CassaStorm (8 page)

“So am I. He was a superb pilot.”

Fear surfaced in Bassan’s thoughts. Byron sensed a combination of concern for Athee’s uncle and anxiety due to the part Bassan’s parents played in today’s battle. He gave his son a little shake.

“Hey, your mother and I are fine, and your uncle will recover. No need to worry.” With those words, the last trace of energy seeped from Byron’s body. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

His son nodded and Byron rose to his feet, every muscle protesting the movement. Before he could take a step, Bassan grabbed his hand.

“I don’t want to sleep alone in my bed,” he said, his voice cracking.

The request surprised Byron. He couldn’t recall the last time Bassan had been too frightened to sleep by himself. Glancing around the main room, Byron decided a change of scenery might be good for both of them.

“I’ll grab some blankets and we’ll sleep out here,” he offered. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed?”

Byron settled his son on the smaller couch before collapsing on the larger one. He pulled the covers to his chin and let his arms drop to his sides, ready to enjoy the lack of motion. He’d told Athee goodnight at he gathered the blankets. Byron sent a similar thought in his son’s direction.

Goodnight, Father. I love you,
Bassan thought.

Eyes still closed, Byron used his last trace of energy to smile.
I love you.

Multiple messages came through in the middle of the night. Byron stirred long enough to answer those that required an immediate reply, dropping back into a dreamless sleep the moment his head returned to the pillow. In the morning, he discovered Bassan curled up beside him.

Wonder when this happened? Byron thought, stretching his legs.

He roused his son, prodding him to get ready for his classes. Since damage to the base was minimal, Byron had decided the children should attend classes as usual. It would keep their minds occupied and free their parents to tend to other tasks. All personnel would be required today.

Several officers awaited his arrival, seeking guidance and approval for the day’s assignments. The immediate decisions out of the way, Byron went into Ktren to view the damage firsthand. He met with Prefect Enteller, who guided him to the areas hit hardest.

The Cassan transport vehicle moved slowly through the streets, navigating piles of broken stone and Tgren carts filled with debris. The oppressing mood hung heavy in the air, like the heat of a summer afternoon before a thunderstorm. Men and women sifted through the rubble, their hands and faces covered with dust. The scenes were a sharp contrast to the images Athee had projected yesterday. No longer driven by fear and the urgency to find survivors, the Tgrens had settled into resignation and depression.

Tearing his gaze from the downcast faces, Byron turned to the prefect. “Enteller, I require a list of your best pilots. Send it to Officer Hurend this afternoon. Include each man and woman’s profile. My senior squadron commander will select the most qualified to begin training tomorrow.”

The prefect nodded, his head still turned toward the window. “Will they train to fly Cosbolts?”

“No, Cosbolts require both a pilot and navigator to fly. It would take too long to train your people how to operate them. We have several one-seater Dartens here on the base, and the Nacinta is sending down their extra fighters. We’ll also train some for the shuttles so all craft can be utilized.”

Byron waited for a response, unsure if his words had registered with the man. Enteller had voted last night in favor of a declaration of war without a single protest, his usual fire absent. The former prefect, Athee’s uncle, had been set in his ways when Byron arrived on this planet many years ago. The threat of the alien probe, guided to this world by the ancient alien ship, changed the man’s outlook. Byron had enjoyed dealing with Orellen, especially once he took command of the base. Enteller had come with his own views, determined to preserve Tgren’s way of life. Yesterday’s attack had changed his plans, but Byron now feared it had crushed the man’s spirit in the process.

“Prefect Enteller, we will prepare your people as quickly as possible,” he said, shifting in his seat to gain the man’s attention.

“But will it be enough?” Enteller turned to face him, his skin pulled tight over his drawn face. “Will they be able to learn in time to make a difference?”

“If you send me your best, we can have them proficient within weeks.”

“You’re sure it can be done?”

Suppressing his smugness, Byron crossed his arms. “Twenty years ago, the first Tgren pilot trained on a shuttle mastered its flight in just over a week.”

