CassaStorm (23 page)

Taking a telepod to another level, their escort led them to a room with a large, oval table. Computer screens lined one side of the table, awaiting connection with the other leaders involved in the conference. Byron was surprised to find Ganter waiting. He exchanged greetings with the man and turned to Ubarce. Byron gestured the Tgren forward.

“Commander, let me introduce First Prefect of Tgren, Ubarce,” Byron said.

The title obviously surprised Ubarce, but he stepped forward without hesitation. Dressed in his finest Tgren attire, Ubarce looked the part of leader, and his greeting was eloquent. Ganter stepped back and nodded at the men.

“The conference will commence in ten minutes,” he said, gesturing to the chairs on their side of the table. Two glasses of water awaited them. “May we meet with success tonight.”

Ganter departed, leaving Byron and Ubarce alone in the room. Byron indicated the prefect was to take a seat.

“I assume the greatest obstacle will be the Vindicarn?” said Ubarce, easing into his chair and placing his computer on the table.

“Yes,” answered Byron, taking his seat. “The Torbeth and Jerril have already declared their desire for a truce. Cassan intelligence suggests the Lorvendera will follow suit tonight. Our holdouts will be the Narcon and Vindicarn.”

“But the alien ship is bearing down on the Vindicarn’s home world…”

“We can only hope that is incentive enough.”

Ubarce tapped his computer pad. “I’d think that would provide sufficient motivation. And we hold the cards,” he said, looking up and cocking one eyebrow. “We hold the code that can stop the probe.”

“That may be our only advantage.”

Leaning back in his chair, Ubarce tapped the armrest. “The race that sent the probe wants us to maintain peace,” he mused. “We hold proof the races can do more than maintain friendly relations.”

“We have proof the races can intermingle in the carrier of that code,” said Byron, “and evidence of the eleventh race.”

Byron wondered how difficult it would be to convince their enemies. They could hardly argue with the facts. Cassans and Tgrens shared similar traits, and close proximity over the past twenty years had resulted in several pairings. Seven children now stood in evidence of their ability to cross breed, including his own son. If Mevine’s translations were correct, those children marked the emergence of an eleventh race.

Most important, his child carried the code that could save them.

“We should be able to use that to gain an edge,” Byron conceded, rubbing the surface of the table with his thumb.

“Commander,” said Ubarce. “I know I am representing Tgren, but I hope I can count on you to speak when my thoughts fail me. You are as invested in Tgren as I am. I trust you to represent my people fairly.”

The prefect met his gaze. Ubarce did not bother to shield his gratitude–or admiration. Byron found himself in a unique position, one he’d not experienced since Orellen ruled as Ktren’s prefect. Tgren’s youngest prefect trusted Byron with his life and with his people.

The computer screens across from them crackled to life. Turning his attention to the other side of the table, Byron waited for images of the leaders to appear. He’d never spoken with a Vindicarn, let alone met one in person. The closest he’d come to the Vindicarn was viewing the core that powered their disrupter ship. That moment in time, burned forever in his mind, lay in the distant past. If they were to succeed today, it had to remain buried.

One by one, the screens came to life.

High Command’s lead chancellor appeared first, dominating the middle screen. He nodded at Byron and Ubarce and folded his hands in his lap. Byron had met the man only once, many years ago. A new addition to High Command, Sorth had taken an interest in the first Tgren entering Cosbolt training. He’d even visited the training facility on Guaard. At the time, Byron’s thoughts were for his new mate and navigator, and he’d protected Athee from Sorth’s probing questions. Viewing the man now as the leader of the Cassan empire, Byron wondered how well he remembered the only Cassan-Tgren team to pass Cosbolt training.

The Arellen leader appeared next. His solemn expression, drawing his long, bluish face even thinner, revealed the hardships he’d endured the past few days. Byron marveled at his stamina. He doubted the man had slept since the attack on his planet.

The other leaders began to make their appearance. The Fesell man held very still, his pale fingers folded in front of him. Narcon’s leader boasted a scowl, his eyes nothing but slits. He fidgeted in his chair, his gaze scanning those present. The Torbeth representing his people wore a military uniform in desperate need of a wash. Recalling his notes, Byron remembered the man commanded one of the few surviving battleships and had assumed the role of leader after the probe attacked. With most of their race gone, the Torbeth were in a desperate predicament.

