little about them outside of the ten ancient ships. One such journey back placed him in the middle of a celebration. And on that fateful spring morning, he heard Kintal music for the first time.

His grin grew.

And I worried Mevine to death about replicating it.

After badgering everyone connected with the alien ship, including his father, Tgren musicians came in to listen to the music playing in his head. Replicating it required Cassan technology, and a Fesellan came in to add the final touches, lifting the piece to perfection. His ancestors, his people, would be proud of the results.

But your music didn’t last. You sacrificed it all to save the other ten races. You let your own culture crumble, the particles lost in the winds of space. Why? Was survival of the others more important than your own? What about those of us who are Kintal now? Who are we, really?

No answer came. Just the emptiness of always wondering.

A beep penetrated the swelling music. His eyes flew open. “Music off.”

Bassan pried himself from the couch and located his tablet. He tapped the device, and Drent’s grinning face filled the screen, quite the feat for those narrow cheeks.

“About time!” his friend said. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?”

Bassan blinked and composed his thoughts, the Kintal song continuing to haunt his mind. “Nothing.”

“Great! You, me, and Tarn. Our bikes and the North Face. We’re going to conquer that mountain.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Drent said, his forehead crinkling in disbelief. “It’s about time we completed that trail. Didn’t we traverse the entire length of Echo Canyon last week? It’s time. Do or die.”

“There’s a reason we haven’t conquered it yet,” Bassan said, the narrow path and sheer drop-offs swirling in his head.

“Which means it’s time. Come on, when’s the last time you took a risk?”

“It’s been a while…”

“Tarn’s game. Let’s do it.”

Upon hearing of Tarn’s commitment, Bassan knew he couldn’t back down and agreed.

“You let me know when you’re free. We’ll meet at the base and tackle the trail from there,” said Drent.

“Will do.”

Drent pointed a finger at Bassan and winked. The transmission ended, the black void a stark contrast to the energy filling the screen not a second earlier. Shaking his head, Bassan dropped his tablet onto the counter.

“You’re going to meet your match one day, Drent.”

Spoken out loud, that thought troubled him. He expected Tarn to take chances, but at twenty-seven and two years older than Bassan, Drent’s wild lifestyle and penchant for risky behavior concerned him. He stared at his tablet for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the device. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

Is that the Kintal in you talking? The new or the old? Damn, with my life in such a state of turmoil and change, I don’t know anymore.

I don’t even know me anymore.

* * *

The wind whipped his face despite the face guard and goggles. Grit from the trail pelted his skin, the sand tiny pinpricks of discomfort. It even rammed up his nose, threatening a sneeze. He ignored the irritations and focused on the bike in front of him.

Bassan found himself in the rear as they raced up the North Face. He gave up competing for the front spot early, letting Drent and Tarn battle it out. While this meant he choked on their dust, at least he wasn’t responsible for leading the group. All he had to do was follow.

You always follow, dummy. One of these days, I need to be more assertive and get in front.

Enjoying the view? Drent thought.

Your ass? Not really.

Drent’s mental laughter filled his mind. Bassan gripped the handles tighter, determined not to let his friend get to him. He never led the way. Not even when they were kids. Older and wiser, Drent always took control. Even Tarn challenged Drent more than Bassan, and Sirella’s brother was younger than either of them.

Yeah, I definitely need to be more assertive.

They rounded a wide curve. Bassan concentrated on the trail in front of his vehicle. The sun now sank behind the crest, casting deep shadows across the path. The final stretch lay before them. A narrow sweep with a tight banking curve. And at their current speed, a dangerous obstacle.

Tarn, slow down.

Piten’s son glanced back. Resistance met Bassan’s mind before compliance set in. Their headlong flight eased, and Tarn guided them safely through the curve. Bassan’s gaze remained locked on Drent’s back as they spun out onto the crest of North Face. The sunlight hit him full force and Bassan blinked.

Dead ahead. We did it. Tarn thought.

Damn right! Drent thought.

Still blinded by the sun, Bassan eased off the accelerator. His comrades would reach the top first anyway.

A jolt of panic from Tarn shot through Bassan’s chest. Squinting against the bright light, he focused on the lead bike. Twisting at an unnatural angle, the bike and rider went down. They skidded along the trail, throwing up rocks and dust. Tarn clung tight, curled in a ball. He skidded to a stop in the middle of the path.

Drent!

Whether due to the setting sun or his inner exuberance, Drent failed to react in time. His bike faltered, teetering left and right in his approach to the fallen Tarn. Tossing his efforts to his left, Drent attempted to skirt Tarn’s bike. His wheels spun, sliding him closer to the edge.

Bassan’s breath caught in his throat. Drent’s bike caught the edge of the cliff.

His friend yanked hard. The wheels kicked up, lifting Drent and bike from the ground. When they came down, the bike went into an incredible spin. Drent didn’t so much as hang on as be tossed around by the rotations. Bike and rider flipped many times before skittering to the edge of the cliff.

Bassan jammed on his brakes and stared in horror. Tarn leapt to his feet and rushed forward.

Drent’s bike teetered on the rim, his friend tangled in the wreckage. Tarn slid into the rocks and reached for Drent.