Enteller rolled his head in Byron’s direction. “Officer Athee?” he said, eyebrows arched.

“Yes. Between training and observing my actions, she learned enough to perform basic maneuvers.”

The prefect rested his elbow against the door of the transport. “I didn’t realize you’d trained her yourself.”

“That’s how I knew she’d make a good Cosbolt navigator,” said Byron, recalling those first few weeks with Athee. She had tested his patience even as she impressed him with her aptitude and skill.

“We need more like her. We need them now, Commander Byron.”

The man’s despondency disturbed Byron. Enteller had received a shock yesterday, but succumbing to depression wasn’t the answer. Byron had faced many battles and experienced devastating losses over the past forty years. One loss early in his career had set him back for a day, but his superior’s orders to resume flying forced Byron into action again. Now the commander of the Tgren base, he no longer possessed the luxury of apathy. Byron wondered how to snap Enteller’s despair. Ktren required a strong leader right now.

The city’s medical facility came into view and the transport stopped by the main entrance. Grabbing the small bag at his feet, Byron exited the craft in haste, relieved to escape the negative mood permeating the main compartment. He entered the two-story building with the prefect, hoping to keep this visit short. Many tasks awaited him on base. At the moment, the driving force was an opportunity to escape Enteller.

Byron had visited the facility in the past, but the conditions he now witnessed surpassed any previous disaster. Makeshift beds lined the hallway, stretching to the set of doors at the far end. The cries of someone farther down the hall pierced his ears. The distressed woman projected with her mind as well, and Byron shielded against the assault. Others moaned, their soft wails an uneven pitch of sounds.

Medicinal smells threatened to burn his nose, but there was one scent no amount of chemicals could mask. The smell of death. Byron knew it all too well.

Prefect Enteller turned to Byron, his jaw set in resignation. “Commander, there are several people I must visit, so I won’t keep you. I’ll send Officer Hurend a list of our best pilots this afternoon. Good day.”

Without waiting for a response, Enteller moved toward the nearest bed, his gait slow and plodding. Free of the man at last, Byron sought the stairs. Only one patient expected him today, and Byron didn’t intend to keep Orellen waiting.

Athee greeted him at the top of the stairs. She appeared tired but no worse for wear. Stepping aside as a man carrying boxes descended the stairs, Byron took the final steps two at a time to reach his mate. She grasped his arm, her grip firm through his jacket. Abandoning protocol, Byron placed his arms around her.

“Is your uncle awake?” said Byron, releasing Athee.

“He is,” she said, taking a step toward the closest door. “He awoke a few minutes ago.”

“Here,” Byron said, holding up the bag. “I brought you fresh clothes.”

“Good because this flight suit is beginning to stink. I’m going to go change right now.”

You never smell bad
, he thought, entering the room.

Byron was grateful he’d viewed the former prefect earlier through Athee’s mind. Concealing his shock would’ve been impossible otherwise. Half of Orellen’s face was bandaged, including his left eye. What wasn’t covered sported small cuts and bruises. The man’s left arm was immobilized and wrapped, right down to his fingers. Byron was pleased to note the apparatus around Orellen’s arm was of Cassan design, as were the bandages. Athee’s uncle deserved the very best.

Commander…

Orellen’s mental voice was strong, which pleased Byron.
Just Byron today,
he thought, approaching the man’s bedside. He grasped the former prefect’s forearm and offered a reassuring smile.
I understand you’ve kept my liaison officer from performing her duties today.

I told her she didn’t have to stay.

And how many times have you won an argument with Athee?

The right side of Orellen’s mouth twitched.
Next to never.

I will need her eventually, but for now she is to remain at your side.

Raising his right hand, Athee’s uncle returned Byron’s grasp. Despite his injuries, Orellen’s fingers exhibited great strength. Byron admired the man’s tenacity. Orellen would fight until his last breath.

I never thought I’d see this day,
thought Orellen, his eyelid drooping.

Byron’s jaw muscles tightened.
The day your people declared war against another race?

