CassaSeries

Chapter Nine-2

After the meal, Bassa retreated to his quarters to read. Unable to concentrate, his thoughts continued to drift to the exchange with Byron. Any hopes of connecting with Byron now lay shattered on the hangar floor. He’d failed to reach the boy.

The words on his computer pad appeared to blur and Bassa leaned away from the screen. Arching his stiff back, he glanced around the room. His gaze fell on the picture of Tal, nestled beside his main computer on the desk. His brother’s image reminded Bassa of his pilot, but he realized their looks and skills no longer seemed so similar. The only common thread lay in the fact that he’d lost both men.

Rising to his feet, Bassa slipped on his boots and stepped into the hallway. He proceeded to Byron’s quarters and paused at the door. After their earlier exchange, he wondered if the young man would even grant him access. Straightening his shoulders, Bassa passed his hand over the press plate and announced his presence.

No response came. He turned to leave and the door slid aside. Bassa peered into the room and caught sight of Byron stretched out on his bed. The young man did not acknowledge Bassa’s presence in any fashion and his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. Sensing resistance, Bassa grasped the edge of the doorframe.

“May I enter?” he said, hoping courtesy might break the ice.

Byron’s gaze flicked his direction before returning to the ceiling. He nodded and crossed his arms, assuming a defensive posture.

Entering his pilot’s quarters, Bassa stared at the unresponsive and withdrawn young man. How am I supposed to reach him? he thought. Pulling out a chair, Bassa took a seat and leaned against the table. He had to find the right words tonight.

“When I first saw your profile,” he began, “your similarity to my brother was striking, from your appearance to your skills. And in dealing with you that first month, Tal crossed my mind more than once. I’ll always regret denying my brother’s request to be his navigator.”

Leaning forward, Bassa placed both elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he stared at the rough texture of his skin as he pieced together his next sentence.

“Despite my feelings, though, you’re right, Byron. You are not my brother. And the more I got to know you, the more I realized you were very much your own person. Your qualities go beyond your skills in the cockpit or your unique ability to jump. You possess a quiet strength. You’re focused, determined, and more capable than most men twice your age, and I admire those traits in you.”

He paused, hoping for a sign that his words registered with Byron. The young man had not changed his position and his mind remained closed. However, resentment no longer dominated his expression.

“I didn’t come out here because of my brother or to harass you,” said Bassa, his voice as heavy as his heart. “I’m here because I care about a young man named Byron.”

Confusion rolled across Byron’s face and he shifted his position. Bassa leaned back in his chair and assumed a relaxed stance. His next words were the most difficult. Byron was not the only one accustomed to privacy and Bassa struggled with his thoughts.

“During those brief moments when you’ve permitted me past that barrier of yours, I’ve liked what I’ve seen. Even the darker aspects haven’t scared me. In truth, I can relate. I don’t have anyone either, Byron. No mate, no family,” said Bassa. “I’d hoped that once we got to know each other better, we might even be friends.”

Arms dropping to his sides, Byron turned to face Bassa, his eyes no longer filled with spite.

“I want the best for you, Byron, I really do,” said Bassa, mustering every ounce of conviction to convey his sincerity. “I know how much piloting a Cosbolt means to you. I want you to be successful.

“But if that success cannot be achieved with me, I will relinquish that privilege to another officer.”

Those words dropped from his lips as if made of lead. Bassa couldn’t discern if Byron’s wide-eyed expression stemmed from dismay or joy. The young man rolled onto his side, propping his body on one elbow.

“Don’t make a decision tonight,” Bassa instructed before Byron could speak. He might only delay the inevitable, but it was important the young man consider all of his options first. “Give it until tomorrow. If you request a new navigator, I will do everything in my power to secure the best man for the position.

“And if you want me to remain, I promise I will trust your judgment in the cockpit. Do those terms sound fair to you?”

Byron nodded. His mind remained guarded, but the young man appeared deep in thought. With any luck, Byron would deliberate his decision with care.

