CassaStorm E-Book

Alex J. Cavanaugh

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

Seitenzahl: 418

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

A storm gathers across the galaxy…

Byron thought he’d put the days of battle behind him. Commanding the Cassan base on Tgren, his only struggles are occasional rogue pirate raids and endless government bureaucracies. As a galaxy-wide war encroaches upon the desert planet, Byron’s ideal life is threatened and he’s caught between the Tgrens and the Cassans.

After enemy ships attack the desert planet, Byron discovers another battle within his own family. The declaration of war between all ten races triggers nightmares in his son, shaking Bassan to the core and threatening to destroy the boy’s mind.

Meanwhile the ancient alien ship is transmitting a code that might signal the end of all life in the galaxy. And the mysterious probe that almost destroyed Tgren twenty years ago could be on its way back. As his world begins to crumble, Byron suspects a connection. The storm is about to break, and Byron is caught in the middle…

Leseprobe

Alex J. Cavanaugh

DANCING LEMUR PRESS, L.L.C.

Pikeville, North Carolina

Amazon Best Seller and Pinnacle Award Winner!

"CassaStorM is a touching and mesmerising 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

“With a talent for worldbuilding and a compelling cast of characters, Alex J. Cavanaugh combines high powered space battles and the challenges of family dynamics to provide readers a space opera with heart.”

- Elizabeth S. Craig, author of the Southern Quilting and Myrtle Clover mysteries

“I thought the revelation was going to be one thing and I was completely wrong … CassaStorm pushes the limits…”

- Tyson Mauermann, Speculative Reviews

“…mesmerizing story of survival, personal sacrifice, tolerance, and compassion.  It’s a rare jewel that successfully utilizes both character and plot to tell a story of such immense scope and intimate passion…”

- Nancy S. Thompson, author of The Mistaken

"An exciting, nail-biting read which sweeps the reader off on adventures in another galaxy."

- Nicua Shamira, Terraveru

“Cavanaugh creates such an unforgettable world, and these characters will stay with you long after their story is over.”

- Cassie Mae, author of Friday Night Alibi and How to Date a Nerd

“…the racial conflicts propelled much of the plot in this story, driving home a message that's relevant to our own world and giving the book an interesting texture.”

- C. Lee. McKenzie, author of Alligators Overhead

“Cavanaugh has created wonderfully moving moments of great poignancy… CassaStorm could have been a dark story full of hardship and angst, but instead it's a cleverly balanced story about hope and triumph.”

- Lynda R. Young, author of Make Believe

Copyright 2013 by Alex J. Cavanaugh

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

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

http://dancinglemurpress.com/

ISBN: 9781939844019

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.

     CassaStorm / Alex J. Cavanaugh.

     p. cm.

     ISBN 9781939844019

1. Space travel --Fiction. 2. Outer space –Exploration --Fiction. 3. Teleportation --Fiction. 4. Psychokinesis--Fiction. 5. Father-son relationship --Fiction. 6. Family --Fiction. 7. Science fiction. I. Title

PS3553.A964 C38 2013

[Fic] --dd23                                                                                       2013934525

To the readers and the dreamers

and the friends I’ve made along the way.

Byron’s journey would never have come this far

without your support and encouragement!

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 9780982713938

Print ISBN 9780981621067

“…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

CassaFire

eBook ISBN 9780982713969

Print ISBN 9780982713945

“…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

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 One

The war had escalated.

‘Narcon and Vindicarn forces have entered sector 118-326. The Fesell continue to lay claim to sectors 118-325 and 119-325. Numerous skirmishes reported.’

Leaning away from the screen, Byron brought a hand to his forehead. Enemy forces drew closer every day, gaining in numbers. It was only a matter of time before the Cassans entered the war. After this latest advancement, it might happen as soon as today.

The Tgrens won’t be happy about this development, he thought, arching his neck to relieve the tension in his muscles.

Byron noticed an available feed from the latest encounter. He entered his code and waited for clearance.

One of those rare moments I get to enjoy the perks of my position, he thought.

The visual appeared on his screen. A scrolling transcript ran across the bottom, and from the exchange, Byron surmised the recording originated from the squadron leader’s ship. The view past the nose of the Cosbolt displayed only stars and the depth of space. The fighter altered position and a fleet of Narcon vessels dominated the scene. The narrow ships hung like bright stars in the vastness of space. The squadron leader sent a message back to his flagship, the Darentor.

At least it’s not the Vindicarn and their damn disrupters, Byron thought, leaning closer to the screen. The Tgren medical facility had received enough mentally damaged pilots and navigators of late.

The transcript displayed the squadron leader’s instructions as his ships approached the Narcon. He called for caution and restraint but did not order a direct attack. The enemy fighters maintained their position, hanging silent in the depths of space. Time appeared frozen as neither race made a move.

Without provocation, the Narcon opened fire on the Cosbolts. The squadron leader held his position, providing a stable observation point. Byron ignored the verbal feed and focused on the ensuing battle. The smaller, dart-shaped Narcon fighters ripped through the ranks of stout, rounded Cosbolts. Laser fire flew in every direction, flashing bright against the blackness of space. Two Narcon ships exploded and a Cosbolt spun out of view, stirring memories in Byron. He’d never faced the Narcon, but their aggressive tactics and movements reminded him of the Vindicarn.