If we don’t stop the probe, the Tgren will be in an even worse position, Byron thought.

The final screen came to life and Byron had to hold his emotions in check. The Vindicarn leaned forward, his lips curled in a sneer, and scanned the faces of those present. The man’s rough complexion and charred skin, a result of the harsh conditions on his planet, added to Cherzta’s threatening appearance. Byron held his gaze steady, offering indifference rather than the contempt he felt for the race.

“Gentlemen, we know why we’re here, so let’s get right to business,” said Sorth, taking control of the conference. “The alien ship threatens to destroy us all unless we reach a pact of peace.”

“You want us to surrender the space we have conquered,” countered the Narcon, his tone as sallow as his skin. “We’ve fought hard to secure those sectors.”

“And how will you hold them when half your race is exterminated?” said the Charren leader.

“We intend to destroy the probe before it ever reaches us,” the Narcon said, leaning back in his chair.

“Many races have tried that,” said Sorth, resting his fist on the table. “Three Cassan flagships couldn’t stop it when the probe appeared over Tgren twenty years ago.”

“Your flagships are weak, Sorth,” said the Vindicarn, slurring his words with disrespect. “Two of our disrupter ships are about to engage the probe. They will stop it.”

“They will be destroyed,” said the Arellen.

That statement, delivered with earnest regret, elicited a scowl from Cherzta. Byron tightened his grip on the table’s edge, annoyed with man’s reaction.

“You think our disrupters can’t disable the probe?”

“We sent six ships to meet the alien vessel, all armed with the Blueseth weapon,” said the Arellen. “Three were destroyed instantly, another while trying to escape. The remaining two were severely damaged. Our weapon did not even mar the surface of the ship.”

The Vindicarn leaned back in his seat, his fists on the table. Byron watched his reaction, amazed the man continued to cling to the belief his disrupters could stop the probe. The Arellens’ Blueseth weapon was the most powerful in the galaxy and they did not employ it often. If it hadn’t stopped the alien ship, no amount of firepower would make a difference.

“Cherzta, you will only be wasting resources and lives,” said Sorth, gesturing with both hands.

“We shall see,” the Vindicarn said, a smirk on his rough face.

Damned fool, thought Byron. Let the probe blow those vessels to bits. Two less Vindicarn ships we have to worry about.

“Listen to them, Cherzta,” said the Torbeth leader. “We lost a dozen vessels trying to destroy the probe.”

The Vindicarn dismissed the warning with a flick of his hand. Bile rose in Byron’s throat. If he could reach through the screen and strangle the man, he’d do it.

“Besides, we don’t know if declaring peace will stop this thing,” said the Narcon. “And the implication that our races are all connected in some manner? Preposterous!”

“The technology of the ships match,” said the Fesell leader. “We were all seeded and by a single race. They might even be our ancestors.”

 The Narcon crossed his arms. “I still say it’s a ploy by the Cassan-Tgren coalition to get us to surrender.”

Beside Byron, Ubarce shifted in his chair and leaned forward.

“Considering the next target is Tgren, I hardly think so.”

“And how do you intend to stop the probe, Tgren?” said Cherzta, licking his lips in anticipation of the answer. “You don’t possess any weapons. You’re at the mercy of the Cassans.”

“We do possess one thing you don’t,” said Ubarce. “The response code to the probe.”

“That alone won’t stop it,” said the Narcon. He fidgeted in his seat and glanced at the others. He didn’t appear too sure of himself.

“It might not. But since the transmissions from both Tgren and Cassa are slightly different from the others, we might have a chance.”

The Vindicarn slammed his fist on the table. “And just how did that occur? Why would your ships transmit something different?”

Ubarce straightened his shoulders. “Because the code was downloaded into someone who proves the races can both coexist and intermingle. Someone who might be the beginning of the eleventh race.”

“And who might that be?”

I will let you answer that, Commander
, Ubarce thought privately.

Clearing his throat, Byron leaned forward and rested his arm on the table. “A boy who is half Cassan, half Tgren.”