“Bassan!” he said, grasping his friend’s arm.

A chill shot through Bassan’s body. It rooted him to the spot. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

Drent’s bike rocked, twisting his body. The vehicle tipped to the left and tumbled over the edge. Drent cried out and the bike pulled his body over the cliff.

“Bassan!”

The sight of Drent falling and Tarn’s desperate plea shot through Bassan.

Move, dummy.

He launched himself onto Tarn’s back and reached for Drent’s arm. At that moment, his friend vanished.

“Drent!” Tarn’s scream exploded in Bassan’s head.

No!

Pulling himself forward, Bassan looked down. His stomach knotted. Drent’s bike tumbled down the cliff, parts exploding off it with each impact. Mesmerized by the horrifying sight, Bassan could only watch it summersault its way to the bottom.

Tarn grasped his arm and pointed. “Drent.”

He peered straight down. Their friend lay ten feet below them on a wide ledge. Drent’s low cry welled deep from within, wavering like a wounded animal, and his upper body curled. A mental wave of excruciating pain burst forth. One leg remained still, already twisted in an unnatural position. Blood soaked his pants below the knee.

Drent’s alive!

Relief, followed by a wave of nausea, hit Bassan. A chill rolled down his chest. Mouth open, he stared at his friend, at a loss.

“Don’t move,” called Tarn. He yanked off his goggles and turned to Bassan. “We need to call for help.”

Call for help. Those words snapped Bassan out of his momentary shock. He reached out to the first person who came to mind.

Father!

The response came within a second. Bassan, what’s wrong?

It’s Drent. We were riding on the North Face and he wiped out. He fell off onto a ledge. He’s injured. Bad.

I’ll contact medical at once. Show me your location.

Bassan sat up and spun around, probably faster than needed. Slow enough for his father to pinpoint their location though.

Don’t move. Help is on the way.

Without thinking, Bassan nodded. Tarn flashed a puzzled look.

“Medical is on its way,” Bassan explained.

“Good.” Tarn peered over the edge. “Drent!” he called, his mental voice as thunderous as his physical one. “Help is on the way. Don’t move.”

Pain radiated from Drent and he reached out one arm, fingers clawing at the ground. Bassan winced.

Please don’t move, Drent.

Are you all right?

His father’s question calmed Bassan. Scraped and scared to death, but I’m all right. So’s Tarn.

Watch for the medical ship. They’ll be there soon. I won’t be far behind.

You’re coming as well?

Of course.

That knowledge comforted him. Bassan’s attention returned to Drent. Anguish still rolled from his friend’s thoughts, pounding at Bassan’s senses.

“Help will be here soon, Drent,” Tarn called. He elbowed Bassan, his charcoal face scrunched tight. Talk to him. Keep his mind occupied until medical gets here.

Damn!

Bassan shifted, easing the pressure of rocks pressing into his knees. Yanking his goggles off, he peered down at Drent. His friend’s face lay buried against the ground.

It’s all right, Drent. I know it hurts. But it will be all right. My father is sending a medical ship. They’ll take care of you.

Drent clawed at the loose gravel around him but didn’t look up. Damn, it burns worse than fire.

I know. Think of something else.

A new wave of excruciating agony rolled from Drent. Hurts too bad.

The sight of his friend’s bike tumbling down the mountain surfaced in Bassan’s mind and he relayed the thought to Drent. Bet your bike feels worse.

Drent opened one eye—only for a moment—but Bassan knew his friend caught the implied humor.

“There they are.”

Bassan followed Tarn’s gaze. The medical transport raced toward them, resembling a soaring bird on the wind. The hold around his chest eased.

They’re here, Drent. Not long now.

The ship rose over the edge of the cliff and hovered above them. The new design placed the thrusts around the edge of the craft, but dust still stirred in the air. Bassan squinted and ducked his head. He and Tarn moved out of the way, coughing fine sand. The warmth of the vessel grew closer, and a large hatch opened in her underbelly. Bassan and Tarn continued to shuffle farther away, and the vessel dropped even lower. The left side settled on edge of the cliff, blocking their view.

Bassan scooted back a smidgen more. Gravel crunched at his back and he slammed into something solid. He dropped to his knees.

They’ll get him, Tarn thought, sinking beside him.

Bassan nodded, unable to speak. He grasped his knees tight.

Please save him…

The medical shuttle’s door opened. A man stepped out onto the cliff and approached them at a trot, a small pack in his hands.

“Are you injured?”

Bassan found himself staring up at the senior emergency officer. He knew most Cassan officers on sight but had never met the man.

“Are you injured?” the man repeated, kneeling and grasping Bassan’s arm.

“No,” he said.

The officer’s attention shifted to Tarn. “How about you?”

Tarn coughed, dust continuing to swirl in the air. “No, sir. Just scraped up a bit.”

“Then go wait by your bikes. A second ship is on the way.”

The man returned to the ship and the hatch closed.

Come on, let’s get out of their way.

