CassaStar (12 page)

They did not have long to wait, for which he was grateful. The drones assembled and began to bear down on the squadron. Defensive orders were quickly relayed and the ships turned to meet the enemy.

The drones fanned out and split into two groups. Byron’s team was ordered to pursue the smaller cluster. Six Cosbolts followed the instructor’s ship as it veered off in pursuit. The drones took evasive action and broke formation, sending each vessel on an individual course.

“
715T, Drone Five!”

Byron locked on his assigned target. They rolled to the right and followed the drone.

Keep an eye on the others!
he ordered, glancing at the screen. Several drones had already changed direction. Soon their sector of space would grow congested. So far, none of the drones had issued a shot. Byron assumed confusion rather than actual engagement would be their defensive.

An alert from Trindel forced him to dive as a drone passed overhead. Annoyed by the distraction, Byron increased their speed in an attempt to catch their target. He veered left and then right, dodging a Cosbolt in the process. The drone continued to elude them, though.

I need to get in front of him!
he exclaimed, frustrated by the pursuit.

His flight pattern’s too erratic,
his navigator protested.
And they’re not even firing back.

A flash of red above them told Byron a different story. Without need for a visual confirmation, he sensed the ensuing dogfight over their craft. If they did not escape the confusion soon, they’d be caught in the crossfire.

Damn it, Trindel, give me an option!

Their target descended and almost collided with another drone. Byron exclaimed aloud as he was forced to take evasive action.

There’s too much confusion …

Trindel!
Byron screamed.

His navigator hesitated for only a second before suggesting coordinates. Taking immediate action, Byron jumped the ship to the new position. They emerged on the edge of the fracas and discovered the drone bearing down on them. Byron fired a shot just as the drone opened fire. Without waiting for coordinates, he jumped the ship again.

Trindel gasped as they emerged just below the previous location. A flash of light informed Byron of the drone’s demise. It was closer than he preferred, but his team had completed their assignment.

Head on?
he demanded.

You wanted options,
his navigator offered.

“
715T, retreat to a secure position and do not engage unless absolutely necessary,” Officer Rellen’s voice echoed from the com.

“
Yes, sir!” Byron replied, veering the ship away from the fight.

As their ship circled the perimeter, another drone exploded. The men did not get to blow up drones often due to the cost, but it provided a greater sense of accomplishment when they were permitted that luxury. It was far more satisfying than mere laser tagging. Considering the live occupant of the drone, this particular exercise seemed hollow, but Byron felt no regret. Oddly enough, he felt neither remorse nor elation over his first live kill.

When the final drone was destroyed, the fighters resumed formation and returned to base. Byron sensed Trindel’s heavy mood and did not converse with his navigator as they taxied into the hanger. If the situation bothered Trindel, then there was little Byron could say to ease his friend’s mind.

The flight apparently weighed heavy on everyone’s thoughts, as little was said in the changing room. The overall mood was somber. Byron wondered if any of the teams had failed their objective, but he did not ponder long on that thought. He and Trindel had succeeded, and that was all that mattered.

As they crossed the hanger to the briefing room, Byron glanced in the direction of the visiting transport. The security officers were in evidence and speaking with two hanger crew personnel. They appeared relaxed and he thought he detected laughter drifting across the hanger.

The young men filed into the room and took their seats in silence. Trindel dropped like a stone into the chair beside Byron, his expression solemn. Frowning at his navigator’s demeanor, Byron was about to speak when Bassa called for attention.

“
Men, this will be brief,” he announced. “With the exception of team 143T, who is to remain here, you are to return to your quarters. Team 479T, you are to report to my office immediately.”

Byron glanced at Surren and noticed his cocky smile was absent. He and his navigator were slumped in their seats, faces drawn and complexions ashen. They failed, Byron thought.

“
If anyone else now realizes he doesn’t have what it takes to fulfill his role as a pilot or navigator, he is to see me in my office before the midday meal,” Bassa instructed. He scanned the faces of those present, his eyes briefly pausing on Byron’s team.

“
This exercise separates the men from the boys. Be damned sure of your decision!”

A couple young men fidgeted, but no one spoke. Bassa simply nodded.

“
After the midday meal, each team will receive a debriefing in my office. Until then, you are dismissed!”

The instructors exited the room right away, but the trainees moved slower in their departure. Byron followed Trindel into the hallway and caught his navigator’s elbow.

You okay?
he asked, concerned by his friend’s despondency.

Trindel nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. His gaze quickly dropped to the floor.

We did it!
Byron thought, his eager tone causing Trindel to raise his eyes.
And that’s probably the worst thing we’ll ever face.

Grasping Byron’s forearm, Trindel nodded again.
You’re right.

Smiling, Byron slapped his friend’s back and propelled him toward the lift. They had just faced their greatest challenge and returned triumphant.

Byron remained in his quarters until the midday meal as instructed. Gathering a generous portion of food on his plate, he joined Trindel at an open table. Spirits rejuvenated, Byron dove into his meal. His navigator said little, his mood still somber, so Byron sought conversation with the others seated at the table. It appeared that most of the men had recovered from the shock of the exercise, but no one seemed inclined to discuss the morning’s session.