Bassa rose to his feet, weary from the emotional exertion tonight’s one-sided conversation required. “Give me your decision tomorrow,” he said, clearing his throat.

Bassa moved to the exit and the door slid aside. Pausing in the doorframe, he noticed Byron’s feet on the floor and the man’s upright position, his troubled gaze on his navigator. Bassa flashed a faint smile even as his heart sank.

“I care about you, Byron, and I want the best for your life.”

Bassa stepped into the hallway and the door closed. Clenching his fists, he lowered his chin to his chest. Tomorrow would lead to disappointment. Not the first time a pilot let him down, but it would hurt the most.

He’d done everything within his power. It was all up to Byron now.

Rising with a headache after a restless night, Byron struggled to get moving the next morning. He arrived late for the morning meal and received the last scraps of food in the pans. Eyeing his cold and overdone meal with disdain, he staggered toward the tables. Scanning the remaining occupants of the room, Byron noticed Ernx and Nintal at the far end of the hall. Bassa was nowhere to be seen, so Byron sought the company of his new friends.

“Morning!” Ernx said, greeting him with an enthusiastic but sleepy grin.

“Morning,” Byron replied, dropping into his seat. Dumping his tray on the table, he reached for his fork.

Nintal leaned away from the table and stretched. “Glad we have the day off. I couldn’t have flown today to save my life.”

“Me neither,” said Byron, poking at his food. It tumbled like rubber across his plate. “Seen Bassa this morning?” he said in a nonchalant tone.

“No, but we arrived late,” said Ernx.

Byron managed to choke down half his food before the smell grew too nauseating. The camaraderie of his friends as they chatted unsettled him, as he didn’t share a similar relationship with his partner. Excusing himself at the first opportune moment, Byron retreated from the dining hall. He hesitated as he passed Bassa’s quarters, aware his navigator awaited his response. That conversation required a clear head, though, and Byron continued to his quarters.

He straightened his living space before checking for new messages. Trindel was the only person who ever sent messages and the last note from his friend arrived two days ago. Feeling cut off from the outside world and yearning for a word of encouragement, he reread Trindel’s previous messages. His friend sounded so content with his transporter training, passing along several amusing stories regarding the differences between shuttle and fighter. Byron could hear his friend’s jovial tone as he read and missed Trindel’s lighthearted outlook on life.

Reading in reverse order, he soon found himself scanning the very first message. Byron had informed Trindel of his new navigator and Trindel’s reply quite amusing. The final line caught his eye and he read it twice, pondering the implication. Trindel ended his message with a comment that Bassa must’ve seen something special in him. Byron stared at those words for several moments.

As if a switch were thrown, his mind reached a decision. Rising from his desk, Byron exited his quarters. He came to an abrupt halt outside Bassa’s door and eyed the press plate with trepidation. Straightening his shoulders, he waved his hand over the sensor. There was no reply.

Perplexed, it dawned on Byron that he’d no idea what Bassa did with his free time. Where to search first? Returning to his quarters, he requested the whereabouts of Bassa. The ship’s computer indicated his navigator occupied the hydroponics bay.

That’s an odd place to hang out, he thought.

His curiosity overrode anxiety and he plotted a path to reach the hydroponics bay. He recalled seeing the ship’s eco-terrarium during his exploration of the Sorenthia upon his arrival, but never felt a desire to return. Using the telepod, he traveled to the appropriate level and approached the hydroponics bay. The double glass doors slid open and he entered the facility.

A large percentage of the eco-terrarium was devoted to food crops. Those areas were restricted and required an escort. The other portion of the facility, a garden created for both oxygen production and recreation, seemed more likely and Byron focused his attention. At some point along the winding trails, he hoped to locate his missing navigator.

The air lay ripe with a thousand exotic scents, all vying for his attention. Byron tried to ignore the overwhelming aroma of plants and flowers as he traversed the path, but it tickled his nose. While not unpleasant, experience came as a sharp contrast to the ship’s customary smells. He wondered why Bassa sought the company of foliage when he possessed many friends and admirers on the Sorenthia. Once again, he was reminded how little he knew about his navigator.