Tarn pulled on his arm. Bassan scrambled to his feet, keeping his head down. Following his friend, he staggered toward their fallen bikes. Adrenaline ebbing, his feet shuffled and dragged across the rocky trail. Bassan reached his bike and attempted to lift it. Still shaking from the ordeal, he couldn’t hold it steady. Giving up, he dropped to his knees beside it. Tarn followed suit.

They regained their breath, watching the medical ship with anticipation. Bassan didn’t know how long it would take to retrieve Drent from the ledge.

Why didn’t I move faster?

The vessel’s engine whine shifted in pitch. They watched in silent fascination as the medical ship began to rise, its lower hatch sealed. Bassan then caught sight of another ship approaching, one splashed in Tgren reds.

“That must be our ride,” Tarn said.

The second, larger vessel swung wide left and out of the medical ship’s way. The engines blasted and the medical ship dropped over the edge and into the valley below. Despite a successful retrieval, Bassan’s heart plummeted with the vessel.

Drent…

Bassan!

His father’s voice rang loud in his head. Yes, sir?

We can’t land here. You and Tarn will have to go back down the trail. About halfway to the bottom, there’s a plateau. We’ll pick you up there. Are your vehicles in working order?

I believe so. “We’ll have to meet them farther down the trail,” Bassan said to Tarn.

Piten’s son yanked on his bike. Despite his small size, he righted it easily. Tarn studied the body and nodded. “No damage other than scratches. I can ride down.”

I’m glad one of us can.

Bassan took a deep breath and grabbed the handles and pulled. His arms shook, but he managed to right the vehicle. Swinging his leg over the seat, he dropped down hard, and the whole bike trembled from the force. He flexed his fingers.

“You all right?”

Bassan closed his eyes and nodded.

“You go first. I’ll follow. Watch your speed,” Tarn said.

With the push of a button, the engine came alive. Air blasted out around the thick wheels, gearing the vehicle up for motion. Pulling the goggles over his eyes, he leaned low and throttled the engine. The bike lurched forward.

Easy! Bassan swallowed the lump in his throat and reduced the vehicle to a deliberate pace. His arms trembled and he trusted the bounce of the rough terrain hid the bike’s wobble.

Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go. They swung around an outcropping and the shuttle greeted them, engines roaring. The plateau provided enough room for the ramp. Bassan’s father stood in the doorway and he gestured them forward.

Bassan eased up to the ramp and switched to hover. He leapt from the seat and pushed the vehicle forward, and his father grasped the handle and pulled. The ramp vibrated under his feet, spurring him to move faster.

“Secure it at the far end,” his father said, twisting the handle to the left.

Bassan shut off the engine and angled the bike into the shuttle. Designed for cargo, this model boasted a large hold where he could secure the vehicle. With the last of his energy, Bassan pushed the bike to the far wall. Removing his goggles, he grabbed a strap and dropped to the floor to secure it. Tarn entered behind him and did the same.

His fingers fumbled with the last strap. The shuttle moved and the clasp pulled free. Bassan reached for it and his father appeared at his side. Together, they secured the bike.

They helped one another up. Bassan met his father’s gaze, his chest heaving from exertion and apprehension. His father frowned before pulling Bassan in for a rough hug. Relief flowed from his mind and Bassan took comfort in his father’s concern.

The shuttle shifted, pulling him away from his father.

“We need to take our seats,” his father announced, one hand still grasping Bassan’s shoulder.

They staggered forward to the two seats by the door. His father made sure they were secure before returning to the cockpit. The shuttle vibrated under his feet, shaking his already jarred nerves. Grasping the harness tight in his hands, Bassan leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

I hate flying.

He focused on the hum of the engine in hopes it would sooth his agitation. It partially succeeded. Bassan couldn’t shake his surroundings though, no matter how hard he tried. The tight walls, the mechanical smell—it all reeked of flying.

No longer consumed by apprehension, his mind allowed other forces to creep in. A pounding sense of guilt rang through strongest. But not his own. Following the source, Bassan realized it emanated from Tarn.

He opened his eyes and rolled his head to the right. You all right?

Tarn gave him a quick glance, eyes darker than his complexion, and nodded.

Liar.

Tarn dropped his chin and rubbed his forehead. Drent almost died today because of me.

He didn’t though.

Yeah, but if I hadn’t lost control and gone down on the trail… Tarn’s thought trailed off.

No, he almost died because of me.

Bassan grasped the harness tighter, searching for words. He’ll be all right.

Tarn’s chin dipped once but he continued to stare at the floor.

Crap, idiot. What would Drent say? It wasn’t Tarn’s fault. It was mine.

Bassan took a quick breath. Drent’s always complaining nothing challenges him anymore. Well today, you gave him a doozy of a challenge. And when he’s better, we’ll give him grief for flopping so badly.

Tarn tilted his head, the barest trace of a smile on his lips. You give him grief. Drent can still kick my ass.

His observation brought a grin to Bassan’s face. Adulthood had failed to add a lot of pounds to Tarn’s thin frame. Too much Arellen in him while his Vindicarn heritage revealed itself in his dark skin rather than a bigger frame. Drent could indeed kick his friend’s butt.

You have no reason to feel remorse. It was my inability to act that sent Drent over the cliff.