Skirmishes my ass, he thought, scowling at the image.

Changing computer screens, he sent a message to his Tgren liaison officer. Byron wanted to know the current mindset of the local prefect before broaching the subject of intergalactic war. Relations between the planet’s natives and the Cassans were healthy, but the Tgrens still resisted outside involvement. Byron understood their neutral position, as they’d yet to venture into space, but the attitude concerned him.

What will you do if this war appears at your door? I don’t think the Vindicarn will care about your neutrality, he thought.

He punched the keypad and retrieved the week’s flight schedule. If the skirmishes continued to shift closer to Tgren, Ktren’s base would be called into action. His Cosbolt squadrons needed to prepare for a battle greater than the occasional rogue pirate raid.

Satisfied with the schedule, Byron made a mental note to speak with his squadron commander. The simulators still contained Vindicarn flight patterns, and he wanted all Cosbolt teams to brush up on their skills.

I’ll need the training as well, he thought. It’s been years since I faced the Vindicarn.

Pushing his chair away from the desk, he rose to his feet. Several joints popped in protest. Byron winced at the sound.

“You sit too damn much,” he grumbled, snatching an empty glass from his desk.

Lifting a crystal pitcher from the thin table to his left, he refilled the glass. Byron downed half of the water, letting the last swallow rest on his tongue for a moment. The Cassan facility provided cool and comfortable settings, but no amount of climate control could replace the lack of moisture. The dry desert air invaded every fiber of his body.

Lowering the glass to his side, Byron stared at the large map covering the side wall of his office. A gift from the previous prefect, the sturdy parchment showed signs of deterioration. The edges now curled and the sandy colored surface had faded with time. The section directly in front of him boasted new cracks and he frowned. Byron doubted the current prefect would be willing to supply a replacement map.

His gaze shifted to the largest land mass just above the equator. Two tiny dots, nestled in between mountains and a river, marked the placement of the Cassan base and the city of Ktren. Byron’s fingers tightened around his glass. If not for the alien ruins buried within the surrounding mountains, only one dot would mark the map.

Something the Council of Prefects is so fond of reminding me, he thought. If the Vindicarn invade your planet, you’ll be damned grateful we’re here.

A gentle beep from the door panel announced a visitor. At the same time, a familiar presence touched his mind.

Byron returned to his desk and set down the glass. Enter!

The door slid open, ushering in a light breeze from the hall. He remained standing as his Tgren liaison officer approached, computer tablet in hand. She came to a halt and offered a proper salute before assuming a causal pose. Byron nodded, noting the playfulness in her thoughts. Straightening his shoulders, he offered his most authoritative scowl, determined to remain in control of this meeting.

“Sir, you realize you just pulled me from a very important council meeting regarding this year’s rtrax harvest,” she said, arching one eyebrow. “I’m going to miss the heated debate over the amount of fuel required to complete the task in a timely fashion.”

Her sarcasm bordered on the ridiculous and Byron’s composure slipped. Trust his mate to see the humor in every situation.

“I know how much you enjoy hearing the council bicker over fuel consumption,” he said, allowing a smile to tug at his lips.

Athee rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, fascinating. Jabbering fools! I’d rather harvest rtrax by hand than listen to them argue.”

Byron glanced at his computer screen. His thoughts returned to the purpose for their meeting.

“Well, let me show you something that will interest you,” he said, gesturing for Athee to sit in the closest chair.

Byron sank into his seat and retrieved the most recent report. He turned the screen so she could view the latest development. Focused on Athee, he watched her expression transform from curiosity to concern.

“They’re that close to Tgren?” she said, her eyes wide.

Folding his hands in his lap, Byron nodded. “Our forces have moved to intercept, but the enemy is on the prowl. I doubt they’ll stop when they reach the edge of Cassan-Tgren space.”

“Are we a target?”

“High Command doesn’t believe Tgren is an objective, despite our presence here. Intelligence suggests the Vindicarn are unaware this planet possesses the compound used for teleportation. Should they discover the rich deposits, their interest in Tgren would likely change. The Vindicarn have been in great need of the compound since we destroyed their main supply forty years ago.”

You destroyed.

Her quick correction caused him to hesitate. I might’ve had something to do with it, he admitted, the sight of the Vindicarn ship’s core erupting in a ball of flames replaying in his mind. He’d fired the rockets that destroyed the teleportation production ship, effectively ending the war. However, that moment of victory would be forever tainted by his final thoughts. His brother would never know Byron’s accomplishments since the war.

Bassa would be proud of you, Athee thought. As am I.

The tension in Byron’s shoulders eased. He couldn’t hide his thoughts from his mate. Twenty years with Athee had taught him the futility of that endeavor.

“Lines are being drawn and soon High Command will declare our official involvement. Are the prefects ready to hear this news?” he said, shifting his attention to their present concern.

“That the enemy approaches no matter how hard they’ve tried to hide? No, but perhaps it will prod them into action.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

Athee leaned back, tossing her dark tresses over her shoulder. “It’s about time my people woke up and realized there’s a populated and dangerous universe out there. We were almost annihilated once. That was enough.”