It wasn’t until Byron rose from the table that he considered Surren and Arenth’s absence. If they had indeed failed the exercise, then that meant two marks on their record. He knew he shouldn’t revel in their apparent dismissal, but Surren had taunted Byron at every opportunity, and he felt vindicated.

“
We’re not scheduled to sit down with Bassa until late afternoon,” he informed Trindel as they departed the dining hall. “Guess our team’s last. But, since you’ve told me to expect the best, I’m taking it as a good sign!”

Trindel lowered his chin. “Byron, you’ll be meeting with Bassa alone.”

“
Why?” asked Byron, his step faltering.

“
I met with him this morning after the exercise.”

“
What?” he demanded. Coming to an abrupt halt, Byron grabbed his navigator’s shoulder and forced Trindel to look him in the eye. “What for?”

Trindel met his gaze, his expression troubled. “Because, I can’t do it,” he admitted in a meek voice.

“
Do what?”

“
I can’t kill another living being!”

Releasing Trindel’s shoulder as if he’d been stung, Byron stared open-mouthed at his friend. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“
Byron, I’m sorry, but I can’t do it,” stammered Trindel, his eyes wide and pleading. “I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. And it’s not just because those men were Cassans. I don’t want to kill anyone!”

Feeling his insides sink, Byron clenched his fists at his sides. “Damn it, we’re a team! What am I supposed to do without a navigator?”

“
I intend to finish the course with you,” Trindel offered. “I know how important piloting is to you. But once we’re finished here on Guaard, I’m pursuing another career field.”

Anger rose in Byron’s chest. He held his sharp retort as Vitar and Hansen strolled past the pair in the hallway. Frustrated but unwilling to create a scene, Byron turned away from Trindel.

He’d worked so hard to get this far, pouring everything into his training. Piloting a Cosbolt was Byron’s dream and his only option. Now those hopes lay shattered alongside the other failed aspirations in his life. How could Trindel abandon him when he was so close to achieving this goal? Byron felt betrayed by the one person he’d trusted.

“
How am I supposed to join the fleet without a navigator?” he snapped, now furious with Trindel.

“
They’ll assign you another one,” the young man replied with a nervous quaver.

“
Who knows how long that will take! Or how much training will be involved,” Byron exclaimed, whirling on Trindel. “Damn it, we are so close! How can you give up on me now?”

Holding out his hands, Trindel stepped forward. “Byron, I’m really sorry,” he offered, his entire body trembling.

Byron brushed aside his hand as Trindel reached for his shoulder. He didn’t want sympathy. Realizing he was about to spew some very ugly words, Byron turned and retreated from the unpleasant scene, moving as fast as his long legs would carry him.

Byron, please!
Trindel entreated.

Ignoring his friend’s desperate plea, Byron entered the first available lift. He requested the hanger level and the doors closed before Trindel could join him. The unit descended and the doors opened to an empty corridor. Grateful to find seclusion, Byron proceeded to the main hanger.

His stride was full of anger, and his heavy steps echoed in the empty corridor. Byron’s mind continued to reel with the news. How could Trindel desert him now? They were within days of completing their training. He’d hoped that his team’s record would secure a good first assignment. Now he’d have to wait for a replacement and endure more training with a new navigator.

Rounding a corner, the hanger came into view. Few of the station’s personnel lingered and the visiting transporter was no longer in evidence. The expanse appeared even greater than usual and the cavernous maw felt cold and foreboding. Immersed in dejection, the sight caused Byron to feel even more insignificant and without hope.

His gaze fell on the fighters neatly arranged on the flight deck in rows of five. Those vessels represented his only chance of a decent future. Their streamlined shape carried a sense of purpose, a quality lacking in Byron’s life until recently. Trindel’s decision now cast doubt on his resolution to pilot a Cosbolt.

The anger ebbed from his body, hastened by his rapid retreat, and Byron felt his shoulders slump. Entering the hanger, he approached the resting ships. The emanations of the teleporters reached his senses and vibrated in his chest. Byron wandered among the vessels until he located his fighter situated at the end of the last row.

Stretching out with tentative fingers, he placed his hand over the compartment that housed the teleporter. The unit’s power pulsated through his mind and body and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. If only he could use that energy to correct his situation! To come so far, only to have his hopes dashed yet again.

Rejected by family and friends and thwarted in his attempts to achieve any level of success, Byron felt as if he’d never escape his past.

Retrieving Byron’s profile, Bassa stared at the screen, lost in thought. He’d saved the pilot for last, aware this review would prove the most challenging. Byron would be difficult to handle this afternoon and Bassa needed to proceed with caution.

The young man arrived at his appointed time and Bassa gestured for him to take a seat. He noted Byron’s sluggish movements and solemn express and surmised Trindel had revealed his session with the senior officer as requested. Once the pilot rested in a chair, his sagging posture reflecting defeat, Bassa leaned forward.

“
Your team performed well this morning,” he stated, diving right into the evaluation. “The placement of your first jump was questionable, but Trindel admitted the coordinates were to give the drone a chance.”