No. The day our people would again face an outside threat, one that could destroy us. Only this time, I am powerless to do anything about it.

Offering a curt nod, Byron shielded his next thoughts for Orellen only.
I’d be lying if I said I was glad Enteller held the position of prefect now.

He was never my first choice,
thought Orellen,
but no one else stepped up when I resigned.

At least he agreed to sign the alliance.

Orellen’s forehead wrinkled further as the older man offered his best scowl.
Only with much prodding and after we were attacked. Took a tragedy to motivate Enteller and the others to action.

Prefect Ubarce was convinced before the attack.

Young rebel. Determined to change Tgren. He just might succeed someday.
Orellen’s fingers tightened around Byron’s arm.
Just like another rebel I know.

I just wanted your niece.

Orellen’s lips did more than twitch this time, and his amusement cut through all feelings of concern.

“What’s so funny?”

Winking at Orellen, Byron released his arm and turned to face Athee. Clad in a clean uniform, her face glowed and she appeared refreshed. Byron’s mate didn’t wait for either man to answer and strode toward the bed.

“I think you should rest now,” she told Orellen.

My dear, I am resting,
her uncle thought with a hint of indignation.

And Byron has work to do
, Athee thought, placing one hand on her hip,
which he can’t deny since I heard him contemplating his long list on his way up the stairs.

Orellen frowned, his gaze shifting to Byron. All Byron could do was shrug.

You want to argue with her?
he thought.

No!

Byron wished the man well and bid him good day. He touched Athee’s cheek in passing and she nodded, her presence filling his head.

I will be home tonight. I promise.

Good,
thought Byron as he departed.
Because tonight I need you.

Chapter Five

Punching the final button, Byron leaned back in his chair and waited for a response. Prefect Ubarce possessed a Cassan computer tablet, as did all the prefects, but there was a chance he did not have it with him. The Vindicarn had hit Ubarce’s city hard, and the man might’ve set it aside to work. Of the twenty-five prefects of the united Tgren world, the youngest exhibited the most involvement with his people. Ubarce was not above getting his hands dirty if the need presented itself.

Glancing at his own tablet, Byron pulled up the afternoon flights. Hurend had every squadron practicing maneuvers. Nine Cosbolts were missing from the roster, even after teams from damaged fighters were placed in the two backups. One team would rejoin their squadron tomorrow, but the others would be out of commission longer. Two full teams, a navigator, and a pilot were all gone and three Cosbolts damaged beyond repair.

I wonder if the surviving pilot and navigator would be up to training the Tgrens? Byron thought, making a note to ask Hurend when he returned that afternoon.

“Commander Byron?”

Looking up at his main computer screen, Byron realized Ubarce had answered. Dust coated the man’s hair, concealing his shaggy, black locks. Over the prefect’s shoulder, Byron noted a damaged building, its sandy surface boasting numerous gaping holes. Several workers removed debris from the site. They moved with a haste not present in those Byron had witnessed earlier in Ktren.

“Prefect Ubarce, I’d hoped to visit your city this afternoon, but I won’t be able to get away until tomorrow morning,” said Byron. “Do you have enough supplies and personnel?”

Ubarce glanced over his shoulder before answering. “At the moment, we have plenty of assistance. In addition to the medical supplies you sent yesterday, the Nacinta sent two teams and took a shuttle full of wounded back to the flagship. I’m told that unless there is an emergency, they will remain there until tomorrow. I know they’ll receive far better care on the Nacinta than here.”

“Commander Ganter probably appreciates the care your people provided for his downed pilots.”

“All nine men hit by disrupters have since recovered,” said the prefect, brushing dust out of his hair. “They returned to the Nacinta last night.”

“That’s good news. I asked Enteller to give me a list of his best pilots so we might begin training some of them in Cassan vessels. I’d like to extend that invitation to you, if you’ve pilots to spare.”

“Of course!” Ubarce lifted his chin and Byron couldn’t miss the fire in the man’s eyes. “Damn, if I could, I’d place myself on that list.”