Several leaders recoiled in surprise. The Vindicarn’s sneer deepened.

“A half-breed child…” hissed Cherzta.

Anger swelled in Byron. Ubarce came to his rescue.

“We have seven children from Tgren-Cassan pairings,” said the prefect, “and I imagine there are many more from mixed parents across the galaxy. But what matters now is this one child, from two different races, who possesses the response code that can save all of us. But only if we can end these hostilities!”

Ubarce’s final words came out with great force. It had the desired effect of silencing the Vindicarn.

“It’s too late for some of us,” said the Torbeth leader. “But we will agree to end the fighting.”

The Narcon launched into another tirade, claiming peace was a veiled act of surrender. Byron ignored the man, his gaze focused on Cherzta. The man tilted his bald head to allow another Vindicarn to whisper in his ear. His eyes grew wide and he turned away from his screen, speaking quickly to the man at his side. Cherzta rubbed his brow and leaned forward. Balling up both fists, he brought them down on the table.

“Enough!”

Everyone grew still. Byron seized the moment and tapped his computer pad for the latest update. Several new bits of information appeared.

His disrupter ships were just destroyed by the probe
, he thought to Ubarce.

The prefect cast Byron a quick glance before returning his attention to the leaders. Cherzta composed himself, his dark eyes full of resignation.

“Our disrupter ships,” he said, gaze on the table in front of him, “have met with failure.”

The Narcon leader shifted in his seat while the representative from Lorvendera gasped out loud. The others glanced around the room, their expressions reflecting anxiety. Only the Arellen remained collected and unaffected by the news.

The Vindicarn raised his chin, his face drawn tight and ridged. He flexed his fingers, the long digits reaching forward as if to grasp an enemy. Clamping his hands into fists, Cherzta uttered a growl.

“What are the conditions for this declaration of peace?” he spat.

Byron’s muscles relaxed. At last they were getting somewhere.

The leaders deliberated the terms of a peaceful ceasefire for another hour. Byron prompted Ubarce when necessary, but the prefect handled his responsibility with ease. The man knew how to make smart decisions. Although his junior by more than twenty years, Byron watched Ubarce with a new measure of respect. The youngest of Tgren’s leaders had earned the title of First Prefect tonight.

When a vote was taken, Byron sighed as the leaders made a unanimous decision. Now they possessed all the necessary elements to stop the probe.

“Tomorrow morning,” said the Fesell leader, “we will confer with the other scientists working on this project. We should be able to provide the steps for stopping the alien ship after that.”

“Steps?” the Narcon inquired.

“The proper procedure for conveying our declaration of peace to the probe, as well as the transmission of the code.”

Once satisfied with that decision, the screens went black one by one. Ubarce grasped the edge of the table and sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. Byron grinned at the man’s reaction and then noticed one screen remained active.

“Prefect Ubarce,” said Sorth.

The man snapped to attention at once. “Yes, sir?”

The chancellor’s face muscles relaxed into a fatherly smile. “You performed well tonight. Commander Byron informed me you were quick on your feet and strong enough to lead all of Tgren.”

“Thank you, Chancellor Sorth.”

The screen dimmed. Byron rose to his feet and prompted Ubarce to do the same. The man moved as if in a daze, his stride slow. Their escort led them into the telepod, and Byron reached out to the prefect.

You did well
, he thought, patting Ubarce on the back.

The prefect smiled and held up his shaking hands.
Wasn’t sure I could do it. Didn’t want to let my people down.

Byron chuckled.
No, I’d say you put Cherzta in his place.

They returned to the planet’s surface and the shuttle landed at Ktren’s base first. Byron unfastened his harness and turned to the seated prefect.

“I’ll forward all reports directly to you,” he said. “Hopefully the Fesell are quick to send their findings tomorrow. I want to put this situation behind us soon.”

“As do I, Commander,” said Ubarce, gripping his harness tight. “And thank you for the opportunity. I hope the decision didn’t cause you hardship.”

Byron held his tablet closer, aware of the messages within that still required a response. He would be up half the night putting out fires. Considering the results of the conference though, Byron didn’t care.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Prefect Ubarce,” he said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”