Buoyed by the determination in her words, Byron nodded. “Then I’ll arrange a meeting with Prefect Enteller. Thank you, Officer Athee. Dismissed.”

You’re welcome.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Byron smiled. His mate knew to maintain an air of professional courtesy around him when they were on duty, and for the most part, she succeeded. Every now and then though, she tested his limits.

Two can play that game, he thought.

She pivoted sharply as she arose, her hips twisting in an enticing fashion. Byron watched with interest as she strode toward the door. He’d always admired her shape, but motherhood had added many attractive curves to Athee’s body.

She paused and turned to face him, eyebrows arched. Byron didn’t even try to pretend indifference. She’d heard his admiration loud and clear.

Go! I’ll see you tonight, he thought.

Good luck with Prefect Enteller. If nothing else, you’ll give him something to worry about besides fuel consumption.

Bassan poked at his food, turning over the orange roots with his fork. Tgren herren were not his favorite. He didn’t mind them raw, but when cooked, the root possessed all the attributes of a sponge. Try as he might, Bassan couldn’t get past the chewy texture.

“I know you don’t like them very much, but at least make an effort,” his mother said.

Uttering a sigh, Bassan stabbed a root with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed with haste, touching the herren root with his tongue only when forced to shove it to the other side of his mouth. When mashed just enough to slide down his throat, Bassan swallowed the offending vegetable. Seizing his glass, he took a drink of water to clear the remains from his mouth.

“Is it really that bad?” his mother said, raising a root on her fork.

“It’s awful,” Bassan said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

I could always prepare toluff instead.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Toluff contained two plants that on their own were very bitter. Combined in the baked dish, the taste was sharp to the point of physical pain and with a pungent smell to match.

His mother chuckled and inserted the herren into her mouth. Bassan poked at the remainder of his meal, hoping to locate the least spongy root on his plate. If he choked down just one more, it might satisfy his mother enough to excuse him from the table.

Bassan was about to stab at a small root when his mother rose from her chair. She turned toward the door just as the panel slid aside. Bassan’s fork slipped out of his hand as his father entered. His hopes of escaping the offensive roots vanished on the spot.

Retrieving his utensil, Bassan watched his mother approach his father. She placed a hand on his arm and cocked her head. No words were spoken, but Bassan knew his parents were exchanging private thoughts. He strained to hear their mental conversation but couldn’t penetrate the barriers around their minds.

Bassan’s shoulders sagged. Would his mind ever be strong enough? His parents could always hear his thoughts, but he lacked the ability to catch their exchanges.

His father shook his head and set his computer tablet on the counter. “Food first,” he said, moving toward the table. “I’m starving.”

Dropping his hands to his lap, Bassan straightened his back and sat at attention. He waited while his father pulled out a chair and collapsed into the seat. His father reached for a bowl in the middle of the table, his brows pulled together. Bassan held his breath, afraid to move.

Scooping a large portion of ground wild ltarkin meat, his father glanced at his son. “Evening, Bassan,” he said, his voice heavy.

“Good evening, Father,” Bassan replied, his tone clear and respectful. His father possessed zero tolerance for insolence.

“Finish your meal,” his father said, depositing the contents of the spoon on his plate.

Bassan dropped his chin and stared at the six remaining roots on his plate. If he’d eaten faster and crammed just one more into his mouth before his father had come home, he might’ve escaped. Now he had no choice but to choke down all of his food. Gritting his teeth, Bassan stabbed at another root and stared at the repulsive vegetable.

I hate herren, he thought, stuffing the vegetable into his mouth.

He listened while his parents discussed their day. Simulator drills and flight patterns held little interest for Bassan. Despite the fact his parents flew Cosbolt fighters, flying did not intrigue him, and he had even less interest in the native aircraft.

He’d only experienced a Tgren plane once, but that was enough. Bassan had been very young at the time, but the sensation of leaving the ground frightened him. In contrast, he experienced a tug of curiosity whenever the Cosbolts flew overhead. Their movement appeared more graceful than a Tgren craft. On occasion, he rode in a Cassan shuttle, but that first flight always clouded his thoughts.

As he choked down the last root, Bassan heard his father mention the Vindicarn. Aware of the significance of that race, he turned his attention to his parents’ conversation.

“Following our declaration of war, both the Narcon and Vindicarn took up position on the edge of Cassan space,” his father said, his fork clanging against his plate. “The Nacinta has relocated to the outer reaches of the Tgren solar system. They report no activity though.”

“Did that news settle Prefect Enteller’s nerves?” Bassan’s mother said.

His father shook his head, causing his dark locks to drop over his forehead. “Hardly. He was more concerned there wasn’t a flagship in orbit over Tgren.”

Those words startled Bassan. No flagship orbiting Tgren? Who would protect them?

Bassan’s father lifted a forkful of food, his gaze shifting to his son. “We have six squadrons of Cosbolts on this base. We aren’t defenseless.”

His hands sliding to his lap, Bassan scrunched down in his seat. He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear his thoughts.

“Why don’t you clear your setting and go finish your studies?” his mother suggested.