Rounding a corner, Byron caught sight of Bassa sitting on a bench, his computer pad in his lap. He slowed his rapid pace, now hesitant to approach the man. Bassa looked up from his screen and noticed Byron’s presence. He nodded and gestured for the pilot to join him.

“Morning,” he said as Byron took a seat at the other end of the bench.

“Morning. I’ve been trying to locate you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bassa, stretching his arm across the back of the bench. “I come here sometimes to work.”

Byron glanced at the colorful foliage, most of which appeared foreign. “You like exotic plants?”

“It’s peaceful,” said Bassa. “I like this part of the garden, with its alien flowers and vines. I’d originally wanted to navigate an exploration vessel and view this type of scenery in its natural habitat.”

“Really?” exclaimed Byron, surprised by the divergent vocation. “You didn’t want to navigate a Cosbolt?”

“Exploring space was my first love. I scored so well in initial tests that a different path was suggested, though.”

“Oh,” Byron said, at a loss for words. He couldn’t imagine Bassa navigating an exploration vessel.

“I believe you once told me that piloting a Cosbolt was not your first choice, either.”

“No,” he admitted. “I guess the aptitude tests affected my decision as well.”

Byron shifted his position on the bench. Dropping his gaze to the path at his feet, he attempted to quell his growing anxiety. Bassa knew why he was there. If Byron didn’t speak soon, he’d lose the nerve.

“I thought about what you said last night, and I’ve made my decision.”

He’d tried to sound calm and collected, but his voice faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bassa raise his eyebrows. Feeling vulnerable, Byron clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

“I want us to remain a team,” he said.

His thoughts out in the open, Byron glanced at Bassa. His navigator appeared skeptical of his decision, but relief colored the man’s thoughts.

“If that’s what you want,” Bassa offered, his voice gentle.

Byron nodded. “Yes.”

Setting his computer pad on the bench, Bassa leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’d prefer to stay here as well.”

Bassa’s honesty caused Byron to look away. He nodded again, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Can I ask why?” said Bassa.

Suppressing the thoughts and emotions that arose in his mind, Byron clenched his fists even tighter. “Well, I’d be an i***t to discard a navigator of your caliber,” he said, hoping that answer would suffice.

Sensing his navigator’s touch on his mind, Byron tightened his shields out of habit. Opening his mind bordered on torture; a result of invasive probes from analysts and instructors when he was a child.

You need to trust me, Byron.

Bassa’s sincere entreaty caused Byron to relax his shields. In order to work together as a team, a certain level of confidence and trust needed to exist. He might resist, but Byron needed that bond to fly the ship.

“I’m not very good at making friends, either,” he conceded. “I could probably use one.”

“I am your friend, Byron.”

Mustering courage he did not feel, Byron turned to his navigator. Bassa’s genuine smile matched the feeling of acceptance that drifted into Byron’s senses. It still puzzled him that the man wanted to be his friend. Byron didn’t feel likeable in any sense of the word. He’d resisted Bassa’s attempts to foster a friendship outside of the cockpit almost to the point of open hostility. His opposition stemmed from more than a reluctance to connect. Byron admitted he feared failing as a friend.

Bassa’s expression softened and his thoughts revealed compassion. Byron noticed the transparency of his own feelings. Alarmed, he closed his mind.

With a sigh, Bassa leaned back. “It’s okay to open up every now and then. That’s what friends are for.”

Byron couldn’t think of a suitable reply, but Bassa didn’t seem to expect one. Stretching his back, the senior officer picked up his computer pad.

“So, what are your plans for the day?”

“I was going to hit the courts before the midday meal.” An idea occurred to Byron. “Do you play gravball?”

Bassa arched one eyebrow. “Feel like losing?”

“Do you?”

“You’re on then!”

Byron rose to his feet, a genuine grin on his face. However, his elation went beyond the chance to play against an opponent. The prospect of a real friend held more meaning and satisfaction.