CassaSeries

Chapter Eight-1

Chapter Eight

“How do you feel today?”

Mevine glanced up from his work. His red eyes and pained expression indicated the Tgren wines had taken their toll on his body. Byron suspected his friend had indulged more than he was accustomed to at last night’s festival, especially if he was still feeling the effects this late in the afternoon.

Mevine moaned and leaned back in his chair. “Awful,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “Felt like I was going to die this morning.”

Byron chuckled. “Maybe you should take it easy on the spirits next time.”

Closing his eyes, Mevine nodded in acceptance. “I know. Last night I was just so nervous though. I’m really not good in social situations. Thought it would help me relax.”

“You were relaxed all right. And bold!”

Mevine’s face fell. “Sir, I’m sorry if I said or did anything inappropriate,” he offered, his thoughts colored with genuine regret.

Moved by Mevine’s forlorn expression, Byron patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at the computer screen. “Making any progress?”

His question brightened the young man’s mood. “Yes. I guess a night away from our research did some good. We’ve confirmed these ruins are the remains of an alien ship.”

“Oh?’

“Whether it was originally housed in a cave or buried in a landslide, we don’t know. But analysis of a full scan this morning revealed all the components of a spacecraft.”

A functioning alien craft, Byron thought.

“And a breakthrough was made this morning with the language. Take a look.”

Mevine pulled up a new screen. The Cassan alphabet was displayed on the left and the alien letters on the right. Several items were highlighted on each side of the equation.

“We’ve matched a dozen letters to our own, including four that Officer Seheller believes are vowels. Once we’ve matched a few more, we can begin deciphering the text.”

“Looks like we’re a few letters short,” Byron observed, noting the abundance of letters on the right hand side of the screen.

“A few.” Mevine glanced at Byron and his shoulders sagged. “All right, the alien text outnumbers our symbols three to one. But, we believe they’re a variation in sound. Most of the symbols resemble nothing in our language, but the first batch we deciphered bore a strong resemblance. Hopefully, we can start transcribing the text by tomorrow. That is, if my head ever stops hurting,” Mevine added, rubbing his forehead.

Byron suppressed his amusement. The boy was miserable enough. “Was it worth it, though?” he said.

“I guess,” Mevine said with a shrug. He pivoted in his chair to face his visitor. “Did you have a good time?”

Leaning against the computer console, Byron crossed his arms. “I suppose I did,” he admitted, his thoughts returning the evening’s events. Could’ve been better, he thought, recalling the night’s final moments.

Mevine managed a weak smile. “That Tgren woman really likes you.”

“Oh, you think so?”

“You really should pursue her.”

Byron shifted his position, uncomfortable with Mevine’s suggestion. “Why are you so concerned with my personal life?” he inquired, trying to avoid a threatening tone.

“I think you’d benefit from some companionship,” Mevine explained. “I mean, I wish someone was interested in me. I don’t want to go through life alone.”

Byron didn’t need to sense the boy’s dejection. He could see it in his eyes. Mevine’s longing ran deep. A lack of family acceptance further compounded the issue. Taking into account Mevine’s gangly appearance and absorption with his work, Byron suspected no girl had ever given him a second glance. He felt sorry for the boy. A person could do far worse than befriend Mevine.

Shifting in his seat, Mevine shrugged. “I just figured someone should be happy,” he mumbled, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Mustering strength he didn’t feel, Byron moved closer. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Mevine looked up and Byron offered a smile.

“Don’t give up yet,” he said, hoping to restore confidence in the young officer before he sank to an unreachable depth. Mevine sat up straighter and nodded. His thoughts still swirled with doubt, but desperation receded to the back of his mind.

“Mevine!”

The men turned toward the speaker. Officer Seheller gestured for Mevine to join him on the other side of the room. Byron’s hand dropped and Mevine rose to his feet, his movement slow and deliberate. He opened his mouth, but Byron spoke first.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Byron announced, offering a brief nod.

Before he exited the room, Mevine’s voice echoed in his head. Thank you, sir.

He paused in the wide doorway, but the young officer’s attention was focused on Seheller. Glancing around, he noted a difference in the atmosphere since their arrival on Tgren. Filled to capacity with equipment and bodies, the room vibrated with energy. If they were as close to deciphering the alien text as Mevine boasted, those present had every reason to be excited. They were on the verge of a great discovery.

Byron continued on his way, his footsteps reverberating down the empty corridor. Few men remained outside in the heat. No one noticed his passage as he returned to the shuttle. He contemplated a trip to the Rennather. Options for entertainment on this planet were limited and his evening was devoid of a scheduled activity. An hour or two on the grav ball court sounded more appealing than wandering the city alone or sitting in his drab quarters at the Cassan facility.

Am I happy? Byron thought, staring at the shuttle’s lifeless controls. He shook his head to clear his mind and started the ship’s engines. Of course I am. Who wouldn’t be happy in my situation?

Byron pushed the exchange with Mevine from his thoughts and lifted the shuttle into the sky.

“And then I turned around, and this damned fool was gone!”

Garnce pointed a thick finger at Byron. His tale amused the small group gathered in the Rennather’s dining hall, but it was obvious the man still carried a grudge. Athee laughed, her attention shifting to the pilot. Byron’s wicked grin indicated he had no regrets having left Garnce.

“I wasn’t sticking around. Those Quintanaz felines were in heat.”

Garnce scowled at Byron. “Well you didn’t need to run off and leave me standing there defenseless,” the man said with exasperation. “And you knew those plant samples we’d collected attracted them, too. Damned creatures followed me all the way back to camp, rubbing their foul stench on my legs.”