Hiding his relief, Bassan nodded and grabbed his plate and glass. Sliding out of his chair, he pushed it under the table with his knee. He shot his father a guilty look, aware he was supposed to use his hands, but neither of his parents appeared to notice his transgression. Navigating around the central counter, he placed his dishes in the cleaning unit and retreated to his room.

The moment the door slid into place, Bassan retrieved a small canister from his desk drawer. Several bright red candies greeted him and he popped two of the sticky lumps into his mouth. The sweet taste of sugar and fruit began to ooze across his tongue. Bassan closed his eyes.

Stupid herren roots, he thought, returning the canister to the back of the drawer.

He spent the remainder of the evening on his studies. During the past few weeks, his class had analyzed some of the known facts regarding the alien ship buried in the mountains surrounding Ktren. While space flight didn’t intrigue him, the complexity of the aliens and their ship fascinated Bassan. Twenty years of research had revealed much about the craft, although gaps existed due to the inability of the Cassan scientists to translate the language in its entirety. Bassan often spent more time speculating on the missing information than actually studying his lessons, and tonight was no different.

Deep in thought, he almost missed his mother’s announcement that he ought to prepare for bed. Bassan suppressed a groan.

But I’m not sleepy, he thought.

Shaking his head, Bassan responded before his mother had to repeat her request. He rolled off his bed and retreated to the bathroom. At least his studies wouldn’t distract him anymore. If he didn’t fall asleep right away, his imagination could continue to roam.

He said goodnight to his parents before returning to his room. His mother sent a loving thought, telling him to sleep well. To Bassan’s surprise, his father followed him and held the covers while Bassan squirmed into position. He smiled in appreciation. His father rarely tucked him into bed.

“I understand you’re visiting the alien ship tomorrow,” his father said, pressing the blanket under Bassan’s chin.

The question sparked excitement in Bassan. He’d waited for this trip for weeks.

“Yes, sir,” he said, unable to contain his grin. “Our class is going right after the midday meal. We get to see the control center and the engine room. And the pod room!”

His father took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re visiting Section Five?”

“We get to see the containment pods. Did you know there are thousands of them?”

“Yes, I did.”

“They say the rows are almost endless.”

“The far end of the room is dark, so it does appear that way.”

Bassan felt a tug of envy. “You’ve seen them?”

A smile pulled at the corners of his father’s mouth. “Of course I’ve seen them. I visit the ship at least once a week. And Officer Mevine keeps me abreast of new discoveries.”

“Has mother seen the pod room?”

“She has.”

Feeling deflated, Bassan’s hands dropped to his sides. He was always the last one in their family to do anything.

His father smiled and rested a hand on Bassan’s chest. “And tomorrow, you will see it. Then you can tell me what you thought of all those rows of containers. I think you’ll be impressed by the sight.”

Those words restored Bassan’s enthusiasm. “I can’t wait. Can we talk about it during the evening meal tomorrow?”

“Yes we can.”

Excited at the prospect of joining the conversation rather than just listening, Bassan smiled so big his cheeks hurt. He shared so few things with his father. The difference in their interests left little common ground. His father’s brows came together and Bassan wondered if he’d heard that thought.

A familiar presence entered his mind, its touch affectionate but tentative. Surprised by the connection, Bassan held very still. He clung to his father’s thoughts, enjoying the moment. His father did not connect often outside of mental communication. Bassan treasured those rare occurrences even if it meant his thoughts were open for viewing.

“Now,” his father said, “you are to obey your instructors tomorrow, and Officer Mevine as well. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bassan, feeling his father’s presence vanish from his mind. It left an empty void, much like a hole in the sand. He wished those moments weren’t so brief.

“And I’ll want a full report tomorrow night.”

“Yes, sir! I’ll tell you everything. I hope you’re not late again.”

“I’ll do my best to be home on time.”

Patting Bassan’s chest once more, his father rose from the bed. He commanded the room’s lights to dim as he departed. The door slid into place, plunging the room into darkness. Bassan burrowed farther under the covers and forced his body to relax.

Tomorrow he would see the alien ship! His class would wander down the tunnels bathed in eerie, blue light. He’d finally get to view the control room and the giant plasma ball that dominated its center. The true size of the engine room would no longer be a secret. Most important, he would at last see the rows of pods that that had carried his ancestors to Tgren. The videos they’d viewed in class were not enough. Bassan wanted to experience it with all of his senses.

Bassan recalled his father’s previous warnings regarding class trips. At least he didn’t tell me not to touch anything this time, he thought, closing his eyes.

Chapter Two

“This was one of the last rooms in Section Five we were able to access.”

Officer Mevine’s usual soft voice cracked as he projected it over the shuffling of feet. “However, this containment area and corresponding control room has provided us with the greatest opportunity to learn from the race that sent intelligent life to Tgren.”

Standing on his tiptoes, Bassan strained to get a better look at the pods. He bumped the boy to his right and received a hard elbow in the shoulder. Losing his balance, he grasped the shoulder of the classmate ahead of him. The boy turned around, his dark curls all but obscuring his eyes. Shaking his head, the boy grasped the front of Bassan’s shirt.

