CassaStorm (2 page)

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 was 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 was going to 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.