Byron propped his elbow on the back of the chair beside him, his expression smug. “At least I didn’t spend the next two days rubbing citric salt on my body to eradicate the smell.”

“Stuff burned like fire, too,” Garnce grumbled as he reached for his drink.

Athee c****d an eyebrow at Byron. “You’re terrible.”

“But at least I smelled good,” he added, leaning away as Garnce raised a threatening hand.

The shuttle pilot declared he needed to return to the planet’s surface. Garnce strode from the dining hall, his rapid movement mirroring his annoyed thoughts. Byron met Athee’s gaze and offered a playful smirk.

“Guess I need to watch out for that mean streak of yours,” she stated, leaning her elbows on the table.

“What he failed to describe was the three hours preceding our encounter with the felines. Garnce complained the whole time we were gathering those samples. I wanted to kill him at that point.”

“And you never complain?”

“Not when it won’t change anything.”

She couldn’t argue with that logic. Complaining grated on her nerves as well. Istaner voiced his negative opinion on a regular basis, finding fault with everyone but himself. Only their blood relationship had prevented Athee from retaliating with a tirade of her own.

When the dining hall emptied of occupants, Byron suggested they return to the shuttle and continue her lesson for the day. Athee had enjoyed the opportunity to eat a meal on the Rennather and listen to her tablemate’s accounts of their travels. The world beyond Tgren seemed vast. She envied the Cassans their freedom to explore. Perhaps one day soon her people would take to the stars. She intended to lead the way, too.

Athee had enjoyed an hour with Byron in a relaxed atmosphere as well. It still hurt that he’d walked off the night of the festival, especially after showing such clear interest. Enticing him to talk about it was out of the question. Byron’s shields had remained in place. He only lowered his mental barrier enough for minimal contact during jumps. Athee had buried her frustration and focused on her flights and psychic training with the Cassan. He remained friendly toward her, but Athee doubted she could coax him to such a level of intimacy again.

“Can I take the shuttle out of the hangar?” she asked, fastening her harness.

He eyed her with suspicion. Athee presented what she hoped was her most disarming smile. It often worked on her uncle even without mental persuasion. Byron hesitated and she thought she’d lost the battle until he offered a grin.

“Once we reach the outer landing bay, I’ll turn the controls over to you. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair to me.”

The blast of a siren jolted Athee out of her seat. Red lights began to flash across the hangar, pulsating in sync with the siren. Byron cursed and unfastened his harness.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“What’s happening?”

“Byron!” the commander’s voice resonated from the shuttle’s com unit. “We’ve got company. Five rogue ships just appeared on the starboard side.”

The pilot leapt to his feet. “I’m heading for my Darten right now,” he answered, dashing from the cockpit.

“Byron!” Athee called. He was already gone. Rogue ships? Are we under attack?

A distant rumble was followed at once by another. That would be an affirmative. Stay put!

Through the cockpit window, she watched him run across the hangar to his fighter. Two crewmembers were already attending his ship. Byron leapt into his Darten. The canopy slid into place and Byron secured his helmet. Yanking the steps out of the way, one of the men flashed the pilot a signal. The tiny ship rolled forward, moving toward the bay doors.

The siren continued to blare its warning and the noise pounded at Athee’s chest. She had experienced an attack on Ktren several years ago, and fear had fueled her adrenaline. Once airborne, Athee had focused on the invading planes and maintained her composure even as her fellow pilots were shot from the sky. She’d controlled her fear by taking action. Unfortunately, she had no such recourse here.

Her pulse raced as Byron’s ship vanished. The inner hangar doors closed, adding finality to the moment. Frustrated to lose sight of him, she unfastened her harness and reached for the com. Pressing buttons, she searched for the universal link. Athee had to know what was occurring beyond these walls.

Come on, come on! Where is it? she thought, growing frantic.

“We’ve confirmed hostile,” a voice cried over the com and Athee jumped at the sound.

“Preparing to launch now,” Byron replied, his voice unusually calm.

“Garnce has been notified and will join you shortly.”

Biting her lip, Athee sank into the pilot seat to wait. She strummed her foot on the floor, anxious for a snippet of information. Several other voices came over the com, confirming the attack. Upon hearing a man state the shields were holding, she wondered what would happen if they failed. Would the Rennather explode?

“Engaging,” said Byron, his voice clear over the com.

She listened as Anceptor announced the ship’s guns had clipped the wings of one of the hostiles. Her palms began to sweat as she strained for Byron’s voice. Could he handle four ships on his own?

“Two down,” he announced.

Athee’s stomach muscles relaxed. The odds were shifting in Byron’s favor. Now if he could eliminate the last three ships…

“Damn it!”

Byron’s exclamation jolted Athee out of her seat.

“Four more rogue ships, port side,” Anceptor announced.

A rumble rolled over her head, punctuated by a second, louder sound. Athee grasped the edge of the console and peered up at the hangar’s ceiling.

“Shields holding.”

Athee caught her breath. She stared at the com unit, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“I’m hit!”

Those words poured like ice over Athee. Memories of her father’s final flight raced through her mind.

“Status report.”

There was a pause before Byron answered. “Another ship down. I can still fly, but I’m leaking fuel.”

Athee leapt from her seat. Frustrated with her inability to see, as she didn’t dare link with Byron while he was flying, she began to pace the cockpit. If we were on the ground, I could help, she thought, digging her nails into her palms.

Another voice confirmed the remaining five rogue ships were still attacking the Rennather. Rumbles echoed from the far side of the hangar, the sound penetrating the persistent siren. Athee paused and waited, her body shaking. If Byron died…