Get up here before you hurt yourself, the boy thought, yanking Bassan forward.

Propelled with great force to the front, Bassan’s feet barely had time to catch up with his body. He regained his composure and gasped as he caught sight of the pod room. The capsules emitted a vibrant, green glow, symbolic of the life they once carried. Bassan swore he could see the lights pulsating like a heartbeat. The numerous rows stretched far into the darkness.

There are thousands, he thought, shielding so only the boy who’d pulled him to the front could hear.

My father said there are fifty rows of a hundred and each one carried a person.

Tearing his gaze from the glow of the pods, Bassan glanced at his friend. Drent’s eyebrows were raised and he offered a brief nod. Upon hearing Officer Mevine clear his throat, both boys turned their attention to the senior science officer.

“When this ship launched from its point of origin, each capsule carried an embryo,” said Officer Mevine, his voice no longer strained. “The capsules were filled with a liquid that provided oxygen and nutrition, and they were monitored by computers located in the control room.

“From our calculations, the people inside the capsules were almost adults when the ship arrived on Tgren. They were released and exited the ship through a supply room located at the far end.”

Officer Mevine pointed toward a corner of the room that lay shrouded in darkness. Bassan let his gaze wander across the room. He could almost see the thousands of confused Tgrens staggering on shaky legs to the beckoning exit. How strange the desert landscape of this world must’ve appeared to eyes that had only viewed the darkness of sleep.

“Are there any questions?” said Officer Mevine.

“Sir, what was in the supply room?” someone asked.

Officer Mevine straightened his thin frame, clasping his hands behind his back. “According to the records we’ve deciphered, the supply room contained basic clothing, food, water, and simple tools required for survival on this planet.”

That makes sense, Bassan thought.

“Officer Mevine, how did they know how to use those items?” a girl to his right asked. “Wouldn’t they have been like a newborn baby? Helpless?”

Bassan’s position placed him within close proximity of Officer Mevine, and he sensed a surge of excitement from Drent’s father. The science officer smiled and lifted his chin even higher.

“Every person’s brain was connected to a computer that fed them information over the duration of the trip. They were taught behavior, motor skills, language, and the basics they needed to function, survive, and procreate.”

A ripple of humor arose in those closest to Bassan. He ignored their childish thoughts. If the occupants of the pods were fed information, how did the data come to them? Were visuals involved?

“Did they dream?”

Bassan realized he’d spoken aloud. Clenching his fists at his sides, he berated himself for his impulsive words. A wave of ridicule from his classmates caused Bassan to shield his thoughts. Why had he asked such a stupid question?

Officer Mevine smiled and stepped closer. “They probably did dream, Bassan. That would’ve been the most logical means for inserting information into the brain.”

Buoyed by the answer, Bassan smiled in triumph. Drent’s father had just validated his idea in front of everyone.

You have a good idea now and then, Drent thought.

Bassan nudged his friend. I have lots of good ideas.

They were permitted ten more minutes to ask questions before their instructor announced their time to visit the engine room. Disappointment tugged at Bassan’s chest. After viewing the pods, he had no desire to look at the ship’s propulsion system. He wanted to know more about the pods and the computers that controlled the capsules. If there really was a way to implant dreams into one’s mind…

I wish we could stay, he thought.

Drent had turned to follow the others to the exit, but he paused. Casting a suspicious look at Bassan, Drent’s eyes narrowed. Bassan offered his most pleading expression, hoping to win over his friend and buy a little more time in the presence of the pods.

You really want to stay? Drent thought.

A tingle of excitement ran down Bassan’s spine. Yes!

His friend stared at Bassan, his scrutiny indicating he was mulling over the idea. Bassan caught his breath, afraid Drent would brush off his request as nothing more than childish. He’d always tried to keep up with Drent, aware of the two years separating them in age. Bassan didn’t want to appear immature or unworthy of his friend’s time. Few shared their mixed heritage of Cassan and Tgren. Without Drent, Bassan’s list of friends would be very short.

Drent lifted his chin and turned toward the senior science officer. “Father? Bassan would really like to see more of the pod room. It’s his latest obsession. Can we stay here with you?”

Officer Mevine’s gaze shifted to the doorway. Transferring weight from one foot to the other, the science officer rubbed his fingers on his thighs in an uneven rhythm. Bassan held his breath as Officer Mevine’s attention returned to the boys. No words were exchanged, but he sensed a private conversation between father and son.

Please let him say yes, he thought.

Drent’s father frowned and Bassan prepared for disappointment. Officer Mevine’s head jerked toward the doorway and he snapped his fingers. “Officer Tarcon, a word with you?”

Bassan grinned at Drent. I don’t know what you told him, but it worked!

I just used the magic words.

What words?

The commander’s son.

Bassan’s stomach sank. Why did you have to say that? You know I don’t like to use my father’s rank.

Well, you should learn to use it more often! Drent crossed his arms, his scowl penetrating the hair hanging across his face. We’ll always be the odd ones out. We have to use every advantage we can get.

His friend’s accusation caused Bassan to take a step backward. He didn’t have long to ponder Drent’s words, though. Officer Mevine rejoined them, bringing a hand down on each boy’s shoulder.

“Your instructor has given permission for you to remain here under my supervision. Officer Tarcon will retrieve you when your class finishes with the engine room.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bassan.

“Well, I appreciate your enthusiasm,” said Officer Mevine, patting his shoulder. “This has been one of our greatest discoveries. We’ve learned so much from the computers that controlled these capsules.”

“Sir, may I see them? The computers I mean?”

Drent’s father nodded. “I don’t see why not. This way.”

Bassan and Drent followed Officer Mevine out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, Bassan scanned the rows of pods one last time. Thousands of people, all lost in a dream…

Come on! thought Drent.

Pumping his shorter legs, Bassan caught up with his friend. Officer Mevine turned right and vanished. Bassan expected another room but discovered an ascending hallway. Though the slope gentle, he still had to hustle to keep up with Drent. They reached a landing and Officer Mevine paused before continuing up the next ramp.

“I’m coming, sir,” Bassan said, determined to keep up. “Sir, do you really think our ancestors dreamed while in the pods?”

“Dreams and more. Their brains processed information and increased in knowledge during the trip to Tgren.”

Blue rings of light guided them up the ramp toward a brighter light and Bassan’s excitement grew. None of his classmates could claim they’d seen the pod’s computer system!

They reached the next level and the tunnel turned again before opening into a large room. Bassan noticed several open doorways to his left and eyed them with curiosity. He almost ran into Drent and had to regain his footing as he sidestepped his friend. Now facing the right side of the room, Bassan discovered a more interesting view.

“This is the master control room for the capsules below,” said Officer Mevine, gesturing toward a line of alien consoles.

The hair on Bassan’s arms rose. The numerous, crescent-shaped consoles lined a glass wall, their glowing lights bathing the long room in a glittering array of colors. Large screens flashed in rapid succession, their data changing in the blink of an eye. Beyond the consoles lay the most incredible view. Bassan gasped as he realized the computer room overlooked the endless rows of pods.

“Each console controls a different aspect,” Officer Mevine said, moving to the nearest computer. “Life support, physical growth, mental input—everything was programmed and controlled from this very room.”

Eager to hear and see more, Bassan moved to the science officer’s side. He glanced down the row of consoles, noting other officers present in the room. Their wary glances indicated recognition of the commander’s son. Feeling uneasy, Bassan’s attention shifted to the control panel in front of him.

“This one was programmed to monitor and control basic life support,” said Drent’s father. His fingers touched a corner of the screen. The images ceased to fly by in rapid succession. Bassan peered at the alien calculations now displayed.

“This displayed the oxygen count in the subject’s blood stream.”

Bassan listened with interest as Officer Mevine ran through the various systems. The images on the screen made no sense. He certainly couldn’t read the alien language or understand the information. He wanted to learn one day though.

Still focused on the science officer’s words, Bassan scanned the console. The crescent screen was angled for easy viewing, although he had to stretch on his toes to see the screen. The framework caught his attention. It appeared to be crystal-like stone rather than metal. Bassan lifted his hand to touch it and then snapped his arms behind his back. He knew better than to touch anything, especially with Officer Mevine present.

When Drent’s father reached for the far side of the screen, Bassan stepped aside. His view no longer blocked by the console, he found himself staring down at the glowing pods. The rows of rounded capsules, their green lights pulsating with energy, mesmerized him. What was it like the day all of those pods opened? Thousands of people, caught for years in a dream, all gaining consciousness in one moment. Every dream had dissolved as those people experienced real life for the very first time…

“Bassan?”

The sound of his name snapped Bassan back to reality. He looked up and discovered Officer Mevine staring at him.

“Sir?” he said, his voice cracking.

“Did you have any questions?”

“No, sir,” he said, responding out of habit. Bassan caught himself, feeling foolish for his inane reply. “I mean, yes sir. Did the computer tell the people what to do when they awoke?”

The science officer rested a hand atop the console. “We believe it gave them instructions. We surmised that the alien race wanted the people to begin their new life and with as little recollection of this ship as possible. They most likely awoke with a strong urge to gather supplies and exit the vessel. Considering their confused state, it’s no surprise Tgren’s ancestors forgot this ship once they set foot on the surface.”

“Except in their dreams,” Bassan mused, his gaze traveling to the view out the window.

“Father, you said the Tgren’s language was programmed into their minds as well?” said Drent.

“The first Tgrens were given a complex, working language, unique to their race.”

Bassan looked up at the science officer. “Similar to our own?” he said.

“The dialects are different, but the Cassan language is the most similar of the known races.”

“So, are we the same race?”

Officer Mevine stepped away from the console, his chin dropping to his chest. “There are minor differences. We share a similar physical structure—”

“An alien race could’ve seeded the Cassan world as well?”

“No ancient alien ship has been discovered on Cassa—”

“And yet, that doesn’t mean we aren’t from the same race, does it?”

Officer Mevine’s brows came together and Bassan sucked in his breath. He’d interrupted the senior officer. Not once, but twice. He knew better. Father would be so angry.

The science officer’s left hand came down on Bassan’s shoulder. He trembled and prepared for a reprimand. Officer Mevine placed his right hand on Drent’s neck and pulled the boys closer. Leaning down, the science officer placed his face within inches of Bassan’s face.

“You boys are proof that Cassans and Tgrens possess a similar heritage,” Officer Mevine said, his voice as soft as his expression. “Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to establish that fact in the records once and for all. But our genetic codes aren’t identical. And until a similar alien ship is discovered on Cassa, a common ancestry will never be accepted by the general population of either race.”

Pulling his thin lips into a smile, the science officer thumped their backs. “Who knows? Perhaps you are the beginning of a new race? Your abilities just might surpass that of either Tgrens or Cassans.”

Those words shot straight into Bassan’s heart. He and Drent weren’t freaks, but a new race? His imagination ran wild with the possibilities.

And what if Cassans and Tgrens weren’t the only races to merge? he thought, excited by the idea of other half-breeds. What if there are more of us? A lot more?

“Officer Mevine?”

Releasing Bassan and Drent, the science officer straightened his frame. “Yes?”

Bassan stepped aside as an officer moved to Mevine’s side, computer tablet in hand. His attention shifted and he stole another glance at the glowing pods. Edging closer to the glass, he stared at the capsules. The Tgrens were a seeded race. What if they weren’t alone? What if they did discover a similar alien ship on Cassa?

“Boys, this requires my attention,” said Officer Mevine, cutting into Bassan’s thoughts. “Wait for me by the tunnel.”

Drent grabbed Bassan’s arm. Choking on a protest, Bassan let his friend drag him away from the window overlooking the pods.

At least you got to come up here!

Bassan stared at his friend, annoyed with himself. His thoughts were far too transparent. I know. I just wanted to look at the pods a little longer.

Why? Drent crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose.

I just do! I want to know what went through those people’s minds.

You want to climb into a capsule and find out?

Yes, I would.

Noting Drent’s condescending expression, Bassan turned away. He hated it when others mocked his ideas. What was wrong with wanting to experience the pods firsthand? Maybe he’d find a connection with the people who were his ancestors.

He now faced the three open doorways. Bassan peered into the closest room. It contained a computer console similar to those lining the far wall. Something seemed unusual, though. The frame appeared larger and displayed a static screen. Curious as to why this console boasted no activity, Bassan stepped through the open doorway.

What are you doing? Drent thought, seizing his elbow.

I just want a closer look, thought Bassan, shaking off his friend’s strong grip. The panel’s faint lights beckoned him closer.

When I said use every advantage we can get, I didn’t mean like this!

I’m just looking.

My father only allowed me in this room with supervision.

Bassan hesitated. You’ve been up here before?

Drent dropped his hands to his side. Well, of course I have. My father brought me here shortly after they discovered the control room.

Frustration rose in Bassan’s chest. He never accompanied his father on assignments. Sheltered by his parents, Bassan never got to experience anything. Feeling defiant, he decided that would change right now.

Hovering near the console, he examined the large screen. Set in a grid pattern, its green lines glowed much softer than the other screens. A set of eleven symbols pulsated at the top, the orange glow a sharp contrast to the green. Bassan stood on his toes to get a closer view.

What does it say? he thought, resting his fingers on the lower edge of the console. The casing felt cool to the touch.

My father said they haven’t deciphered it yet, Drent thought, moving to his side.

Disappointed by the answer, Bassan’s gaze dropped to a metallic ball protruding from the console’s casing. Residing just inches from his fingers, the shine of the orb enticed him closer. Sliding his hand along the console’s edge, Bassan poised his index finger to touch the surface. A hand on his shoulder startled him and Bassan froze.

Come on! My father will be angry if he catches us in here, thought Drent.

With reluctance, Bassan stepped away from the console but didn’t relinquish his hold. Drent’s hand lifted from his shoulder and Bassan caught his breath. His fingers were beside the ball. He was so close. This might be his only opportunity to experience something new. Ignoring the voice of reason that screamed in his head, Bassan grasped the metallic orb.

A jolt of energy shot through his fingertips. It travelled up his arm to his brain. Images flashed through his mind at a rapid pace, blinding in their intensity. The console in front of him vanished as the vivid array raced through his head. Frightened and confused, Bassan opened his mouth to cry out for help. Before he could utter a sound, the kaleidoscope ended. He gasped at the sudden void.

What did you do? Drent demanded, his thought pounding at Bassan’s temples.

Releasing the ball, Bassan dropped his hand. He stared at the console in confusion. Its screen had not altered and the green grid gave no indication of what had just occurred.

“What are you boys doing in here?”

Spinning on his heels, Bassan discovered Officer Mevine in the doorway. He shielded his mind, fearful Drent’s father would hear his thoughts.

“Sorry, Father,” said Drent. “We were just looking at the screen.”

The science officer stared hard at the boys, his lips pressed together. “This console has not been accessed yet and is off limits. Come on, I have one more computer to show you before your instructor returns.”

The boys followed Officer Mevine from the room. Bassan glanced back at the console, relieved the screen revealed no sign of tampering. He couldn’t recall any of the images that had raced through his mind. Had he dreamed the whole experience?

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Bassan only half listened as Officer Mevine explained the growth programming of the pods’ occupants. Bassan’s fingers still tingled. He kept his hand behind his back and hoped no one noticed the compulsive wiggling. He shouldn’t have touched that ball.

Relief flooded his mind when Officer Mevine escorted the boys from the room. As they descended through the tunnel to the main level, he recalled his father’s warning.

The one time he didn’t tell me not to touch something, I touched something, he thought, his shoulders drooping farther with every step. Damn, I am in so much trouble!

“Enemy targets in sector 120-320,” Byron announced over the com. “Defense positions only. No one is to engage unless I give the order.”

Athee adjusted her screen, calculating the exact position of the battle. The enemy occupied the space beyond Tgren’s moon, hiding in its shadow. Two Cassan flagships also occupied that space. She relayed the information to her pilot.

Sounds like the Nacinta’s fighters have it under control, he thought. We’ll set up a perimeter around Tgren.

Her mate’s calm mental state settled her nerves. Drawing from his confidence, Athee ran through her prelaunch checklist. Satisfied all systems operated at top efficiency, she confirmed the readiness of their Cosbolt. The hangar chief gave the signal and Athee piloted the ship across the hangar. The fighter entered the launch tube and awaited launch sequence.

Pressing her head against the back of her seat, Athee reached out to Bassan. We’ll be back shortly, she thought, adding a loving caress to her mental connection.

He doesn’t need to know what’s happening, Byron thought, punctuating his response with a trace of irritation.

He heard the alarm. Bassan worries when we fly into battle, Athee thought, flexing her fingers around the throttle. He’s only ten, but our son knows we could both die.

Not today!

The countdown commenced over the com. Athee closed her eyes. Clenching her teeth, she prepared for the jolt of acceleration.

The enemy is finally at our doorstep, she thought, her stomach sinking.

The countdown ended. On cue, the Cosbolt’s engines roared louder than a desert storm. Athee’s body pressed even harder into the seat as the fighter raced forward. Sight wasn’t a requirement. The image of the launch tube walls racing past at a blinding speed lay ingrained in her memory. She counted instead, ticking off the three brief seconds until the Cosbolt emerged from the launch tube.

One, two, three!

She opened her eyes. The warm glow of Tgren’s sun greeted Athee. Her shoulders sagged and she released the throttle. They’d made it.

We haven’t had a launch tube mishap in almost eighteen years, Byron thought. Despite the amount of times he’d reminded her, Athee’s mate didn’t sound annoyed.

I know, Athee thought, convincing herself as much as her pilot. A freak accident, it always resided in the back of Athee’s mind during launches. That wasn’t how she wanted to die. After all these years, she still preferred an open runway to a launch tube.

Shoving the memory from her mind, she checked the controls and relayed the position of the other fighters to Byron. They circled once, waiting for all six squadrons to join them. Athee perceived his growing impatience and kept her thoughts neutral. Byron needed to focus on the situation at hand. This was more serious than any rogue pirate attack. She couldn’t even recall the last time they’d led all six squadrons into battle.

The final Cosbolts took their positions and Byron passed assignments to the squadron leaders. Athee listened, calculating their placement. Her mate wanted as much of Tgren’s surface covered from space as possible.

We’ll maintain a stationary position, he thought, his words directed at his navigator.

Athee had already computed the squadrons’ flight patterns and selected a strategic location for their ship. The moment the coordinates formed in her mind, Byron signified his readiness to jump.

Locking with his mind, they touched the teleporter. Only the pilot’s abilities were required to jump the ship, but their connection as mates meant Athee was always involved. She tapped into the depths of her mind, the energy coiling like a desert snake ready to strike. A surge of potency ignited as the unit absorbed the power of two minds.

Jump!

Her thoughts locked on the coordinates, Athee brought the ship to the precise location over Tgren. Tapping her fingers, she expanded her view to include the battle beyond Tgren’s moon. Two Cassan flagships were in position, including the Nacinta. Two other large vessels were present, their ominous shapes dominating her screen. Ignoring the mammoth ships, she zoomed closer. The smaller fighters were of greater interest to Athee.

Vindicarn and Narcon, Byron thought, no trace of emotion in his tone.

Athee scanned the multitude of fighters engaged in combat, noting the position of those on the fringes of the action. Tapped into her thoughts, Byron saw what she saw. She heard him send orders to his squadron leaders, informing them of the scope of the fight. His greatest concern lay with stray ships jumping to escape the heat of battle. Hiding behind Tgren’s moon would place enemy ships too close to the planet.

Watch for the disrupters. They aren’t as powerful as those used forty years ago, but they still make the Vindicarn dangerous. Look sharp and attack from below. I am not losing anyone to a disrupter blast today.

Byron’s words sent a chill down Athee’s spine. She glanced up from her screen and scanned the open space outside the ship’s canopy. Athee swallowed, her tongue dry in her mouth.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t hear his every thought. As long as it took me to convince him not to shield me from his mind though, I’m not about to make him change, she thought. Her attention returned to the screen.

Keep an eye on the battle, Byron thought. Watch for ships that jump but don’t reappear. Vindicarn teleporters are designed for long range jumps, which means they could jump right in front of us. Or worse, on the other side of Tgren.

Check!